THE AMOROUS ADVENTURES OF METHOS AND AMANDA

A LONG STRANGE TRIP

by JoLayne, Susan, and Dea

RATING: ADULT

CHARACTERS: Methos, Amanda, Fitz, Rebecca, Lord Byron, and more

SUMMARY: Not long after Woodstock and Berkeley, Methos and Amanda set out on a road trip during the summer of '70.

DISCLAIMER: All characters and concepts you recognize from Highlander: The Series are owned by Panzer/Davis, and maybe Greg Widen. Just using them for fun, no profit is expected or pursued.

Published songs and poem used without permission:

Love and Death, Lord Byron

Jumpin' Jack Flash, Rolling Stones, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards

Bad Moon Rising, Creedence Clearwater Revival

Born to Be Wild, Steppenwolf

~~~~~~

Steppenwolf blared from the speakers as the red Ford Thunderbird sped down the two-lane highway. The Immortal now calling himself Jared Burke spared a glance at the raven-haired beauty in the passenger seat. Her long dark tresses danced around her face as the convertible covered ground between Barstow, California and the next town.

It had been six months since Methos and Amanda had fled Berkeley with the police hot on their tails thinking they had something to do with the Gia Romero murder. He still hadn't stopped being mad at Hugh Fitzcairn for dragging them into that particular mess. Fitz had disappeared for parts unknown, leaving Methos and Amanda to take most of the heat.

Abandoning a very promising teaching gig at Berkeley U, he had sold the filthy VW van, loaded Amanda into the new convertible and hit the PCH. They'd had a glorious six-month adventure heading down the coast, and were now on US Route 395 in the middle of the Mojave Desert.

"I've never seen so many cactuses in all my life," Amanda pouted, motioning to the wide-open space with her joint. "It's so dead out here."

"Amanda, deserts are ecosystems at their most basic," Methos explained, switching radio stations as he heard the opening notes of 'Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head.' "And it's cacti, not cactuses."

"Thank you, professor," Amanda snickered. "You still upset about all that bad business in Berkeley, love?"

Methos just shrugged and took a deep breath of the warm night air. It was so beautiful out here. Not another soul around for miles. The desert reminded him of his youth. Not all of the memories were especially pleasant.

Amanda reached over and laid a hand on his jeans-clad thigh. "You need to relax, Methos. Say, have you met my good friend, Mary Jane?"

Methos glanced at the marijuana cigarette she held out to him and sighed, "You know they only make me sleepy, Amanda. Falling asleep while going seventy down a desert road at night would not be a good thing, I would think."

"Oh it wouldn't kill us!" she giggled and raised her arms above her head like she was riding a roller coaster.

"You can be so self-destructive sometimes, you know," he observed, eyes back on the road.

"Speaking of self-destructive tendencies," she replied, turning to face him. "How long has it been since you've seen Byron?"

Methos couldn't help but notice the forced casualness in her voice as she asked about his old friend. In fact it was Byron whom they were on their way to see.

"Let's just say it's been quite a while," Methos smirked.

"So he's into music these days is he?" Amanda asked, trying not to sound overly interested.

"That's right," he said. "Just came back from a major tour in Europe with his band. Apparently the kids just love him."

"I'll bet," she humpfed, smoothing out the hem of her ultra short baby-doll dress.

Methos grinned in spite of himself. She was so cute when she was jealous.

"Do you have a problem with us going to see Byron?" he asked.

"Of course not," she replied heatedly. "But really, what kind of band plays hotels? They play in exchange for room and board?"

"Actually, I heard this place paid a lot to get him," Methos explained as he slowed just a bit to take a wicked curve. "He's very in demand."

"Whatever," she shrugged. "How much longer, Methos? I'm tired."

"Maybe another hour," he told her.

"Can't we stop for awhile?" she needled. "We've been driving all day long...I could make it worth your while, you know."

The other shoe had fallen, just as he knew it would. Amanda was feeling insecure about their relationship so she needed to prove to him what an exciting, sexy woman she was. He wanted to tell her that she certainly didn't need to prove it to him, but where would be the fun in that?

"What did you have in mind?" he asked slyly as Amanda's hand rubbed playfully along his thigh between his legs.

"I saw this movie once," she purred. "It was called "Desire in the Desert."

Methos took his eyes off the road for a dangerously long moment and read the passion in her eyes. "Tell me more."

"I'll do better than that," she promised, grabbing the steering wheel and forcing them off the road and onto the sand. "I'll show you."

"You'll be the death of me yet, woman!" he said angrily as he recovered control of the car and led them to a smooth stop. He turned off the ignition and grabbed her face between his hands. "But what a way to go."

~~~~~

Night had fallen as Methos revved the Thunderbird's engine and pulled back onto the highway. Between the weed and their strenuous lovemaking, Amanda had passed out and was snuggled against his side. The Immortal shook his head and wondered how utterly dull his long life would have been if not for the lady sleeping next to him.

Several miles later he caught sight of a faint light in the distance. With no help from any signs or guideposts, he assumed this was the place they were looking for. With a quick glance at Amanda, he stepped on the gas pedal.

He and Amanda had been at a roadside café just outside of Bakersfield when he'd seen the flyer. Plastered on the bathroom wall had been an advertisement for George Gordon and his band. Having always had the habit of keeping current on various Immortals' aliases, he was well aware that this sobriquet was what Byron went by these days. His old friend was heavily into the music scene and been playing intimate concerts at small arenas and civic centers.

He had to wonder why he had chosen a hotel in the middle of the desert for his next gig. But Byron had done many things over the years that had left Methos wondering.

It took some cajoling to get Amanda to agree to this little road trip, but he had triumphed in the end. He'd placed a call to Los Angeles, where Rebecca and that awful John Bower were now residing after a brief stay in London. He'd told her where they were headed and hinted that she should join them if she could. Thankfully, at least for Methos, John was on some poetry tour...reciting bad poetry, he assumed, so if Rebecca did make a welcome appearance, she wouldn't be bringing that git with her.

As he neared the building he could see it was an old Spanish mission that had been remodeled as a hotel. Terra cotta-colored adobe walls with Spanish-tiled roofs gave it a South-of-the-border feel. He counted about a dozen cars parked in no apparent order in front of the building, and several oil lamps sitting in the numerous windows.

He nudged Amanda as he pulled off the highway onto the sandy dunes that surrounded the hotel.

"What is it?" she asked groggily as she rubbed her eyes.

"We're here, love," he said distractedly as he studied the words chiseled into the stone facade. "La Mision de la Salida del Sol."

"Is that anything like 'House of the Rising Sun?'" Amanda smirked.

The sound of a bell cut through the warm night air and they both looked up to see a tall bell tower on one side of the mission. Someone was ringing it.

"The call to dinner?" Methos suggested.

"It's definitely the call to something," Amanda laughed.

Just then a shadowy figure appeared at the hotel's entrance.

"Ah, this must be our host," Methos said as he opened the car door and reached for Amanda's hand.

Helping her out after him, Methos slammed the car door and retrieved their bags from the backseat. An elderly Spanish gentleman with snow-white hair and a bushy mustache met them at the door. He was dressed smartly in a starched white suit.

"Buenos noches, senor, senorita," he bowed politely. "Bienvenidos a la Mision de la Salida del Sol. Como estan Ustedes?"

"Bien," Methos replied. "Y Usted, como esta?"

"Eh, como mejor puede esperar con estos viejos huesos," the man sighed.

"Dígame sobre él," Methos replied conspiratorially.

The gentleman looked at him strangely. "Que?"

"Never mind," the Immortal laughed under his breath.

Elbowing Methos in the arm none-too-gently, Amanda took over.

"¿Usted sería tan bueno en cuanto a directo nosotros adentro satisface?" she asked sweetly.

"Si, bueno, sígame," he said, flashing a charming smile in Amanda's direction.

Turning a satisfied grin on her lover, Amanda left Methos to carry their bags in.

"Nice behavior that," he grumped, rubbing his arm as if it were actually sore from where she jabbed him. "Real nice."

With a dramatic sigh, he hefted the bags and followed them in.

He whistled appreciatively when he saw the interior. Brightly-colored mosaic patterns decorated the walls while the floors were covered in ceramic tiles. Just past the entrance was an indoor courtyard with a myriad of trees and plants surrounding a fountain. The roof was open in this area and he could see the stars winking down at him.

When he caught up to Amanda he could tell she'd been flirting shamelessly with the poor old man based on the red hue of his wrinkled face. He thought he heard the frisky gentleman say something about her being as lovely as Dulcinea.

"Wonderful," he muttered, "just go ahead and egg her on."

He was about to break up their little tete a tete when a woman's voice called out.

"Gracias, Alberto. Ahora los dirigiré."

All three turned to see a petite woman with pale skin and flaming red hair that fell to her waist in a thick braid. She had brilliant green eyes and wore a long, black gown that swept the floor. Her bare arms were bound with silver bracelets that flickered in the light of the candle she carried in her hand.

"Greetings," she welcomed Methos and Amanda in a smoky voice that seemed at odds with her youthful appearance. "My name is Rhiannon. I'll be your hostess during your stay here. And I know you will both enjoy your time with us at La Mision de la Salida del Sol. For no one ever leaves here...disappointed."

"L-leave here?" Methos stammered, causing Amanda to cast an evil eye in his direction, as he stumbled forward to take hold of Rhiannon's long, porcelain white hand. "What knacker would choose to do that?"

Wondering what spell he was under, Amanda only wanted to get him into bed, to have him look at her in the way he was fawning over their hostess. She hadn't seen him so wide-eyed in many a moon, and that he was with someone other than her made her a bit furious to add to her fatigue. Not a good combo. "Well," she snipped. "I'm ready to see our room, Rhi. Anytime you want to point it out would be groovy."

It was as if she wasn't even there. Methos was totally under the witchy woman's spell as he blubbered, "I'm Noah, no Roger, no... damn," he mused. Amanda could tell he was trying to remember his new alias. It was as if Methos had stepped into the Twilight Zone, and it wasn't at attractive.

"Jared, darling," Amanda purred. "It's been a long day. I believe we should-"

"Yes! That's right!" Methos trumpeted. "Jared Burke, at your service." Methos still hadn't let go of the woman's hand, and his smile was completely out of line.

Rhiannon chuckled as if this was a daily occurrence for men to fall over her and expertly freed herself from Methos and again held the candle with both hands. "My pet. It is I who is at your service. Anything you want. You just have to ask."

Amanda nudged Methos' shoulder. "Since she's not listening to me, why don't you tell her we want our room?"

"Of course I heard you, Miss," Rhiannon told Amanda, but her vivid eyes never left Methos' face. "Right this way."

Rhiannon floated across the tile floor, her hair longer than Amanda expected when she turned her back on them. The old man had disappeared. There was no one to carry their bags, as Methos had almost sprinted after the witch. Amanda wasn't going to stoop to manual labor, so she just collected her makeup case and waltzed behind them.

At the far end of the lobby was a life size poster of George Gordon and his band. If she was certain of one thing, it was that was Lord Byron and he hadn't lost his sense of fun if his twinkling dark eyes were any indication.

Methos must have noticed the poster as well, as he mentioned to Rhiannon that he was friends with him. Amanda was getting more than annoyed that Methos had seemingly forgot she even existed in the presence of the woman in black.

"Mr. Gordon and his friends are to arrive this evening, but as yet," Rhiannon said as she turned to them. "We are sorely lacking their company."

"You'd know if they were around, I'm sure." Methos watched Rhiannon rise up a wide, stone flight of stairs. "It's awfully quiet, isn't it?"

Rhiannon turned at the top of the stairs, which was a long hallway with arches with various doors that had to be rooms that ran the length of a courtyard. "Mr. Marek prefers the sounds of silence."

"Mr. Marek?" Amanda asked as she walked past Methos up the stairs. "Who's he?"

"Why, your host, of course," Rhiannon said with an ethereal expression.

Amanda was really getting tired of that dame. She asked, "So, where's our room?"

"The suite at the end," she motioned to the left.

"Thanks, toots." Amanda turned to Methos. "You coming?"

"Of course he will follow you," Rhiannon said. Amanda cast a glance over her shoulder at her. "He is very much in love with you."

"Oh?" Amanda was surprised at that admission. How could she tell? Since Rhiannon arrived, Methos hadn't acted like he even knew Amanda. But then, she recovered and said haughtily, "Of course he is." She pointed at Methos. "You. Come."

The heavy wooden door to their suite was surprisingly unlocked when Amanda tried the old bronze knob. The arch over the door had a peculiar pattern set into the tile, but Amanda didn't take the time to scrutinize it. It seemed that Rhiannon had left, or rather flew away, as she didn't seem to mortally walk. The woman wasn't immortal, but there was something more than strange about her that Amanda couldn't put her finger on.

As the door thudded against the wall, Amanda gasped in delight at the sight of the room. The soft flicker of candlelight bathed the room in a golden glow. Dozens of ivory candles of various sizes twinkled at her: thick pillars candles rested in ornately carved wrought iron stands, thin tapers stood sentinel in grand candelabras, tiny votives sparkled in crystal cups.

"Isn't this grand?" she clapped her hands together any jealous thoughts gone. "Candles everywhere. How romantic!"

Methos grabbed her hand. "Yes, lovely, but I'm more intrigued by that."

In the middle of the room was a high, white gauze draped, canopy king-sized bed with white linen bedding. Amanda set her case on it and was immediately attacked from behind. Laughing in surprise, she allowed Methos to throw her on the bed as if he had staked his claim and cover her with kisses. "My God! What got into you?" She assumed it was that woman, but Amanda didn't care how Methos got revved up. She was going to hitch a ride and drive him for miles.

"I'm going to get into you in a matter of minutes," Methos grunted as he grabbed for her clothes.

"My thoughts exactly, big guy." Amanda was only too happy to oblige and helped him strip her. She heard her case crash to the tile floor, but she didn't care. She laid her head back on the bed and saw Methos' back over her in the mirror of the canopy. "Oh!" she cooed. "I love it!"

"I'm going to show you moves you've never dreamed of, luv," Methos grunted again.

Amanda flipped them over as she ripped off her top, then kissed Methos, who was looking up at himself with a satisfied grin. She put her head next to him and smiled up at the mirror. "There's a first time for everything, my darling."

"This is going to be interesting. Do something so I can watch it."

Amanda giggled. "What do you have in mind?" She ripped open his shirt, buttons flying across the room.

"No, something so I can see it. You're in the way."

Amanda wiggled her butt, which made Methos chuckle and touch her, seemingly to see what his hand looked like on the small of her back, her thigh, her shoulders. When he tickled her, she shrieked and lifted her head. When she caught a glimpse of the far corner of the room, her playfulness turned horrific. A tall man seemed to be walking out from behind the heavy drapery of the window.

Amanda clutched at the bedspread, and pulled it to her chest. Methos immediately jumped off the bed and yelled, "Getting your kicks?" at the man as he rushed toward him.

Methos grabbed hold of the man's neck and pulled him to the center of the room. It wasn't a man at all. It was a cardboard cutout of a life-sized cutout of a man decked out in black cape with deadly serious emerald eyes. The man's neck crinkled in Methos' hand; he let the cardboard fall to the floor. "Didn't put up much of a fight."

"What is that ghastly thing doing in our room? Just what kind of place is this, Methos?"

"Don't call me that." Methos suddenly looked completely paranoid. "The walls may have ears."

The myriad of emotions that man had exhibited since they arrived was enough to stump Amanda completely, but she just racked his behavior up to Methos being Methos. He may act carefree, but she knew he was always on guard. She sat comfortably in bed and saw a plate of chocolates on the bedside table. She popped one in her mouth. "Hm. Creamy. They're excellent. Want one?"

Amanda took the plate and laid back sideways on the bed as she savored the chocolate as it melted in her mouth. She set the plate on her chest and took another chocolate. "They're really good. Try one."

Methos shed his shirt and flopped onto the bed and moved the plate of chocolate aside to nibble at her exposed breast. Amanda giggled as she took a light hold of Methos' hair, then suddenly sucked in her breath, eyes wide. Methos looked at her. "Loving looking at yourself?"

"Yeah, all three of me," Amanda snickered as she pointed to her many selves in the mirror.

"Three?" Amanda giggled and used her hand to position his face so he could see the mirror. Puzzled, he rolled on his side and took a long look at his companion. "Not that the idea of having three of you in bed doesn't turn me on, but I'm only seeing one of you, Amanda."

"Really?" Her brows knitted together and she raised her outstretched finger in the air. "Cuz I'm seeing one, two, three."

"Good grief, woman, are you doing acid again?"

"Uh," she mumbled as she plopped another chocolate into her mouth. "Don't think so."

Methos watched the dreamy smile on her lips as she enjoyed the sweet morsel. Then it occurred to him that just maybe the candies were responsible for her rapidly deteriorating mental state. The intensity with which she was licking her fingertips was both oddly unnerving and erotic.

Not caring to watch a repeat of her 'trip' at Woodstock, Methos plucked the plate out of her reach and sat it on the floor. Amanda a little high was a joy to make to love to, however, Amanda whacked out on acid gave him a headache. After he made sure the plate was out of sight, he rolled over and pulled her against him. Her moans of pleasure sent the blood rushing to his groin.

"Let's get rid of the rest of these clothes, darling," she hooked her finger in one of his belt loops after she twisted around to face him. "It's been too long since I've felt your skin against mine."

Obediently, he moved over onto his back allowing her full access. She straddled his hips and ran her hands from his waist up his chest lowering herself so that her skin slid enticingly against his. He arched his body and grasped her bottom pulling her tight against his pelvis. The sudden need to be inside her was leaving him dizzy.

"Now, now," she whispered. "Relax, darling, I'm not finished with you yet."

Methos started to protest but Amanda's mouth covered his before a world could be spoken. Her mouth worked its way down to his neck and many long years together had given Amanda the knowledge of all of his most sensitive areas. As he felt her mouth go lower down his collarbone, he opened his eyes and watched in fascination as her naked reflection slithered down his bare chest.

Amanda was creature of no inhibitions, even less so when under the influence of pharmaceuticals. For a split second he wondered what had possessed her to eat the candies with considering the ramifications, but when her tongue circled his navel all coherent thought fled his mind.

He groaned when her mouth abandoned his navel and traced the path to the waistband of his low slung jeans. As each button popped loose, he shuddered. His minx knew exactly what she was doing, high or not. He raised his hips enough so that she was able to pull his jeans down lean hips. The dull sound of them landing in a heap on the floor made him eager with anticipation.

"Come here, Amanda," he commanded in a voice rough with desire. "Let's finish this."

Amanda crawled up the bed and straddled his hips again. "Your wish," she lowered herself down on a bit and smiled as he gasped, "is my," she eased even lower, "command."

It was her turn to gasp as he thrust up to meet her.

~~~~~

Rhiannon moved about the silent hotel locking doors and closing shutters against the cooling night air. The sounds of the night called to her. After all was settled inside, she walked down the familiar hallways and out through a set of patio doors into the welcoming glow of the full moon. Off in distance, a coyote howled and she smiled.

She raised her hands above her head, offering supplication to the night time sky. The moonlight glinted of the moonstone pendant on the heavy silver chain around her neck. She whispered ancient words and moved through the motions of a long forgotten dance as she savored the peace offered by the darkness. Once the ritual was complete, she smiled in contentment.

"Bravo," a masculine voice from the shadows applauded. "Magnificent as always."

"Thank you," she murmured as she took a seat on a chaise lounge. "I'm pleased that you approve, Anton."

"How could I not?" Anton Marek stepped out of the shadows and into the soft glow of moonlight. His emerald eyes focused on her as he gallantly bowed. "Your beauty is unparalleled."

"So you have said."

"What I say I mean," the tall, thin man moved to take a seat next to her. "Have my guests arrived?"

"Amanda and Jared checked in a couple of hours ago," she said. "The others haven't."

"Ah," Anton's malevolent smile twisted his handsome features into a macabre mask. "That would explain the loud noises coming from the master suite."

"Anton, must you spy on my guests?"

"Madam, I'd remind you that they are my guests."

"That maybe so, but this is still my hotel," she pointed out, her voice firm and unyielding. "Or have you forgotten?"

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

Rhiannon fought the urge to reply. Instead she closed her eyes and repeated a calming mantra. The man sitting so close to her made her skin crawl, but she had no choice at the moment in her association with him. No matter, she'd been through worse in her life, and she'd always come out the other side relatively unscathed. Finding a way to get rid of her 'benefactor' would be found in good time.

"Let's not argue, Anton," she sighed. "It's been a long day."

"Would you care for a drink?" he unfolded himself from his chair. "A brandy, perhaps?"

"That sounds divine."

Anton crossed the stone patio and stepped behind the small bar. While he poured their drinks, he asked, "Did you leave Amanda's gift as I asked?"

"I left the chocolates on her bedside table," Rhiannon replied.

"Good, good," Anton handed her drink and took his seat. "I'm sure her lover will also appreciate my little gift."

"I'm sure he will," she agreed. "However, I suspect those two do not need encouragement in their lovemaking."

"Of course, they don't." He drained his glass and sat it on the table, "but it's all a part of the game, darling."

Rhiannon still wasn't quite sure what Marek's "game" consisted of, but she knew better than to question him about it now. All she knew was that it involved Immortals-a strange race that Anton Marek himself had introduced her to a little over three years ago.

She'd been twenty-four at the time and too young to think that some actions had ghastly consequences. For years she's been aware of the special powers she seemed to possess. As a child she was afraid of them, not so much because of what they could do, but because her powers made her different from everyone else. She didn't feel like she fit in anywhere, so she hid her gift. As she grew older though, she started reading books on magic and witchcraft and learned to appreciate the gift she had been given.

When she turned 21, she moved from her native Boston to San Francisco, ostensibly to attend college, but dropped out and began to study magic full time. She soon had gathered around her a small coven of like-minded young women. Not all of them joined up to practice their craft, however. Like the rich Senator's daughter who finagled her way into the group by promising funds to pay for the coven's continued existence.

One night on a grassy hilltop during a nightly ceremony, things got out of hand and the Senator's daughter-strung out on heroin-ended up slitting her wrists with a ritual knife. The police traced the knife to Rhiannon's coven and consequently, to her.

That's when Anton Marek had entered the picture. He'd come out of nowhere just when she needed him the most. He had friends in very high places and within a few weeks, the Senator dropped the charges and the entire investigation was scrapped. After that, Marek had revealed the secret of his Immortality to her. In exchange for his assistance, he enlisted her aide in his Immortal fights. It was quite easy for Rhiannon to bewitch an opponent, making it an easy kill for Marek.

They traveled throughout the Golden State eliminating every Immortal who had the rotten luck to run into them. Sometimes one of them issued the challenge, but mostly it was Marek who initiated the fight. With Rhiannon's help, he was guaranteed victory. To show his appreciation, he'd purchased the old, abandoned mission for her.

Marek had never planned anything on this large of a scale though. A few months ago he booked a rock singer he knew to be Immortal, banking on the hope that his presence would entice others to follow. So far his plan was working, and it looked bleak for the Immortals who'd stopped for the night.

"My dear, you seem to be a million miles away," Marek's low voice interrupted her reverie. "Is something on your mind?"

"Of course not," she lied smoothly, and then drained the brandy from her glass. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

"And a productive one at that," Marek smiled, raising his glass in salute. "Tomorrow the main attraction arrives. The great George Gordon and his band of followers."

"They won't all be Immortal, you know," Rhiannon reminded him. "Most of them will probably be hippies celebrating their ephemeral mortal existences. Not much of a challenge for you."

"To be sure, just because they're mortal doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun with them!" Marek laughed. "Now I suggest you retire to your room, Rhiannon. We have a busy day ahead of us."

Nodding her head in agreement, she slipped silently from the patio and into the courtyard. Once inside, she lit a candle and climbed the huge staircase, but she did not go straight to her room. She padded softly down the long hall until she reached the suite at the end. She pushed the door open quietly. Normally, such a large wooden door would have made noise, but Rhiannon had just the right touch.

Entering the room, her eyes were immediately drawn to the big canopy bed. Through its diaphanous drapes she spied Jared and Amanda. The scene was very sensual and even the seasoned witch had the good graces to blush.

Amanda was languidly stretched out on her back like a cat, her long black hair spilling over the white linen pillowcase. Jared was tucked against her side, one hand resting on a breast and one lean leg draped possessively across her hips. The thin sheet had been pushed down to the foot end of the bed leaving them completely exposed, and completely oblivious to their situation.

They were both extremely beautiful people and for a moment Rhiannon longed to have such passion in her own life. She was aware of the power she had over most men-Jared's behavior had proven it once again-but just once she wished she could entice a man without her special powers.

She stepped further into the room and walked toward the bed. Kneeling down, she picked up the half-empty plate of chocolates and set it on the night stand. She was tempted to try one herself; she'd always had a weakness for chocolate. But she knew better.

Leaning over Jared's form, she reached out and pushed the dark waves of hair from his forehead. She couldn't deny he was very handsome. Amanda was a lucky woman to have his love. She didn't know if they were the types to sleep heavily or wake at the slightest sound, but through her magic she was able to study them without fear that they'd wake up.

Smiling faintly, Rhiannon lay her hand against Jared's forehead and gasped. He was dreaming. She saw him dressed in Nineteenth Century finery, sprawled on a low sofa. His eyes were full of mischief as they followed a petite blonde around the room. When the girl came within his grasp, he reached out and caught her about the waist, pulling her onto his lap. She struggled at first but soon dissolved into giggles as he softly bit the side of her neck.

Beside the sofa, in a high wingback chair sat the man she knew as George Gordon. Similarly dressed in close-fitting breeches and a loose white shirt, he sipped a glass of a pale liquid she didn't recognize. Gordon laughed with delight and said something to his companions, but she couldn't make out what was it was.

When Jared murmured in his sleep, Rhiannon jerked her hand back. It was as though he knew she was spying on him. But that couldn't be possible, she told herself. Daring to take one last liberty, she leaned forward and kissed Jared on the mouth. Even in sleep, his kiss was sweet and filled with promise. Yes, Amanda was a lucky woman, indeed.

Using to the candle to light her way, she moved across the room and pulled the door shut behind her.

~~~~~

NEW YORK CITY

Rebecca was downright terrified. Bolting upright in bed, gasping for breath and clutching her heart, the nightmare didn't subside. The vision of Amanda struggling as flames grew around her with Methos on his hands and knees on a tile floor uttering Aramaic as if he were in great pain still danced before her eyes. The fact that Methos was just kissed by some faceless woman who wasn't Amanda rumbled in her gut. Her eyes darted around the darkness around her. The still calm of her hotel room didn't allow Rebecca to catch her breath.

Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding, a feeling of dread had swollen in her soul, so Rebecca tried to enforce thoughts and ancient verses to calm her mind and body but no words could be verbalized. More visions pounded on her that she couldn't decipher, but Hugh Fitzcairn was definitely involved with a circle of strangers. He was chanting along with them some verses she couldn't make out and they danced hand in hand in a circle around a tall figure in a black cloak.

Shaken to her core and fatigued from fright, Rebecca fell back onto her hotel bed and wished she was not alone. The clock indicated that John should have been finished with his reading and hopefully would return to her soon to pull her out of this phantasm that make her ache. As quickly as she had awaken, Rebecca fell back into her dream state.

~~~~~

Something, or someone, had intruded on Rhiannon's reverie. Seven candles circled her recumbent form on the floor of her chapel. She had laid Narcissus and daffodils on her chest as offering to the goddess and had held the bloodstone amulet as high as she could to receive wisdom when she was interrupted. The visions of Amanda writhing on the floor as Marek in his cloak circled her and Jared speaking in tongues on all fours wasn't at all what she expected from the goddess. She had wanted to gain knowledge of George Gordon and what may happen to him in Marek's hands, but she received a flash of a woman with long red hair such as her own, who seemed much more older and wiser than Rhiannon would ever hope to be. Knowledge was power, and Rhiannon wanted to allow her dream state to continue to find out all she could, but as soon as that red headed woman appeared, Rhiannon bolted up off the floor and the visions stopped as soon as they began.

~~~~~

Rebecca stirred as John finally joined her in bed. His arm wrapped around her waist as he spooned in close to her. She muttered, "How did the reading go?"

"Just fine. I was invited to read in Chicago next weekend," he whispered, not wanting to completely wake her as it was quite late.

"I need to see Fitz," Rebecca moaned but her eyes remained closed.

"Why is that?" That name from the past had spooked him. During their travels after being dropped off at the airport with the blond Brit, they hadn't spoken at all of the events that had brought them both into great danger.

Rebecca opened her eyes at his question and stared at him. Then, as if quite confused, she rapidly blinked her eyes and finally admitted, "I don't remember."

"You will come with me to Chicago," John said confidently and snuggled himself against her once again.

"No, I need to..." Rebecca got out of the bed, much to John's surprise and disappointment. "Fitz is still in California. I must find him. I don't know why," she said as she moved to the window and looked out at the darkness blanketing the city of angels. "Something has happened, or will, but I can't remember."

"You can't remember what will happen?" he asked lightly with a small chuckle. There were times when she completely astonished him and knew she could see more than the average mortal, or immortal.

"I spoke with Jared, Noah, a few days ago. He wanted me to meet him at some hotel with Amanda. That I remember. I remember talking to him. But... I saw something in my dream and... I don't remember it. All I remember is Fitz. I have to see him. I think, I have to bring him with me."

"What hotel? In the city here?"

"No. A world away. That was why I didn't mention it before," she said in a stronger voice as she was obviously fully awake now. "I wasn't going to go because it would take me away from you. But now..."

Rebecca instantly started to pack her suitcase, which wasn't much of a job since they had been living out of suitcases for the months, ready to leave in an instant with every inclination or job he acquired without notice. She said, almost as an afterthought, "I need to go to Fitz and... make sure he is all right, I think."

"Rebecca," John laughed. "You're not making sense."

When she pulled on some clothes and made for the door, he yelled, "You're leaving? Now?"

Rebecca turned around a bit embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I am not used to having someone who cares where and when I go." She kissed him lightly on the lips and said with sorrow, "I will be in touch, but I must go."

"Rebecca, seriously, I think your friends are quite capable of fending for themselves," he grabbed her hand. "Stay here with me."

"I can't," she replied. "If my friends are in danger, I cannot sit idly by and do nothing to stop it."

"You don't know that they are," he pointed out. "All you have are some 'visions'," he made air quotes, "and hardly anything you should go running off in the middle of the night for."

"Excuse me, John, but this is something you know nothing about," she pulled her hand out of his grasp. "I learned years ago to trust my instincts about these matters. Now, if you will pardon me, I call you when I reach California."

"Rebecca, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to discount your feelings."

"It's alright, John, really," she softened her words. "Life with one of us is not always full of easy explanations; you will have to trust me on this."

"May I at least escort you to the airport?"

"I'd love nothing more," she leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips.

~~~~~

Rebecca tossed a handful bills to the cab driver and exited the vehicle in a flurry of motion. The flight from New York to Detroit had been nerve rattling. As usual she had gotten stuck sitting next to an obnoxious business man intent on wooing her. It didn't help matters that he'd alternately smoked and drank the entire flight, in between not so subtle innuendos about her appearance. She had breathed a sight of relief when they'd touched down in the Motor City.

Fitz had given her his address last month when she'd called to check up on him. Apparently, the charming Englishman had decided to try his hand at record producing for Barry Gordy's Motown label. He'd even sent her a box filled with an assortment of records. She and John had spent many recent evenings grooving to the soulful sounds of the Supremes, Marvin Gaye, and Stevie Wonder. She was glad that she and John were able to part on good terms, although she was certain that he was still less than thrilled with her abrupt departure.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried up the stairs to the townhouse. Midway up the stairs, the welcome buzz of another Immortal skimmed over and relief filled her heart. The last thing she wanted to do was try to track down a wayward Fitzcairn. The early morning sun felt good on her body and morning air lifted the fog around her brain from the lackluster trip.

Pressing the button beside the door, she tapped her foot and waited for Hugh to answer the door. After several attempts no one came to let her in, so she raised her hand and began to assault the wooden door with her fist. Finally, a curtain parted and the curly head of her dear friend materialized. His sleepy eyes lit up when he recognized his early morning visitor.

"Rebecca, darling," he threw open the door and swept out his arm in welcome. "Come in and tell me what brings a fine lass, such as yourself, to my door in the wee hours of the morning?"

"Nothing good, I'm afraid," she told him as she walked into the house. "You must pack a bag now. We're going to California."

Fitz held up his hands and began to argue. "Not likely, luv. I've had more than my share of that fair state to last me a lifetime."

"I'm sorry, Hugh, but you really have no choice," she collapsed on the sofa with exhaustion. "Believe me, I would not ask it of you unless it was of the utmost importance."

Seeing the lines of worry etched in her forehead and the dark circles under her eyes, Fitz sank into the chair across from her. "Are you in trouble?"

"Fortunately, not at the moment," she stretched her legs out onto the sofa and closed her eyes. "However, our mutual friends are and we may soon be."

"Oh, dear," he sighed. "I assume you are speaking of darling Amanda and Noah?"

"Yes," Rebecca replied. "I've had some disconcerting visions as of late and-"

"No need." He stood up and looked around for a moment. The happy go lucky facade faded immediately replaced with seriousness. He knew Rebecca well enough to know that she didn't joke when it come to her visions. "Let me call my office and let them know I will be out of town for a few days. You rest while I gather my things and then we shall head to the airport."

"Thank you," she smiled. "I appreciate your help."

"Piffle, it's the least I can do," he grinned making the mischief return to his eyes. "I owe those two, and Hugh Fitzcairn never forgets a debt."

