Greater Need

By Wesa

AU: Immortal Witches' Chronicles

Disclaimer: All things and characters from Highlander belong to Rysher/Panzer-Davis, including the concepts of Immortals and Quickenings. The idea of a sisterhood of witches within the Highlander universe belongs to Claudia. Those of us in Santuario at the time the idea broke each took possession of the witch Claudia named for us, and has created a character to go with the name. In these stories, Wesa is definitely not me, thank God; I am nothing like her. Perhaps I wish I were, though I wouldn't want to have to live through the things she has!

Rating: R (violence/torture, sexual situations, rape scene, explicit m/f consensual sex scene)

Thanks: To the other members of Santuario, for their suggestions. Special thanks to Will for information and assistance with German military ranks, and corrections for historical accuracy. I am not a historian. Any errors or misperceptions still reflected in this story are mine alone. If I've got it wrong, and I most likely do, please let me know.

Note: I am aware that Krystallnacht was in 1938, and that the policy encouraging young Aryan women to bear the children of SS officers wasn't in place until 1944, but I just couldn't make the story work in the time frame I wanted it to with them that far apart. So for the purposes of my story, the breeding policy would have been instituted in late 1938, despite official records to the contrary.

By Wesa.

The Scandinavian woman stood inside the post office, ostensibly checking her mail, but actually keeping an eye on the warehouse a block and a half away, watching for any sign of the transfer of power she knew would come soon. The warehouse stood back from the street a little, with room for trucks to be emptied or filled at the loading dock which ran along one side. For ventilation, there was a row of windows just below the ridgepole at the apex of the roof. Otherwise, there was only the blank brick wall facing the street without so much as a sign on it to tell what business the owners were in.

Wesa felt only a little uneasiness about letting Tsila face her challenger alone. Rules or no rules, she tended to want to protect her sisters; but the challenger was only around six hundred years old, and Tsila was over two thousand. She should have no trouble with him, and Wesa didn't want to offend her sister by seeming to think her incapable of defending herself. Kind of a silly waste, really, she mused. He had been good-looking, in a Mediterranean sort of a way. If he was half the man he thought he was -

A flash from the vicinity of the warehouse interrupted her thoughts, and she looked outside quickly enough to see the last of the glass fall from the window furthest from the street. Time to go. Time to collect Tsila and catch the train out of this blighted country before things got any worse. Already many of the best people were cringing in fear whenever anyone mentioned the Führer. Many of the university professors had already gone, leaving the country while they still could, especially if they were Jewish. Brownshirts were everywhere, making life generally miserable, lording their status over everyone. She and Tsila had had their papers checked twice on the way into town that morning, after being informed by an official that their house would be the perfect place for women to "do their duty for der Vaterland."

'Der Vaterland,' pah! Every civilized people Wesa had ever heard of had known that the land was the Mother of Life, and the sun was the Father. These stupid Nazis were so far gone as to even try to take unto the male that most female of functions, the nurturing of new life? And now, after Hitler's angry declaration that German Jews would pay for the assassination of one of the Reich's embassy secretaries in Paris, it was time to join their sisters in Portugal, and as quickly as possible.

Rather than having the house seized during their absence, they had packed up only such essentials as their swords and coats, and come into town to make arrangements that the house and all its furnishings should be sold to the state as soon as their ridiculously low asking price could be met. They felt sure this was the best way to insure that their house survived. If the state merely seized the house, they would not see to its upkeep as well as if they paid for it, but with the price so low, they wouldn't be able to justify seizing it instead of buying it. At least, that was the hope behind the witches' decision.

Wesa feigned unconcern as she walked down the street toward the warehouse from which they had run a freight transportation business prior to Hitler's election. The rise of the Nazi Party had put an end to their previously successful business. They had closed the warehouse and moved their funds into Swiss, Portuguese, and Chilean banks, preparing to move to their house on the Portuguese coast. Kanetsidohi and Rayen Quitral had gone ahead to make preparations on the Portuguese end, leaving Wesa and Tsila to close up the house and bring the rest of their things, but the events of the morning had changed their plan a bit. Then the Italian had challenged Tsila as she got out of the taxi at the train station. His timing couldn't have been worse; now they had missed their train, and Wesa's unease grew with every passing second.

She reached the warehouse and cautiously stepped inside the dimly lit interior. She could sense Tsila's quickening here somewhere, and she would bet money she was in the back, but Wesa hadn't lived this long by making that sort of wager with her life. She drew her sword. If the Italian had by some fluke managed to best her sister, he wouldn't live long enough to enjoy it. No one who was not part of the sisterhood could be allowed to carry that much power, not for long. Tsila, having grown up as Mayan royalty, hadn't the same qualms about bloodletting and beheading that many had, including Wesa herself, who honestly preferred not to kill. She tended to use witchcraft to make her opponent forget she existed, unless his death was absolutely necessary. If the Italian had killed Tsila, however, Wesa would make an exception. She crept toward the back of the warehouse carefully.