~~~~~

Methos hadn't seen such bounty since the early days of the Roman Empire. Although certifiable, Caligula sure knew how to prepare a feast where food was concerned. The old immortal tucked away those particularly disturbing memories as he joined Amanda in the dining hall for breakfast. He'd awoken refreshed and strangely giddy. Granted, Amanda had been her usual insatiable self last night, but he hadn't felt this alive in years.

"Sure beats the truck stop we ate in yesterday morning," Amanda grinned as Methos pulled out a chair for her at the large round table.

"It is quite a spread, isn't it?" Rhiannon spoke from the doorway. She was dressed in a cobalt blue gown this morning with long bell sleeves. Her red hair was piled on top of her head in a complicated twist.

Much to Amanda's dismay, Methos stood up like Pavlov's dog as the mysterious young woman entered the room. Since when did he behave like such a gentleman? In reference to the food, Amanda sniffed and replied, "I've had better."

Methos smirked as he reclaimed his seat. "And when was that?"

'The coronation of Queen Victoria,' she wanted to say, but knew that would not be wise with their mortal eavesdropper.

"Mr. Marek wanted to be sure that his guests have the best of everything," Rhiannon announced with a smile. As she went around the table, she pointed out the different dishes. "French toast. Bread pudding with spiced pears. Oven-baked pepper bacon. Blueberry souffle, pancakes, croissants, and pain au chocolat. Cream cheese and scallion scrambled eggs. Beignets and café au lait. Maple-glazed apple tarts. Dried cherry scones with apple butter."

Amanda's mouth began to water. And was that her stomach growling? She silently commanded her belly to behave.

"And for the thirsty travelers," she added, bringing over a glass pitcher from a side board, "Mimosa."

"Champagne for breakfast?" Methos remarked with a raised eyebrow. "How decadent."

"As I said before," Rhiannon said as she took a seat beside Methos, "Mr. Marek only deals in the finer things of life."

"Where exactly is this guy, anyway?" Amanda asked as she piled her plate with bacon, eggs and croissants. "For such a charming host, he sure doesn't show his face a lot. And for that matter, where are all the other guests?"

"Actually, at the moment, you and Jared are the only guests at the hotel," Rhiannon answered.

A buttered scone halfway to his lips, Methos turned to her. "And why exactly is that?"

It served Amanda's heart good that Methos was cautious once again. He wasn't just lapping everything that woman offered them with a blind eye to possible consequences, which was so unlike him. There was definitely something quite strange going on with him since coming to the hotel.

"Don't worry," Rhiannon assured him as she poured some of the orange juice/champagne mixture into a glass. "The others will arrive for the concert. And speaking of the concert&ldots;"

Her last words were lost to Amanda as she suddenly felt a familiar chill crawl up her spine. A quick glance in Methos' direction showed her he felt the same thing: Immortal. Two sets of eyes turned to the doorway to witness the arrival of another guest.

A slow smile, half relief, half pleasure, spread across Methos' face. "Well, well. Look what we have here."

"And a joy it is to see you as well, Doc," Byron said with droll humor.

Amanda studied Lord Byron carefully. One should always familiarize herself with any possible enemies in her midst. Rebecca taught her that. Since it had been a hundred years since she was Byron's guest, she familiarized herself with his presence pondering whether or not he was still as perverse as in the past.

The lean Immortal was Methos' height. He still had dark, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders and a look in his brown eyes that might have been mischief or distrust. The world-renown poet certainly looked the part of the rock star with his black leather pants and matching suit jacket, Cuban-heeled boots and tiny round-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose. A purple and white flowered shirt completed the ensemble, the long frilly cuffs peeking out below the sleeves of the jacket. The cane he used to walk could have been clumsy or something to bring out sympathy from onlookers, but how he casually used it made him look mysterious, as if he didn't need to at all.

She could definitely see this man writhing on a stage before hundreds of screaming teenage girls. Her thoughts were interrupted as Methos rose from his chair and crossed the room to greet his friend. They embraced each other with noticeable familiarity and stayed that way much too long for Amanda's taste. Finally, she rolled her eyes and cleared her throat loudly.

Both men turned to stare at Amanda. An amused smile twitched Byron's lips as he stepped forward and gingerly took Amanda's hand in his. "And this lovely maiden..."

"That would be Amanda," Methos muttered as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Of course, the ravishing Amanda," he said, bending to press his lips to her hand. "It is a pleasure to behold your beauty once again. Doc keeps waxing poetic in regards to you."

Bless his poetic little heart, Amanda thought as she smiled and allowed her hand to be kissed.

"I didn't know you were a doctor, Jared," Rhiannon spoke up.

"Ah&ldots;I'm not, it's just an old nickname," Methos explained carefully.

With Rhiannon's knowledge of Immortals, not to mention what she had seen in Jared's dream the night before, she was certain their friendship went back a ways, and that the nickname meant a great deal more than he was admitting.

When Rhiannon had spoken, Amanda noticed that Byron's attention was immediately drawn to her. Well, this could be an interesting development. Fix him up with the hostess and maybe he'll leave my man alone.

"George, darling," she crooned, "have you met our lovely hostess, Rhiannon?"

Dropping Amanda's hand abruptly, Byron glided around the table and looked intently at Rhiannon as he removed his glasses and put them in his breast pocket. As he had with Amanda, he brought Rhiannon's hand to his lips. Amanda noted with delight that they lingered on the young girl's skin longer than they had on hers. For the first time in her long life, Amanda was glad that another woman was getting more male attention than herself.

"I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure," Byron said in a melodic voice. "George Gordon, milady, at your service."

This time it was Methos who rolled his eyes. He knew what a ladies' man his friend was, and if he had set his sights on Rhiannon, then it was a sure bet she'd be in his bed tonight.

"Mr. Gordon," Rhiannon smiled politely, "I'm so glad you could make it. Mr. Marek is very excited about having you perform here."

"And I cannot wait to perform for you," he replied smoothly as he settled into a chair beside her. How he had pronounced the simple word 'perform' made it obvious he meant more than just singing.

"So where's your band, George?" Amanda asked, gleefully going back to her breakfast with the hope that she'd be able to keep both Byron and Rhiannon away from Methos. "What's it called, again?"

"The Gathering," Byron informed her with a wink in Methos' direction. Turning back to Rhiannon, he explained, "The boys are unloading the van. I hope our rooms are ready. It's been a long drive."

"Of course," Rhiannon assured him. "In fact, I'll see that the band gets to their rooms while you enjoy breakfast with your old friends."

As she rose to leave, she cocked her head to one side as if she's heard something. Demurely she sat back down again and said, "On second thought, I am quite hungry myself. I'll join you if you don't mind."

"A wonderful idea," Byron exclaimed as he reached for a plate. "So tell me Doc, what have you been up to since I last saw you?"

Since 1818? Methos thought as he poured thick maple syrup on a blueberry pancake. Well that could certainly take some time. Instead he said, "Oh you know. A little of this, a little of that. Just trying to keep busy. And yourself?"

"Seeing the world from a new perspective," Byron declared. "You wouldn't believe the things you can see from the stage."

"Lonely women baring their breasts?" Amanda suggested helpfully.

Byron let out a bark of laughter. "Among other things. But what I'm talking about is something much more ephemeral, much more&ldots;fleeting."

"Enjoying yourself then?" Methos questioned.

"Doc, we live in a time where music is being used to underscore the visceral underbelly of the human emotion," he explained, eyes glowing with intensity.

"Not to mention it's got a good beat and you can dance to it," Amanda supplied.

Ignoring his lover's flippant remark, Methos set his fork down and leaned forward. "And your writing?"

"I haven't been this inspired since the holiday we spent with the Shelleys," his old friend remarked.

Methos narrowed his eyes and minutely motioned his head toward Rhiannon, as he quickly added for her benefit, "The Morton and Silvia Shelleys from New Hampshire. George and I spent some time with them in summer of '60."

Shaking his head at Methos' overgrown sense of paranoia, Byron continued, "We have so many artists, musical geniuses really, out there right now. Lennon and McCartney, Clapton, Dylan, Jagger, Townsend, Donovan. I mean, the list goes on."

"And now we can add George Gordon and the Gathering to that list," Rhiannon replied, earning a smile from Byron.

"You're most kind," he said with a slight bow of his head, "But I've only just begun to make my mark in the music industry."

"And a distinguishing mark it'll be, I'm sure," Methos grinned.

Rhiannon was the first to notice the new arrival. She met his questioning gaze with a subtle nod and announced, "Everyone, it gives me great pleasure to introduce your host. Mr. Anton Marek."

Amanda looked at the tall man who entered the dining room twice to believe it. As Methos and Byron both looked back at him, Amanda asked, "Why was there a picture of you in our room last night?"

"Oh?" Byron asked with amusement in his voice.

"My way of welcoming you to our little soiree," Marek's deep voice oozed. "You did enjoy your evening, I trust, Miss Amanda?"

"Yeah," she said loudly with a wink to Methos, but whispered, "No thanks to him."

"Oh, everything that happens here at the La Mision de la Salida del Sol is due to me, Miss Amanda," Marek cockily droned as he joined them at the table, bowing his head to Methos and Byron.

"What's going to happen here, Marek?" Methos asked.

"All you shall desire," Marek replied.

Byron chortled, "Now that is the credo of the perfect host, in my humble opinion."

Amanda wondered when Byron had ever been 'humble,' and was still a bit rattled that Marek had heard the whisper that was meant only for Methos. As small talk continued, Amanda remained tight lipped throughout the rest of the meal. Mr. Marek hadn't eaten a thing, even though a spread she hadn't seen in decades was laid out before them. Byron, on the other hand, was lapping up everything he could get his hands on as if he'd never seen food. He usually did everything to the extreme. Methos had done a pretty good imitation of his friend. Rhiannon seemed in a dream state until Marek once again mentioned 'his' hotel; Amanda noticed the leer Rhiannon shot at him and would remember it. She wanted to know as much as she could about her host and hostess, even if Methos wasn't. Why he wasn't was gnawing at her. It was as if he was acting as he had only one other time she could remember.

"How long have you two been together?" Amanda asked after a silence where Marek and Rhiannon hadn't seemed to dare look at each other. Marek's inspection of her was too thorough and made Amanda uncomfortable.

"Rhiannon and I have been lovers for years, Miss Amanda. I might ask the same about you and Jared."

"You might."

Byron sprawled heavily in his chair, his shoulder up against Methos'. The searing jealousy of his touching her lover made her poked Methos on the arm. "Darling? Would you care for a stroll around the grounds?"

Methos looked to her, then to Byron. The two men hadn't really spoken directly to each other, but she felt there was some sort of connection already formed between them that she wasn't at all happy about. As if he had gotten the okay from a parent when Byron shrugged and went back to eating, Methos told her, "I was going to talk with George here, but sure. A little exercise would do us some good after all this." His hands spread over the half empty plates in the middle of the table.

"If I have to twist your arm, I'll go alone." Amanda rose from her chair and tossed her napkin on the table.

"The cat is a bit riled," Byron purred with a smile that seemed too wicked for its own good. "And here I just arrived."

"Everything isn't about you, George," Amanda snipped and walked out to the courtyard. It felt great to get away from all of them. The carefree ecstacy she had felt the night before now seemed a bit too much. How Methos had reacted to first Rhiannon, then Byron... Amanda felt like he was interested in everyone but her and felt totally vulnerable. Damn him! Doesn't he remember the last time they were with Byron? Granted she had been too high to remember details, but there were two very important matters she remembered vividly. As much as Methos tried to tell her otherwise, she was not hallucinating.

When she felt Methos' presence behind her, she didn't feel glad, as she normally would. She tensed up and gripped the rail of the balcony as he eased himself against her and held her from behind, whispering in her ear, "What's the matter? Let papa take care of it."

"What's the matter? Can you actually ask me that? When you told me we were meeting him, I didn't really want to, you know."

"Oh, I remember," Methos chuckled. He kissed her cheek. "Thank you for coming with me. I couldn't stand it if you hadn't."

"I thought things would be different. I thought we were different now. But we're not."

"What are you talking about?" Methos actually sounded confused.

Amanda spun around in Methos' arms and studied his face. "We weren't 'together' then, we are now, and you're starting to act just like you did then."

"Act how?"

"Under his thumb. It's not attractive, luv. Not at all."

"I'm not under anyone's thumb."

"Really? If you want to spend time with him, go ahead. Don't let me stop you. I can find something to occupy my time."

"I chose to be here with you."

"After telling me you'd rather be with him."

"When did I do that?"

"'I was going to talk with George here, but sure. A little exercise would do us some good after all this.' Gee thanks. You know how to sweep a woman off her feet. You're just going to pacify me with a little walk and then run back to him?"

Methos laughed as he held her tighter. "Never let it be said I ever understood women, especially you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, luv. Let's walk. That's what you wanted to do."

"And you wanted to talk to him. Decide."

Methos groaned long and hard with a look at her that indicated he was through with the-to his mind-nonsensical conversation. "You wear jealousy well, Mandy."

Amanda tried to charge off in a huff, but Methos grabbed hold of her and tickled her under her ribs, right where she knew he knew she was most vulnerable. She slapped at him playfully as she got free, then took his arm and pulled it over her shoulders as they walked down the steps to the courtyard.

As they looked over the flowers, walking slowly through the courtyard, Amanda vividly remembered being in France, a guest of Lord Byron, and being surprised to see Methos there under the guise of Dr. Benjamin Adams.

~~~~~

1818

When Amanda had first seen Phillipe during a visit to her teacher's abbey, Amanda thought Rebecca's latest student was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen, and she had seen quite a few. Golden hair, deep tan, wide shoulders, tight derriere, luscious smile and twinkling eyes had drawn her in and before long, they were journeying the French countryside together. For an entire year they did nothing but ride, eat, and make love. Once in a while they ran into an immortal. On the one occasion they didn't flee as soon as the buzz was felt, Phillipe had gallantly taken his head for a remark about Amanda that a lady would never repeat.

During her time with Phillipe, Amanda had polished her French, remembered what it was like to live as others do without determining if everyone who crossed their path was a worthwhile swindle, and most of all had fun. Amanda hadn't remembered laughing as much as she had the past year. One morning on a ride from Chamonix in the south west of France to Paris to see Beethoven at the Palais Royal, Amanda and Phillipe literally ran into the one and only Lord Byron. The man had been sleeping in the middle of the road, and Amanda's horse almost pulverized him because her eyes were usually only on Phillipe's gorgeous form. He was even more so when he was atop a horse. One wild beast controlling another. When Byron introduced himself, Amanda was flabbergast that she had almost killed the world famous poet. It was only when she had leapt from her horse to see if he had survived her horse's hooves that she had realized his immortal buzz. The man seemed as if he was coming down from the highest high when Phillipe helped him stand.

For graciously not killing him, Amanda and Phillipe were invited to holiday at Byron's Geneva estate as he was having "some friends" over. Being exiled from Britain had made Byron escape to Switzerland. His estate was actually not far from where they were, and the thought of meeting Byron's friends intimately won out over seeing Beethoven from a back row of the Palais Royal. The prospect of meeting Shelley, Thomas Moore, Jane Austen, or de Musset-or even Dickens, Wordsworth, or Thoreau if Byron were pals with them-made Amanda salivate for the literary orgasm the holiday may bring. She couldn't help thinking about if any of them had wealth they could part with but chided herself for thinking such thoughts for the first time since meeting up with Phillipe.

Who she hadn't expected to see at Byron's estate was one 5,000 year old man who she hadn't seen for exactly twenty years. The first sight of Methos in tight breeches and flowing shirt walking through Byron's foyer with a candlestick to see who the new immortal arrivals were almost made Amanda turn and run far and fast. She usually forgot just how fetching Methos was when she had been away from him for too long, but she was hit headlong with his blatant sexuality when a smile crossed his lips that lingered until Phillipe walked in and put his arm protectively at her waist.

Methos had slightly nodded when he saw that and gave the indication that he knew she was 'hands off,' because she had arrived with someone else. She wondered who he was there with, and then didn't want to know. All she wanted at that moment in the marble foyer of Lord Byron's estate was to leave. It was always uncomfortable to be in Methos' presence when they were with other people, and she wasn't at all ready for him. If she had been warned, she might have been able to breathe. It was only Byron's hospitality, Methos' easy manner, and Phillipe's gentle nudge on the small of her back that made Amanda accept a glass of wine with them in the library.

When all her situated in the overstuffed chairs and sofa, Byron asked Methos where his other guests were. "Hark," Methos said with his hand dramatically at his ear. "I can make out the ululations of cavorting above our heads."

Since Methos was down there with them, Amanda was contented that he may have come to Byron's alone. Byron used his cane to get himself from the sofa to one of the many floor to ceiling bookshelves and pulled out a black leather bound book. He turned to Methos with a chuckle. "Have you seen my signed original of Mary's opus?"

Methos leaned forward interested, "No." He held out his hands to Byron, who placed the book in them. "You kept this from me, you naughty boy."

"My teacher never fails to scold me and treat me like a child when I know something he does not." Byron sank back down on the sofa and drank in Methos' exaltation about the silly book, which Methos was treating like pure gold. "Which does not happen often, I must admit. It arrived last week."

"Your teacher?" Amanda dwelled upon. For the life of her she couldn't understand what the poet was talking about as the Methos she knew well, or thought she had, would have nothing to do with immortals, and certainly not newly turned ones. The man just had a dark quickening and had announced with grave certainty before riding off into the sunset from Darius' den after being "cleansed" that he wanted nothing more to do with the Game or Immortals as long as he lived.

To her question, Methos only half shook his head and Byron's smile widened, as if he were the cat that ate the canary. "Since when do you take on students?" she giggled, looking to Phillipe who was interested in the book as well.

"Mary Shelley, you mean?" Phillipe asked, leaning forward to see the spine of the book closer.

"Frankenstein. The Modern Prometheus," Byron proudly proclaimed, "The plot came to her while she was on holiday right here. This very room was one of her favorites, in fact."

Because once again the conversation had drifted beyond what she was interested in, Amanda decided to try to steer the conversation somehow back to her. "So, who all is in residence? You said there were people upstairs?"

"No one you know, Amanda," Methos said with his nose still in that book. It looked like he was prepared to read the entire thing in one sitting.

"No one prolific or even the slightest bit famous," Byron said. "But they do know how to enjoy life, which are the only people I wish to spend any amount of time in the presence of. In the morning, I can introduce them all properly." He stretched out and yawned. "It has been a wicked day, almost being run over by a horse, so I will take my leave. Anything in the house is yours, Amanda, Phillipe. Make yourselves at home."

Phillipe stood up. "It has been a long day of travel for us as well. If you wouldn't mind, could you show us to our room?"

"Yes," Amanda snipped as Methos still hadn't stolen one glance at her since receiving that blasted book. "Please do so, your lordship."

~~~~~

Amanda was sure the wine had been laced with something that made her feel lighter than air while shown their room and bid a good night by Byron. As soon as the door sealed their privacy, Phillipe was too amorous to turn down. Going through the motions with the Frenchman for the first time made Amanda know that she wouldn't be able to function with Methos so close at hand. Damn him! He sure knew how to spoil a great thing! Amanda moaned to herself as Phillipe had fallen asleep at her side.

Try as she might, she couldn't sleep thinking about Methos lying somewhere nearby and hopefully alone. He seemed fine earlier, but knew he was more than likely still feeling the after effects of taking Messina's head on holy ground and being trapped by Darius for more than a year to clear his head of the darkness that had overtaken it. She knew she was. When Methos was declared "light" by Darius, Methos hadn't wanted to talk to her, or even look at her or Rebecca. He had just mounted his horse and rode off. Amanda had wanted to follow him, to talk to him, to hold him, to tell him how much she loved him, how glad she was that he had conquered evil once again, tell him so many things. Both Darius and Rebecca had held her back from following him then, as they said he needed time alone. Now was another matter. Now, neither Darius or Rebecca were around to stop her.

Amanda slid out from under Phillipe's arm to not disturb him for fear she would have to come up with a better alibi than she wanted to see her lover and hopefully get into bed with him if she aroused him. Pleased to hear Phillipe's soft snore as she stood by the door, Amanda slowly opened it.

Not knowing how many immortals could be housed, she tiptoed through the marble hall barefoot with a small lit candle to guide her way. In the other wing of the estate, she started to feel an immortal buzz. Still feeling lightheaded from whatever she and Phillipe drank, she floated closer to the buzz like a moth to flame. She paused outside an ajar door at the end of the hall and knew whoever was inside was immortal. Please be Methos, and please be alone, Amanda prayed and eased open the door.

The bedroom was bathed in candlelight. A canopy bed was draped by white linen, so she couldn't see who was occupying it. She did hear breathing that sounded much the same as Methos when he was in a deep sleep. Why he hadn't felt her approach, Amanda didn't know, or even care. She liked the thought of surprising him. Maybe he was under the influence as she was, feeling tipsy and a bit frivolous as she pulled open the drape of the bed. To her astonishment, she saw Methos all right, with his bare arm draped over a naked Byron, both in the midst of seemingly pleasant dreams.

Amanda's notions of seduction were quickly replaced by thoughts of jealousy. Sure she'd arrived with Philippe, but she was always open for a little intimacy with her longtime lover. More often than not, it was she who was involved with someone else when she'd meet up with Methos by chance. Now the tables were turned, they both had lovers, and the feeling made her angry.

Turning on her heel with a flurry of material, she stalked out of the bedroom without waking the men. Now was not the time for an uncomfortable scene. Her nerves were a little frayed after seeing him wrapped around another so intimately. Deciding that sleep was the furthest thing from her mind, she tied the sash of her robe and went in search of the library and the fully stocked liquor cabinet.

Pouring a healthy amount in a crystal tumbler, Amanda perused the bookcase. Book upon book lined the walls. His lordship was a voracious reader as well as an avid writer. She rolled her eyes and took a drink. That's what they had in common. Methos' love of books was something she herself had never understood. Rebecca had taught her how to read soon after she come under the redhead's tutelage; she had learned but the need to devour books had never been her strong suit.

"Amanda, darling." The sound of a man's voice startled her out of her contemplative mood. "Having trouble sleeping?"

"Something like that," she downed the rest of her brandy. "Must be the long trip, I'm afraid."

Byron poured himself a drink. "Perhaps Doc has something in his bag of tricks that will provide you peaceful slumber."

Rub it in, you bastard.

"I wouldn't want to wake him up," she said as she lounged on the settee. "Besides, I'm feeling much better now."

"Are you positive?" Byron sprawled elegantly on the chair across from her. "I know you came looking for him earlier."

Amanda cursed silently. She had assumed they were both sound asleep. How could she have been so obvious? Byron must have felt her presence and came looking for her. Now there he sat looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary. The urge to fling her glass straight at his smirking skull overwhelmed her and for a brief moment the compulsion almost won out. Realizing that sending the object in his direction would only escalate the already prickly state of affairs.

"I went for a walk in the gardens and got lost is all."

Byron's eyebrow climbed and his eyes gleamed merrily. "Lost?"

"Yes, lost," Amanda huffed. "This house is enormous."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Her level of frustration increased when he began laughing. "If you'll excuse me, I am going to retire now," she huffed.

"Oh, please, Amanda." He wiped a few tears from his eyes. "Doc told me you were lovers."

"Ben needs to learn to keep his mouth shut," she stood up and glowered at her host.

"Sit down, Amanda." Byron patted her hand. "No need for you to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"Yes, I think you are," he replied once he had encouraged her to take a seat by pulling her hand down to the sofa so far she had no choice but to sit. "Doc's one the most fascinating people I've met."

"He's that, indeed," she allowed. "But I am not jealous."

"Keep telling yourself that, Amanda, and maybe you will soon believe it," Byron tossed back his drink. "Now, we can either be friends and play nice with our mutual friend, or we can piss and moan while we mark our territory. It's your choice."

Probably because Amanda only scowled at him, he said, "Alas, I'm tired and have a nice warm bed and man to get back to." He exaggerated his stretch and yawn. "We break bread promptly at half past nine. I bid you, for the final time this evening, a fond good night."

~~~~~

Damn it! Amanda seethed as the very real flashback faded away. How could Methos have done that to her? Sure, she had other lovers, but the fact that it was Byron who Methos had found intimacy with just set her teeth on edge. What did he have that she didn't? She glanced up at Methos, who was admiring what looked to be an award-winning rose bush, and got mad at him all over again. To his astonishment, she wrenched her hand away from his and turned on her heel.

"Amanda?" he asked confused as she marched back up the pathway they had come. "What's wrong now?"

"I just need some time alone, Doc," she threw over her shoulder, emphasizing his Nineteenth Century epithet.

"What on earth," he mumbled to her retreating back. "For the life of me, I'll never understand the female species. Especially that particular representative."

Shrugging his shoulders and shoving his hands in his pockets, he continued down the path into the garden.

~~~~~

"Quite an interesting fellow, isn't he?" Anton Marek questioned Rhiannon across the table casually as he sipped another mimosa. "Sort of a cross between mod rock star and Victorian-era rogue."

"That's certainly possible," Rhiannon replied, pushing her half-eaten meal away from her, "Being that he's Immortal."

"Speaking of which, you did a wonderful job as always shielding my Immortal buzz from the others," Marek praised her.

Frankly, Rhiannon was surprised she had pulled it off this time. When Marek had entered the room, she had been so absorbed by George's presence that she only vaguely realized Marek was in the room, or any one else for that matter. It wasn't just that he was darkly handsome; she sensed such a depth of feeling and passion from him, emotions that he held in check from all but a select few. To most he chose to appear careless and uninterested, but she could see that deep inside he harbored feelings of loneliness and futility.

Suddenly remembering something, she asked, "Why did you tell them we were lovers?"

Marek chuckled. "Not something that appeals to you?"

Rakish and debonair as Marek was, she had never felt any emotion for him other than gratitude... and sometimes fear. The remark about their being lovers had really rankled.

When she didn't respond he explained, "It only served to make you more desirable, not that you need any help in that arena."

"What do you mean?" she asked, cocking her head to one side, as if it would help her understand his intentions.

"I know men like Gordon... or whatever his real name is," Marek elaborated, "and if it's one thing they enjoy, it's a challenge. You, my dear, are going to be that challenge. For my plans to work, these Immortals need to be as oblivious as possible to what is happening around them. I'm certain they'll be indulging in spirits and chemicals, and that will help. These young people today are obsessed with polluting their bodies and minds with drugs."

Now she understood about the chocolates in Jared and Amanda's bedroom. Was he planning on drugging them further?

"Lust also addles the brain," he went on, seemingly very proud of himself. "Amanda will provide that amply for Jared. But I'd hate to see our dear Mr. Gordon spend his nights in my hotel in an empty bed."

"What exactly are you saying?" Rhiannon demanded. She feigned indignance, though truth be told, she was not at all repelled by the idea. Only that the suggestion had come from Marek.

"Seduce him, my pet," he laughed. "I saw the way he was looking at you; it won't be difficult. And I have a feeling you will enjoy it."

Rhiannon shot him a look.

"I saw the way you looked at him as well," he said in explanation.

"Sleep with him?" Rhiannon replied flippantly. She didn't want Marek to know he had hit so close to home about her feelings for George. "That's all you want me to do?"

"Tap into his mind, if you can," Marek told her as he rose from the table. "Try to find out exactly how old he is. Age is very important to my plans."

"Are you ever going to tell me what these plans are, Anton?" she asked without looking up at him.

"In time, my pet," he promised as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Be content in the knowledge that whatever my plan may be, you will be instrumental in accomplishing it."

That's what I'm afraid of, she thought as he exited the room.

~~~~~

Anton Marek quickly made his way through the courtyard and down a flight of stone steps that descended for two floors. At the bottom he came to a drafty hallway with flickering torches lining the walls. At the far end of the hall, he opened the large wooden door to his sanctuary. To the untrained eye, this room would be dank cellar. In fact, this was a room where his plans for his guests had come to fruitation.

It was a fairly large space measuring almost 40 feet by 60 feet. With drab wooden floors and dark stone walls, it nearly resembled a dungeon found in some medieval castle. It was sparse, only containing six rectangular, aluminum tables that were set up in a two by three pattern. A silver orb about the size of a basketball hung from the ceiling in the center of the room.

Walking slowly between the tables, Marek studied the sphere with intense curiosity. Would it really work? Could the legends he heard be true? Was this simple silver ball really imbued with the ability to exact energy from Immortals during a Quickening and concentrate all that energy ten-fold? Could it then redirect that energy into the one who had struck the killing blow? The researcher studying it had assured him it was capable of doing just that. Of course, that man was unfortunately dead, so he really couldn't go back with more questions, now could he?

No matter. Even if the silver sphere did not hold up its end of the bargain, Marek would still have at least three Immortal heads for the taking. It was hard not to imagine, though, the result of multiplying those three Quickenings by ten. There was no way he could ever lose another challenge. In fact, he wouldn't even need Rhiannon anymore, or her little magic tricks. He would be the One.

Almost sensually he rubbed his hand over one of the cold metal tables. "Soon," he whispered to the empty room, "very soon."

~~~~~

When Methos came back from the garden, he took the stairs two at a time in his haste to see if Amanda had returned to their room. He still didn't understand what had riled her so much. Well, that wasn't true exactly. He was well aware of how Amanda felt about Byron. Ever since that weekend at Byron's estate, she had been more than frosty toward him. He knew his relationship with Byron was the reason. He didn't know quite how to reassure her that his friendship with Byron in no way detracted from his love for her. He was his student, after all. The teacher-student dynamic was strong and a bond not readily broken. But she was a stubborn woman. It was going to cost him big to get back into her good graces. Absently he wondered if this hotel had a gift shop-preferably one with jewelry.

He was pondering that possibility when he felt a hum stroke across his nerves. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, he saw Byron leaning casually on his cane at the opposite end.

"Doc... where is Amanda?" he asked, amusement clearly written on his face.

"To tell you the truth, I don't really know," Methos admitted with a shrug. "I think we had an argument. About you, I might add."

"Moi?" he gestured to himself with the flourish of a lacy cuff. "Whatever could I have done to upset the dear lady?"

"Don't think too hard," Methos smirked. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Ah, Doc, I've missed you," Byron replied as he threw an arm around the older Immortal's shoulder. "It's been too long."

"It has," he agreed, studying the gleam in his friend's eyes. "How are you doing? Really?"

"It's still too early in the morning for philosophical questions, Teacher," Byron replied, slowly leading Methos down the hallway. "However, there is one thing that always seems to oil the old brain."

Methos chuckled. "You haven't changed."

"Why change a good thing?" the poet asked rhetorically as they reached one of the rooms at the end of the hall. "Are you up for a little fun?"

"I don't know," Methos hedged. "It's been a long time."

"Trust me, Doc," Byron assured him, "this is something you never forget how to do."

Methos allowed Byron to lead him into his room and shut and lock the door behind them. He saw that his friend's room was just as opulent as his and Amanda's. A four-poster bed was the center attraction with Old Spanish style furniture flanking it. A small sitting area was set up on the far side of the room next to a great bay window, the curtains of which were pulled back to reveal the morning sun.

"We'll have to do something about that," Byron declared as he went to the window to draw the curtains. Looking across the dim room he said, "Ah, much better."

"Where's your band?" Methos asked.

"They're grabbing what's left of that fab breakfast downstairs," Byron informed him.

Byron made his way to the fireplace and leaned his cane against it. There were already primo logs placed just so on the andirons, so all Byron had to do to make them burn was lay a lit match onto it, which he did with a grin back at Methos. He couldn't help but notice that he was standing on a bearskin rug when Byron got to his feet and took hold of his cane once again.

Methos watched in amusement as his friend crossed the room to a wooden dresser and pulled out a leather-bound box. Tossing it onto the sofa in the sitting area, he turned to a wooden square table on which, Methos now noticed, was a small phonograph player.

"It's portable," Byron explained with a wry grin. "I never go anywhere without it. After all everyone needs theme music. I just bring my own."