"Put your sword away, sister," Tsila's voice came out of the dusty dimness, followed by the princess herself. She smiled, flashing the turquoise that had been inlaid in her teeth while she was still very young. "I've already killed him."

"Good," Wesa said, sheathing her sword in its hidden scabbard. She paused, looking at her sister critically. "You can't get on the train looking like that." Tsila's dark-skinned legs needed no stockings, and she never wore them, which was just as well. If she had, they would need to be replaced, and silk was nearly as dear as gold these days. Her skirt was torn, and there was a bloodstained slash in the fabric of her once white blouse. "We'll have to buy you some new clothes. We don't have time to go back to the house before the next train."

"You know my sizes," Tsila suggested.

"I do," Wesa admitted, "but the quickening showed outside, and I don't want to leave you here with the body for an hour or more while I go collect what you need and bring it back. Not with so many Brownshirts in the city. They're already suspicious of you. If they were to find you here with a dead European, the consequences could be...inconvenient."

Tsila lifted a hand to her face. "In my youth, I was considered pale," she said ruefully. "You're right, my cautious sister." She sheathed her bloodstained blade and belted her coat more closely around her trim, muscular body. "Will I pass muster now?"

"If nobody looks too hard before we get you cleaned up," Wesa replied. "Your hair's come loose. Turn around and let me pin it up for you, so you don't look like you've been dragged behind a car."

"I should just get it cut like you did," Tsila complained.

"Later." Wesa twisted her sister's thick black hair with practiced ease and pinned it into place. "Let's get out of here."

They left the warehouse as quickly as they could without drawing unwanted attention to themselves and walked toward the business district, hoping the stores would still be open this late in the afternoon. Otherwise Tsila would have to rely on her coat to disguise her disarray until they reached the Portuguese coast and relative safety. The witches didn't discuss this option, but both knew it was a possibility.

Unfortunately, when they reached their favorite store, it was closed. The word Juden had been painted on the front window, and a large, six-pointed star was on the door. The women stood looking at it a moment, then by mutual assent they turned away. People could be so stupid, and the stupidity of a mob didn't add up, it multiplied. Ever since Hitler's announcement blaming the Jews for the assassination, the stupidity in this city had been approaching critical mass. It wouldn't take much more to set off an explosion, a riot of insanity, and if the witches remained they could be caught up in it. They needed to get out of town as quickly as possible.

"I'll wash my blouse out in the train station washroom," Tsila murmured. "My skirt is only torn; if we get stopped, I can say I fell."

Wesa nodded. She didn't like it, but it would have to do. As the autumn sun set there was a tension in the air that worried them both, and they walked through the darkening streets back toward the train station with purposeful intent.

Ahead there was a commotion as residents realized the neighborhood synagogue was burning. The fire department arrived as Tsila and Wesa passed, but seemed uninterested in actually fighting the fire, although water was pumped onto the house next door to prevent the blaze from spreading.

Behind them the sound of glass breaking shattered the night, ringing clearly even over the shouting voices that accompanied the outburst. The witches exchanged a glance, and Tsila said, "It's starting."

"Yes. Hurry," Wesa urged. "This sort of madness is contagious. Practically everyone in the city tonight will be either one of the mad ones or one of their victims. We don't wish to be either."

"Huh!" Tsila laughed sourly. "No one will mistake me for one of Herr Hitler's 'master race,' and I won't be a victim."

Wesa looked at her sharply. "You will endure what you must endure, sister. You know of the Führer's obsession with the paranormal. How would you be treated if he learned you, who are not Aryan, were an Immortal, and a witch at that?"

"I should hope I would be treated like the royalty I am."

"You were, you mean," Wesa corrected. "No, Tsila, you would be tortured for the secret to your longevity. If we were very lucky there would be no Immortals on his staff, but we both know that lunatics like Hitler attract those of our kind with no principles."

Tsila blew air through her cheeks, nodding in reluctant agreement, then pointed. "There's the station; not much farther now."

The sound of glass breaking increased and came much closer. It seemed to be coming from all around them. The shouting was continuous now, and more fires were licking up buildings all over the area. Smoke grew heavy in the chill night air. A group of young men, mostly civilians, tumbled out of a side street, swung around, and came to a sudden stop when they caught sight of the two women. "Damn," Wesa breathed. They continued walking, though, and Tsila looked at her in amusement.