The lanky poet dug through a suitcase and produced a stack of LP's. Taking the one off the top, he shoved the rest in Methos' direction. The old Immortal was impressed as he flipped through the vinyls. The Beatles, The Stones, Janice Joplin, Creedence, Cream. His friend was really taking this music thing seriously. He supposed it was just a natural progression for someone who wrote such beautiful poetry. Watching as Byron put the record on and reached for the needle, Methos remembered a time when future endeavors were far from his friend's mind.

~~~~~

1815
LONDON

"For the love of God, man, come down from there!"

Methos shivered as he stood on the shore watching as his friend George Gordon Noel-better known as Lord Byron-leaned precariously over the side of Westminster Bridge. It was two in the morning, and the London winter was not where he wanted to be right now. A nice, warm tropical island sprang to mind. Perhaps he would take his friend there once he managed to get him off this infernal bridge.

"She's gone, Doc," the poet stated solemnly as he gazed into the churning waters below. "Not that I blame her. I deserved this. Not that I could have acted any differently. It's in my nature to philander."

Methos sighed and recalled the scene earlier in the day when Byron's wife of one year, Annabella Milbanke, had packed her things and left their home. It seemed the long procession of her husband's lovers had finally grown too long. Poor, sweet Annabella had looked the other way for so long. There was Lady Caroline Lamb, the countess of Oxford, and the Lady Webster among many others.

However when the rumors started that Byron had had an affair with Augusta Leigh, his own half-sister, Annabella could take no more. Methos had tried to convince her that there was no proof of a dalliance with Augusta, but Lady Byron had made up her mind. She had gone to her father and pressed him to begin divorce proceedings, then had moved back home.

"Byron, I know you're upset," Methos reasoned with the man on the bridge above him, "but trust me. It's not worth killing yourself over. Time heals all wounds."

Not to mention the fact that I'm in no mood to take on a student. When Methos had befriended the Byrons just after they'd married nearly a year ago, he had weighed the options of getting so close to a pre-Immortal. He generally preferred to stay clear of them. Since deciding to leave the Game, sticking around a pre-immortal was out of the question. It was easier to assure his own survival and sanity. He had planned to skip town right away after feeling Byron's pre-immortal hum, but there was something about the young poet that drew Methos to him.

Growing up destitute in Aberdeen after his father had abandoned he and his mother, Byron had turned to writing at a very young age. Methos figured it kept his mind off other more depressing matters. It wasn't until 1794, when his uncle died that he inherited both his title and his fortune. He and his mother moved back to London, the place of his birth, to claim Newstead Abbey, his ancestral home. He published his first book of poetry in 1806 and never looked back.

In January of 1815, Methos had run into Byron and Annabella at the Theatre Royal during a performance of Macbeth. Byron had been dreadfully bored and began to chat up his neighbor in the box seat. Methos had immediately been struck by the young man's passion and straightforwardness, and he accepted the man's invitation for a drink at the bar, thoughts of threats to his head and sanity pushed away. Even thought Methos had escorted Lady Malcolm, he and Byron had left together during the third act.

They fell into an easy friendship and shared many of the same interests. Methos came to be thankful he hadn't exited the theatre box as soon as he had felt the pre-Immortal hum. Despite Byron's vows to Annabella, he continued to epitomize the phrase "Wine, Women and Song." Only with him, it was "Wine, Women and Poetry." The way in which he could seduce a young girl right off her feet with just a few lines of poetry was something that never failed to impress the ancient Immortal.

The girls clamored after them in the streets just to get a glimpse of the famous poet. Amused, Byron always made sure to wear a neck scarf that would go to some lucky lass as a token of his appreciation. The screams those simple gestures produced rang in Methos' ears now as he watched his friend contemplate ending his life.

"You've got your entire life ahead of you, believe me," Methos pressed, rubbing his hands together furiously to keep them warm. The cold making him irritable, he finally said, "Very well, if you want to kill yourself, let's go to a nice warm inn where you can drink yourself to death!"

In the midst of his despair, Byron chuckled. "You always know how to get through to me, Doc."

The poet took a deep drought of air and watched his frosty breath feather out before him. "Perhaps I will remain on this mortal coil a little while longer. It ought to make for an enlightening piece of poetry."

Flooded with relief, Methos nodded and motioned for him to come down quickly. They would make it to that warm inn one way or another. He could almost feel the warm whiskey sliding down his throat, heating up his insides when he saw his friend's cane slip on a patch of ice, and Byron plummeted unceremoniously into the dark waters below.

"Bloody hell!" Methos murmured. Looks like I'm going to be wet as well as cold!

Three hours after pulling Byron's water-logged corpse out of the Thames, Methos had him propped up by the fireplace in his flat, attempting to explain the concept of Immortality.

"I cannot be killed you say?" Byron asked curiously, sipping a glass of sherry.

"You can and you will," Methos contradicted, "unless you learn to defend yourself."

"Of course, but the other ways of dying, being shot by a jealous husband, drinking oneself into oblivion, overdosing on opium, being hung for poisoning a literary critic," Byron rattled off, "Those I need not worry about?"

Methos glared at him but said, "No."

A grin slid across the young poet's face. "What an interesting bit of fun this will be."

~~~~~

Dreamlike musical notes, with a hint of Carribean flavor infused with a driving harmonica, brought Methos back from his musings. He looked to see Byron standing there with a satisfied smile on his face.

"This is brand new from Eric Burdon and War," his friend told him, holding up an album. "One of the songs is called Spill the Wine. Excellent background music for our leisurely little activity, I must say."

Byron then went back to the sofa and picked up the black leather box. Looking to where Methos still stood with the rest of his albums, he encouraged, "Come on Doc, it won't hurt. Or at least... it won't take your head."

Methos let out a nervous laugh and followed his student to the couch. He watched as he placed the box on the low coffee table and opened it expectantly as if he was opening Pandora's. When he saw Byron's stash of vials and pills of every color, he joked, "What, no opium?"

"Get with the times, Doc!" Byron replied dramatically. "This is where it's at in 1970."

"You know, Amanda had a bad experience at Woodstock," Methos said as he leaned back against the sofa.

"Acid? Yeah, I heard the brown stuff was foul," Byron shook his head. "But don't worry. This supply is primo. My dealer is the best. Look, I've got an entire pharmacy here. Whatever your heart desires, Teacher. Pick a pill, any pill."

Methos watched Byron open the bottle of wine on the coffee table, then shake some powder into it after taking a long swallow. He smiled at Methos as he capped the bottle with his finger and shook it, then took another long swallow and passed the bottle over. "Mmmmmmm... great stuff, Doc!"

"What is it?" Methos sniffed the wine but all he smelled was wine.

"If you have to ask, you're too square to waste it on," Byron humpfed and indicated with a eave of his hand to give the bottle back.

Methos took a swig, a bit riled at having been referred to as "square," after all he had done things Byron could only dream of in his long life. As the robust wine filled his gullet, thoughts of Amanda's jealousy prickled through Methos. At this moment, here and now, he was first and foremost Amanda's companion, not Byron's. Methos had to remember that. Not liking to see Amanda hurt in any way made Methos stand up and declare, "I have to go."

"And spoil a bit of fun?"

"You can have fun without me, or you can have fun with Amanda and me, but you know I can't spend any quality time with you alone. Not with her here. And... frankly I don't care to."

Byron snorted some powder and sat back and sighed. "She has you on a pretty tight leash there, Teacher. Never thought I'd see the day."

Methos took a long, deep breath and paused. His testosterone level was rankled and every instinct told him to deny it to the level of staying and getting high with him, but Methos fought it. Byron had already taken flight with whatever he had taken. His head was laid back on the sofa, swaying to the music.

Byron could wax poetic about the world and love better than anyone Methos had ever met, or ever will meet, but he still truly understand it. Amanda may or may not be the love of his life, but she was very important to him. He didn't know how much time he had with her at the present time. As usual for the past 1,200 years of their relationship, he or she would get wanderlust, and what they have would be put on hold for an indefinite amount of time. As long as he had Amanda all to himself now, he was going to enjoy it. Her mood after breakfast had put him off balance-a state of mind he had never cherished-and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

Still holding the bottle, Methos took another swallow from it as he tried to think of the perfect words as eloquent as what Byron could come up with about his feelings for the gorgeous immortal. Then, he didn't know if it was the wine, the drug, his rankled nerves, or it was an approaching immortal, but the hair stood up on the back of his head. On the heels of the sensation was a rough rap on the door. Methos crossed the room to open it, then he slammed it shut.

Damn! What's in this wine!? He chided himself. Never would he just open a door to an immortal buzz without knowing exactly who was emitting it. "Amanda?" he called.

"Of course it is! Who else would it be? Just what the hell are you doing in there anyway?"

Methos opened the door to see a very perturbed Amanda, who barreled into the room and searched it with her darting eyes. He knew she was looking for evidence that he had been in a clench with his student or something, but all she could possibly come up with as the reason for his presence in Byron's room were the drugs on the coffee table.

"Oh," Amanda said without a hint of anger.

For that, Methos was delighted. If he was going to get her to talk rationally about what bug was up her butt, it would be better if she wasn't in a rage. He offered her the wine bottle, "Care for something to make you less..."

"Less what?" She snatched the bottle and looked at the label. Shrugging, she took a swig.

"Your jealousy does please me," Methos said as he wrapped his arms around her, "but please... Too much of a show is excessive."

"Jealousy? Of him? Ha! You're hysterical." She looked at the wine bottle, as obviously what it was spiked with had hit her. She took another swallow.

Okay, deny it, he thought with a chuckle. As much as she tried to deny it, he could see right through her. He knew when she was happy, sad, mad, horny, and most of all jealous, sometimes if she wasn't within eyesight. He kept his hold on her watching the flood of conflicting emotions trail across her face and body language. As much as she tried to hide them, he saw relief, surprise, seduction, and irritation all appear and disappear with the blink of an eye. Never let it be said she didn't keep him on his toes. When her bundle of energy was on a roll, he worshiped her.

She took another swallow as she squirmed in his arms, she bemoaned, "Don't look at me with those...," she said testily, then softened as if under a new influence, "awfully adorable green eyes."

"If I don't look at you, with the only eyes I have, how could I possibly savor all you have to offer, luv?"

Amanda, with a raised eyebrow and quite beautiful grin held the bottle to Methos' lips. As he drank from it, he could see her cloud over a bit. She was getting as overcome by the tickling on the top of his head and the feeling she could defy gravity as he was starting to.

"How can you talk like that so close to..." her voice trailed off as she looked over at Byron, who was softly singing, "Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl..."

"Amanda, my dear, my lover," he said as he closed his eyes and brushed his nose against hers, "I only want to be with you."

The tightness in her carriage he felt holding her slowly melted from his words. He had wished he had poetry to seduce her with, but it seems what he had said was enough. Or maybe what worked was the wine and his pressing himself against her and wiggling his hips with the beat of the song. After they each took another swallow of wine, Amanda dropped the bottle. He felt the slosh of liquid on his feet. Soon, she was swaying with him, her hands snaking up his thighs, his hips, under his shirt. Her chilled fingers against his sides and the small of his back made him catch his breath. Just as he covered her lips with his, he wanted more than anything to feel her fingernails scratch his flesh. He not only got that but her slowly investigating tongue against his teeth. He opened his mouth for her and a moan of delight escaped him as her fingernails dug up his spine.

Not being able to control himself, he picked Amanda up and stepped gently over the broken glass at his feet and toward the fire. She wrapped her legs against him and let her head fall back as she let out a passionate laugh making it quite easy to nuzzle her breasts. They collapsed to the bearskin and started pulling at each other's clothes. Through his haze and growing fervor at wanting every inch of her, Methos felt himself slowly feeling more fresh air against his body as each article of clothing was shed and tossed in the air. He couldn't tell which end was up as he thought he was on top of Amanda, then she was on him, they were side by side, and finally he had to look around for her after pulling frantically at his boxers. Amanda wrapped arms around him from behind and felt her hard nipples at his shoulder blades. He laid down and his head fell back as if his neck muscles were noodles.

Amanda immediately stretched atop him and massaged him to heighten his arousal. Her long hair brushed against his chest as he reached up and fondled her breasts. Her nipples were hard pebbles at his fingers. A gratified moan swept through the room, and he realized it came from him. With a roar to suggest his pleasure, he rolled them over to control how fast he could enter her.

~~~~~

The pleasant surprise of Methos' attack and the wine imputing her judgement, Amanda was totally in the moment. No thoughts of anything or anyone else in the world entered her mind, just what Methos was doing and what she could do to pleasure him. As she was pressed further onto the thick, soft fur of the rug, the heat radiating from herself, Methos, and the nearby fire, Amanda closed her eyes to savor her every sensation Methos was producing. Through her swirling mind, she beheld everything her body was telling her. Methos was forceful but not urgent, his hands caressed seemingly every part of her and he reacted with shivers of delight to her touch. As his thrusts increased in pressure ever so slightly, she rubbed her fingers up to his shoulder and down his strong, stick straight arms. She knew his hands were planted on the rug near each of her shoulders, and a flash of chilled air swept across her chest when their bodies parted. Still in the moment with her eyes closed, she bent her back and tilted her head back. Then she felt his breath on her chin, his hand softly take hold of her left breast, and his soft lips connect with hers, at the same time she felt his hand caress the length of her left leg. Methos was an octopus. Amazing. She screamed for him to continue.

An elegant voice purred, "Your wish is my command," close to her ear and then his tongue slowly slipped past her lips. As he fondled her nipple, devoured her mouth, and still plunging into her, she opened her eyes expecting to see Methos' green eyes. The kiss ended, and past a mass of wavy brown hair, she saw Methos smile at her. In fact, there were two of his smiles flashing at her, as well as his dreaming green eyes almost looking past her. She lifted her left arm and felt someone's bare back. All methods of detecting distance was lost on her as she started to rub who she thought was Methos.

~~~~~

Anton's suggestion to seduce George flickered through Rhiannon's thoughts as she strolled down the hallway toward her bedroom. After their major guests and Anton had departed breakfast and all she was left with were some famished guitar players and a drummer who acted like he'd never seen food, or a red head, before, she had decided to take her leave. The prospect of seducing George wasn't the most ridiculous notion she ever heard, but it was Jared who would be the more favorable target of her affection in her opinion. The man had given her aura a jolt as soon as he had entered her world, and everything he had done made her want to investigate his psyche further. Halfway down the hall, she started to hear rock and roll music, then the unmistakable pants, moans, and a couple of shrieks coming from George's suite. Either someone was sick or having intercourse, there were no other options. She made her way closer to the door and decided it wasn't anything but cavorting on the other side of that heavy piece of wood.

A sense of curiosity made her put her hand on the knob. The door opened with little effort. She slowly opened the door further, prepared to make her leave if she was discovered nosing about. No one in the room took any notice of her. Jared and Amanda were making love in front of the fireplace, and George had just finished shedding his clothes and started to crawl toward them. When the couple hadn't seemed to mind when George injected himself into their pleasure, Rhiannon stepped into the room and shut the door quietly behind her.

George was kissing Amanda and fondling Jared's tush, and both seemed to invite him in. Rhiannon had decided then and there that neither of them would be tough nuts to seduce. From the sights and sounds, Rhiannon wanted to be a part of it. She took two strides across the floor toward the menage a trois and shed her blue gown. Her touch on Jared's shoulder made him turn his head back to her, and his smile indicated he hadn't minded the intrusion. His eyes looked nebulous. The fact that George had popped a pill into his mouth at that moment made Rhiannon know this may all have been drug induced. She knelt down and cupped Amanda's breast as George welcomed her with a kiss. She felt a capsule slip from his mouth into hers as Jared rubbed her back and then lower her to the rug.

Soon the four of them were a tangle of flesh. Hands exploring from one person to another, lips kissing everything they could. Rhiannon's world started to swirl as whatever it was George had slipped into her mouth had flooded her bloodstream. She didn't know what she was doing or to whom in a matter of minutes but thrilling ecstasy pulsed in her veins. She couldn't find enough flesh to fondle or have enough hands covering her body. With a massive roll of the four, she was on top of George and felt his hardness at her thigh.

~~~~~

Anton Marek stood at the doorway that Rhiannon had vacated and studied his quarry writhing together to the pounding beat of some infernal song. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll... The gateway to my territory...

"It didn't take you long, my pet," he said as he stepped out of the room. When none of them heard a word he said, or even took note of his presence, he continued, "I suggested one, but you were able to get all three. I'll never underestimate you again."

~~~~~

Rebecca glanced at her watch for the hundredth time since they boarded the plane in Detroit six hours ago. The clouds rushed past the tiny window when she turned her attention to the world outside the pressurized cabin. Fitz occupied the seat next to her and his quiet snoring reassured her that she wasn't about to face an unknown danger alone and hoped he was resting up for what may be to come.

Ever since she'd woken up in New York, dripping with sweat, she'd been unable to shake the dread filling her stomach. Something or someone was up to no good and her two dearest friends were at the heart of the situation. The three of them had been through all matters of trials and tribulations over the course of their friendships and the thought of losing either one of them was more than she could bear. Deep in her heart of hearts, she dreaded ever hearing the news that one or the other had lost a challenge. Truth be told, she'd much rather be the first to go. Life without Amanda or Methos was too horrifying to imagine.

"Rebecca?"

"Yes, Fitz?"

"Are we almost there?" Fitz straightened from his semi-sprawl.

"The stewardess said we should be arriving within the next hour or so," Rebecca answered as she reached for his hand. "I'm so grateful you came with me, darling."

Fitz lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "As I said before, I owe them. What I cannot believe is that John allowed you to travel alone in the middle of the night."

"He had commitments he had to fulfill, besides I'm a big girl and I'm quite capable of taking care of myself," she interjected. "John, despite his best efforts still cannot grasp the enormity of life with an Immortal. He's trying, but I am afraid it will take some time."

"Mortals," he humpfed. "The boy must learn when a beautiful woman requires a companion, you must drop whatever it is you are doing and go with her."

"Oh, Fitz, you old romantic," she giggled. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Fitz's hand went immediately to his heart. "I am offended."

"Offended, my backside," Rebecca smiled, feeling a little of her dark mood lift. "You're the least easily offended person I know, Hugh Fitzcairn."

"Part of my vast and utterly charming traits," his blue eyes twinkled back. "I am hard to resist."

"That you are," she agreed as she leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on his mouth. "How come you and I have never managed to become involved?"

"Because you are a lady and I'm a shameless cad?"

"That my be true, but you are one of the darling men I've ever had the privilege of knowing."

"You flatter me," Fitz replied while his cheeks turned rosy, "but I've never known you to tell a lie, darling Becca."

Forty-five minutes later the captain's voice came over the intercom announcing their initial decent into Los Angeles. As people began to right their seats and trays and the flight attendants came down the aisle for one last trash pick up, Fitz asked, "So what's the plan once we get to LAX?"

"First order of business will be renting a car," Rebecca said as she stuffed the paperback book she had brought along in her shoulder bag. "Then we get a map and head into the Mojave."

"The desert?" Fitz questioned, sparing a wink as the curvy flight attendant passed by. "Why there?"

"The last time I heard from Noah, he said he was in Bakersfield," Rebecca explained. "He called to invite me to join him and Amanda at some hotel in the desert. Seems an old friend of his is playing there."

"Blimey," he replied, "I must have been out when he called to invite me."

Rebecca grinned and patted Fitz' hand. "I'm sure that was it."

"Do you know the name of this establishment?" Fitz questioned.

"La Mision de la Salida del Sol," Rebecca told him. "Sounds like an old Spanish Mission."

"Indeed," Fitz replied. "And you think they are in danger in this place?"

"I just feel it in my bones, Fitz," Rebecca said softly. "I can't explain it, but something very strange is going on down there."

~~~~~

Amanda opened one eye lazily, and then the other. Her tongue felt about two sizes too large and her head seemed to be stuffed with cotton. She felt warm flesh against her back and a little squirming told her that Methos was wrapped around her as she lay in the big canopy bed. His arms were wrapped around her waist. Smiling she stretched a little, trying to remember how they'd gotten there.

When a hand crept up to cup her bare breast she giggled and placed her own hand over it. For the life of her she couldn't recall all that had transpired the night before, but it must have been fantastic. Her body still felt like it was on fire. Methos had been incredible! He'd been all over her. She knew he had unmatched skills in the lovemaking department, but he'd really outdone himself.

She heard a scratching noise and realized there was still a record spinning on the phonograph player, its needle rhythmically butting against the LP's label. From there her line of sight was drawn to the fireplace. A log still burned, sputtering ashes every now and then. On the bear skin rug in front of it lay the figure of a man, nude and sleeping. Who could that be? And why was he in their room?

The next couple of revelations hit Amanda rather quickly. One, although this suite was similarly decorated, it was not her and Methos' room. Two, the man on the bear skin rug was Methos. A stab of apprehension slithered across her spine. If Methos was on the floor, who was feeling her up? She slowly turned over to see Byron's laughing eyes rake over her.

"Hello dear Amanda," he greeted her with a wicked grin. "Was it good for you too?"

"Oh God!" Amanda cried as she gracelessly fought to get free of the bed covers. She finally slid out of bed, yanking a sheet around herself. "What the hell happened?!"

Her outburst coupled with Byron's mirthful laugh was enough to wake Methos. Undaunted by his state of undress he rolled to a sitting position and moaned, "What time is it?"

Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, Byron replied, "We'll be just in time for lunch."

"Not me! I've completely lost my appetite!" Amanda sputtered as she frantically moved about the room, searching for the clothes she knew she'd shed several hours ago, as the haziness of what happened the night before started to fade.

"Amanda! I'm hurt that you feel that way," Byron said as he sat up in bed and threw his long legs over the side of it. "What a trip!"

"Maybe for you," she replied, picking her dress up off the floor and wriggling into it without losing her grip on the protective sheet. "For me it was more like a car wreck."

"Doc, I do believe your dear Amanda is having regrets about our tryst," Byron said as he limped over to the couch to retrieve his pants. "How about you, Teacher? Regrets?"

Methos looked over to his student and then to Amanda. "Only that I woke up on the floor alone."

"Sorry about that Doc," Byron chuckled. "Amanda must have wanted me all to herself."

"Not bloody likely!" Amanda said, borrowing one of Methos' favorite words as she tossed the sheet aside and slipped into her sandals. "I may not remember much about my lost hours, but I'm certain that wasn't the case!"

Quickly gathering Methos' pants and shirt and throwing them in his direction she ordered, "Get dressed! I want to get back to our room and shower. Repeatedly."

Methos smirked and stood up to dress. It appeared that his two companions didn't remember much about what had transpired. He wasn't that lucky. True, he had been moving in a drug-induced haze unable to stop what he was doing even if he had wanted to, but now that it was over, he could recall every last detail. He and Amanda. Amanda and Byron. Byron and Rhiannon. He and Rhiannon. He wondered where their very accommodating hostess had gotten to?

Perhaps the pairing he was most confused about was he and his student. It was something Methos had not experienced in a very long time. He wasn't certain how he felt about it. And his head hurt too much to think about it right now. He was just glad that his friends' memories seemed to be more clouded over than his own.

~~~~~

Rhiannon stood in the courtyard, seemingly mesmerized by the stream of water flowing from the fountain in its center. The last few hours had granted her knowledge she didn't think she'd ever possess. While the purely physical side of the encounter with Jared, Amanda and George had been titillating, she was still reeling from what she had felt from the Immortals.

From Amanda she'd gotten a sense of playfulness, of risk-taking, and a good heart. She was much older than Anton and gave off an aura of self-sufficiency. When George had taken her, she felt a darkness, but not one of evil. It was more melancholy. She could tell he was not new to such debauchery. She saw many instances in his relatively short Immortal existence where he had enjoyed drugs, drink, and women to excess. She also felt his poetry, and when she heard the familiar lines in her mind she knew what George's true identity was.

While all this was eye opening, she still shivered over what she had felt from Jared. This Immortal was old. Ancient. When he had made love to her she felt as though her mind would explode with the images she was receiving. They seemed to stretch on forever with no end. She saw him in a multitude of time periods. The American West. Regency England. Paris in the thirties. Colonial New England. The Court of Louis XVI. Massachusetts during the Salem Witch Trials. Antebellum Georgia. Imperial Rome. Classical Greece.

Most disturbing of all was a time so far back she couldn't identify it. A small community of tents set up in the desert. People scurrying about with fearful faces. Four horses tethered to wooden pikes. Inside one of the tents a man with long, dark hair forcibly held a young woman down on the ground. Even through the ungodly sneer and the blue war paint, Rhiannon clearly recognized the man who was now thrusting into her.

It was a vision that should have filled her with fear and loathing, but what she felt from the man within her now did not match the hate and violence of what she saw in her mind's eye. What she sensed from him was passion, love of life, staunch friendship and loyalty. Fear of dying. Fear of losing those he held dear to him. And mostly she sensed change. Change from what he had been thousands of years ago. Change from what he had been a few days ago. This man was always changing, always adapting. He was not one to be trifled with.

"I see that you've come away from your adventure unscathed," Anton Marek said as he walked across the courtyard.

Having been pulled out of her reverie, Rhiannon raised her eyes to meet him. She saw the smirk on his face and realized he must have witnessed at least some of what transpired in George's room. He would surely ask her questions. What did she sense from the Immortals? She was uncertain what to tell him. Frankly she was tired of being caught in the middle of his 'master plan,' whatever it was and wished he'd just drop the whole thing.

"Hopefully your mind was not too polluted to remember what you experienced?" he chuckled as he placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged them. "It looked like the four of you were having an awfully good time."

The thought of him watching made her shiver, and she was sure he felt it.

"So?" he prompted, turning her around to face him. "Tell me what you have learned."

Rhiannon decided to play on his confidence.

"You must not go through with this plan," she told him solemnly.

"Oh? And why is that?" he asked amused.

"You don't know what you're up against, Anton," she explained. "These are no ordinary Immortals."

"No Immortal is," Marek chuckled.

"Jared Burke is much too powerful for you to ever defeat in a challenge," she told him. "He's older than you think and much more experienced in the ways of Immortality. I saw much from his past. Some of it frightened me."

"What kind of things?" Marek asked as he slowly began to walk around the fountain.

Pleased he was taking her warning seriously, she continued. "I saw things as far back as Ancient Greece, and even before that. The life of a desert nomad on horseback."

Marek's head shot up and he stared hard at her. "What did you say?"

"I saw him in a tent in the desert," she explained, hugging her arms around herself as she recalled the scene. "He was made up like a warrior, blue painted on his face."

She watched an unholy light come into Marek's eyes. Had she convinced him to abandon his plan?

Marek smiled lovingly at her and took his hands in hers. "Rhiannon, I do appreciate your concern for me. But I assure you, nothing will stop me from succeeding in my plan. Your information has been a valuable asset and you will be duly rewarded. Now that you've ingratiated yourself with them, I want you to stay close to our special guests."

A feeling of defeat settling on her shoulders, Rhiannon nodded and left the courtyard.

Anton Marek could hardly contain his glee. Could it be? The fabled blue faced horseman, Jared? Could it possibly be true? The Ancient Man of Immortal Myth? The great and powerful Methos under his own roof? For millennia he had been but a legend, an Immortal bedtime story. By the way Rhiannon had described what she'd seen&ldots;the impossibly long life, the strength, the Horseman. Rhiannon was right to worry he would not survive a challenge against Methos. But who said he was going to challenge any of them? Why would Rhiannon expect him to do the dirty work when they could do it themselves?

~~~~~

Amanda reclined in a lounge chair out in the hotel's garden. She wore a long, flowered sundress with a large straw hat pulled down low with dark glasses covering her eyes. Her head pounded like a drum. What the hell was that stuff Byron had given them? She felt she had experienced a lot in her lifetime, but whatever had been in that wine and those pills were new to her!

True to her word, she had gone back to her and Methos' room where she'd indulged in a long, hot bath. She had tried to get Methos to join her but he was in one of his introspective moods and said he just needed to get some fresh air. When she had finished her bath, she found him in the hotel's library. He said he'd discovered it by chance and couldn't resist fingering through the dusty tomes therein. Still unable to force anything into her stomach, she'd skipped lunch and wandered out into the garden.

It made her mad that she couldn't remember everything about what had happened in George's room! Then again, judging from how she'd woken up, maybe it was better that she couldn't. Methos had sworn he didn't remember anything either.

It wasn't really the thought of physically being with Byron that caused her stomach to churn; she had no doubts that he was an excellent lover. Perhaps not as good as Methos, but skillful nonetheless. What gnawed at her was that she'd been with her rival for Methos' affections. Byron was not exactly high on her list of favorite people right now.

Not to mention what most likely happened between Byron and Methos during that little ménage a trois! Oh! she couldn't bear to think about it!

A dead petal on a rose bush captured her attention, and Amanda was glad for the reprieve from her thoughts. Stooping down to pluck it off, she heard soft footsteps on the stone walkway behind her. There was no immortal calling card attached to the sound, so she knew it wasn't Methos or Byron. The later she saw that poetic immortal, the better in her estimation. She turned to see who the visitor of her temporary domain was.

Rhiannon paused by a clinging vine attached to one of the stone archways that supported the second floor balconies. She was better than that creepy host of theirs or rambunctious band member, but Amanda would rather be left alone to sort out her thoughts that she couldn't shed. When there was a long, somewhat tense pause, Amanda stood and tore up the dead petal in her hand and looked to the other woman. There was a definite sense about her. That aura had made Methos act like a love-sick teenager upon their arrival, and Amanda didn't think it was just the case of his letting off steam from the long trip and seeing a beautiful woman. Amanda had to grudgingly admit the red-haired, petite Rhiannon was one of the most mysteriously beautiful women Amanda had the misfortune to be trapped at a resort with. Earthy. That was what Amanda chose to dub her, but knew there was so much more to her.

Not being able to contain her words much longer, she was going to say 'see ya,' and walk away to find more pleasant surroundings, but Amanda instead said, "There's something about you."

Rhiannon looked to her for what Amanda guessed was the first time with a raised eyebrow and soft smile. "Oh?"

"Yeah, you're not... you... are you a witch of some sort?"

Rhiannon's smile grew as she lowered her head and turned her body to face Amanda. When she looked up at her and they locked eyes, Rhiannon said, "Yes. I am."

"I knew it. I've met those like you before. I knew there was something about you."

"I do have 'something about me,' but nothing compared to you."

Amanda buoyed up, but only for a moment. Of course the woman would be able to tell there was something more to her and the other immortals, even if she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. For a horrifying second, she wondered what kind of information Rhiannon could have gleaned last night. A flash of their kissing came to Amanda, just as the vision blurred into a reverie of rolling flesh. Amanda shook her head to wipe the memory from her mind.

Without Amanda's notice, Rhiannon had walked toward her and soon rubbed her fingertip against the line of Amanda's chin. "I envy you."

"Oh?" That was the last thing Amanda expected her to say and was quite taken aback from Rhiannon's words, as well as her intimacy.

"Yes." Rhiannon pulled her hand away as if she were a child caught fingering a crystal trinket in a store by a very stern mother. "You have it all, Amanda. You're beautiful, smart, funny, resourceful, persistent, and have a man who loves every part of you."

"I do?"

"Of course. I see you have weathered great storms."

"He loves me?"

"Of course he does."

If Amanda had gotten vibes from her last night, she couldn't imagine what witch radar had tracked from Methos. What else did she pick up.... He loves me?!

"Why does that surprise you? He hasn't told you?"

Methos telling Amanda he loved her wasn't something he did in verbalizations as of late, just in how he treated her and touched her gave the impression he was still working out the love he felt and the need to survive. Two immortals coming together was a lot of baggage.

"He hasn't?" Rhiannon persisted, seemingly confused.

"Yeah, he has, a while ago. We almost got hitched once."

"Really? Why didn't you?"

"A major maritime disaster messed it up." Amanda instantly remembered the panicked look in Methos' eyes as they clung together across a floating piece of paneling in the cold Atlantic water in the instant silence after the horrendous jumble of sound of the Titanic entering the ocean depths. They both knew they were going to die. He had looked at her in such a way that she felt he wouldn't rather die with anyone else but her. That look in his eye-a mixture of panic, acceptance of their fate, and yes love-had made her sleep nights without him. It would come to her at odd moments during the past sixty years that she cherished, as she deemed that moment to be another seldom occurrence when Methos had admitted his love for her.

When Rhiannon stared at her, probably trying to zone in with some witchcraft at what Amanda had just blurted out, she covered with, "We rented a houseboat on Lake Geneva for the ceremony, and it sunk. Not being complete idiots, we took it as an omen. The subject's never come up again."

"But he has told you he loves you."

"Leave me alone." Amanda turned on her heel and stalked away. If she could have walked back to Los Angeles to get away from that witch, she would. Why she had to feign friendship just to zero in on a sore point in Amanda and Methos' relationship was just spiteful, in Amanda's estimation. She must have felt something last night. She must have seen into her relationship with Methos and figured out that Amanda loved Methos more than words could ever convey and she must also have seen how Methos feels about her. The fact that Rhiannon could have figured out that Jared's true identity was Methos hadn't fazed Amanda as she strutted to the balcony overlooking the desert and take deep breaths to stop herself from crying. How Methos truly felt about her was all she could think about, and felt terribly alone.

Wallowing in her misery, she noticed a cloud of dust on the horizon. As it came closer she made out a car coming towards the hotel. Curious, she watched as it made its way toward her. Marek had said that more guests would be arriving this evening for the concert tonight. This place needs some fresh blood. It's getting too close for comfort in there.

The blue Mustang slowly pulled up to the old mission and came to a stop. Amanda pulled her glasses down her nose, squinting to get a look at the new arrivals. When the Immortal buzz tickled the back of her neck she strained to see who it could be. She let out a surprised whoop when she realized who it was.

"Rebecca!" she cried out as she jumped up from the lounge chair and ran through the maze of a garden to get to the front of the hotel. "You came! I'm so glad to see you!"

Catching the brunette in a big hug, Rebecca grinned and said, "Dear Amanda! You are a sight for sore eyes!"

"What does it take for a bloke to get a welcome around here?" Fitz blustered as he came around to the driver's side of the car.

"Hugh Fitzcairn!" Amanda declared coyly. "You old coot! Are you sponging off Rebecca now like you did Noah and I after Woodstock?"

"I beg your pardon!" Fitz said indignantly. "I was invited on this little escapade by none other than Rebecca herself."

"And I'm so glad you were," Amanda said, holding her hand out for Fitz to take.

"Now that's more like it, my lady," he said, brushing his lips against her knuckle. "And where is Noah exactly?"

"Oh, it's Jared now, Fitz," Amanda told him. Turning to her friend and mentor, she added, "Thank heavens you're here, Rebecca! Things are getting a little out of hand!"

"I knew it!" Rebecca said, taking Amanda's hands in her own. "Tell me what's happened."

She wished she could just tell Rebecca the whole sordid mess, but neither Rebecca nor Fitz knew about Lord Byron or his relationship to Methos. And Methos would kill her if she let the cat out of the bag! Instead she hesitantly said, "I may or may not have gotten so high that I might or might not have slept with Jared's musician friend."

"Oh my!" Fitz exclaimed, a hand upon his heart. "Drugs, women, and rock and roll? I must say, Rebecca, it sounds as if we've gotten to the party just in time!"

Rebecca threw a withering glance in Fitz' direction.

"And then there's the creepy dude who runs this place! I think he was spying on Jared and me when we were in bed," Amanda explained. "Not to mention the red-haired harlot who works for him&ldots;she's had Jared under her spell since we got here! Frankly, this whole thing is starting to remind me of a bad Vincent Price movie!"

"Is there any other kind?" Fitz sniffed.

Rebecca cupped Amanda's cheek and said, "Oh dear heart, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into now?"

While that maneuver of Rebecca's had often been a source of strength for Amanda, so soon after Rhiannon had done much the same, it was as if Rebecca's hand were a snake.

"What's wrong, Amanda?" Rebecca asked with concern, and Fitz put his arm on her shoulder seemingly feeling much the same.

Amanda didn't want to rehash all she had thought and felt since arriving at the hotel, specifically the last five minutes, so she threw her arms around Rebecca, her major supporter in life, and cried, "I've just missed you. I need you so much. I need your guidance."

A great surge of emotion surged through Amanda as Rebecca hugged her back. "You have it, Amanda. Of course, you always have it." Rebecca pulled back to look into Amanda's eyes and brushed a tear from her cheek as her teacher smiled. "The big question is if you'll take it."

~~~~~

Finally tearing himself away from the old library, Methos had gone back to the room and taken a hot shower. In truth, he was putting off the moment he had to face Byron. Maybe if his student remembered as little as Amanda had, he wouldn't press the issue. Hopefully he would have enough on his mind with the upcoming concert.

When he'd dressed in clean jeans and a denim long-sleeved shirt, he set off for the garden to find Amanda. When he passed the courtyard however, he heard music coming from the large foyer to his right. Deciding to investigate, he found himself in a large reception room. The music was coming from the far end of the room, where Byron's band was setting up on the stage.

An Immortal hum washed over him and he turned to see Byron limping up behind him, dressed again in his leather pants and jacket.

"Looks like the boys are ready for rehearsal," he said to Methos.

"Looks like it," Methos replied casually.

"Quite a morning, eh?" Byron smiled as he started toward the stage.

"Truth be told, I don't remember much of it at all," Methos ventured as he walked alongside his student.

"Me either, Doc," Byron admitted.

Methos let out a sigh of relief.

"Although I wish I did," Byron laughed conspiratorially, "it would give me more ammunition against Amanda."

"Who knows? Maybe we all just took a nap," Methos chuckled. "Slept it off."

"There is one thing, however, that I remember very distinctly," Byron said as they reached the stage.

"Oh? And what was that?" Methos asked warily.

"Red hair," Byron answered with a grin. "Long, beautiful, red hair. But I guess that would be impossible, wouldn't it, Doc? I think I must have projected the lady Rhiannon into our illicit rendezvous."

Methos just smirked in response. He thought about telling Byron that he had not imagined Rhiannon's participation, but then he would have to admit he remembered more about it than he claimed.

"Doc, allow me to introduce the lads," Byron said as he awkwardly climbed on stage. "That's Trevor on drums, Lance on bass, Hamish on rhythm guitar, and on the keyboards would be Roland Tate. Mates, I'd like to meet an old friend of mine, Jared Burke."

Methos was met with a chorus of 'oy mates' and 'nice ta meet yas' as the band greeted him and then went back to priming their instruments. Byron leaned his can against a large speaker and soon joined them, adjusting the mic's height. As Methos watched eagerly, he again felt a wave of Immortal presence wash over him. He looked toward the room's entrance to see not only Amanda, but also Rebecca and Hugh Fitzcairn. Oh well. Two out of three isn't too shabby.

His spirits lifting even further, Methos quickly closed the distance between them and embraced Rebecca fiercely. "You came."

"Don't I always?" Rebecca whispered in his ear. More seriously she added, "I had to. I had a vision that you and Amanda were in trouble."

"Why didn't you tell me, Rebecca?" Amanda asked as she and Fitz joined them.

"I need to speak to you both about this," Rebecca replied. "Is there somewhere we can discuss this privately?"

"The library is close by," Methos suggested, worried by Rebecca's troubled expression. "We could go there."

Fitz whispered to Amanda, "So, which band member did you boff last night, luv?" to which he got a great big punch in his arm.

"I say!" Fitz exclaimed as he pointed to the stage. "Is that George Gordon? The George Gordon?"

"The one and only," Amanda smirked.

"You're fabulous, mate!" Fitz said excitedly. "You're a of Noah's? Er&ldots;Jared's?"

Methos groaned at Fitz' slip of the tongue. "Yes, he is. Now Rebecca, I think we should talk about what's bothering you. Amanda?"

"Right behind you," she said as they started for the door. She called over her shoulder, "Fitz?"

"Oh you three go on!" Fitz waved them off. "I'll be along shortly&ldots;"

As Methos, Rebecca and Amanda left the room, Fitz joyfully rubbed his hands together and approached the stage. He surveyed the shiny instruments like a kid in a sweet shop. Unable to contain himself, he hopped up on stage with the band.

"Sorry to butt in like this, chaps," he grinned, "but I just couldn't let this golden opportunity go by without jamming with the great George Gordon and the Gathering!"

Byron stared at the new arrival with an amused expression. "And who might you be, mate?"

"I'm a good friend of Jared's," Fitz explained as he made himself at home, examining the drum set and the keyboards. "But more to the point, and not to be modest, of course, I've done some work in The Biz as well."

"Is that right?" Byron replied casually as he slung his guitar over his shoulder. "What's your name?"

"Hugh Fitzcairn, at your service," Fitz announced with a short bow. "Surely Jared has mentioned me."

"No," Byron said simply with a shake of his head.

"Well! Slipped his mind then I suppose!" Fitz covered. "But as I was saying, I'm currently working with Mr. Barry Gordy himself in Detroit."

"You don't say?" Byron asked, his ears pricking up at the famous producer's name as if he was wondering if this bloke was on the level. "Geoff Emerick produced our last album in London."

"Geoff Emerick?" Fitz echoed. "He did Abbey Road!"

Spotting a guitar still in its stand, Fitz moved toward it and touched it lovingly. Looking up at Byron with pleading eyes, he asked, "May I?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Byron said, "Be my guest."

As though he were taking a lover in his arms, Fitz took up the guitar and placed the strap carefully over his shoulder. He picked out a few basic beginner's chords, causing the boys in the band to chuckle. They stopped laughing however, when Fitz easily slid into the opening licks of the Stones' Jumpin' Jack Flash."

Casting a genuinely impressed look at his band mates, Byron shrugged again and joined him on his own guitar. Trevor picked up the beat on the drums and Lance and Hamish came in on bass and rhythm guitar. With a whoop of delight, Roland grabbed up a pair of Spanish maracas, and soon the heavy beat filled the reception area.

Byron grabbed the microphone in front of him and sang out, "Watch it!"

"I was born in a crossfire hurricane
And I howled at my ma in the drivin' rain
But it's all right now!
In fact it's a gas
But it's all right
I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash
It's a gas, gas, gas!"

Fitz was in heaven! Moving effortlessly with the rhythm he pounced on the second verse.

"I was raised by a toothless bearded hag
I was schooled with a strap right across my back
But it's all right now!
In fact it's a gas
But it's all right
Jumpin' Jack Flash
It's a gas, gas, gas, gas!"

The band was really getting into it now. To say they were surprised that this proper-looking Englishman had any musical talent at all was an understatement! His playing was flawless, and he had a great voice to boot!

Both Byron and Fitz sang together on the last verse.

"I was drowned, I was washed up and left for dead
I fell down to my feet and I saw they bled
I frowned at the crumbs of a crust of bread
I was crowned with a spike right through my head!
But it's all right now!
In fact it's a gas
But it's all right
I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash
It's a gas, gas, gas!"

The music crescendoed as the band squeezed every ounce of energy out of the familiar tune. Just as they neared the big finish, a frenzied Fitzcairn slipped the guitar off and raising it high in the air brought it crashing down on the stage. Strings popped and wood splintered in a ghastly noise. The music sputtered to a stop and Byron and his band looked on in shock and utter disbelief.

Coming to his senses and seeing the havoc wreaked by his little display Fitz cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "Oops."

"You know," Hamish said as he protected his own guitar from Fitz as if he was guarding his life, "that's quite a Townsend display, and you remind me of-"

"I hear that a lot," Fitz interrupted. "Roger Daltrey, right?"

Hamish laughed. "I was thinking more along the lines of John Entwistle."

"Seriously?" Fitz gave the matter some thought. "I rather prefer the Daltrey chap myself."

~~~~~

While Fitz jammed with the band, Methos led Rebecca and Amanda to the much quieter library he had found earlier in the day. Rebecca was the last to file into the room and she gave a thorough look down the hall before she shut the door behind her.

"Alright, Rebecca, what's with all the cloak and dagger antics," Methos leaned against a wall near a set of patio doors. Seeing Rebecca glare at him made him straighten up and walk over to where she had settled on a sofa. "Lighten up, luv, it was just a joke."

"As you can plainly see I'm not laughing, Jared," she emphasized his name. "Do you want to hear what I came to tell you or would you prefer I let you figure out the mess you're in on your own?"

Methos sat down on the sofa next to the redhead. "What mess would that be?"

"Amanda, darling," Rebecca took a deep breath and gestured to the liquor cart in the corner, "you better pour us all a drink."

~~~~~

Rhiannon knelt before the makeshift altar she had hidden away from Marek's prying eyes. The man thought he had complete control over her, but she'd learned that it was best to keep a few secrets. She ran her hand over the shallow dish of water she'd carefully placed upon the stone formation. She smiled as the images of The Gathering rippled and became clear.

Now that she was sure of his previous identity so much about him intrigued her. She'd been obsessed with Lord Byron's poetry all during her teenage years, consuming every volume of his words she could lay her hands on. The thought that she had been with the greatest poet of his generation brought a rush of warmth throughout her entire body.

She watched, enraptured, the images as they played out on the surface of the water. Byron was warming up with his band and the sight took her breath away. The flowing silk sleeves of his shirt puddled around his wrists as he stepped forward and gripped the microphone. As he leaned forward, the curtain of his wavy brown hair shielded his face from her view. His body began to sway back and forth as the band began their song.

Rhiannon gasped as the images of Byron singing were replaced with flashes of the decadent time she had spent in his arms. The physical ache rising within her made her close her eyes as she relived his touch upon her skin. In that instant, she knew that she must find a way to spend such intimate time with him, Marek's plans be damned.

When she opened her eyes, Byron's sultry image had been replaced, and she felt tears began to well up. Instead Jared and Amanda, along with an unknown woman, were sequestered in the library having what appeared to be an animated discussion. Jared was pacing around the large room like a caged panther, while Amanda sat beside the other woman wringing her hands while she watched Jared worriedly. The redheaded woman was gesturing and Jared spun around and shouted something at her.

Unsettled, Rhiannon ran her hand over the dish of water and the images faded away. Going into this adventure, she'd been resigned to Marek's plan, but now after getting to know the immortals, Rhiannon found herself shying away from her part in his plans. Before using the immortals had been an abstract concept; however, now she had spoken to and spent time with them. They were people and no one deserved the awful treatment Anton had in the works.

Contemplating her possible choices, Rhiannon lit a match and touched it carefully to the tiny mound of herbs in a silver tray and began chanting. As the words flowed, she felt a sense of calm flood through her being. Seeking guidance, she lifted her burnt offering and waited for a revelation to come.

~~~~~

"Amanda, pack your bags!" Methos reached for her hand. "I have no intention of staying here another moment."

Secretly, Amanda was thrilled to hear him say the words. Ever since she'd gotten here, she'd felt oddly out of sync with him. Rhiannon and her abundant charms hadn't helped matters one iota. Add Byron to the mix, and the vacation had suddenly seemed like Hell. Whatever the reason, Methos wanted to blow this Popsicle stand, and she was totally down with the idea.

"Give me five minutes, and we're out of here," she said with surety.

"Wait," Rebecca hurried to intercept Methos as he headed for the double doors leading to the rest of the hotel.

"I've got to warn George," Methos moved around Rebecca's advancing figure.

"We can't just allow this man to get away with this," she intoned as she grabbed his arm. "Whatever this Marek fellow is up to I doubt he's planning on stopping with you two. He'll keep searching for other immortals."

"Not my problem." Methos turned to see where Amanda was headed. "I'll meet you out front, Amanda. Rebecca, I suggest you find Fitzcairn and get the hell out of Dodge."

Realizing Methos wasn't going to stop until there were hundreds of miles between him and the hotel, she reluctantly pulled her trump card. "Methos."

Turning on his heel at the use of his true identity, he glared in her direction. He didn't take lightly to the use of his name. The number of people who knew him as Methos could be counted on less than two hands.

"Watch what you say!"

"Listen to me," Rebecca said with equal force. "Sit down and listen for once. You owe me that, and you know it."

Not liking being threatened, Methos stood nose to nose with his sometime lover as Amanda paused at the doorway. "I owe you nothing, Rebecca."

"Oh, but I think you do," she whispered. "Don't make me beg, Methos. I cannot walk away from this without at least attempting to stop whatever madness he's planned."

"Walk away with your head still resting on your shoulders, Rebecca, and all will be fine."

"Survival at any cost, then?"

Methos gave her a steady look, "Need you even ask me that?"

"Need I remind you of the last time you acted rashly and let your instincts for survival cloud your judgment?"

"For pity's sake, must you drag up Messina every time you feel the need to play crusader?"

Amanda watched the exchange and held her breath. Only very rarely over the centuries had she seen her teacher and her lover argue and only then over the most serious of matters. Amanda knew without a doubt, Rebecca's thinly veiled references were of her long dead student Messina, dead at Methos' hand and on Holy Ground.

"For once think of the greater good," she intoned.

"Bugger the greater good," he challenged. "I am not a boy scout, Rebecca."

Amanda let her hand slip from Methos' grasp. Rebecca's impassioned pleas were starting to make her feel guilty about splitting so soon without even trying to sort this problem out. She'd come a long way to let them know something was up. The least they could do was hear her out.

"Now just wait a minute, Jared," Amanda said reasonably, opting to use his pseudonym when he was already steamed. "We don't even know what Marek's plan is yet. And besides, it's not like he could really hurt us. He's not Immortal, after all."

"I'm not so sure about that, Amanda," Rebecca said.

"What are you talking about?" Methos demanded.

"I definitely sensed an Immortal energy from this Marek in my vision," Rebecca explained as she slowly paced the room. "And you're certain you haven't felt a buzz from him?"

"I think I bloody well know what an Immortal feels like," Methos said with disgust, arms crossed defiantly across his chest. "Immortal or no, he hasn't exactly invited us here for tea."

"Actually, he didn't invite us," Amanda pointed out. "He invited Byron to play."

"Amanda&ldots;" Methos groaned.

"Oh! Sorry," she said contritely, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Really I am, it just slipped out!"

"Byron?" Rebecca questioned. "You mean George Gordon? He's the Lord Byron?"

"It's a long story," Methos mumbled. "But that's not what we're discussing at the moment! Now you two can either come with me or you can stay here, but I'm history."

The women could only watch as he bolted from the room. They both sighed and looked at each other.

"Why is he so difficult?" Rebecca asked.

"And why do we put up with it?" Amanda returned.

"Amanda, you mentioned that this woman, Rhiannon, is it? That she works for Marek?" Rebecca questioned.

"Yeah, she's a real piece of work," Amanda grumped. "I think she might do more that just work for him, if you know what I mean."

"Do you think she might know what he's up to?" she asked. "Do you think she might talk to us?"

"Maybe," Amanda shrugged. "I guess it's worth a try. Though I'm not exactly keen on talking to her." Amanda was suddenly chilled by how Rhiannon had honed in on a sore spot of hers for so long, out of the blue. It was like the witch could see right into her soul or something, which creeped her out. Looking at her teacher, however, the instinct to once again run to Methos to leave was squelched. Amanda just hoped Rebecca wouldn't steer her wrong for the first time by talking her into staying there.

"It may be our only hope," Rebecca reminded her solemnly.

"What about Methos?" Amanda asked.

Rebecca got one of her determined looks on her face. "Are you prepared to do this without him?"

"Um, I don't know," she hesitated, letting nagging doubt overtake her again. "Maybe I should go with him. He is my ride&ldots;"

"The greater good, Amanda," Rebecca intoned.

Damn it! Amanda felt just like she did when Rebecca had caught her stealing the crystal at the Abbey! Once a teacher, always a teacher. Rebecca's look of friendship and want of help more than authority and stern commandments made Amanda completely torn, but start to bend.

"Oh all right," Amanda relented. "But if we lose our heads over this, I'll never forgive you!"

~~~~~

Methos made quick work of packing up his clothes. He was tempted to throw in Amanda's stuff too, but she would have to make her own decision. If she was stupid enough to stay in a place where there was a known threat, then that was her problem. As he packed, he shuddered at the though that he and Amanda had decided to leave their swords in the trunk of the car. How could he have been so careless? Even if Marek wasn't Immortal, a nice sharp sword in your hand was always good protection. The thought that he had been under some sort of spell came to mind, and thinking about it, he hadn't really felt in control of himself since he drove up to the front door.

As he zipped up his duffle he stopped short and thought about that morning with Rhiannon. If she was in cahoots with Marek, she could have done anything she wanted to them while they were high on drugs and sex. He could have been killed then and there. That she didn't do anything was beside the point in his opinion. He never should have let his guard down like that! In fact, he remembered a similar incident where he very well could have lost his head because his mind had been too polluted to realize it.

~~~~~

 

1818
VILLA DIODATI
SWITZERLAND

Sure, Methos had Laurina upstairs. Byron had been stalking near Methos whispering that since Miss Mary Godwin had taken a drunken slur-something about her needing another drink to kill that bug up her butt-the wrong way and left in a huff, he would be totally alone when he would retire for the evening once again. All options were his now. Methos was filled to the brim with laudanum, wine, and food with his mind still reeling with one of his favorite passages of the Marriage of Figaro, which they had seen performed the night before, and felt contented that whatever he chose to fill the rest of his evening would be another night of satisfaction. Except for one prospect that was out of his reach.

Amanda and her latest conquest, Phillipe, had been with them for just over a week. Because she had brought her lover with, and Methos had Laurina he supposed, she was out of bounds. Some times heeding their alliance were easier than others to deal with. He could have sworn that the first night Amanda was at the estate she had made a late-night visit to his bedchamber, but still couldn't be sure. Nothing from her end indicated that she had. She was, of course, clingy with her devotee, but Methos couldn't read anymore into her motivations than that she was happy with her latest man.

But what if she wasn't? Laurina, Methos had to admit, was as thick as a plank and couldn't hold her liquor. She had spent most of her month at Byron's estate in bed. Again, at times it served Methos well, but at other times it was just annoying. When he had wanted to spend time with the young poetess, to recapture the initial sparkling conversations that had turned his head to her in the first place, she would just claim headaches and turn over. Those evenings when she didn't want companionship, Methos was free to explore other options. Byron was an option that evening, but Methos' head was turned by one of the newest pair of arrivals to Villa Diodati.

Over dinner, Amanda had worn a dress cut so low at the bosom Methos was surprised she hadn't fallen out. He, and he was sure the other men, at the table, and the lesbian Lady Markum as well, were anticipating such an event, and kept a close eye on her as Amanda would do any sort of leaning over. Methos knew that Amanda knew what everyone was thinking. No one wears such a dress by accident. Over drinks, Amanda had been in top form. She had easily joined the conversation as it quickly shifted from poems, opera, literature, to art, all the while holding her lover's hand. Methos noticed the frequent bats of her eyelashes at him and had made him come to a plan of action.

After couples one by one made their way from the living room to private areas of the estate, Methos had stayed close to Amanda and Phillipe. He wanted to make sure his impulse of visiting her that evening would be welcomed. He certainly didn't want a spat with Amanda where she would again remind him of their pact with other lovers in the vicinity. He didn't need to be both lectured and turned down at the same time. Certainly not when he was feeling so on top of the world. Whatever Byron had spiked the brandy with after dinner was making Methos' lust for Amanda stir even more.

Methos paid close attention to Phillipe to gauge what sort of chap he was since their arrival. At first, Methos pegged him as a quiet sort, somewhat out of his element with the likes of Amanda. She had probably wanted him for his looks and probable prowess between the sheets. Then he realized that Phillipe was well educated, having completed studies at the Sorbonne. Then he came to understand that Phillipe was just over a hundred years old. Methos had an idea of liking Phillipe, which made the last week tolerable being that Amanda was hand's off, and Methos had his own hands full in various bedrooms. The only disappointing evening Methos had at Villa Diodati was the confusing one he had visited Lady Markum. Why he thought he would find any carnal pleasure from her was beyond him in the clearer wakening hours of the morning, but he was behooved to try the night before.

Lady Markum was definitely pleasing to the eye, and Methos always had a weakness for a pretty face. Smooth pale skin was framed by long, dark curly hair that she wore in a thick plait over her shoulder. She was taller than average and if she was a bit muscular it only served to accentuate her considerable curves. She was highly intellectual and had bested Methos on several occasions when the conversations turned witty. Once Methos had made the decision to seduce her, stayed at her side romancing her almost to the point of worship.

When they had at last reached her room, it only took a few well-placed kisses and caresses to tumble the Lady Markum into the sheets. When Methos had sensuously peeled off his breeches and stood before her in all his masculine glory, Lady Markum cupped a hand to her mouth. What Methos had originally thought was a gasp of anticipation came out as a giggle, which shortly became an all-out laugh.

Feeling the heat creep up his neck, he arched an eyebrow in her direction.

"I'm sorry Dr. Adams," she had said unabashedly, "but I've always found them rather odd looking. Rather like an overripe piece of fruit."

Methos' unease was quickly turning to anger. How dare she criticize his...equipment? He'd never had any complaints before! His head held high he said, "Dear Lady Markum, if the sight of me amuses you so, perhaps we've avoided a monumental catastrophe here tonight."

"Oh Dr. Adams, don't be so melodramatic," she teased, running a hand over her bare breast. "That's Byron's job."

He would have allowed himself a chuckle at that if he hadn't been so peeved at her. Grinning like a cat, she then rose up on her knees and with rather surprising strength, yanked him onto the bed with her.

As she straddled his waist she purred, "Just because I prefer women, doesn't mean I don't know how to please a man."

The evening had gone downhill from there. Lady Markum had proved an overly aggressive lover and before dawn Methos' ego and his overripe piece of fruit were substantially bruised. When he'd tried to slip out of her bed in the morning, she had graciously offered her services again that night... if he could convince the Lady Amanda to join them.

He was still scratching his head over that particular folly as he observed Amanda and Philippe from his covert spot amongst the trees. He sorely needed Amanda tonight, not only to block out the memory of his dalliance with Lady Markum but, damn it, he missed her! She'd been at the Villa for a week and they still hadn't had one private conversation. He decided to remedy that as soon as he could get Amanda alone.

He didn't have to wait long. As he peered in the direction of the footbridge, he saw Philippe gallantly bring Amanda's hand to his lips and then retreat back to the Villa. When he felt the other immortal's buzz fade to nothing, he marched toward the bridge. In the silence of the waning evening his boot heels clicked loudly against the cobblestones , but still Amanda did not look up.

"Amanda," he greeted cordially as he joined her. Leaning casually against the bridge railing he said, "Lovely night, isn't it?"

"For skulking around in the bushes?" she replied flippantly. "Oh yes."

Methos couldn't hide his grin. That was his girl. "Seems a good thing I was. Not very wise of your companion to leave a lady by herself out here. Where is he off to then so soon?"

She turned to face him and sighed, "It seems whatever Lord Byron decided to lace the wine with is not agreeing with him. I told him to go get some rest, and assured him I wouldn't get lost on the way back to our room."

Gods she was lovely like this. Although it was summer, the coming night brought a small chill, and he could just make out the beginnings of goose pimples on her bare arms. He wanted to scoop her up and take her right there on the bridge. He'd make sure they both stayed warm.

"And speaking of our amiable host, I'm surprised you're not with him right now," she added, turning her face away from him. "I'm sure he misses you."

"I've missed you," he said softly, his hand barely grazing her cheek, coaxing her to look at him again.

"Really?" she sniffed. "When I visited you last week in your room it did not look like you were missing me."

Ah there it was. So she had been to his room and found Byron there. How jealous the little minx must be! No wonder she put on such a show at dinner tonight. He couldn't help but puff out his chest with pride.

"Byron is not here now," he told her, "but we are. And I would think it a terrible misfortune if we were to waste this opportunity."

She turned those beautiful brown eyes on him and for a moment he sensed victory; she looked like she was about to cave. And then....

"So Byron is your student then?"

The question momentarily threw him. It wasn't at all what he was expecting to hear. Nodding his head he replied, "I was with him when he turned, just a couple of years ago.

"Funny, I thought after what happened in Egypt you were out of the Game," she said.

Her bringing up the debacle with Messina was like a slap in the face. Even now it wasn't something he wished to think about, let alone discuss on a bloody bridge in Switzerland! He took a deep steadying breath and brought himself back under control.

"I am out of the Game," he assured her. "Having a student does not make it necessary for me to be active in that mad immortal legacy."

He felt her eyes on him, studying him.

"You must care about him a great deal then," she replied, the defeat evident in her voice.

"Amanda, have you read the man's poetry?" Methos asked with something akin to awe. "He has a genius like few I've ever seen. He has a gift! And it deserves to be preserved for generations to come. I'll do whatever I can to make sure that happens."

Amanda cocked her head to one side and smirked, "So you're telling me you love him for his mind."

Methos laughed heartily. "I decline to answer that question, dear Amanda."

"Um hmm," she replied with narrowed eyes. Then those same eyes softened, reflecting the light of the rising moon. She reached out and cupped his cheek. "I have missed you."

Methos pressed her hand to his cheek and then turned it slightly, placing a heated kiss on her palm. "Then come with me. Come back to my room and we'll welcome each other back as we should've done the moment you arrived here."

"But what about our pact?" she reminded him even though he could tell her resolve was failing. "We promised we would respect the boundaries when one of us was with someone else."

"Is that really what you want, Amanda?" he asked her in a low voice, daring her to agree with him. "To go back to your darling Philippe? Perhaps he hasn't passed out yet. Or maybe you'll get to hold his hand while he relieves his stomach of dinner, hmm?"

"Well what about you?" she countered. "Shouldn't you go check on the lovely Laurina?"

"As per usual, Laurina is in her bed with a megrim," Methos told her matter-of-factly. "It appears we've both been dealt a winning hand tonight."

"Are you saying it's fate?" Amanda challenged him, hands on her slim hips. "I thought you didn't believe in fate?"

"I don't," he told her as he suddenly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. "I believe in us."

She ran her hands over his back and down his arms. When she tugged on his hand and smiled suggestively, Methos knew he'd succeeded. Without a word they quickly made their way back inside the villa, up the wide staircase and down the long corridor to his room. When they reached his door, he pressed her firmly against it and attacked her mouth.

Her half-hearted attempts to stop him came out in a muffled giggle. "Someone will see us out here!"

Chuckling he released her and threw open the door. To both of their surprises, Byron was sprawled across Methos' bed, a lazy smile playing about his lips.

"I thought I heard someone at the door," he quipped.

"I thought you'd already turned in for the night," Methos replied as he held fast to Amanda's hand. He hadn't expected a visit from the poet this evening. This could prove rather tricky. He already knew Amanda wasn't Byron's biggest fan. How would she react to his presence in his room?

Byron only smiled as he rose to a sitting position. "You know the French have a wonderful little activity called the menage a trois. Have you heard of it, Amanda?"

Methos groaned inwardly, but surprisingly Amanda laughed elegantly and replied, "I'm afraid I'm not Claire Clairmont, my lord. It seems to me she is more the type of girl who would engage in such debauchery."

Byron let out a genuine laugh at the expense of his on-again off-again relationship to the young and frivolous Ms. Clairmont. Methos saw an unreadable expression in his eyes and wondered what he was really thinking.

Byron motioned to the wine bucket at the side of the bed and said, "The wine is chilling. Please enjoy it with my compliments."

He grabbed his cane from where it leaned against the bed and levered himself up. He sketched a short bow and left the room without another word.

"Well," Methos cleared his throat when they were alone, "that was awkward."

Amanda didn't reply as she was too busy pouring them both a glass of wine. She handed him his and said, "I'd say your student has an unhealthy attraction to his teacher."

"As is often the way with teacher-student relationships," Methos smirked as he sipped from his glass. "You've never slept with a student?"

Amanda took a demure sip of wine and smiled, "As I believe you said earlier, 'I decline to answer that question.'"

Methos placed their glasses on the side table and nibbled a trail down Amanda's neck as his nimble fingers began undoing her gown.

"Tell me," she sighed, "Does Byron ever consume anything that hasn't been altered in some way?"

He chuckled against her throat. He too was already feeling the effects of whatever Byron had put into the wine. Truthfully, with all the chemicals already in his system that night, he was surprised he could feel the added influence.

"Byron has an unsatiable hunger," he murmured against her warm flesh as he pulled the fabric of her gown off her shoulders. "He tries to feed it anyway he can."

He didn't wish to talk about Byron anymore that night, so he stopped Amanda's mouth with a searing kiss that he hoped put all thoughts but him out of her mind.

~~~~~

He felt like he was drowning, but not in water. Something much thicker was pulling him down. Limbs tried to move but felt like they were encased in cement. From somewhere above him he struggled to hear the voice calling out to him softly. His body was completely relaxed, and deep inside his muddled mind he knew it was due to a combination of Amanda's boundlessly energetic lovemaking and all of Byron's chemical offerings.

He felt a strange tingle along the back of his neck and spine but was at a loss as to the cause of it. A long-ingrained sense of urgency and survival tactics told him he should probably find out what was going on. Opening his eyes would be a wonderful start. Fighting against his lead-like lids, he managed to open his eyes a crack. A bright, unfocused light settled itself into a familiar face hovering over him. It was definitely not Amanda.

"Wake up!"

The command seemed to come from above him and beside him at the same time. He then realized someone was yanking on his arm rather insistently. With one last burst of willpower, Methos managed to clear his head and swim to the surface of consciousness once more. He was horrified to find Philippe standing over him. Amanda was huddled beside him on the bed, her hands spread out placatingly.

As the cold, sharp blade of Philippe's sword bit into Methos' neck, the angered Immortal said, "Despite your protestations, Amanda, it appears as though you did get lost on the way back to our room."

~~~~~

1970
MAISON DE SALIDA DEL SOL

He wasn't about to come that close again. Immortal or no, this place was bad news from the get-go, and he'd be damned if he stayed here a moment longer. Slinging his duffle over his shoulder, he left the suite without looking back. He made his way down the long hall and took the stairs two at a time. He figured he'd throw his stuff in the car, grab his sword, and then warn Byron. If his student had the sense he'd given him, he would get the hell out of dodge, too.

Cool evening air struck him in the face as he stepped out the front of the hotel. The sun was on a downward arc, and the desert skies were a mix of pink and orange. Too preoccupied to appreciate its beauty, Methos marched to the Thunderbird and popped the trunk. Tossing his stuff in, he then rummaged around a pile of blankets and fast food wrappers until his hand closed over the familiar handle of his sword.

He instantly felt better with the welcome weight in his hand. When he felt the Immortal presence wash over him, he only stiffened slightly before calling out. "Thank the gods you've come to your senses, Amanda!"

He slammed the trunk only to see Anton Marek not two feet from him. Dressed in the same dark suit, now paired with a floor-length cape, he smiled innocently. "Leaving the party so soon, Mr. Burke?"

"You&ldots;you are Immortal," Methos groaned, wondering how on earth he could have missed this guy's buzz. Bringing his sword up in a defensive posture he demanded, "Why couldn't I sense you before?"

Marek sketched a small appreciative bow. "You can thank dear, sweet Rhiannon for that. She's a witch, you know. There is no end to her special talents. But then again, I suppose you've already sampled the best of her talents, haven't you?"

"Bastard!" Methos yelled and came at Marek with his sword. He stopped abruptly as he felt the fire burgeon in his chest. As the pain radiated outward, he looked down at the dagger now embedded in his heart.

"The first rule of magic, Methos," Marek shook his head. "The hand is quicker than the eye."

"Damn it&ldots;" Methos' eyes popped open from hearing his true name coming out of that bastard's mouth just before he fell to the desert floor and into darkness.

Marek picked up the sword that had fallen from Methos' fingers and tucked it into the folds of his long cape. Then he maneuvered the surprisingly heavy Immortal into the trunk. He slammed it shut and pulled the keys from the lock. Slipping into the driver's seat he revved the engine and pulled away from the front of the hotel. Checking to make sure no one was watching, he drove the car around to the back of the hotel and parked it into a hidden porte cochere.

~~~~~

With a shuddering gasp, Methos woke up surprised that he still had his head. When unconsciousness claimed him, Methos was certain he was done for, but as the cobwebs cleared from his head, he realized he was most definitely alive. He had no idea of his current circumstance or whereabouts except that he was prone and fairly immobile.

He tried to move his hands and feet but quickly discovered they were held firm by some sort of metal clasps. He yanked at them fiercely but to no avail. The second thing he became aware of was that he was laying on a hard metal table. That's never a good sign. The room he was in was dim and quiet; the cinder block ceilings and walls suggested a basement or cellar of some kind. Was he still in the hotel?

Most ominously, it looked as though he was only the first guest to arrive. There were five identical tables surrounding the one he was on. Above his head, hanging from the ceiling was a silver orb about the size of a basketball. A jolt of panic shot through him and his stomach lurched. This did not bode well at all.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted as he strained against the bindings.

"Not pleased with your accommodations?" Marek asked from where he stood at the head of the table.

Methos looked up to see the upside down image of Anton Marek grinning down at him.

"Don't worry," he continued. "You won't be here that long."

After Marek's cocky words and an arrogant stroll from the room, Methos took in the absolute silence. Perfect... bloody perfect, the irate voice of Methos' survival filled his head. Trying to save his head had made him get kidnaped by that madman! This was something that happened to Amanda, not him! You can be such a fool at times! How the bloody hell did you last for 5,000 years anyway?

One of the most important reasons Methos had survived for 5,000 years was that he knew how to enjoy life. He hadn't been overwhelmed by it or feared it. He had taken opportunities of merriment and mirth, decadence and piety, love and hate, and enjoyed almost every moment of them. Only because he loved life did he keep it. He also used his head. When things got bad, Methos always made sure he didn't lose his control, if at all possible. He started to feel his reserve falter as the voice was continuing to berate him for putting himself in this position.

The room looked as if it was part of the hotel they'd been staying at la Mision de la Salida del Sol. If he could just be loud enough, he might get Amanda or Rebecca's attention. Hell, Fitz might even come to his rescue. Fitz was none too pleased with him about leaving Luther behind with his head back in Berkeley, but Fitz wouldn't be one to take revenge by letting him stew here, Methos tried to decide. He didn't know Fitz long, but it seemed he was a trustworthy man who wouldn't let a fellow immortal rot on a table, would he?

"HELP!" emitted from Methos' mouth, just before he cringed that the word had been the one he yelled in a moment of panicked need. There were a ton of words he could have used, most especially AMANDA! REBECCA! FITZ! GEORGE! Hell, this is serious, Methos yelled out, "BYRON!" to get his student's attention.

After screaming out loud and struggling against the straps, Methos could only hear the echoes of what seemed to be his hallow attempt at rescue. What that bastard had in mind, what the other tables were meant to be used for, what that orb was all about, and where the hell Amanda was filled his thoughts.

~~~~~

Hamish needed a sandwich. After the long jam session after the long trip choking on dust in the bus to this hotel, which didn't have a full guest register for their concert, he needed more than just what was served for that breakfast. His mother had always told him he had a bottomless pit for a stomach, and five years later, he still did. He popped his hand against his washboard stomach proudly. Even with all he ate and drank, he still kept his bod. As he walked through the hotel, he was surprised by just how empty it felt. When George had told him about the concert planned at the Mision de la... whathaveyou, Hamish had pictured senoritas around every corner wanting a souvenir or kiss from him as he had gotten used to. So far, the only chicks he'd seen was Burke's and the two red heads, both of which seemed off limits and far out of his element. He didn't want to have to think around chicks. He just wanted them to fawn all over him.

After walking through the hotel a while, Hamish realized he sense of direction was still hopeless and was lost. He knew he was on the second floor of the hotel and figured the kitchen must be on the main floor, so he took a narrow, stone staircase down. It was less grand than the rest of the staircases he had seen in the hotel, for guests. This must be a servants staircase and hall. His stomach grumbled as if it had radar knowing that food was close at hand.

To his surprise, he didn't hear the clinking of pots and pans, swizzling of food upon pans on a stove or running sink water that one would normally hear so near a kitchen. Instead he heard someone yell, "ANYBODY!"

It came from the door at the far end of the hallway. The door was dim down the hall as the lights that lined the hall stopped midway down. As he edged closer to it, Hamish felt a prickle of foreboding on the back of his neck worsen with every step. He hesitated, wondering if he was just imagining that yell. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!" blasted into him, making him rush to the door. Someone was definitely in trouble!

The door was locked. Not surprising, he should have known that, but he had banged into it all the same. He looked around and couldn't see much to help him break the door down. "YEAH! GET IN HERE!" the voice on the other side of the door ordered him. Hamish felt around him and found a fire extinguisher on the wall. He pulled it off and jammed it against the doorknob.

The door busted open and Hamish couldn't believe what he saw. That Jared guy was strapped to one of six metal tables in the room with a silver orb hanging from the ceiling with uneven jets of light emitting from it. "GET ME FREE!" Jared commanded, straining his head to look at him.

~~~~~

Rhiannon had never hated Marek as much as she had when she saw what Marek had done to Jared. She had hoped the other immortals would help her get rid of Marek once and for all. She never dreamed he would move his plan into action so fast. She had assumed he would wait until the concert that evening. She knew she could get Jared free in a matter of seconds, but then what to do with Marek's reaction. She despised him, but she didn't want him to know that she was trying to side against him.

Rhiannon had seen the band member wandering through the hotel and followed him, wondering what he was up to. When he neared the staircase leading down to Marek's room, she gave him a little mental prod to get him to go down and do the dirty work of letting Jared go, what she wanted, but didn't want Marek to know she had anything to do with it.

In her heart, she knew Jared was now free. She had to wait upstairs, not let either of them see her. If they had any inkling that she was part of Marek's plan, all would be lost. She hadn't felt so alive since spending the evening with the three of them. They were what good immortals felt like. Marek felt like a parasite who infected her soul with each passing day. Because of Marek, she had thought Immortals were all the same. Now that she knew she was wrong, she wanted more than anything to keep them alive so they would take Marek out. He was evil and had defiled her sacred power. She had prayed to the goddess that her small part in his big plans wouldn't work against her. Rhiannon had also prayed that she would have strength in mind, spirit, and body to vanquish Marek. As Hamish had gone down the steps, Rhiannon had known that she may have been forgiven for her deeds under Marek's command.

The two men were talking, more than likely about Marek and his plan. Jared had to have formulated an idea of what he was up to. With how fast he wanted to bolt before, she knew that Jared, and more than likely the other immortals would all pack up and leave before Marek could do a thing. She would be stuck with Marek's disappointment and he would take it out on her.

Rhiannon made herself known to the men as they made their way up the steps two at a time. They paused when they saw her. She couldn't let them remember anything of what had happened or what they had seen. They had to work for her, not themselves or Marek. They had to help her get rid of Marek once and for all. She had tried on two occasions to take a sword against him when he was sleeping, but each time he had awaken, and each time he had made life more miserable for her.

Lifting her hands, the men were mute with their mouths agape, she called on the goddess to free their minds and also give them a need to stay. Since it was the arrival of the red haired Rebecca that sent Jared's plan to flee in motion, she broadened her entreaty to the goddess to encompass the entire hotel. She felt the magic ripple through her and shot down her arms and encircle the air and space around her. It flowed like a warm summer breeze around the two men and drifted further along embracing the old hotel like a familiar lover, erasing memories, and replacing them with fabrications that suited her plans.

When the spell ended she gripped the stair railing and closed her eyes. The power of encompassing the hotel had left her a little woozy. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly until the pounding in her ears grew silent. Jared and the other man had collapsed in a gangly heap on the stairs. Rhiannon's fingertips brushed along the band member's cheek and she felt his breath caress her hand. He'd be all right, just a little out of it until the spell's influence left him.

With more than a bit of trepidation, her fingers moved towards the other man sprawled gracefully on the steps. Since her night of otherworldly passion with the trio of immortals, she'd been hesitant to touch this man. Although his power came not from magic, but from some unidentifiable force, it was something not to be taken lightly.

Unable to resist feeling the power held so firmly in check, she bit her lip as her fingers slid over his prominent cheekbones and traced his aquiline nose. As her fingers explored his uniquely handsome features, images poured and swam in her mind like a drug. The force of his life's story called to her. This man had seen much and knew much. A selfish bastard like Anton Marek should not be the one to capture his essence.

The muffled chiming of a clock announcing the dawning of another hour tore her away from her contemplations. She had no doubt that her spell was successful; she was powerfully adept. However, her peek into Jared's mind had caused her to lose all track of time.

She ran down to the concert hall to see George and his band on the floor of the stage as if asleep. She then ran up to the room given to Rebecca to see the red haired woman and Amanda on the floor as well. Relieved that all was still in order, Rhiannon sought the tranquility of the garden. She needed time for reflection and to recoup her power. The robustly angry face of Anton Marek greeted her.

"What are you up to, Rhiannon?" his question sound more a threat.

She was ready for him. "You acted in haste, Anton."

"Did I now?" Each word dripped with sarcasm.

"You have to get them to want and need to stay before you take them. If there is the prospect of the outside world, your plan has failed. I'm surprised you didn't see that. I have made them all forget. We can start anew. We can make them know that this hotel is the only life they lead. There is nothing outside of it. Just as you had planned. Taking Jared so quickly had only made Amanda want to leave as well."

"So she would have been taken next."

"Why 'take,' Anton? I thought the plan was that they would follow you willingly. You had plans, Anton. You had ceremonies to conduct. You needed them to fulfill requirements. Your first act of sacrifice was to be at the concert." She waited as her words sunk into the thick-headed, power-hungry Immortal. "Admit it, you screwed up. You acted without thinking of the consequences. That's all right. It's human."

Rhiannon knew it pained Marek, but he said, "You are right, Rhiannon." She didn't act smug, which was her natural impulse for having put another one over on him, as he looked at her with respect and his finger grazed down her arm. His touch was cold and rattled her, but she kept a solemn face, one that only expressed servitude to him, which was what he needed for her plan to work.

~~~~~

The gouging pain in his back, along with the heavy numbness in his left arm, roused Methos from his slumber. Amanda had a terrible habit making herself comfortable at his expense. He shoved her off his arm and stretched it, hoping to get the blood circulating through it once more. Well, if he had to be awake then it was only right that she should be awake as well He opened his eyes and turned over on his side to wake her up. However, instead of Amanda's immensely charming face, he found himself face to face with a snoring member of Byron's band.

"Bloody hell!"

His words echoed off the cool stone walls around him. He scurried to his feet and a wave of nausea swept over him. Gasping for air, he leaned against the wall and let them support him while he gathered his muddled thoughts. Looking himself and the other man over carefully, he noticed that they were both fully clothed and he sighed in relief. He didn't need Amanda's jealous fits over another tryst haunting him during their stay. Hopefully, whatever drugs had prompted his unexpected rendezvous were long gone out of his system. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, Methos went in search of Amanda. She'd been feeling a little neglected since Byron's arrival and he felt the sudden need to show her just how much he appreciated her charms.

~~~~~

Amanda sat up with a jerk. Her hand wiped a bit of moisture from the corner of her mouth and sighed. Methos was forever teasing her about her tendency to drool in her sleep. She often reminded him of his own drooling problem. She giggled as Rebecca groaned on the floor beside her.

"What's so funny, Amanda?" Rebecca rubbed her forehead as she made it to an upright position.

"Oh, nothing really," Amanda stifled her mirth. "Just thinking about Jared is all."

"What are we doing on the floor?" Rebecca swayed a bit.

"Hell if I know, but it must have been some kind of party," Amanda shoved herself to her feet. "Grab my hand, old girl, and I'll help you up."

"Pardon me, missy," Rebecca rose to her feet without assistance. "Your are not too old for me to turn you over my knee."

Amanda held up her hands in mock fear. "OH!! I'm sooooo scared!'

"Disrespectful chit!!" Rebecca intoned. "It's not polite to mock your elders, darling."

"Yeah, that's what Jared says, but he's full of it, and so are you," Amanda grinned at her teacher. "Speaking of, where's the old bugger at?"

"The gods only know," Rebecca rolled her eyes. "I saw a fully stocked bar and a hammock on the patio. My guess is that he's got a beer in one hand and a book in the other."

"Lolling the day as usual?" Amanda raised her eyebrow. "He's such a insufferable man, isn't he?"

"Oh, he's the definition of insufferable, but I suppose that's why we adore him so," Rebecca allowed. "Shall we go in search of our friend?"

"Yes, I think we shall," Amanda held out her hand to her teacher. "Perhaps we should show him just how much we adore him."

Rebecca's eyes gleamed, "He won't have a clue what hit him."

Amanda stopped at the door and turned to her teacher. "You know, if Jared's at the pool, we're a little overdressed, don't you think?" She pointed out the tattered, faded jeans she wore, topped off with a white gauze blouse over a yellow blouse.

"I'm ready for the pool," Rebecca mused aloud, looking at her own outfit of a long, light blue dress and sandals.

"Maybe a swimsuit would be more appropriate?"

"I didn't pack one."

"Good thing I think of everything, hm?" Amanda scooted Rebecca out the door. "Where would you be without me?" Amanda asked cagily as she tweaked Rebecca's side.

Rebecca twisted around violently and asked, "Will you ever grow up?" after a surprised laugh.

"What's the fun in that? Come on, I packed plenty of bikinis."

They spirited along the wide, stone hallway to Amanda's suite, not feeling any immortals in their vicinity. Amanda wondered if Methos really was at the pool, and in a major way hoped he was. She could do with a little sun and fun. There hadn't really been much of it since their arrival. As she thought about it more, Amanda couldn't remember why they were even there. She had the feeling that there was something she was forgetting, but looking at how Rebecca was smiling and hadn't seen her for so long, Amanda figured being in what looked like a four star hotel with her lover and best friends wouldn't be all bad and shouldn't worry about mundane things such as why Rebecca had arrived so suddenly.

"Jared mentioned we'd be here, right?" Amanda asked. Using Methos' alias, Amanda thought with a smile, would make him feel better in case anyone was listening. As she got into her suite, she wondered why she had the thought that anyone would be in the least bit interested in small talk between her and her teacher.

"Yes," Rebecca answered as she took in the view of the desert from the floor to ceiling windows of the suite.

"And you just thought to join us? What made you bring Fitz?"

"Mm," Rebecca murmured, almost as if she was at a loss, then turned to ask, "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, not at all. It's just that after that whole Luther mess in San Fran, I'm surprised Fitz would even want to be around Jared. It's just a good thing you didn't bring John. You haven't broken up with him, have you?"

"No."

"Why didn't you bring him?"

Rebecca didn't answer, just continued looking out the window like a little girl lost.

"Becca?" Amanda asked, getting Rebecca's attention after the silence was eerie. Having never seen her teacher at a loss for words made Amanda get a bit of a shiver. She opened the drawer she knew she had put her clothes in, but it was empty. Looking around, she saw her suitcases, along with Methos' duffle bag, by the door. She was sure Methos had put them in the closet. Amanda lifted one of hers up, not expecting it to be heavy, and then plunked it on the bed. To her amazement, it was full of her things. It wasn't packed neatly at all, as she would have. She wondered who put her clothes in there, and only came up with Methos as the answer. "What did he pack and then just leave the bags by the door anyway? Is he going somewhere?"

To Amanda's continued fret, Rebecca just stared out the window. Amanda grabbed a swimsuit from her suitcase and tossed it at Rebecca. Rebecca flinched and spun around. "Get dressed," Amanda ordered her. "Did you see Jared at the pool?"

"I wasn't looking for him," Rebecca murmured aloud again as she stooped down to pick up the yellow bikini top. She held the strings in her hands. "You expect me to wear this," she said in a more forceful voice than the dreamlike quality that had been the norm since entering the suite.

"You don't like it? I've never even worn it yet."

"Not bloody likely. Men should imagine what you look like; you need not show them every body part you possess."

"Oh, don't be such a prude. I know you better than that. But, if you don't like that one, here," she tossed a dark blue one piece. "Or this one," she tossed a black one piece. "Or maybe this if it's not too risque," Amanda said as she tossed a two piece red suit at her teacher.

"Oh, you," Rebecca groused with a smile, indicating to Amanda she had shrugged off whatever was eating at her as she had stared out the window.

After the women had dressed in their suits with robes tied around them, they went off in search of the pool. "I know there was a very good reason why I came here, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. I mean, when you asked why I didn't bring John... I should have. I love him. What am I doing going on a vacation without him?"

"Did he have to work?"

"Yeah," Rebecca pondered. "That must be it." With a little shake of her head, her long red hair swaying behind her, Rebecca smiled and seemed to lighten up a bit more. "Well, since I'm here, let's have fun."

"Now you're talkin'!" Amanda put her arm around Rebecca's and walked out to the balcony to the grand staircase to the courtyard.

It didn't take long for Amanda to feel an immortal. With the accompanying rock music booming from the direction of the pool, she knew Methos couldn't be far away. If he wasn't in a book reading mood that bright, sunny day, it would be good news for her.

Just as they rounded the corner of the gardens to the pool, Amanda could hear a holler that sounded like Fitz. He sounded to be in trouble. Amanda gawked at Rebecca, and they took off around the corner at top speed. They arrived pool side just as Fitz was in mid air, his legs crouched in at his chest, still hollering at the top of his lungs, just before he hit the water of the pool. Water splashed on Amanda and Rebecca, making him wet from head to toe.

"You should have warned us!" Rebecca yelled as she couldn't open her eyes from the torrent of water rushing down her face.

"Well, since you're wet already..." a voice Amanda knew was Byron's came from behind her. She was going to face him with some quip but he pushed her into the pool before she could.

Amanda came up to the surface and spit out a mouthful of chlorinated water. "Thanks a lot!" she sputtered, trying to make out Byron laughing with two of his band members pool side.

The shorter man next to Byron gave out a Tarzan yell and belly flopped into the water perilously close to Amanda. She screamed, "What a...! I'm right here!" as she wiped more water from her face.

Rebecca was laughing on the other side of Byron, which didn't improve Amanda's mood. Not liking to be the laughing stock of anything, she grumbled and made her way to the edge. Here she had wanted to be able to take off her robe and Methos, as well as all the men, could have seen her new swimsuit in all its glory, as she posed for them. Not only was the entrance of her suit ruined, her hair was too.

Just before she grabbed the rung of the ladder to climb out and try to salvage any dignity she had left, she felt two strong arms float around her waist, and then she was tickled. She whipped around to see Methos pull her into a hug. "Now is that any way to behave at a party?"

Two idiot band members, their names Amanda forgot, were swimming near them tossing a beachball between them. She could still hear Rebecca's laugh and Byron's guffaw, and noticed Fitz's head across the pool from them, but the only thing she could concentrate on were Methos' slightly sunburned shoulders in front of her. She felt him kiss her cheek then pull back and untie her robe. "Let's see what's under here. Ah..." he smiled as he saw her purple bikini. She looked down and could tell that the water made her cleavage even more significant and was pleased he was getting a nice first impression of it.

Methos gathered her into his arms as she wrapped her legs around him. "I can't wait to take that off you," he whispered, "But let's have a spot of fun with the gang, first. Hm?"

As if on cue, Rhiannon's voice broke her solitude. "Drinks for everyone," she announced as she put a tray of champagne glasses filled with ice and a glass pitcher of bright pink liquid down on the main table pool side.

Methos yelled to Fitz, who was climbing out of the pool and then made his way to the refreshments, "Bring us two glasses as well, Fitz!"

"Who was your servant last year?" Fitz called back.

Methos laughed. "You were. Remember?"

Amanda snickered. It was technically last year when Fitz stowed away in Methos' van from Woodstock and Methos made him be gopher for a bit to work off his debt.

"Get on out of there, you two lazy bones," Rebecca admonished with good humor as she accepted a glass from Rhiannon, who had started pouring out the champagne.

Since Methos and Amanda were the last two in the pool, she looked at him in sorrow of having to call their closeness to an end for the moment and they swam to the steps in the shallow end of the pool. Methos held his hand out for her to help her out. His wet black trunks made his butt look extra tight, which made Amanda forget how to maneuver stairs. Just as she was at the top one, Methos snickered and said, "Gotcha!" just before he pushed her back into the water.

When Amanda got to the surface, blisteringly mad, she yelped to Rebecca, "And you think I'll never grow up?"

Watching the frolicking Immortals, Rhiannon was pleased. Everything was working according to plan--her plan, not Marek's. She'd managed to make them forget all that had happened since Rebecca had arrived at the hotel with news of Marek's plan. Now they were blissfully unaware of the potential danger they were in. Rhiannon flinched at that thought; she didn't want any harm to come to any of them. But she desperately needed them here to help her stop Marek. Hopefully they would forgive her when all this was over.

Especially George.

While Jared, Amanda, Rebecca and Fitz bundled themselves in their robes and sat down at the table to enjoy their champagne, Rhiannon looked wistfully at the poet/rock star. He was the only one not clad in a swimsuit, but had opted for jeans, T-shirt and tennis shoes instead. She knew it was because he did not wish to show his deformity. Funny how he hadn't minded earlier that morning in his suite. She supposed it was because he did not know Fitz or Rebecca and preferred not to show his weakness to strange Immortals.

One of George's band members returned with a small transistor radio and set it on the table. He spun the tuner until the static gave way to "Sunshine and Superman" by Donovan. Everyone yelled at him to leave it there and he cranked up the volume.

Sunshine came softly through my a-window today
Could've tripped out easy a-but I've a-changed my ways
It'll take time, I know it but in a while
You're gonna be mine, I know it, we'll do it in style
'Cause I made my mind up you're going to be mine
I'll tell you right now
Any trick in the book now, baby, all that I can find

 

Watching George groove to the song, Rhiannon thought the lyrics quite appropriate for how she felt. She caught his eye and smiled appreciatively. Then she broke off from the group and started in the direction of the garden, throwing a meaningful glance over her shoulder at him as she did.

"Excuse me lads and ladies," Byron announced as he picked up two glasses of the chilled champagne, "but I believe I'm being summoned."

Methos stopped ogling Amanda long enough to watch him head off after the beauty in the red dress, something familiar niggling at the back of his mind. Unable to place it, he rejoined the impromptu singalong.

Rhiannon strolled through the garden greenery knowing that George was not far behind her. Ever since being with him earlier that morning, she'd promised herself she would spend more time with him. She couldn't hide the grin on her face when she turned to find him there, long wavy hair just touching his shoulders. He held the two champagne glasses in one hand, while the other clasped the top of his cane. It looked odd to see someone so young-looking dependent on the crutch, but he still gave off such a carefree air.

"Milady," he bowed his head regally as he offered her a glass.

"Thank you, kind sir," she smiled in return and raised the glass to her lips.

"I hope I'm not being too bold," he began with a sly grin, "but I must confess I had the strangest dream about you this morning in quite an intimate situation."

Rhiannon laughed softly. She knew he wouldn't remember that she was a part of their little get-together that morning. But that wasn't her doing; it was a glut of drugs. She hoped to remedy that very soon. Since things were going so smoothly and according to plan, she figured she could spare a little time for her own pleasure.

"Oh my! Is that true?" she teased, pretending to be shocked.

"Most definitely," he assured her, closing the distance between them. "I hope it doesn't offend you?"

"Why of course not, Mr. Gordon," she said. "On the contrary, I find it very flattering."

"Flattery has nothing to do with how I feel about you, dear Rhiannon," he said in a low, serious tone. "Passion, fire...lust. Oh yes. But not flattery."

Rhiannon had to force herself not to flee from the force of his presence. His dark eyes seem to bore through her and for a moment she wondered if he could see what she was up to. She had no time to think on it however, as George leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth. It was not at all what she had expected, and nothing like the wild, uninhibited kisses they'd shared that morning.

"Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private, Mr. Gordon," she breathed, trying to steady the triphammer beat of her heart.

"I've always said it's quite rude to disagree with a lady," he grinned as they moved in the direction of the hotel.

~~~~~

When they got to his room, Byron went straight to the bureau to fetch his box of goodies. But Rhiannon removed it from his hands and placed it back in the drawer. At his look of confusion, she whispered, "Trust me. I'm more than good enough without that. Besides, this time, I want you to remember me."

Byron's eyebrow climbed at her words. "This time?"

Realizing her mistake, Rhiannon stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. Raising up on tip toes, her mouth sought his in an attempt to distract him. As he deepened the kiss, she offered a silent thanks to the Goddess. The last thing she needed was for him to question her motives.

"You are an exquisite creature." His fingers caressed the line of her jaw and slid lower to trace the delicate skin over her collarbone. "So unique, almost not of this mortal coil. Your beauty bewitches me, Rhiannon."

How could this be happening to her? Her earlier dalliances with the infamous poet had been under the influence, but here, now, they were willing instruments in the oldest game of all. She sighed as he pressed closer to her. The evidence of his arousal rubbed against her inner thigh as they inched closer to the massive canopied bed.

"It is you, sir, that is beautiful," she whispered as she felt his hands push the material off her shoulders.

Byron threw back his head and indulged in a deep chuckle. "What a delight you are!"

"I only speak the truth," she smiled up at him through her lashes. "You are the most handsome man I've seen."

Rhiannon's dress puddled to the floor in a whisper of silk, revealing her nude form. She raised her head with pride and met his stare. The gleam of passion in his eyes brought a pleasant warmth to every nerve ending in her body. She shivered when his fingertips brushed against the curve of her hip.

"Such a shame to hide such a luscious figure under those robes."

"I prefer a little mystery in my life," she informed him. "I find it keeps things intriguing."

She reached behind her and unfastened the silver clip that bound her auburn hair. The fragile clasp landed with a tinkle on the hardwood floor as the heavy fall of her tresses enveloped her tiny shoulders. Shaking her head gently, the curls bounced and shimmered in the late summer sun.

"Intriguing, indeed."

Byron's hand abandoned the gentle swell of her belly and lifted a lock of fiery redness from her breast. Wrapping it carefully around his finger, he dipped his head and let his warm breath ghost against the ample swell of her breast. Her own fingers laced in his hair and urged his mouth closer. As his mouth closed over her, she fought to remain standing. His tongue expertly flicked and taunted making her mew with pleasure. She closed her eyes and concentrated as waves of bliss crashed over her.

"Goddess," she moaned as he swept her up into his arms.

Byron chuckled as her arms wrapped around his neck. "I believe the bed will be much more comfortable for what I have in mind for you, darling."

He covered the short distance quickly, pausing long enough to kiss and stroke her. Sitting her down beside the bed, he kept one hand around her waist and used the other to sweep the comforter off into a pile on the floor. Lifting her onto the edge of the bed, he insinuated himself between her slim legs.

"Is this what you had in mind?" she asked as she leaned back on her outstretched arms, revealing herself to his gaze once again. When he nodded, she slid up onto her knees removing his t-shirt as she went. The garment was discarded without another thought and her fingers skimmed the waistband of his jeans. His stomach tightened as each button was freed. She made sure her body pressed against his as much as possible as she worked the denim free of his hips and down his muscular thighs.

Leaning back on the pile of pillows, she crooked her finger. "Why don't you join me?" She patted the bed. "There is more than enough room."

"I seldom refuse such an offer from one so lovely," he made quick work of shedding his pants.

The bed creaked under his weight. Rhiannon watched in satisfaction as he crawled up the oversized bed. Her legs shifted as he nudged them apart. With panther like grace, his body settled over hers as he sank slowly, gently into her depths. A small cry of delight caught in her throat as he began moving within her.

Drawing out every movement in blissful exaggeration, he kept the tempo at a maddingly languid pace. It was almost more than she could bear. As her mind slipped into a beatific haze, she heard his deep voice rumbling in his chest. Perfectly in time with his thrusts, he spoke in a clear melodic voice:

"And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought
To thee, to thee, even in the grasp of death
My spirit turned. Ah! oftener than it ought.

Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not,
And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still."

"George, that was beautiful!" she breathed raggedly, instantly recognizing the familiar Byronic lines. She wished she could tell him that she knew he had written the words generations ago, but felt she needed to keep her secrets for the time being.

"You inspire me, Rhiannon, almost beyond words," he whispered.

When they were sated, their bodies still a tangle of arms and legs, Rhiannon rested her head on his chest and said, "Tonight, before the concert, Marek is planning a great feast in honor of his guests."

"How sporting of him," Byron chuckled. He ran a long finger down her spine and said, "Is it just me or is it rather strange that no one else has arrived for the concert yet?"

Rhiannon sighed. She knew the truth. There would be no other guests, only an illusion created by her magic to make them think they were in the midst of a crowd. A false sense of safety in numbers. But she couldn't tell him just yet; she had to let the plan play out.

"They will be joining us after dinner, I'm sure," she told him convincing. Then she let a bit of truth slip out. "I can't wait to see you play. I've always had a thing for guitar players."

Again laughter rumbled in his chest. "I'm going to have to write a song about you Rhiannon. Immortalize you in music."

A chill went through her when he mentioned immortality. It was, after all, the reason they were all there.

~~~~~

Amanda had stepped out of the shower in the suite after washing the chlorine out of her hair, still a bit annoyed that Methos hadn't followed her to the room. He had stayed behind at the pool with Rebecca, Fitz, and immature band members. When she had realized that after Rhiannon had delivered the pink champagne to them and disappeared, Amanda was going to look for her, but the stickiness of the chlorine on her long black hair made her go for the shower. She had just grown her hair out, she wasn't going to ruin it by one silly afternoon in the pool.

As she wrapped her robe around her tightly, she wondered if Methos was ever going to come to her or if she was going to have to go to him before dinner. She was, after all, his lover on this trip. It didn't serve her well to know that he was enamored with Byron, close to Rebecca, and seemingly pining for that shapely witch. The old envious wounds started to lick her again as she stared out of the floor to ceiling windows to the courtyard below the walkway balcony just outside their suite. The pool wasn't visible from the angle of their suite to it. All she really could see of interest was the tower with arches on all four sides that was the first visible sight of the hotel when they had driven from Berkeley atop the other wing of La Mision de la Salida del Sol. At first, she thought the tower was empty, but at second glance, she saw a female form standing there. It had to be because it was dusk and it was hard to make out the shape, but Amanda had the sneaking suspicion it was Rhiannon. At least she knew where she was, and it seemed that she was alone up there. Where Methos was, and what he was doing, again filled her head as Amanda watched the silhouette of the woman with long hair pace the open aired tower. Then a dim, concentrated light appeared before the woman. It was a candle, and Amanda could see that the woman was young. The woman wore a long-sleeved, blood red dress, had raven black hair, and had a mole on her cheek. Amanda shook off what she thought was a vision or mirage. She was, after all, in the outskirts of a desert. If she didn't know better, Amanda would have thought she was looking in a mirror. It had to be because the woman was too far away to make out clearly what she actually looked like. Besides, Amanda had been there for a couple of days and hadn't seen anyone else, lest of all a woman who resembled her.

Amanda closed her eyes and looked away, then looked back at the tower at the woman, still looking like herself, and holding the candle as before, but now was motioning for her to come to her. Amanda turned to look in the room to see if there was someone behind her, but she was alone. The woman motioned again with an almost pleading look on her face. She was far enough away that Amanda could have imagined her look, but was motivated to at least find out what the woman truly looked like.

Amanda dropped her robe, grabbed the first item a clothing she found, one of Methos' white shirts, and yanked on a pair of jeans. She ran out of the suite to the balcony in her bare feet. The cool stone felt good after the hot shower and heat of the day. The woman seemed to be waiting for her in the tower. Now that Amanda was on the balcony, she looked toward where the pool was and saw only two of Byron's band members sitting in lounge chairs with what looked like the last of the champagne.

Almost at a run, Amanda followed the balcony around the courtyard to a door that led into the hotel on the other side. She had no idea who to get to the tower, and hadn't been on this side of the hotel, but thought if she just went directly opposite her room and up, she'd get there eventually. When she opened the door, she heard one of the band members yell at the pool. She hesitated just long enough to look over to see who she realized was the drummer on his feet, shouting at the bass player. "We have to get out of here! I just know it!" she heard him rant but was on a mission to find out about that mysterious woman.

Inside the door, it was pitch black, and Amanda couldn't find a light switch. Amanda had flattened herself against the door, deciding if she should just forget this and get back to what's familiar or push on. Then, a floating soft ball of light, as if from a candle, appeared and revealed enough area for Amanda to know she was in a hallway. When the candle moved away from Amanda, Amanda followed it. From a hallway just inside the door, she went up a staircase to the left, the followed a hallway to the right, all the while following the light. After two more staircases up, she realized her heart was pounding with excitement and going back wasn't an option. Amanda admonished herself. "It's not like you have your hot little hands on a Renoir or something. It's just a chick. Get a grip" The way her body was reacting was just like she was in a museum during a robbery. At least that was what she chose to equate her pulsing adrenaline as being. Her nervous whisper echoed, which made Amanda's hair on the back of her head stand up and she almost purred with more excitement. The slapping of her increased steps of her bare feet on the stone steps and floor were the only sounds besides the pounding of her heart.

She followed the candlelight up to a spiral staircase leading to what had to be the tower. Amanda walked slowly toward it and looked up to see the candlelight, now being held by the woman, and the dusky sky framing her head like a demonic halo.

Before she took a step further, Amanda called out, "Who are you?"

"Emily," a small voice squeaked.

"Well, come down here, and we'll talk."

The woman didn't move. Amanda softened her voice and coaxed the girl with a softer voice. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"I have to warn you," the woman seemed to moan.

"About what?"

"Everything."

"Who are you?" Amanda asked again, not liking how scared the woman seemed to be, and still couldn't see her face clearly.

"A patient."

"What? You're patient?" Amanda couldn't fit the squeaky voice with the woman, and certainly could figure out what she was saying.

"I did not want to be here. Padre brought me here and left me."

Amanda felt sorry for the child, who was obviously crazy from the heat and didn't know how to get home or something. She walked up the steps as the woman, who now seemed so childlike, threw the candle on the floor and cowered in the far corner of the tower. "Do not touch me! I have not done anything! Please, do not!"

"What the hell?" Amanda backed up to make the woman calm down a bit and then picked up the candle. "You're the one who called me here. What are you afraid of?"

"Everything," the woman screamed out. Amanda looked out over the hotel to see if anyone could hear them and come to help her talk this maniacal woman down as she was now seriously creeping her out.

"Your padre... father? Your father left you here?"

The woman shook her head.

"Where do you live?"

"I don't know," she squeaked again, shivering violently. "I have been here such a long time."

Amanda couldn't imagine where this woman came from and where she'd been hiding since her and Methos had come, and didn't know who this Madre Maria could be. Did people come for the concert and this chick was stoned already? "Been here so long? How long?"

"I don't know."

Being in this place, with the creepoid host and witch hostess, would be terrible, but this woman was acting way out there and too childlike to be taken too seriously. Her shivering persisted. She had to be on some kind of high. She tried to make out the woman's face, but she was still unclear.

"It has not been bad here," the woman said, as Amanda continued forward. "It is a lovely place. I just do not like what they do."

"What do they do?"

The woman cowered a bit more. "Terrible things. Unmentionable things."

Amanda finally reached the woman and held the candle up to her face. To her horror, the woman had Amanda's same exact face, as if she was looking in a mirror. She even had slightly wet, slick-back hair as Amanda did after coming out of the shower. Amanda just stared at her, her heart starting to pound again, knowing that her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open, but didn't know if she knew that because the woman was doing it or she felt it or both.

The woman, who had called herself Emily, slowly retained control of her face to smile and then gently touch Amanda's cheek. "Such a lovely face," she said in her same squeaky, childlike voice.

Her touch was cold as ice. Amanda jerked back, and in the process has pulled a long, blood red, silk scarf that she realized had been wound around Emily's neck. When the scarf fluttered to the floor, Amanda saw that Emily's neck had numerous red marks, as if it was slashed, many times, maybe even severed at one time.

Amanda screamed bloody murder and kicked out with her arms and legs, trying to find the passage back to the place she had been before all this pure and simple madness. She felt resistance against her fighting and growled like a caged animal as she seemed to be suddenly fighting for her very life.

"What's the matter with her?" Amanda heard a voice ask, and could have sworn it belonged to Rebecca.

Arms went around her, which Amanda fought off but to no avail, and could hear a chattering of voices, the hard jams of guitars, and what seemed like the chattering of a waiting crowd of people. When Amanda could see clearly, she saw Methos trying to keep hold of her, with Fitz and Rebecca alongside of her, and Rhiannon and Byron standing behind Methos. "Let go!" Amanda wailed, and finally she was released.

Byron commented, "She's trippin' pretty good."

Amanda realized she was sitting up on her bed in her suite with Methos, with Fitz and Rebecca standing to her left. She looked past them to Rhiannon and Byron and wondered aloud, "Where is she?"

"Who, honey?" Rebecca asked like a nurse would ask a sick child.

"Emily. The girl. I mean, woman. She looks like me. Exactly like me! Where is she?"

Methos kept his gaze on her, but then lifted an eyebrow. "Emily? No such person here. Just us."

"And we're running late, fair Amanda," Byron said. "Our distinguished host has prepared us a grand feast. It wouldn't be polite to keep him waiting. Doc wouldn't dine without you."

Amanda gaped at them all after realizing that she had a vivid, horrid dream, but didn't think she had taken any inducements, and couldn't even remember going to sleep in the first place. None of the faces looking back at her held any answers to her silent questions, except maybe one. As soon as Amanda had said the name, 'Emily,' Rhiannon had seemed to have flinched.

"You know," Amanda told her, getting out of bed by swinging back on the bed, swaying her legs over Methos' head, nudging Rebecca and Fitz out of her way, and stalking to that odd witch. Amanda just knew she knew what Emily and her 'dream' was all about. "Don't you, Rhiannon?"

Rhiannon straightened her shoulders and met Amanda's intense glare. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about, Amanda."

"Amanda, it was just a bad dream," Methos shoved off the bed and moved her away from her staring match with the other woman. "Now, why don't we all go to our respective corners and get ready for dinner?"

Amanda twisted out of Methos' grip. "It wasn't just a dream, Jared, and whatever the hell is going on, she's knows what it is."

"Let's go, luv," Byron's hand smoothly guided Rhiannon out the door. "Amanda has always been prone to bouts of theatrics."

Hearing the condescension dripping off every syllable of Byron's words, Amanda went from slightly aggravated to highly pissed off. "You certainly have no room to talk, Gordo! If I recall correctly, you sent yourself off a bridge, because of some woman. Hell, I wager your whole miserable life has been one drama after another!"

Byron dismissed her ravings with a laugh. "Come now, Amanda. Pull in your claws. Jealousy isn't flattering."

"Why you dirty son of a bitch," Amanda launched herself at the other immortal.

Methos and Rebecca rushed to halt her progress. Before Amanda had a chance to inflict bodily harm, Rhiannon raised her arms and shouted, "Suspend!"

The air around the group grew thick and captured them like an insect in a spider's web. Rhiannon sighed as she walked around the group making sure everyone was oblivious to her actions. Emily. Amanda knows about Emily. But how? The last thing she needed was a Challenge between Byron and Amanda. Each of them had a role to play in defeating Marek.

Smoothing the hair off her lover's cheek, she paused long enough to kiss his jaw. She whispered a quick spell of forgetfulness in his ear as she moved away and approached Amanda. A smile came without malice as she stood beside the raven haired immortal. This one held so much fire and passion. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel a little envious for Amanda. After all, she had the love of the extraordinary Jared and all the time in the world to explore it. Again the words of forgetfulness rolled off her tongue.

Rhiannon knew that her time with Byron would be short. Whatever plans Marek had would see to that. All her spells and enchantments kept everyone blinded to her true actions, but she knew that every action, especially magick, had a consequence. Even if they all get out of this with everyone intact and not out for her head, a lasting relationship with the immortal poet was doomed. She was young, but mortality numbered her life in years, not centuries. As she and Byron had made love this afternoon she'd allowed herself to fully see into his mind, and what she saw broke her heart.

Buried within his subconscious, she felt the inescapable loneliness and despair lurking. The same mind that crafted the beautiful words into brilliant poems held the potential for madness and tragedy. While he slept nestled next to her, she traced his lifeline and caught glimpses of leaps from building and bridges. As she delved deeper and pushed past the long ago happenings, the future of her lover sparkled with crystal clarity.

Fleeting images of Byron on stage with thousands of fans screaming his name swam by, replaced by the faces of Jared and a pony tailed stranger confronting Byron in a hotel room. Tears clouded her eyes as she watched Byron and the stranger draw swords and battle until Byron's head came away with from his neck. The sight had left her gasping for breath.

Shaking away the morbid thoughts, she swiftly went about the room working her magic. Satisfied that all was well, she took her place beside Byron and raised her hands once again. "Resume!"

As time rushed forward, Amanda crashed to the floor. "Damn it!"

"Are you alright?" Rebecca rushed forward to help her student of the floor.

Amanda sat up. "Just wounded my pride is all."

"Well, its certainly not the first time for that," Methos laughed. "Now if the rest of you will kindly excuse yourselves, Amanda and I will get dressed for dinner."

"Dinner is going to be in Mr. Marek's private dining chambers," Rhiannon informed them as Byron urgently guided her from the room.

"I'll get Fitz and we'll meet you there," Rebecca told them as she followed the couple from the room.

Watching the door close behind her, Amanda placed her hands on her hips and wondered aloud, "What the hell just happened here? Why was I throwing myself at Byron?"

"He does have that effect on the ladies, luv," Methos chuckled as he peeled off his still-damp T-shirt.

"You know what I mean!" she scolded. "I was leaping at him and then&ldots;well things just kind of fade out after that. Maybe I'm getting too much sun."

As Amanda wandered into the bathroom to change, Methos stared blankly across the room and wondered as well. Although he didn't let on to Amanda, he had been feeling strange lately. His usually razor-honed mind felt heavy with fog. He knew he'd been indulging a lot since he'd arrived, but his Immortal constitution usually shook off chemical-induced effects by now.

Mentally shrugging, he spotted his clothes from earlier in the day lying in a wrinkled heap in the corner. He remembered tossing them there after he'd woken up in the middle of the hall with that guitarist, Hamish. Strange, that. What the hell had he been doing? Chalking it up to more brain fog, he reached down and scooped up the shirt and jeans.

The dark red stain on the discarded T-shirt stopped him in his tracks. Fascinated, he poked a finger through the jagged hole on the front of it. Bloody hell&ldots;The shirt fell from limp fingers as a hot jolt of pain shot through his head. Leaning heavily against the wall, he grabbed his head in his hands as familiar scenes assaulted his mind. An Immortal threat. Packing. Loading the car. Marek!

That son of a bacchae is an Immortal! And he skewered me with a dagger!

How could he have possibly forgotten something as important as that?! He should have been a hundred miles away from this place by now! As the pain receded from his head and the throbbing lessened, he stumbled to the bed and sank onto it. Something bloody weird was going on around here and damn it, but his curiosity was almost stronger than his desire to blow the joint. Thousands of years of self-protection weighed heavily on him, urging him to grab Amanda and get the hell out of dodge.

But something else&ldots;

Something else was pleading with him to stay and find out what was really going on. An image flashed in his mind--a witch in blue robes. Rhiannon. Somehow she was behind this. He didn't think they were in any real danger from her but by the gods, she knew what was going on.

Reaching underneath the bed, he pulled out his Ivanhoe and found comfort in its familiar weight and feel. He might be on the pacifist path at the moment, but he still remembered the man he used to be. There was a time when he would never have run from a possible fight. Sure he'd matured a lot since then, but he knew that sometimes a man still had to face the music.

Amanda poked her head out of the bathroom and asked, "Are you going to get dressed or sit on the bed all night? And what's with the weapon?"

"Just thinking," he replied thoughtfully, gingerly running the tip of his finger along the sword's blade. He decided to keep his revelation to himself for the moment. If he told Amanda what he suspected, she might give the game away too soon. He needed to find out what was going on. While they all still had their heads.

~~~~~

Thirty minutes later they met the others in the hallway outside Marek's dining room. Unaware that he'd be attending a formal dinner when this trip started out, Methos was thankful he'd brought at least one good pair of jeans. 'Good' meant they didn't have any holes in them. Of course, Amanda looked ravishing as always in a red off-the-shoulder sheath dress with a high slit to reveal matching knee-high boots.

As they approached the group, he saw Fitz in a suede jacket puffing on his pipe and apparently paying a gentlemanly compliment to Rebecca, while Byron held onto a black-robed Rhiannon as though she were a drowning man's life preserver. She had certainly bewitched the poet, Methos thought. Bewitched them all in fact, until his head had cleared.

"Amanda, darling, you look splendid!" Rebecca cooed as she threaded her arm through her old student's. "Let's go in everyone. I'm famished!"

While Rebecca and Amanda entered the room, Fitz hung back and modestly asked, "George, old fellow, could I steal a word with you and your band mates? I have an idea for a new song I've been working on!"

Raising only a slightly doubtful eyebrow, Byron looked to his lover only to have Methos gallantly interrupt.

"Do go on, George," he urged with a benign smile. "I'll escort the lovely Rhiannon in and see that she's seated comfortably."

Methos watched as Byron snagged a passionate kiss from Rhiannon and then followed Fitz into the dining room. Holding out his arm in invitation, he said, "Shall we?"

Rhiannon smiled in return and happily took his offered arm. They stepped into a luxurious dining room with a large rectangular table that Methos guessed would seat at least twenty. The furniture was polished to a mirror-shine, and the table was decorated with a forest green silk tablecloth. Gilded mirrors lined the walls, making the room appear even larger than it was. It almost reminded Methos of something out of Versailles.

The table was piled high with silver platters and goblets of wine. Each platter held a more delectable treat than the last. It nearly rivaled the amazing repast set before them at breakfast.

"Marek certainly has good taste," Methos murmured as led Rhiannon into the room.

"You would be surprised at his tastes, Jared," she replied in what sounded to Methos like a worried tone.

"I have to tell you, Rhiannon, this is turning into quite the adventure," he confessed as he subtly steered her away from the table toward a corner of the room. "I have so many questions. For instance, why don't you tell me about Marek's unusual chandelier downstairs?"

Her eyes widened slightly but she quickly covered with a delicate laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jared."

"Really?" he replied with an innocent expression. "I'm sure you know the one. The silver orb down in the cellar?"

Methos felt Rhiannon tense as she tried to pull her arm from his grasp. He tightened his grip on her hand; she wasn't going anywhere. He continued in a low voice. "What is that thing? And why did Marek have me strapped to a table in the basement, after he stabbed me?"

Rhiannon's already pale features turned white as she shook her head in disbelief. "No. It's not possible. Suspend. Obliviate!"

Methos grinned and thought of another beautiful woman who tried to use her vocal gifts to control him. Not that he particularly wanted to be reminded of that dubious period in his life. Stealing a covert glance at the rest of the diners to make sure they wouldn't overhear he said, "Oh no, my sweet witch. Your little mind games won't work on me anymore. They did at first because I was sloppy enough to pollute my mind and lose my edge. Now that I know what you're up to, I'll be sure to be on my guard."

Rhiannon gave one final tug and Methos allowed her to pull away from him. They just stood and stared at each other for a moment until Byron called out, "Would you two like to join us?"

They turned to see that everyone had been seated. Amanda threw a pointed glare in Methos' direction that spoke volumes about what she was going to do to him if he didn't get away from that little harlot and sit his butt down right now! He sent a sheepish grin in Amanda's direction and turned back to Rhiannon to mouth the words, "We'll talk again. Soon."

~~~~~

Smiling for Byron's benefit, Rhiannon walked zombie-like to the table and took her seat between him and Fitz, and across from Amanda, Jared and Rebecca. George's band mates filled the rest of the seats, leaving the head of the table empty for their as of yet absent host. Her stomach was roiling, and just the thought of having to eat made her nauseous.

How could this have happened?! How can Jared suddenly break free of my spell? Will the others follow suit? Looking around at her dinner companions, she didn't think they were any the wiser. If they were their lively conversations wouldn't be about the latest fashions coming from Italy or the best snare drum on the market.

While leaning close to Amanda and whispering apparent flattery in her ear, Jared continued to catch her eye, and it made her damned uncomfortable! She turned to Byron, but he was engrossed in a battle of music trivia with Hamish. Rebecca and Fitz who were sitting directly opposite each other laughed unabashedly at some private matter. In the room full of people, Rhiannon felt utterly alone and vulnerable. She wanted to flee the dining hall and seek solace in her room.

When Anton Marek appeared at the entrance to the dining hall, Rhiannon's head snapped in Jared's direction. Although she still dampened Marek's buzz, she wondered frantically if Jared would see through that ruse as well. The tightening muscles of his angular jaw and the slow turn he did in Marek's direction gave her the answer. When he returned his gaze to her, it was unreadable.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Anton Marek announced jovially as he took his seat at the head of the table. "I'm pleased that you could all join me for this feast. I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Well thank you for inviting us, old chap!" Fitz beamed as he eyed the heaping helpings that lay before him. "Shall we dig in then? I'm bloody well starved!"

"Please, enjoy yourselves," Marek smiled graciously.

Rhiannon picked up her fork and tried to make herself eat something. She nearly jumped when she heard Jared's voice.

"So, I'm curious about something, Anton," he said as with a pointed look at Rhiannon. He turned to Marek and amended, " I may call you Anton?"

"Of course," Marek replied, only slightly ruffled by his directness.

"All of this wonderful food," he continued with a sweeping motion of his hand, "and I haven't seen any kitchen help since we've been here. How do you whip up these delights? Magic?"

His innocent laugh sent shivers down Rhiannon's spine. He was taunting her. Making sure she knew that he knew everything about her and her plans. About Marek's plans.

"In fact, is it just me or does it seem like we're the only guests in this place?" Jared added, looking to his companions for support.

Amanda joined in as she took a sip of her wine, "I rather like the secluded atmosphere. It's very&ldots;VIP."

"That brings me back to my question from earlier," Byron interjected. "Are we playing for an empty house or what?"

"I assure you, Mr. Gordon that others will arrive for the concert," Marek had only the slightest hint of concern in his voice. "The help tends to stay in their own quarters except for when they're needed. I'm certain this is why you haven't seen them. Most people would consider that an exceptional selling point for a hotel."

It continued for the next hour with Jared asking Marek off-the-wall questions, trying to trip him up, hoping he would reveal something. Marek was well-read in subterfuge, though, and the battle of wits went on. Finally Rhiannon had to get out. It felt like the room was closing in on her.

"Excuse me," she said abruptly as she pushed herself away from the table. Catching Marek's expression, she assured him with an almost imperceptible nod that even if she left the room, his buzz would still be muted. "I'm afraid I need some air."

~~~~~

The dinner guests had regarded Rhiannon's departing form with some confusion, Methos stood from the table and announced, "I'll be back shortly. I need to pay a visit to the facilities, I'm afraid. Wine goes right through me."

Heedless of Amanda's knowing glare, he followed Rhiannon from the dining hall.

 

Once he was in the hallway, it only took two long strides for him to catch up with her. Blocking her exit down the stairs he said, "That was a mistake. As long as the others were there, I couldn't confront you directly, but now--"

"Jared, please!" she begged. "You have to understand. I didn't know what else to do!"

"Marek is up to something and you know what it is!" he accused, literally backing her into a corner. "This whole place is under some kind of spell, and I know you're the source of it!"

"I'll tell you everything," she said defeated, her hands raised in supplication. "Just promise not to leave. Not yet."

"There's an unbalanced immortal in the next room who already tried to kill me once!" Methos answered furiously. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't get the hell out of here right now."

"Because I need you. I need you all." Her mystic eyes seemed to be close to tears with her plainly honest response. "Marek must be stopped and you all need to do it."

"You've misjudged my capacity to care about what you need, Rhi." Methos folded his arms across his chest. "I can take care of myself and those I care about. Tell me why I should care what happens to you, especially since it seems he has you wrapped tightly around his pinkie."

"I know it's selfish. I know you're all in danger for my benefit, but please, Jared. If you all don't stop him, no one will. I'll be trapped forever."

"And I again I ask why should I care?" Methos sneered. "Of course, this madness can be settled in a matter of moments. I owe the bastard for his attempt to take my head." His sword hand itched in anticipation. "One quick cut and it's over for him."

"No, you have to wait." Rhiannon urged. "It won't be as easy as that!"

"Why?" Methos grabbed her arm and jerked her close. "Little girls who burn the candles at both ends only get burned."

Laughter from the dining hall filtered out into the hallway, totally at odds with the tension wafting like fog around the two. Rhiannon jerked free from Methos. She straightened her shoulders and did her best to match his glare. She knew he wouldn't take her pleas seriously if she couldn't convince him, she was on his side.

"The only ones I care about are myself, Amanda, and Rebecca. The rest are on their own, and can take care of themselves."

"If you mess this up, Jared, you'll all lose your heads. All of you, and you don't have to be in the same room with Marek for him to accomplish it."

"Because you're going to help him? You've been weaving your magic all along, I can assume you're not going to stop now."

"You have to trust me, Jared," Rhiannon started.

"I trust no one, except myself," Methos shoved her against the stone wall of the hall. "You would do well to remember that, witch."

"You must trust me or you and your friends will not get out of here alive."

Methos leaned into her, a cruel smile curved his lips and his eyes hardened. "Marek may have the upper hand for now, but he has no idea who he's up against."

The look of brutality haunting his face sent Rhiannon recoiling closer to the wall. The images she'd seen of a desert landscape sprang to her mind. Her hand flew of its own volition to his forehead and she opened her mind to read the stream of memories that followed from him.

"Look to your heart's content, witch," Methos commanded as his hand moved to cover hers. "Then you will see that I'm a much crueler master than your friend could ever hope to be."

Her knees nearly buckled as the tide of memories crashed against her consciousness, nearly threatening to take over her own memories. The brief glimpses she had gotten previously did not compare to those she was seeing now. Before she probed his memories uninvited, only getting fragments, but now, he had removed the barriers and she was seeing his past without filters.

"Well done, Brother," a man with a jagged scar across his eye acknowledge as Methos wiped his bloodied sword on the tattered clothing of cooling corpse at his feet. "A master as always."

"Kronos," Methos deftly twirled the bronze weapon before he tucked it into the scabbard buckled to the saddle of his horse. "It is the art of the kill, not the number."

"You are an artist now?" Another bigger man mocked. "I say we kill anyway we can."

"Of course, you would think that, Caspian," Methos snorted. "You have not the intelligence to see any differently."

The man called Caspian launched himself at Methos. He crashed to the ground with a loud groan. Methos, who had anticipated the attack, had sidestepped the attack and now had his sword pressed Caspian's neck, a slow trickle blood flowed down its blade.

"My horse is smarter than you," he pressed the edge of the blade deeper.

"Now, now, Brother," Kronos rushed to Methos' side. "Leave him."

"For now," Methos allowed. "But next time, he might not be so fortunate." With deft flick of his wrist, Methos moved the blade from Caspian's throat and plunged it between his ribs. "We ride!"

~~~~~

Methos, knowing that his allowing memories of his brothers flood his mind for Rhiannon's benefit had done the trick. The witch was off balanced, enough that he thought he needed to push her to the brink, but not let her fall over. She had said she needed him, but he needed her as well if he was going to get out of there alive. Sure, he could just leave, but with her magic and Marek's control over her, Rhiannon may not have any choice but do Marek's bidding, taking his head from a distance. He let bitter acid gurgle in his stomach with the thought of taking steps into the Game that he swore so many years ago to shy away from because he knew it was for his own survival to put his toe into the deep end of the pool that was Immortality. He needed Rhiannon to be afraid of him, as she seemed to be of Marek. If he was to have any kind of control over Rhiannon, he had to allow her to see what he had done to another such female who thought she could control mysterious forces against him.

Methos made sure Rhiannon wasn't going anywhere and knew he produced the perfect reflection of his animosity towards any force of will that went against his own survival and power. Even though he was careful not to let the memories color his perspective as they had done in the not so distant past when he took Messina's head on Holy Ground, he did allow some of the pent up hatred for humanity that he had forced dormant for millennia to bare itself for her benefit.

Taking absolute control of Rhiannon's movement, he forced her hand to his forehead, as he had seen her do so often without knowing what she had been up to, and stared her down. "Go ahead, read my mind, witch."

Rhiannon's touch was cold on his head and her eyes guarded, but soon she was being overcome with what he knew was a certain morning he actually had forgotten until the need arose to bring it to mind.

The brothers wake too early on the dawn of a imminent raid. Even from his tent, Methos could feel their flutter of activity sharpening blades, feeding their horses, and tying sacks to their belts for whatever riches they could discover. For now, Methos was quite cozy under two buffalo pelts beneath him, a cougar pelt on top of him, and his favorite slave alongside him. Cassandra must have gotten used to her plight by now. She was actually quite accommodating last night, and soft and supple this morn. After a slight yawn, Methos edged his head against Cassandra's breast and felt her untied hand cover his hair, lightly lifting and combing it with her long, narrow fingers. As he sighed in complete relaxation, Methos felt as nurtured as he had since before he turned immortal. Cassandra moved his hand to her breast and softly moaned with pleasure as he stroked it.

Something wasn't right. Methos fought to bring himself out of his relaxed stupor to take stock of his current situation. Cassandra, for the first time, was too intimate, too subservient for her own good. Just as he opened his eyes, he saw the glint of a dagger blade in the morning beam streaming from the ceiling of his tent. Quicker than Cassandra could yelp, he rose his hand and caught her hand holding the hilt before she could thrust it into his neck. Sitting up, he squeezed her hand against the hilt so hard she cried out in pain but couldn't move it from his grip.

"Playing games? Playing with my mind? Thought you could get one over on me?"

Cassandra's shocked, wide eyes softened as she murmured, "It was a mistake. Of course, I am sorry."

"Mistake... such mistakes have caused heads to roll."

"It will not happen again."

The tone of her voice was so soothing, he might have actually believed her. Before he loosened his grip by her encouragement, he shunned her 'voice' and declared in an equally conciliatory voice, "Of course it will not happen again, Cassandra."

"I am here only to serve you," she said in her specially magical voice.

"I believe you."

There was a hint of a smile that crooked her gaze, but then Methos took the dagger from her hand and flipped it over her bared chest. Her eyes again grew wide with fear.

"I will not cut you for what you did, what you tried to do. You have the magik, Cassandra. I will give you that."

When a small hint of victory pierced her frightened exterior, Methos planted the dagger into her hand again as he draped one of his legs over her hips. With a handful of her hair, he pulled and declared, "But you belong to me."

She caught her breath, seemingly forgetting how to speak, let alone use her dark force on him. He stated, "You will cut yourself," as if he could read the future.

"I will not."

Methos let his determined look and more powerful position, figuratively and literally, to persuade her. She could have her 'voice' and dark forces. He had authority and she knew it. She had to know that if she didn't do his bidding, she would get cut, and more than likely not from him. He had a certain brother outside howling with glee at the upcoming events of the day who Cassandra had to know would thoroughly enjoy having fun with her body and sharp implements. It was only his whim that she hadn't used as a toy by the other three as of yet. She had to know that it would just take one wrong move for her to be thrown to Caspian.

As she clutched the knife, Cassandra had the audacity to try her voice again. "Lesson learned, master," she said with a sorrowful bearing of what asking for forgiveness. "You will forget my indiscretion. We will believe we have just awoken from a wonderful dream. My body is yours to do with as you wish."

She was good, Methos thought as he smiled at her, shaking off the heaviness of her magical veil with which she was trying to smother him. "I know," he croaked, as if treading above water, fending off forces pulling him into what she was saying. "Witch! I know! You belong to me and will do my biding."

Success!

 

Cassandra again looked frightened as a deer caught grazing. He waited, superior to her, for her to do exactly what he had demanded. Surely, she hadn't forgotten.

As if his voice of power slowly talked her into it, Cassandra's hand shook as she wept silently. Knowing there was no way out of this predicament, she closed her eyes and held the dagger with both hands as she plunged the blade into the flesh of her stomach. Her body fell limp, her hands inched off the dagger and drifted to the ground.

With the roar of a lion, Methos pulled the dagger out of Cassandra's body and plunged it hard into her chest. He stood up and kicked her, moaning, "I pity you to think you have power over me. You can stay dead until I return. Maybe, just maybe, I'll take that dagger out for you to revive, bitch!"

When Methos wheeled around to dress for the day, he noticed Kronos smiling at the flap of the tent. "It is always enlightening to see a master at work. Might if I have a ride before we ride?"

"Touch her, and you are dead."

Kronos lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Never hurts to ask."

"If she tries that voice again, brother," Methos said with acerbity, "You may have her 'for a ride.'"

~~~~~

Methos pushed her hand from his forehead. "Now, do you want to toy with me?"

Still reeling from what she had just experienced, Rhiannon shook her head since coherent words had abandoned her. Knowing full well his experiment had worked, Methos stepped back and took a couple deep breaths. The retreat into ancient memories had left him a bit unsettled as well.

"How do you do it?" his asked voice soft with deadly calm.

"Do what?" she squeaked.

"Make his Quickening disappear?" he prompted. "He is an immortal, yet I don't feel his presence."

"Simple, really," she whispered. "There are ways to allow people not realize their most vivid emotions."

"Just for kicks," Methos said, happy he was able to fill his voice with inflection for her benefit so she'd relax, "Make my buzz disappear to him and see what happens."

"He'll freak."

Methos laughed again. "He's already a freak, so what's the difference?"

"I can't possibly do that."

Rage flashed in Methos' mind and he seethed, "Then you're no use to me." He didn't bother trying to hide the growing anger in his posture.

"All right! All right!" Rhiannon pled.

The shaky witch reached up and touched his neck, which produced a tingling sensation that flowed straight to his heart. It spooked him enough he backhanded her, sending her crashing to the hard floor. "What did you do?"

Sprawled on the floor, she looked up at him, "I was going to make your buzz controllable."

"Never touch me without full explanations again." He pulled her to her feet. "Finish what you started."

The tingling that had started at his neck and flowed to his heart didn't stop when he had allowed the witch to completely perform her task. The rippling washed across his chest and stomach then splintered off to the tips of his fingers and toes, almost as if he was receiving a mini Quickening, His blood began to pump faster and his breathing became heavier as she continued. He watched her eyes during the process of holding onto his neck and chanting an ancient dialect of which he hadn't conversed in over thousand years. He couldn't even name the language and didn't want to concentrate on it as it would be too trivial. Before he knew it, a great surge of electricity erupted in his head, making him fall to his knees.

Damn witch! What did she do?! He collapsed to the stone floor and held his head from the torturous stream of prickles that probed his brain. Methos cried out in frustrated rage as Rhiannon got to her feet. He tried to reach for her, but his head was on fire from the inside out and his neck seemed to be melting with hot lava. To his dismay, he saw another woman at the far end of the hall. Amanda? No, wait, not Amanda, though she was wearing a red dress with a long, red scarf wrapped around her neck. Whoever it was, Methos wanted her help from the witch's hold on him. The woman reached out with a pleading look and Methos wondered if she wanted to help him, or if she wanted help for herself.

Soon, the powerful intrusion stopped, the woman disappeared in a haze, and slim hands were under each armpit, lifting him up. Getting to his feet, he rounded to her with pure, unadulterated anger.

"There," she said simply. "The rest is up to you."

"What rest? What did you do to me, witch?"

"I gave you the power to ebb your immortal presence at any time, within the next twelve hours or so. Then it wears off."

"You do that twice a day to Marek?"

"Three times a day. The man's paranoid."

That would be one of the more pleasant adjectives he'd use to describe their host. Methos felt the aftermath of her 'surgery' on him and felt strange. He felt so light he could dance on the ceiling, but also weighed down, at the neck. He wondered if this feeling would slowly fade as the effect of what she did. "You said I can ebb my buzz? I can squelch it only when I want to?"

"Yes. Marek does at all times. If you don't, could be your spell will last longer. I don't know. The magic is ancient, but I am a novice in some aspects and don't have the answers you crave."

"How do I squelch it?"

"Think about what you're doing and what you want to accomplish. Magic is the mind and spirit. Know, feel, what you want and the magic will comply."

Methos changed his attitude to be more in tune with what he desired, starting to set aside the fact that his body had been invaded by some broad he couldn't trust farther than he could throw her, and relaxed, making his body open to anything. The weight on his neck made his breath flow easier and the tickling at his brain shifted from the front to the back. "I think they can feel me now," he commented with a smile. He shut down his psyche to enclose himself from his surroundings, crossing his arms and developing a shielded quality around himself that he usually used in times of unfamiliarity. The feelings returned to the front of the brain and weight at his neck. He was going to declare that it was so groovy as he looked to Rhiannon, who still looked scared.

"Because this seems to work and you didn't have to do it, I owe you one." Rhiannon took a deep breath and smiled, but Methos raised his finger. "Only one. Don't push me, witch, or you will regret it."

Watching him stalk back into the dining room, Rhiannon trembled. This man was not to be toyed with of that much she was sure. She cursed herself for putting herself in this position. Standing alone in the hall, she made a vow never to be beholden to anyone again. Her sanity could not handle it.

~~~~~

Amanda looked up as the wave of Presence swept over her. Seeing Methos, she welcomed him back to the table with her most inviting smile. Her smile dissipated as she noticed the deep furrow in his brow.

"What's the matter?"

Methos slipped into his empty chair. "I'm fine, Amanda."

"Yes, I can see that," she quipped hoping to get a smile out of him. "I thought you'd run off without me."

She was smiling when she said it, but Methos knew Amanda well enough to see the genuine concern in her brown eyes. A niggling of guilt assaulted him, guilt for how he'd allowed this whole crazy situation to get him so worked up. Painfully aware that his dinner companions were staring at him curiously, he took a deep cleansing breath and let it out slowly. He picked up his fork, skewered a small boiled potato, and popped it into his mouth hoping the others would lose interest in his unusual behavior.

"Is Rhiannon returning?"

The question came from Byron, and when Methos looked up he answered as casually as he could, "Think she just went to rest up before the concert."

"Hmm," Byron said as he blotted his mouth with a napkin. "I'd better go check on her."

Yes, do that, Methos thought grimly. Hopefully she'll have a plausible explanation for the shiner on her cheek other than that I flew off the handle thinking I was back in the desert.

Remembering Rhiannon's shocked expression when he hit her, the image of another long haired beauty flitted through his mind. Messina. The last Quickening he had taken, and the nightmare it had resulted in. He'd stayed out of the Game all this time out of fear of becoming that monster again. Against his better judgment, he could feel himself slowly slipping into that persona once more. He was just so damned angry that he'd been fool enough to allow himself and the others to fall into this trap. He should have seen through Anton Marek a lot sooner. They could all be miles away by now.

How was Marek going to try to kill them all? She'd said they could all lose their heads. When was he planning it? During the concert? Afterwards, when they had all celebrated a little too much? Maybe if he'd been more patient with her he could've gotten the whole story. But damn it! He hated being played as a fool!

He realized he'd set his fork down more forcefully than he'd intended and in the process drawn curious looks from the others again. He took another deep breath. If he was going to stay in control of this situation, he had to stay in control of himself.

He gave Amanda an encouraging smile and lifted his wineglass to his lips.

~~~~~

Anton Marek slammed the door to his chambers. Dinner had been a disaster. What the hell had happened between Methos and Rhiannon? He was under no illusions that something major had happened. She'd been as nervous as a cat before she'd fled the dining hall. He'd wanted to go after her, but Methos had beaten him to it. Why? Then Gordon had followed after her like a whipped pup.

He feared that Methos knew more than he was letting on. The questions he fired at him during dinner were meant to bait him into revealing something. He had to find out what Rhiannon had told him. When dinner mercifully ended (he didn't think those band members would ever quit eating!), he'd headed for her room to confront her. To his dismay he heard Gordon's voice inside, soothing Rhiannon with sweet words.

That girl was becoming a huge liability. No matter. He'd soon be rid of them all. He strode to the bar in the corner of his room and poured himself a scotch. The burning liquid nearly choked him when he saw the apparition began to materialize in front of him.

In not quite solid form, the familiar being stood before him, a look of supreme sadness on her face. Her dark brown hair hung straight down her back and she wore a long red dress. Around her neck was a red scarf. Sorrowful brown eyes surveyed him with scorn.

"You'll never get away with this."

The final word was spit out like a curse, and a brief look of worry flitted across Marek's face. Then it passed.

"You've been saying that for a long time, Emily," Marek snorted. "Why should this time be any different?"

"Because this Immortal won't let you play your sick games with his friends," Emily taunted, seeming to hover closer to him as the moments passed. He hated it when she did that. Damned ghost.

"You speak of the infamous Methos, I take it?" Marek replied, refilling his glass. "He's done nothing so far to live up to his impressive reputation. Especially when he's stoned out of his head. The last decade's drug culture has made my work so much easier."

"You really are proud of yourself, aren't you?" the spirit accused him in a shrill voice. "You've spent almost your entire immortal life luring others here to this place. Then you play cat-and-mouse with them until you tire of the game and take their heads! You haven't won a fair fight in ages."

"One does what one must to survive the Game," Marek lectured. "I didn't choose this life. It chose me. But," he leered evilly at her. "At least I have life."

Suddenly Emily, enraged, leapt at Marek intending to claw his face. She cried out in desperation as her hand moved right through him as always, eliciting a grim chuckle.

"You should know better than that by now," Marek said smugly. "How do you propose to stop me when you can't even lay a hand on me?"

"I'll convince Rhiannon to help me-"

"Once again, you've been saying that for a very long time," Marek laughed. "She hasn't heard you yet."

"That's because you've turned her supernatural powers against her. She no longer knows how to perform the curse she needs to perform to get rid of you! But no more," she continued, confidence evident through her ghostly pallor. "I will get through to her. I've already made contact with two of the others. They saw me. I know they did. I'll make them see what you really are."

"And what is that?" Marek replied, disdain dripping from his lips.

"The monster that did this!" Emily cried, ripping the red scarf from around her neck to reveal an angry red welt that encircled her throat. Black threads were visible where the undertaker had attempted to piece her back together.

Marek only shrugged. "I had to test my theory on someone, my dear."

Just as every other conversation Anton had stooped to have with the ghost of La Mision de la Salida del Sol, she ended up wailing in frustrated sobs. A chuckle almost escaped his lips, as he so did enjoy playing with her when she deemed to leave her haven he had so selflessly provided for her, but he stopped in wonder when the approach of an immortal reached his spinal column. Having not expected anyone, he braced himself and moved slowly to the door. No one was to know about his private chambers. Once again, he cursed himself for allowing Rhiannon to be a liability who probably was in such a state of optimistic hope for salvation that she blabbed everything to them all. In just a few hours he was going to have her produce a crowd for the simpletons to play to and his plan would finally come to fruitation. He wanted to get rid of this throng so he could start planning the next batch of immortals to behead. After, of course, he fixed Rhiannon. Against his better nature, he had started to allow her a bit of freedom the past five years. No more. Once their quickenings were savored, Rhiannon might even wish she was never born. If she wasn't complacent, he would just have to push her over the brink to stone coldness.

Since there hadn't been any sound in the hallway to accompany the immortal alarum, Marek opened the door to snoop into the hallway. At the far end, he saw a mass of blond curls atop a male body clad in white silk and denim facing the other direction. It was the British friend of Methos and Amanda, whom he had Rhiannon induce the gullible Rebecca to bring to him. Five immortals, ripe for the picking. And it was so easy. Anton was proud of himself as Fitzcairn turned with a confused look on his face. The man smiled and ambled toward Marek, standing just outside his door.

"I say, mate. Doesn't take much to get lost in this place," Fitzcairn said with a giggle.

From the look in his eyes, Marek could tell he had probably not only enjoyed all the wine served up at dinner but also had partaken in illegal substances. Good. Let them have their guard down. Marek hoped Methos and Amanda were in much the same shape, as Marek has early on deemed them the hardest to influence.

"One minute I was following the fair Rebecca, and the next I'm in a... what is this? A basement? I didn't think they had basements in deserts. Shows what I know!" Fitzcairn good-naturedly slapped Marek on the arm.

"I say, old chap," Marek said in equal good humor, "There is probably a very long list of things you don't know."

Even though Marek had tried to joke along with the idiot, Fitzcairn squinted as he wobbled on his feet, and said, "Now see here. That wasn't called for."

"So sorry, dear Fitzcairn. Or may I call you Hugh?" Marek said jostling his shoulder as a pal would, Marek thought anyway.

Fitzcairn looked at Marek's hand on his shoulder and then continued to scowl at him. "Not a very host-like manner you have there. Do you use it only for certain occasions? In that case..."

Fitzcairn was unsteady on his feet, so Marek helped him to a velvet sofa in the nook of the hallway. "Sit down, rest, Mr. Fitzcairn. Is there anything you would care for? I would be delighted to provide it for you."

Maybe Marek was overdoing it. He knew he had blatantly insulted the man, and now was moving too far in the other direction. Fitzcairn looked as if he didn't buy the act. To make matters worse, Emily had slobbered into the hallway looking at the Brit as he could help her in some way.

"A woman."

"What woman? I don't see a woman?" Marek said in a rush and blocked Fitzcairn's view of Emily, as Marek motioned to Emily to disappear.

"I don't either, mate. That's the problemo. There are only three here, and they're all taken. Drives me mad. You'd think in a hotel like this... there'd be a woman in it for me! Blimey, this is bloody unheard of! It's skirting on the edge of insanity! I need a woman; I'm the only one without one. Except the band, but they have their music. And they won't let me play with them. I think they're scared of my talent. That's what I think..."

During Fitzcairn's monologue, he had slowly gripped Marek's jacket and pulled him down closer to him. Finally, he was whispering in his ear. "You know... people think I look like that chap in the Who."

"Who?"

"Who," Fitzcairn said with a nod.

Marek was still confused. "Who?"

"The Who! You know. Roger Daltrey. I see a little bit of resemblance. I think George doesn't want me in his band because I'd be the star. What do you think?"

"Who is Roger Daltrey?"

"You have to joking! The Who just played Woodstock, mate. Brought the house down, if there'd been a house. Well, there were houses, farmhouses, in the distance, and they weren't brought down or anything, but... I'm sure they're still cleaning up after us."

Probably because Marek had a confused look on his face, Fitzcairn bellowed, "Woodstock! Where have you been?"

"Here."

"Ah."

Thinking there was something he didn't know and should know everything about his guests before they were slaughtered, he asked, "Now, what is Woodstock?"

Fitzcairn looked as if he was going to explain, but then shook his head. "I want what you're on, mate. It's a mind blower, that's for sure."

Marek struggled to hide the crushing contempt he felt for the amiable Brit. It would not do to reveal his true emotions to Fitzcairn at this time. He suspected under the devil may care attitude lay a shrewd mind.

"Well, my friend, if you share your knowledge of this thing Woodstock, perhaps I could be persuaded to share my cache mood elevators," Marek quirked an eyebrow and waited for the other man's response. "We do have some time before the entertainment begins."

"No one has ever accused me of neglecting to have a good time," Fitz chuckled. "Lead on, MacDuff."

~~~~~~

Amanda slid the lock into place. "So what gives?"

"What do you mean, Amanda?" Methos asked from his prone position on the bed.

"Hmm, let's see," her shoes were discarded as she approached the enormous bed. "You stormed out of the dining room and now you're brooding."

"I do not brood."

"Whatever," she climbed up beside him. "Spill it, bucko, because you and I both know I'm not going to let it go until you fill me in. Your knickers are in a twist about something and I will find out what it is."

Methos turned on his side away from her. Right now, he had too much on his mind and the last thing he needed was Amanda nagging at him. Until he had a doable plan worked out, he had no intention of sharing what he had learned from the witch. However, distracting Amanda from her current line of questioning had to take the forefront.

"You're just paranoid, Amanda."

"Paranoid?"

"Yes, paranoid," he pulled a pillow over his head and hoped she take the hint. "I'm taking a rest before the show, so shut up or go find someone else to aggravate."

Amanda wrenched the pillow off his head and flung it across the room. "Oh, so the wrong thing to say, mister."

Methos closed his eyes and cursed himself. What the hell had he been thinking? Even after centuries of intimate acquaintance with the irritated woman at his side, he still knew bugger all about avoiding quarrels with her, but hell, maybe if he pissed her off, she'd stomp off in a tizzy and leave him to his plotting.

"Like that is a surprise," he muttered as he rolled on his back. "Lay off, Amanda. I do not want to spend my afternoon listening to you bitch at me."

Methos suppressed a bark of laughter as he watched his lover's hackles rise. If all their years together hadn't taught him how to avoid her anger, it certainly gave him the knowledge of what exactly what buttons to push to send her off in a blind rage.

"Excuse me?" a bright pink flush was beginning to stain her cheeks.

"I don't believe I stuttered." Methos closed his eyes and sank deeper into soft mattress. "Now be a dear and shut your yammering. I want to be rested for Byron's performance. It's been quite some time since I've seen him work his magic on stage. He does have a magical presence, don't you think?"

Hearing Methos' words and seeing his contented smile regarding his former lover sent Amanda off just like he wagered it would. Her longstanding jealousy of the notorious poet always sent her hurtling off in a snit.

"I've never understood his particular charms, but then again I've never understood why you do."

"Please, Amanda, you really must get over your petty envy," he chose his next words carefully. "Your school girl jealousy is so immature for your vast age."

Her mouth opened and slammed shut several times and Methos knew his quiet time was about to be a reality. In one fell swoop, he dredged up her old rivalry with Byron and her age, there would be hell to pay after this was all said and done. Hopefully, all would be forgiven once he had gotten them out of this forsaken hell hole heads intact. If not, the redhead witch would owe him and perhaps wipe the memories of this hellish vacation out of their minds.

"Fine, take your precious nap," she flounced off the bed and to the door. "Maybe I'll go find Fitz and take my own rest this afternoon. He has bemoaned his lack of a companion this trip."

"He has been giving you some rather lusty looks since his arrival," Methos pointed out helpfully.

"You better hope Rhiannon isn't the jealous type," Amanda twisted the doorknob with more than the necessary force, "because I've no intention of sharing my bed with you tonight."

"The lovely witch can be persuaded to share with the right motivation, I'm sure."

"Just what is it about that woman gets you so...," Amanda hesitated.

"So what?" Methos lifted his head, thinking he was going to be left alone to figure out what was in store for them so he could counter whatever Marek had in mind. "Oh, hey," he uttered, taking a sitting up position on the bed. "Do you feel my buzz?"

Amanda's eyebrows furrowed and looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Ah, yeah..."

Methos cleared his mind to focus on squelching his immortal buzz from her radar. As Amanda stared at him with a mixture of confusion and pity, he wasn't sure it was fading or not. He felt in control of his mind and body and asked her again, "Do you feel me?"

Amanda's eyes, still squinted with chagrin, wandered to the left as she paused. Then, to Methos' delight, her eyes widened as she gasped, then she suddenly bolted out of the door. She hadn't shut it, so he could hear her shoes tapping quickly down the hall. He hadn't meant to scare her, or whatever it did. Methos figured it must have worked, and it wasn't that hard to hide his buzz with Rhiannon's magic spell still potent in him. No wonder Marek could do it. A child could. Methos wondered just how old the cagey immortal was when he heard Amanda's footsteps coming slowly up the hall again and she stood transfixed in the doorway.

"How the hell are you doing it?"

"You can't feel me?"

"Not even a whisper." She crossed directly to the bed to crawl on her knees upon it to Methos. "Why. How. HUH? It's a part of us. How the hell did you...?"

"Love," Methos purred as he took her face in his hands, happy with the power, and proud that he was able to wield it. "It's magic."

"That witch!" Amanda tightened and straightened up with fury. "What did she do to you? I'll wring her scrawny little neck!"

Methos laughed with uproarious delight as he pulled Amanda to him so she couldn't bolt from the room again with a mission. "That witch is going to save all our lives, luv."

"Save our... what? Why? How? Why are we in danger with our lives?"

Poor Amanda looked lost from the last few minutes, so Methos hugged her with as much tenderness as he could muster in his overwhelming joy that he was able to control his buzz. As she laid herself against him, Methos relaxed his mind to see if he could make it come back. Amanda had been in the stage of giving herself into leisure. Her warmth and slinky body against his was helping the process of clearing his mind to allow anything that would happen to happen.

Amanda immediately jerked up, startling Methos with her abrupt abandonment. "Whoa!" she moaned as she shivered and shook her head as if to clear a heavy load. "I've never been hit by you as such a close range." She smacked his chest and demanded, "How are you doing that?!"

Methos chuckled and admitted, "It's magic," loving how this was working.

"I want some."

"Nah, I think it would be best if only one of us be the infiltrator."

"To infiltrate what?"

"Whatever needs to be infiltrated."

"You sound like we're in a war or something. We're on vacation, in a place, I might add, that you wanted to go to. I'm here just because I'm a really nice person and where you go, I will follow. Today anyway," she said quickly. But she wasn't done. She continued, "Why did you bring us here if we're in danger and a witch has to save our lives and you have to infiltrate something? Why don't we just get Rebecca and Fitz and go to Bora Bora or somewhere nice."

"What about Byron?"

"Someplace warm and luxurious, without uppity poets and witches and weird girls that look like me with a cut on her neck and all this..." she shivered. "I don't like it here anymore. You're scaring me."

"We have a concert to attend, my love."

"Screw it, let's go. The four of us. It will be fun."

"No, we can't."

"Only, the two of us. I do like being totally alone with you."

"Yes, that is how I like you best." When Amanda laid over Methos and kissed him deeply, twirling her tongue against his and snaking her hands seemingly all over his body, he put a stop to it before it got out of hand. The concert was going to start in a bit and he had to focus on how to get himself and four other independently minded people out of there with their heads intact. Amanda wouldn't be deterred, however, and continued her seduction on him. He knew she was acting somewhat out of desperation for him to want to chuck it all and take off with her, but he was in this now.

Over the course of his thousands of years, he had allowed immortals like Marek to get away from him, many he had run from as fast as he could, only to meet up with them again. During the next meeting, they'd be even more powerful with an extra bug up their butt. Even though Methos was not in the game and wouldn't be again, he had to do something about Marek. The thought of him and his witch controlling immortals was scary, even to Methos. Besides, Methos thought as he fended off Amanda's temptation, he could always run if it didn't go his way and Fitz, Rebecca, Byron, and even Amanda, could either take off with him or manage for themselves.

As Amanda turned grumpy for his not succumbing to her allure, Methos was reminded just how able Amanda was in taking care of herself, and him. Funny enough, that day came while they were guests of Byron. There were many times that Methos wouldn't stake his head on Amanda's abilities, but that one time he had no choice. Even though he didn't see exactly what had happened, and also knew that Amanda didn't want to do it, she had taken very good care of him that night at Byron's villa so long ago. She had been almost inconsolable about the choice she had made just after the deed was done. As he brushed Amanda's long hair back from her face as they were entwined on their cushy king-sized bed in La Mision de la Salida del Sol, he had the feeling both of their minds had drifted back to Byron's villa, on one rainy night with this house full of guests.

~~~~~

BYRON'S VILLA

The unnaturally balmy day had passed into an equally humid night. The heavens had opened sending everyone scrambling indoors. Now all of the great windows and French doors had been flung open in an effort to catch every little breeze as the storms raged. The roll of thunder and the crashing of lightening elicited squeals of mock terror from the ladies. Byron had chuckled and gathered everyone into main salon to imbibe in a drink to calm rattled nerves.

Methos, on the other hand, had declined his offer and remained at his post on the patio. A narrow overhang of roof provided enough shelter to keep dry, however, as the rain pounded the brick floor it splattered onto his newly shined boots. Normally, he wouldn't give the matter a thought, but the sight filled him with an overwhelming urge to throttle someone or something. His fist closed against the delicate crystal wineglass in his hand, sending it shattering into pieces on the hard wet ground at his feet.

Sensing the rage rising in his chest, he closed his eyes and muttered the mantra Darius had taught him to center himself. Only after many minutes of forced mediation did any sense of calm return to him. The unexpected episodes of blinding anger had begun to fade as he made peace with his actions of the recent years. However, out of the blue, he'd find himself subject to the random moment when the urge to fall back into the Darkness nearly overtook his hard-fought sanity.

Darius had been a refuge in the midst of great chaos. He had proven a steadfast friend when his dearest friends had abandoned him, but then again he couldn't hold Rebecca and Amanda responsible for leaving him in the monk's care. He had tried to kill them after all. Still his mind had taunted him with the image of his two Immortal lovers riding off from the monastery without him. He did not deal well with feelings of abandonment, but that was a path he did not need to tread right now.

"Methos, you're bleeding."

Methos head jerked up as Amanda's voice penetrated his musings. She stood just inside the doorway a mere few inches from him. He hadn't noticed her arrival until she had spoken and he didn't even care.

"Are you all right?"

He looked at her and smiled. "Never better, darling."

"Then why do you have a handful of broken glass in your hand?"

"My, you're full of questions this evening," he opened his hand and let the remaining pieces of glass fall to the ground.

Amanda ventured out of the dry house and eased next to him. "Here let me help you." She tugged a handkerchief out of the bosom of her dress. "You still have some glass in your hand."

"Funny thing, that." He held out his hand to her. "I don't feel a thing."

She grasped his hand and plucked the shard out carefully. "Really? Not surprising considering the amount of laudanum you have ingested today."

Methos pulled his hand away and held it up for inspection as the blue sparks of his Quickening danced along his skin sealing the wound. "Simply amazing."

"What?"

"This." He stooped and picked up another shard of glass. Amanda gasped as he slashed the palm of his hand. Blood welled up and dripped from his cupped palm and joined the raindrops on the ground. "No matter how deep the wound, it always heals."

"Yes," Amanda allowed wondering what he was up to. "Part and parcel of immortality, Methos, you know that."

Methos stepped out into the rain and held his bloodied hand out and let the water clear the evidence of blood from him. Amanda watched as the water soaked him in a matter of minutes. The rain had plastered the white shirt against his chest, and his buff colored trousers clung snugly against his muscular thighs.

"Why don't you come in out of the rain and we'll have a drink?" Amanda urged.

Methos' behavior had concerned her since her arrival at the poet's manor house. One minute he'd be charming and polite, the next minute she'd find him withdrawn and somber. Within another minute, he'd be back to normal. Darius had warned her that, although Methos was recovered from the ill effects of Messina's beheading, it would still take some time before Methos was back to normal.

"It's not like I'll catch my death of cold, now is it?"

"No, you won't, but I'd like to talk to you," she held out her hand. "You can dry off and we will chat, alright?"

"Uh, no," he replied. "Why don't you join me, Amanda? Remember that time we made love in the rain outside Rebecca's abbey?"

Smiling, Amanda nodded. "As if I could ever forget that, I think we frightened the wildlife for months afterwards."

"How is Rebecca?" Methos' good humor was gone as he asked the question. "Is she well?"

"Yes," Amanda nodded. "She has been worried about you. I think she would love to receive a letter from you."

"Perhaps," he finally moved out of the rain and came to stand next to Amanda. "But that is a bridge I'm afraid I'm unwilling to cross right now."

"She speaks of you often," Amanda pushed his wet hair off his forehead and let her hand caress his check. "She has forgiven you, Methos."

"Well, I haven't forgiven myself," he turned away from her touch. "And neither should you or Rebecca."

"When will you learn that you cannot control what either of us think?" She pulled him back to her. "Come away with me, Methos. We can disappear for a decade or two or three. I've missed you."

"No good can come of that right now, Amanda," Methos kissed the top of her head. "Until I have complete control of myself, I cannot allow myself to be near you or Rebecca."

"But. Darius said--"

"Darius is not the expert on my mental health," Methos bit out. "He did what he could, but now I have to finish it."

"And being here with Byron is going to help you do that?"

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Amanda."

"I am not jealous, damn you!" She resisted the urge to throttle him for his remark. "I'm just making an observation. You have been drunk or out of your head on laudanum since my arrival, and that concerns me."

"Spare me your concern."

"You are the most infuriating man I've ever known!" She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to retort. "No, I have got something to say and you will damn well listen to me!"

"Bravo!" Byron's voice and his presence announced his entrance. "A lover's quarrel, how fascinating. Amanda, I must give credit where credit is due, I haven't seen Doc this 'passionate' since I've had the pleasure of knowing him."

Amanda snorted and rolled her eyes. "And what does that say about you, Byron?"

"That I must try harder to see that side of Doc."

"Seems it just comes naturally to me," Amanda tossed back. "I guess years of experience gives a girl the edge."

Byron let out a long laugh. "Yes, I can see how that might give you the advantage, but again the vigor of youth does come in handy at times."

"You boorish prig!" Amanda moved towards Byron, intent upon doing damage. Methos pushing past the both of them stopped her in her tracks. "I want to talk to you, Ben." She made sure to use his current alias since he had some insane paranoia about his true name. "Wait up!"

"I've said all I care to," Methos didn't give her a second look. "You and Byron have more to say to each other I'm sure."

The other two immortals watched in astonishment as Methos stalked into the house and disappeared up the massive staircase. A few minutes passed in complete silence as the rain continued to drench the ground.

A loud clap of thunder broke the silence and Byron cleared his throat. "Well, he's in a snit."

Amanda leaned in close to the other immortal and made sure he was paying attention. "Listen to me and make sure you understand every word I say. That man is my oldest and dearest friend and I will do anything to keep him alive and in one piece, including taking the head of anyone who hurts him in anyway. Do I make myself clear?"

"Amanda, Doc isn't your concern at the moment," Byron pointed out with no lack of smugness. "You better run in and see about your friend, Phillipe."

Byron's haughty manner disappeared when he felt Amanda's hand firmly clamp around his balls. "See that's where you're wrong. He might think he's yours at the moment, but don't you doubt for a minute the hold I have on him. He was mine before you were born, and he'll be mine long after someone takes your head." Amanda gave his testicles a savage twist that nearly sent him to his knees. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lover to tend to."

The sounds of painful coughs were behind her as she turned on her heel and stalked into the villa after the world's oldest, most exasperating man. When she had seen Methos disappear around a corner at the top of the stairs, she almost ran up them, but felt an approach of an immortal and then a hand grabbed her arm from behind. "Back for more?" she challenged, whirling around to face who she had expected to be Byron. He was a determinably pompous boor.

To Amanda's surprise, Phillipe started kissing her neck and whispered, "There you are, mon cheri."

Phillipe's blond hair, strong shoulders, muscular abdomen, customary bulging manhood, sinewy thighs all made up a package in nicely tanned skin that made Amanda gasp upon first sight. All of him was now pressed against her, making Amanda lose her train of thought and immediate mission. His hunting hands caressed all parts of her that were sorely in need at the moment. She didn't deny him when he carried her off to their bedchamber. She had taken in each of Phillipe's forceful movements, listened enraptured to his French enticements, and reacted naturally in the most lustful but tender fashion as her natural instinct demanded. It was only when she was splayed wide on their fluffy bed to Phillipe's thrusts and all talking and caressing stopped she started to remember that she was more interested in sharing the evening with her oldest lover. Her mind should have been on her current affair, but all of a sudden she closed her eyes and felt the soft grass that surrounded a certain pond near Rebecca's abbey on her back. She could feel the soft breeze of the Tuscan wind on her face. The caustic stench of King Alfred's stable suddenly wafted her senses. At the time that smell had permeated her nose she had been with Methos. What she wanted more than life itself at that very moment was for Methos to be the one taking care of business. Her hands ran the length of his hips and upper thigh as their bodies rippled together. When she opened her eyes to kiss him, she was actually befuddled to see Phillipe instead of Methos. It was a good thing she hadn't actually cried out his name, which would have been her instinct so close to glorious gratification that her body was inching so close to. It was weird how the mind worked, Amanda thought, slowly her response to Phillipe's drive. Not one to lose the opportunity to orgasm, Amanda concentrated on the Frenchman and pushed the oldest man from her mind. They peaked together in the culmination of sweaty frenzy then just as suddenly, Phillipe kissed her fully and slipped to her side. Before long, he was softly snoring on her shoulder. The hand that had so fully fired her up now seemed like a heavy weight on her breast as Phillipe seemed to be dead to the world.

Amanda flipped his hand off of her and got out of bed, her mind not being kind in reminding her of all the pleasure and locations she had shared with Methos. Because he was so overwhelming in her quite mediation, Amanda couldn't stay seemingly alone when the source of her needling thoughts was just a short walk away. She was already stalking down the hallway in the direction of Methos' bedchamber before she slipped her silk robe around her and tied the long sash around her waist. "He'd better be alone," Amanda thought, "Or I'll just have to claw and scratch my way past any woman who dares to take my place in his bed tonight. If it's an insufferable poet, I'll just have to take his bloated head."

Amanda didn't knock on Methos' door, but his immortal sensation washed through every fiber of her being. She had the notion of busting through the door and taking total advantage of Methos, pissy mood or not, but held onto her last bit of decorum to slowly turn the latch and quietly slip inside his room. The white gauze curtains were drawn around his bed, and the only light in the room was emitting from a candle inside the curtains. From what she could tell, there was only one silhouette inside. Satisfied she wouldn't have to deal with any unpleasantness on her journey to the man, she strutted to the curtain and pulled it back with her hand that she only then noticed was shaking.

Methos was sprawled naked on his bed, the covers kicked to the end of it, with a candle at his elbow and a book in his hands.

"Waiting for me?" Amanda inquired sweetly, her eyes raking in every inch of him.

Methos smirked and stared at her. "It's hot."

"That is quite the understatement from my perspective," Amanda cooed as she lifted her leg onto his bed. She reached over him to take hold of the heavy candlestick, blew it out the lit taper, and then tossed it over her shoulder, making it clunk to the floor.

Methos' hand went into her robe and caressed her breast in the moonlight now filtering from the window. Damn him for reminding her of making love in the rain at Rebecca's. It was because of that one line that she had thought only of him during her session with Phillipe. Now she wanted him more than she had in her entire immortal life. She crawled on top of him, sitting herself over his hips. She wiggled with coy mischievousness and giggled when he took in a sharp breath and lifted his hips, as she felt him grow beneath her.

Amanda was so rapt into getting the most out of her pleasure and induce more for Methos that she hadn't felt the approach of an immortal until she heard the door open. If it was that nosy poet, she would be taking a head as soon as she climaxed. If he wanted to watch, Amanda was more than happy to oblige. She wasn't going anywhere or stopping for an instant. It was Methos would stiffened first, lifting his head, and then thrusting her off of him. At a loss, Amanda jerked her leg out from under Methos as she was haphazardly laying half on and half off the bed. She was going to complain about the sudden diversion, but noticed him staring at the door in a very guarded posture. Amanda leaned her head back over the side of the bed to see a long, silver, sharp blade.

Rolling off the bed and grabbing the sheet, she covered herself and was completely speechless in the face of Phillipe's intrusion. All three immortals stared each other down, as Amanda yanked for more sheet to cover herself, appalled that she had been caught in the act by her lover. Methos wasn't giving an inch, and his body's weight made it impossible for her to get more covering.

Dropping the sheet and sighing, Amanda finally said, "Phillipe... well..."

"What are you doing with him?"

"I think that's obvious," Methos said snarkily, which Amanda didn't think helped the matter at all.

"Do you love him?" Phillipe asked Amanda with fury.

Amanda had to think about that. Yeah, she enjoyed making love to him and cared about him a lot, and he was certainly more than a good friend. He had a power over her that she was sure she'd never be able to understand, but love? That was a tough one.

"Do you?!" Phillipe wailed with a jerk of the tip of his sword at her throat.

Methos got out of bed, and Amanda thought he'd have something deep, meaningful, and welcome at this stage of the situation. To her dismay, he only pulled on his breeches and said, "I'll be on my way. You two can work this out alone."

Phillipe charged Methos' path to the door off with his blade, making Methos step backward tilting his head in an annoyed fashion.

Amanda wailed, "Alone? You're going to leave me with him alone in this state?"

"You are an overwhelming presence when you aren't clad, Amanda," Methos said. "I'm sure you can handle this." Methos was still stepping back from Phillipe's sword, but at a diagonal, probably so that he could take off to the door when the opportunity presented itself.

"Men!" Amanda howled. "Both of you, just stop right where you are."

Phillipe, looking blood thirsty, and Methos not turning his gaze from Phillipe's sword, stopped in their tracks. "Phillipe," Amanda injected, which made Phillipe finally look at her. She could see that Methos was gauging the possibility of making a clean getaway. Love. It was laughable. He was ready to leave her there with a mad immortal with a sword. Even though Phillipe's question and Methos' action were uproarious, Amanda's anger and frustration of not reaching climax made her keep her dignity. "Are we married? No, we are not. What right do you have to come barging in here where you were clearly not invited?"

Phillipe obviously didn't have an answer to that and jerked his gaze back at Methos, who had made a slight gesture of moving to the door. With the blade tip at his cheek, Methos stepped back again, but Phillipe kept step with him. "She is mine," Phillipe told Methos while he moved the tip into Methos' skin.

Methos jerked the blade away. "Jealousy is an interesting emotion, but also very tiring." He walked purposefully to the door, shoving Phillipe with his shoulder to get him out of the way. "She is yours. I guess I am through with her."

"Through with me?" Amanda was more than offended. She ran to the door but had no idea why. It could have been to go with Methos or kick him in the ass. She didn't know what she would have done once she reached him as she never had the opportunity to find out. As soon as Methos opened the latch to the door, Phillipe swung his sword, cutting Methos across his bare back. Amanda gasped and stopped in her tracks as she saw blood pour down Methos' back. If that swing had been just a little higher, Phillipe would have been collecting a quickening. Mortified, Amanda threw herself at Phillipe and started pounding her fists at him, as her anger was suddenly transferred back to Phillipe. "Not even a challenge? What is wrong with you?" she asked, each word accentuated by a hit to the Frenchman's solid body.

He acted as if her blows had done nothing worse than tapped him as he got hold of her hands and clamped them to the floor. Amanda saw Methos' eyes wide as he had slowly turned and fell to his knees. During the years since he had left the Game, she wondered if he had ever been that close to losing his head or suffered that much pain. Methos' eyes were still wide open as he flopped face down onto the floor.

"You son of a bitch," Amanda wailed and struggled against Phillipe's tight grip on her hands against the wood floor. She felt a sliver enter her wrist, but the pain only gave her more strength.

Phillipe yelled, "You were with me only minutes ago! I fall asleep and you go to his bed? How long have you been doing this? Since we arrived?"

"No. You're hurting me!"

"No one treats me like a fool!"

The hatred in his eyes was new to her. His face was red with fury and he was still grinding her hands hard onto the floor. Her struggling legs had been trapped by his and he was pressing his knees painfully down on her. It was like he was another man altogether, and it was scaring her.

"Look, I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything. We just do this. It's our thing. It doesn't mean anything," she stammered.

Phillipe released his grip on one of her hands long enough to slap her hard and then forced her hand back down again. "It means everything!"

"Get off me!" Amanda wailed and continued to struggle, her heart in her throat. The ruby at the tip of Phillipe's sword flashed against the moonlight, and she looked at it, estimated how long it would take her to get it, if she could get at least one hand free. Before she could do anything, Phillipe got off her and took hold of his sword. She sat up quickly, but was stopped by the blade at her throat.

"Come on, Phillipe," Amanda said out of breath. "This is not funny."

"No one makes a fool out of me."

"Surely, I am not first one to do so!" Amanda tried expertly jerk the sword away like Methos had, but all she achieved was slicing her left hand open. Phillipe back handed his hilt to her head. Amanda fell on the floor and got her first taste that she could really be in big trouble here. She stole a look at Phillipe's face, and it wasn't the loving Frenchman she had spent a year with, he looked like a raging bull ready to strike.

Amanda rolled away from a stab from his sword, knowing that she had to do something fast or Phillipe could take her head and then Methos' if he didn't revive soon. She was going to yell at Methos to come alive faster when she spotted metal under the bed. Methos' Ivanhoe! Even though he wasn't in the Game, he still had his beloved sword with him! Of course he wouldn't live life without protection. God, she loved him at that moment! It was a good thing she checked on what Phillipe was doing because she had to roll out of the way of another thrusting stab. His sword thumped into the wood floor where her chest had been a second before.

Amanda didn't know how she did it because Phillipe was between her and the bed, but she scrambled fast and made her way to it. It wasn't until she had the hilt of the Ivanhoe in her hand that she finally took a breath. Just slid the sword out from under the bed and held it up defensively just as another swing of Phillipe's sword clanged into it. She had been prepared and held it strongly so she hadn't lost it, though he had made it fall to the side. She hadn't remembered how heavy Methos' sword was compared to her own favorite Claymore that had been forged by a friend just ten years before. It was like an extension of her own arm. She sure could use it now, but it was still in its sheath, leaning against the bedpost in her own bedchamber. Of course she hadn't felt the need for it, and didn't want to use Methos', all she wanted was to calm Phillipe down and Methos revive and they could settle this over a stiff drink.

Blood was still seeping across Methos' back, and he was still dead as a door nail and no help to her whatsoever. The bull that was Phillipe, however, was coming closer to her as she held Methos' Ivanhoe up, cursing how heavy it was.

"Phillipe. Why don't we just talk about this calmly?"

"I do not need to talk. You are nothing to me now."

"That was fast. I did not... Phillipe, I am so sorry, but I mean it, it didn't have anything to do with you."

"Put your sword up!" he demanded, standing with his own sword ready to strike.

"Is that a challenge?" Amanda was astounded. Never in their time together had he ever given the slightest impression he would challenge anyone. He had accepted that one, to avenge Amanda's honor, but had customarily run with her when they had encountered an immortal.

He swung his sword at her while she was still perplexed at the rapidity of the events of the evening. The tip of his blade nicked her collarbone. This was serious! She held up the Ivanhoe in time to stop another thrust. Amanda was angry enough to ignore the blood trickling down her chest, ignore the tickle of it, and take a swing at him mostly to test just how far her reach was with Methos' Ivanhoe. It was long enough. Phillipe had sucked in his stomach and backed off just in time to miss the blade going into his abdomen. All Amanda could think as she was alternately defensive and offensive in the dance she and Phillipe did around the bedchamber was that it was going to be a shame to separate that beautiful head from his magnificent body. It seemed like an eternity of their thrusting and parrying, with Amanda intent on calming her lover down long enough to collect his head. There was no loving gestures from him, no indication that the last year had meant anything to him. It must be the masculinity that had clouded his judgement. Even with her last swing at Phillipe, there was still a part of her that wanted to settle this rationally, but it was too late. It was done. Phillipe's blond hair fell down his body, and then his body fell on top of it. There was complete and utter silence for a moment so all Amanda heard was the pounding of her heart. When the wisps of his essence drifted into the air, Amanda didn't really want it. She didn't want to consider Phillipe another notch on her sword, another head she'd collected on the way to the Gathering. She just wanted to forget this night, this week at Byron's, ever happened.

By the time the quickening ended, she was huddled on the floor crying harder than she ever had before. Thundering footsteps pelted the hall, mingling with the real thunder outside. A hand was on her back. The fact that she was naked hit her as she shivered from cold from head to foot. She heard Methos inquire, "Amanda? Are you all right?" as the door jerked open and Byron and three others she didn't really see come into the room.

Amanda folded herself up and cried harder as she heard Byron move the other people out of the room and a woman gasp, most likely to Phillipe's severed body, Methos' bloody back, the mess the quickening made, or her shame of not handling this evening better. She felt a blanket being put around her body and Methos pulling her into his arms. "Thank you," he told her in a whisper, rocking her in his lap.

Amanda grabbed the blanket around her, got up, and said stonily, "I didn't do it for you," then walked out of the room, far away from the mess and madness.

~~~~~

LA MISION DE LA SALIDA DEL SOL

"I still don't know how I'd classify our relationship, but I'd walk through fire for you, Methos," Amanda said after a long silence. When Methos reacted like he hadn't expected her to speak, or maybe didn't know what she was talking about, she added, "Phillipe's head. I'm over it. It's done. I had to do it, for both of us."

"And I thank you again," Methos said, kissing her forehead and holding her a bit tighter, but then tightened. Amanda knew it was for the same reason she had. There was the approach of an immortal.

As she leapt out of bed to the door, she hoped it wasn't Marek. She reached the peephole as there was a rap at the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, Amanda opened the door to allow Rebecca entrance.

Her red haired teacher looked flush as she announced, "We've had this whole place to ourselves for God knows how long, and now the place is crawling with teenagers."

Methos chuckled and got to his feet. "Ah, the concert is about to begin."

"I have a bad feeling about this concert."

"I have a bad feeling about most things," Methos said, putting on his vest, while Amanda pulled a comb through her hair.

They were both concerned about this concert and lack of other guests at the hotel, and with Methos' warnings of what Marek could be up to made Amanda think they should just skip this event. The fact that it was Byron who was the starring attraction made her want to send her regrets even more.

"It's the funniest thing," Rebecca said as she took a seat on the velvet cushioned bench at the end of the bed.

Amanda guessed, "Byron's singing?"

"There's a lot of people downstairs in the auditorium, but there aren't any cars in the parking lot besides ours," Rebecca explained. "How did they get here?"

"Bus?" Amanda offered. Methos had been awfully quiet and Amanda could tell he was lost in thought. What he was thinking didn't seem to be good, so she offered, "Should we just go? I'm not at all looking forward to-"

All three immortals stopped and looked to the door with the approach of another immortal, who hurried banged on the door as if pounding a drum beat. Fitz was heard, "Open up or else!" just before a burst of laughter.

Methos had already been to the door looking out the peephole, then opened the door, grabbed Fitz, pulled the laughing Englishman into the room, and shut and locked the door again. "What's this rough-housing about?" Fitz teetered on his feet. He was plainly stoned, drunk, or high. Amanda couldn't tell which, but she wanted what he had.

"Or else, what?" Methos asked, not in a good mood.

"Or else I'll..." Fitz slurred. "You'll miss my performance!" As he pointed his finger joyously in the air, he tipped over and fell onto the chaise lounge.

Amanda asked, "You have any more?"

"Any more what?"

"Whatever you took. I want some. Now."

"No you don't," Methos said, thrusting open the drape and looking out to the courtyard. "You need to keep your head about you."

"Words an immortal lives by," Fitz announced, much louder than was necessary.

Rebecca had converged on Fitz to studied his eyes. Fitz made a kissing motion to her, but before he could pull her onto the chaise, she said, "You're more than doped up. What did you take?"

"A little of this, a little of that," Fitz stammered with a gleeful smile. "A little hocus-pocus. Viola, I feel no pain."

"You could say that again," Amanda muttered, going to Methos. She didn't quite know why, but it felt like the right thing to do. The awareness of nerves started to grow in her belly. She was going to ask if Methos could get her immortal buzz to fade too, but there was another knock on the door.

"That could be Marek," Methos intoned as he crossed the room to the peephole again.

"Marek? He's immortal," Rebecca said.

Methos allowed Rhiannon entrance to the room, but she didn't enter. She stood in a long black velvet gown, a black velvet ribbon with a cameo tied at her throat, and her long red hair fashioned in French twist with ringlets resting on her chest. Her hands were together in front of her as she bowed and smiled to them all. "The concert is about to begin. If you will come with me."

~~~~~

The auditorium wasn't at all what Methos had expected. The solitary hotel was now alive with young bodies, shoulder to shoulder, hands in the air, hips gyrating, marijuana smoke hung like a cloud above them in the flashing lights and heavy metal playing on stage. If he didn't have a feeling of dread in his heart, he might have actually get into the swing of things. When a waiter came around with a tray of beer, he really did think that Marek did his homework. Regardless of whatever might happen, Methos took a bottle and a large swig as Amanda started gyrating to the music beside him.

Methos accompanied her every movement with one of his own. She was in his arms, one hand around his neck, her other hand holding a joint. "Where did you get that?" he had to holler for her to hear her.

"I don't know," she yelled back, even though they were only inches apart and he could barely hear her. "Someone must have given to me." She took a toke and blew out the smoke right away. "Whoa, momma! This is great! Have some."

"I'll stick with beer."

As she took another hit, Methos could see Rhiannon smiling just off stage, watching Byron do a guitar lick. Even though her face looked placid, he wondered if she was fearing what might happen that evening as well. Methos loved Amanda's movements, but not her continuous sucking on the joint.

"You don't need to smoke it in three seconds," he said as the song ended and cheers and applause filled the hall.

Methos took another swallow as Byron caught the crowd's attention at the microphone, hanging onto the stand with both hands. Methos didn't see his cane anywhere, and supposed he didn't like to use it on stage. "Fitz! Come on up! Show the crowd what you can do."

Fitz, who had been searching the crowd for a woman to spend some quality time with looked amazed at the stage. "Me?"

"Yes, you, you fool! Get up here." As Fitz immediately made his way through the crowd to the stage, Byron announced, "A surprise for you all. Are there Who fans in the house?"

The crowd erupted, but it was nothing compared to how they reacted with screams and hoots when Fitz took the stage and a place at Byron's microphone. Fitz's face was one of pure joy and drank in the audience's love. Methos could hear Fitz say, which was still in microphone range, "God bless you Roger Daltrey for resembling me," then broke into singing My Generation.

~~~~~

Rebecca felt much too old for this group, and lonely, but was glad that Fitz was able to perform. That was nice of George to allow him this moment in the sun. Even though she wanted to join in on whatever had gotten into Amanda, she thought of John and the fact that there was no telephone in her room. Since Methos and Amanda were busy and Fitz was in heaven on stage, she slipped through the crowd to the lobby for some quiet and to see if she could use the phone to call John. Just as she moved through the crowd, she felt a hand on her arm pulling her back. Surprised she turned to see it was Methos. "Where are you going?"

Amanda, Fitz, and Byron were far enough away that she didn't feel them very potently, but with Methos right there in front of her, she usually felt his formidable buzz. She had taken years to get used to being around it, as it seemed to carry the weight of the world with it. "I don't understand. What happened? Am I dreaming?"

"Can't sense me? No. You're not going insane, either. I'll explain later. Don't go anywhere. We need to stick together."

"I was going to call John."

He grimaced. "What for?" With the snap of Rebecca's disapproval, he relented this dislike for the poet. "Doesn't matter. Stay here. Dance. Go along with it. Wait until a moment presents itself."

"What moment?"

"We'll know it when we see it."

Amanda pulled on his arm and wanted to also pull Rebecca into the fold to dance and offered her a joint that had been smoked down to her fingers. Rebecca thought she wasn't going to be told what to do, and this music was certainly not Bach or Beethoven. She continued on her way to the lobby.

As the song ended, Amanda put a hand to her hand and traipsed in Methos' arms. "What's the matter?"

"I'm feeling dizzy."

He chuckled. "No surprise there." He got hold of the remnant of the joint and tossed it to the floor.

"I gotta go to the can."

"The what?"

"The ladies room."

Methos, wondering where Rebecca went, told Amanda, "Hold it."

"Not for that reason. I'm going to be sick."

Before Methos could stop her, she slipped through two huge men calling out "WHOOOOOO" and couldn't get past them. "Bloody hell!" he moaned about the women as he looked back to the stage irritated. He wanted them all to stick together and wait to find out what was going to happen. He felt that with the suppression of his buzz and knowing that something would happen tonight, and there were five immortals and perhaps a witch against Marek, Marek couldn't lose. The bitterness of Marek's audacity bit at Methos again as he turned to the stage. At least he could keep an eye on two of the immortals and the witch.

Byron was about to once again take hold of the train that was his band in front of the live, very grateful crowd and announce his biggest hit, Fitz's blond hair blocked out Lord Byron's face at the microphone. Fitz didn't seem to be as euphoric to sing as he had with the first song. He seemed, in fact, as if he was under some sort of influence that made him somewhat sluggish.

"I see a bad moon arising," Fitz sang in a deep, monotone voice. The band did a quick look at each other and then started in on the Creedence song. Byron tried to yank the mic from Fitz, but it was as if Fitz had a death grip on it. "I see trouble on the way."

For how he was singing a song that on its surface seemed peppy, Fitz was singing as if it were a death dirge. "I see earthquakes and lightnin'. I see bad times today."

Byron joined Fitz in on the chorus, but was having difficulty getting close enough to the microphone to actually be heard. "Don't go around tonight, well, it's bound to take your life, there's a bad moon on the rise."

Methos thought Fitz was talking solely to him and got chills.

~~~~~

Amanda staggered into the ladies room just off the entrance to the auditorium and grabbed for the counter. Sweat was pouring down her face, and when she glanced up into the mirror to look at herself, she almost fainted from how red and horrible she looked. The moisture was pouring down her neck; her hair was damp, her heart was starting to race, and she felt clammy. Her last thought was the joint that just seemed to arrive in her hand. Her head felt heavy, too heavy to hold up. Amanda slipped to the stone floor, hitting her head. Suddenly, there was blackness, silence, and peace.

~~~~~

"I hear hurricanes ablowing. I know the end is coming soon. I fear rivers over flowing. I hear the voice of rage and ruin," Fitz continued slowly at the microphone. It was so off the normal beat that the crowd was starting to wonder. Byron had given up trying to take over and was sitting on the ledge in front of the George Gordon and the Gathering drum set drinking out of a whiskey bottle.

Methos looked to Rhiannon, standing in the wings, who was visibly crying, as she stared at Fitz. It was her, was Methos' thought. She's controlling Fitz in some way.

"Don't go around tonight. It's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise."

~~~~~

Rebecca stared blankly at the old man in a white suit she found standing behind the desk in the lobby. "There's no phone in this entire hotel? How in the world do you do business? There had to be one somewhere, I demand to have use of it right now!"

The man's eyes grew wide, and she assumed he was miffed by her biting his head off and was going to apologize, but he quickly disappeared into a room behind the desk. She heard footsteps behind her and knew that the man had been scared. Marek truly was a imposing presence. His height seemed to be magnified by platform shoes. "Mr. Marek. I'm glad to see you."

"Oh? Really?"

"Yes. I need a phone. I need to call my friend."

All dressed in black, complete with black cape, he didn't seem to bother smiling as a good host would, as he normally had. Instead, he drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it hard onto her face. His hand holding the handkerchief clamped onto her mouth and his arm held her rigid against him as Rebecca struggled for breath.

~~~~~

Methos ran to the stage as Fitz intoned in song, "Hope you got your things together. Hope you are quite prepared to die. Looks like we're in for nasty weather. One eye is taken for an eye."

He grabbed Rhiannon's shoulders and raged, "What are you doing? Why? Fitz hates CCR. He'd never sing one of their songs. And what a song to sing."

Getting no reaction from her but more tears, he raced to Fitz to get the mic, but he was determined to sing. "Don't go around tonight." When he sang, "It's bound to take your life!" Fitz's eyes looked wild, manic. "There's a bad moon on the rise."

Methos couldn't think of anything else to do, so he wound up his fist and belted him across the face. Fitz fell to the stage like a lump, as the crowd applauded wildly. The band even joined in.

"Right on, Doc," Byron said, slapping Methos cordially on the back. "You always did know how to deal with things."

The lights went dim in the auditorium and a spotlight appeared on the stage, bathing Methos in white hot light. Methos thought he was actually seeing things when he saw Marek carrying an unconscious Rebecca onto the stage and lays her down next to Fitz. Byron yelled, "You can't come in here with a lass who can't handle her drug of choice. Get the bloody hell out of here," as his band roared their approval.

In response, Marek pulled out a dagger from his cloak and stabbed Byron in the gut. Rhiannon screamed and ran to him as he too fell to the stage. Methos, desperate for some moment of brilliance, couldn't come up with a thing but search the crowd for Amanda.

Marek yelled to the wings, "Rhiannon. Come here, now."

Methos took the opportunity to crouch next to Rebecca and felt for a pulse. She was still alive, but totally out of it. "This is the moment, Rebecca. Wake up!"

Catching Marek look at him as Rhiannon approached him, Methos asked, "What did you do to her?"

It started to get more and more quiet in the auditorium, and Methos saw the crowd fade and disappear into blackness. Rhiannon crumbled at Byron's side and Marek spouted, "Don't drop the spell yet!"

"I can't do it anymore," she whined. Her eyes were full of tears as she looked up from Byron's corpse. "You can't kill these people."

Methos about shit when a ghostly figure of a woman wearing a red dress and long red scarf floated onto the stage from the audience that was no longer there. She pointed a finger at Marek and said, "See? I got to her, Anton. She isn't with you anymore!"

"Emily," Marek said with no trace of surprise. "You will never rest in peace."

Emily. That must be the girl Amanda swore she saw. Methos felt Rebecca stir, as he was still holding her wrist, but kept an eye on Marek and Rebecca. She asked, "Where's Amanda?"

"My thought exactly. Quiet," Methos warned her as the young female ghost walked across the stage to Marek with a smirk on her face.

Rebecca gasped when she saw Fitz and Byron out cold and dead, but Methos watched Marek's reaction to the ghost. "I think you will have a restless afterlife as well, Anton," Emily giggled.

"Go away!"

Rhiannon looked around at everyone on the stage, then took off for the back of the stage and pulled a lever, then stepped back close to Marek. What was she playing at? Methos heard a creak from above and looked up to see four huge metal gates fly down from the rafters and bang as they made a fence that trapped them all on the stage.

Marek looked momentarily startled, but then whipped a sword out of his cloak. "I'm armed. Are you?" He locked eyes on Methos. Methos shuddered that his Ivanhoe, which hadn't been used since Amanda took Phillipe's head, was in the trunk of the Thunderbird.

Emily laughed. "You can ne-ver le-eave," she sang with mirth.

Enraged, Marek grabbed the bassist, Hamish, by the scruff of the neck and threw him to where Fitz, Byron, and Rebecca were. He charged at them, but Emily lost her merriment and rushed through Marek's body, which dazed him. "I will burn in hell before I let you continue your plan."

Marek swung the sword at her, but she ducked, as if she had to. She laughed and darted around the stage as if she was playing tag. She floated through him again as she cackled, clearly enjoying this game.

~~~~~

Amanda came to life on the bathroom floor and immediately rubbed her head as it healed. She realized that she had just died, she was sure of it. "But how? Why?" she sputtered. "The joint! It was poison!" Methos' determination that something was going to happen that night made her get up and run to her suite.

~~~~~

Methos ran to the ten foot high grating to find some way of exit. He was going to start climbing when he heard a male scream behind him. Hoping it was Marek, he turned to see he was wrong. The voice had belonged to the drummer. Marek pulled the dagger from the drummer's gut and was on a rampage. He garroted the lead guitarist and turned to Hamish. Methos felt bad that he hadn't even remembered the mortals' names, only remembering the bassist's name, who had been in the basement with him.

Byron, who Methos hadn't even notice revive, grabbed Marek's hand to stop the blow at Hamish. "You can't murder mortals!"

"They're just sacrificial lambs to you?" Rebecca asked, now at Fitz's side, tapping his face as Hamish scrambled under the drum set, out of Marek's reach.

Rhiannon stood and faced Marek. "If you stop now, maybe you all will keep your heads."

"You're a part of this?" Byron asked wounded.

Methos saw a lithe figure in the dark wings of the stage and hoped it Amanda. She was the only one outside of the bars. She'd have to try to get them out of there. Before he could get her attention, his leg was pulled out from under him. He turned to see Hamish, who whispered quickly to him. "We have to hurry. Is there a gate or a lock?"

"I haven't found one."

"If you do, here," he reached into his jeans pocket and handed a lock picking devise to Methos, who looked at him in awe.

"You're not just a guitarist."

Hamish grunted. "No. I watch Byron for a living."

"Byron? A Watcher?"

Hamish nodded. "I have a gun, but it's in my suite."

"Great place for it."

"Where's your sword? You are immortal, right?"

"In the trunk of my car."

Touchè. Hamish stared at him. "Jared Burke. Never heard of you. How old are you?"

"None of your damn business. Get us the hell out of here."

"I usually watch and record, but it is time to act. I'm a black belt. Will you back me up?"

Methos had been out of the game for a long time, but if he could get his hands on Marek's sword, he had the fury to kill. "Of course. I fight dirty."

"That will help." Hamish grimaced at the drummer's corpse. "Bastard..."

"Why didn't you do anything before now?"

"Watch and record. And I thought we were just going to play some tunes and get high and get laid tonight."

"Oh, if that were only true. I came here for rest and relaxation with old friends. Didn't think I'd come across anyone on this trip crazier than Byron."

~~~~~

Rebecca watched as Byron tried to fight off Marek, but he fell without his cane. He never use it when he's on stage. Marek took Rhiannon by the scruff of the neck and said, "I don't think you're of use to me anymore. Might as well kill the mortals. All of them."

Rebecca found herself, Methos, and the bassist all ready to charge Marek, but he held his sword to her throat and warned them all to get back! "Or she will lose her head."

Emily started crying. "Not her. I like her. She is nice to me."

Rebecca felt deep pain in her heart when she thought this would be the end and she would have to see yet another killing and couldn't do anything to stop it. She looked at Methos, who wasn't doing anything but whispering to the bass player.

Byron pleaded with Marek. "Marek. I love her more than life itself. I offer my head in exchange."

That seemed an idiotic idea to Rebecca. There wasn't any way one could love that much to just offer your own head for them. There were people in her life she cared deeply for, but had to admit there wasn't any she would lose her head for. Not even Amanda or Methos or any of her students.

Marek seemed interested in Byron's offer, but Rhiannon shook her head violently and held the sword. "I won't let that happen!"

This is all wrong, Rebecca sputtered. She needed to do something because no one didn't seem to feel the urge to. She saw a glint of metal to her right in the wings, and thought it an aberration. Rebecca moved to the edge of the stage by the bars and heard a noise of metal shuttling against wood. A sword was sliding rapidly toward her! "Amanda, you angel!" Rebecca breathed and stepped on the sword's hilt just as it slid through the bars. She looked to see if Marek had noticed. He was too concerned with a struggling Rhiannon and cursing Byron, who had gotten back to his feet and was waiting for an opportunity to strike. Methos and Hamish seemed to be looking for some way to overpower Marek without hurting Rhiannon.

Rebecca, with Amanda's sword in hand, hid in the fold of her dress, edged the bars down the side of the stage and across the back, behind Marek, who was still struggling with Rhiannon. The ghostly young woman in red caught sight of her, and immediately stopped crying and smiled with wide, happy eyes. Rebecca put her finger to her lips and shook her head. Emily beamed and clamped her lips shut, nodding happily.

Methos spotted her and when she allowed him sight of what she was carrying, he looked as if he could kiss her and slumped in relief. "Marek!" he called out for a diversion.

Marek turned Rhiannon to see Methos, huddled with Hamish. "Your time will come."

"But you'll never live to see it," Methos replied with utter glee.

Marek was obviously confused. Byron saw Rebecca and the sword and instinctively reached out for Rhiannon's hand. When he took it, Rhiannon turned to him and grasped his hand hard.

"Rhiannon!" Methos called. She turned to him as Rebecca couldn't see her face but heard her cries. Methos said, "Duck."

Rebecca took a good grip on Amanda's sword's hilt and readied herself. When she saw Rhiannon's red hair disappear from over Marek's shoulder, Rebecca swung out. Marek had stooped a bit with Rhiannon throwing herself to the floor, so Rebecca altered the path of the sword down and felt relief when she felt the slack of blade meeting flesh. She heard an intense yelp of pain as the swing finished. Because she only had one opportunity to take care of Marek, her thrust was so hard that she had spun around and didn't see what had happened. She looked back to see Marek fall to the floor and Byron standing slumped, his hand going slowly to a new slice across his white shirt at the chest. Blood trickled, then flowed from the wound. Rhiannon screamed and crawled to him as he fell to his knees.

"I'm sorry," Rebecca moaned.

"I have certainly seen better days," Byron said as he flopped forward dead, Rhiannon collapsed in grief over him.

Rebecca heard Amanda clap her hands and emerge from the black wings of the stage. "Well done, Teacher," she said as the wisps of Marek's quickening floated up from his headless corpse. Rebecca rejoiced as she took the quickening. The force of it, all the heads Anton Marek had stolen, all the years he had been alive, and all the fear she had felt, made the quickening one of the most powerful she had felt in years.

The electricity of the quickening ricocheted off the bars and all of the band's instruments. The synthesizer exploded, parts of the drum set flew into the air and crashed on top of them. Guitars played off key notes, then the strings broke in eerie snaps. Cymbals flew through the air, and one conked Fitz in the head when gravity took over, which brought him out of his stupor. He sat up, shaking his head, as the quickening died.

Looking around at the tangle of broken instruments and sweating immortals, he surmised, "Must have been one hell of a set! Pete would be so proud!"

~~~~~

Rhiannon, crying for Byron, not knowing if he was dead or alive or would again revive and feeling blood pool around her knees next to him, looked up to see Emily smiling at her. It was the first time she didn't look at her with fright. She had feared that if she looked into her eyes, she would be sucked into her world. The fact that Marek's hold on her had been lost didn't sink in until she looked Emily in the eye and smiled in return. Emily floated toward her and touched Rhiannon's cheek. It was a cold, yet tender touch, that in some odd way, filled Rhiannon with warmth. Emily said, "I don't have to stay here anymore. Have a good life, Rhiannon. I will see you again one day, my friend." then she disappeared.

Rhiannon was sorry that she hadn't been able to speak with her, but knew she was in a good place, for the first time in her afterlife. Byron took in a great breath of air and had to have seen Marek's head just a foot from his own. He flopped over onto his back with a repulsed shout and stared to the ceiling, taking in more air to refill his lungs. "George?" Rhiannon asked with relief. "Are you all right?"

"I've felt better." He smiled up at her and then pulled her down for a kiss.

Amanda yanked at the bars and called to Jared, "I can't find a way in."

Rhiannon pulled herself from Byron and asked Amanda, "Would you mind raising that lever behind you?"

Amanda did, and the bars lifted back to the rafters.

Jared raged, "What the hell did you trap us all with that maniac for?"

Byron tightened and demanded, "Please explain why not, and it had better be good!"

"Marek's plan was to sacrifice the mortals, except me, on stage and then take you all down to his lab where he would get full benefit from your quickenings. I used these bars left over from a performance of Man in the Iron Mask to alter that plan. If I could keep you all together, you could overpower him. I'm surprised it took you so long."

Jared tossed out, "He had the sword, we didn't."

"You didn't have a buzz and could sneak up on him but you didn't, did you?"

Rebecca was finally getting her breath after the quickening as Byron asked, "You what?"

"Never mind. I'm never doing that again," Rhiannon promised.

"Do what?"

"Play mind games," Jared said. Going over to Amanda, who covered him with kisses. "Let's go. Anywhere but here."

"Do what?" Byron asked Rhiannon again.

"I'll explain, and may even perform it on you. It will be an asset; with your leg, you can't really run from danger."

"And danger does seems to find me. Actually, it finds me whenever you're around, Doc," he told Jared.

"Where's the birds?" Fitz asked, after he had taken in everything in the auditorium.

Rebecca asked, "Birds?"

"Chicks. Dames. Ladies."

Jared laughed. "You mean the ones shouting 'Roger?' Imagine what would happen when they found out you're not him anyway."

"They stay with me," Fitz chirped. "I have a way with the female persuasion."

"They were a ruse, I'm afraid," Rhiannon said weakly, ashamed for all she had done during their stay.

"You know, if you were to put your extraordinary talent to good use," Amanda said. "Think of what you could accomplish."

"I've not left this hotel in a very long time, Amanda."

Byron said, "It's time you searched for better pastures. With me."

~~~~~

Methos was leaning against the Thunderbird as Amanda was telling him her plans for where they should go next when they heard a honk and the roar of the tour bus come around the corner and park near them. In fact, too near for comfort. Hamish waved from the driver's seat at them and opened the hydraulic door.

Rhiannon and Byron made their way from the hotel with her tapestry bag over her shoulder. She looked up at the bus and then at Byron, who was smiling as he leaned against his cane. "I've never traveled on a tour bus before."

"You're going to many things you've never done before." Byron kissed her and offered his arm to escort her to the door of the bus. "As I am afraid I will experience things that are new to me as well. Together, we can't be messed with."

Rhiannon laughed and waved goodbye to Methos and Amanda as Byron waited at the door, smirking at Methos and drawled, "Well, Doc."

Methos came over to him and without squelching the urge for masculinity's sake, pulled Byron into a hug. "I was good to see you again."

"Don't be such a stranger, Teacher," Byron said, and actually kissed Methos on the cheek. "I do believe I miss you after a couple of years."

"We'll see," Methos replied, smiling at him. He looked at his student for a long time to take in all of him, as he felt it would be years until he saw him again. Seeing a whirl of blond hair coming out of the hotel, he asked, "You won't change your mind and take Fitz with you?"

Fitz moaned, "I don't want to watch them neck all the way to LA."

"You want to watch us neck instead?" Amanda asked, throwing her arm over Methos' shoulder.

"Lesser of two evils. At least with you, something fun might happen. And Rebecca needs company."

Rebecca came from the trunk area after settling her bag and said, "No I don't. I just want to get to an airport and go home ASAP."

Hamish honked the horn again, marking time for Byron to go. The poet waved at them all and said, "Farewell. May we meet again in one piece and in good humor," then climbed up the steps. As soon as he was on the top one, Hamish closed the door and drove off as the four of them waved their goodbye.

Not very long afterward, a red Ford Thunderbird roared down the dusty road with Methos and Amanda in the front seat and Rebecca and Fitz in the back. Amanda ran her hand up Methos' leg and he sucked in air when he stirred by her touch. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then whispered, "First town we come to, we're losing the excess baggage," as he tilted his head to the back seat.

Amanda snickered and put in an eight track and turned it up full blast. It didn't take long for all four of them to sing at the top of their lungs, "Get your motor runnin'. Head out on the highway! Lookin' for adventure, and whatever comes our way," as Fitz passed around a joint.

THE END