"They're just boys," she said. "Not one of them is over twenty-five."

"What do I look like?" Wesa asked, reminding her sister that although she was over 5000 years old, she hadn't aged since her first death at nineteen.

"Jailbait," Tsila admitted. "All right, we kill them."

"Sure. Let's leave ten bodies lying on the street with sword wounds, and try to leave the city with our weapons," Wesa agreed sharply. Then she apologized. "Sorry, sister," she said softly. "They may kill you because you obviously aren't one of them. But I look like them. I've been raped before, and I have no desire to repeat the experience just because Herr Hitler has instructed the German people to procreate."

As they reached the group that stared at them, the first of the boys stepped aside to let Wesa pass, but they stopped Tsila. "What have we here?" one of them asked, fingering her dark cheek. "You don't look Jewish."

"I'm from Guatemala," Tsila replied calmly.

"Guatemala," he repeated. "That's somewhere in the Americas, isn't it? A long way away, I think. Are you certain you're not a gypsy?"

"I traveled with a band of gypsies once, many years ago," Tsila admitted, "but I am no Rom."

"Let her pass," Wesa interceded. "You'll make us late for our train."

"You're together?"

Wesa bit back a sharp retort. "We're friends."

"You should choose your friends more carefully." The apparent leader walked around Tsila, as if deciding what to do. "Take this one to the police station for disposition," he told the others at last.

They reached to roughly grab her arms, and Tsila pulled away, stepping back. "See you later," she told Wesa, but as she turned to run, the biggest of the young men lashed out with the small club he was holding. Though Wesa cried out in warning, Tsila went down, knocked out cold for her trouble.

The leader of the band of ruffians turned to Wesa. "As for you, race traitor," he told her, "we have the perfect place for you to serve in the Reich."

Wesa flinched back when he stroked her cheek as he had Tsila's. "Get your filthy hands off me, you pig," she warned in a low voice.

"Hold her," he instructed the others.

Two of his cohorts each grabbed one of her wrists. Wesa was having none of that either, and she lunged backward, throwing them against each other. Longing for the civilized days of Rome, when a girl could defend herself without having to answer questions, she struggled, but there were too many of them, and even though she inflicted injuries, eventually they forced her down to the sidewalk.

**********

Rayen Quitral put down the newspaper and looked at Kanetsidohi across their breakfast table. "Do you think they were still there?"

Kanetsidohi shook her head. "If they were, I hope they were still at the house; they would have been safer than in the city." She sipped gratefully at her morning coffee. Portuguese coffee was far superior to German grinds.

"Wouldn't they have telegraphed us if they were all right?"

"If they weren't already on the train," Kanetsidohi agreed, "and if they realize we might be worried about them. But if they weren't in the city, they might not realize how bad it was." She smiled at the youngest of the sisterhood. "They'll be here in a few days, and if they aren't, I'll go back after them."

"I'll go with you," Rayen volunteered.

Kanetsidohi shook her head. "No. If I can't get them out, I want you to contact the local office of the Watchers. Get a position with them and find out where Cassandra is."

"Cassandra!" Rayen protested. "But you said she tried to kill Tsila!"

"That was centuries ago," replied the elder witch. "The last two times I spoke to her, I thought she might be ready to return to us. It only remains for her to give up her ridiculous pursuit of vengeance on Methos and Kronos, and for us to find a reason for her to come." She paused and seemed to shake herself. "We're worrying over nothing. They'll be all right; they're Immortals after all."

**********

Tsila couldn't keep the tip of her tongue out of the space in the front of her upper jaw. Her obvious health and apparent youth had spared her from being executed upon arrival, but snarling at an officer had revealed the turquoise inlaid into her incisors before her first death. A young officer with a pair of pliers had removed her four front teeth on top, and it was only by repeatedly biting her cheek that she had managed to have blood to spit for several minutes afterward.

Outside the gates, another truckload of prisoners was arriving, mostly men, but there were women, too, and even a few children. The young and healthy adults were sent the same direction Tsila had been upon arrival, while the elderly and the very young, as well as those who appeared to have health problems, were directed another. Tsila watched the selection process, her face impassive, though she felt as if her heart was being sliced apart once again.

Watching the babies hurt the worst. Though she herself would survive the lack of food and the cold, rough, conditions in the camp even if Wesa never found her, the pain of seeing the babies sent with their grandparents around the far corner of the wall tore at Tsila. As an Immortal, she was acutely aware of the brevity of mortal lives. As a human, she dreaded the machine gun fire she knew would come from the far wall of the camp within a few minutes. As a woman, the pain of knowing she would never bear a child was a living creature, eating at her soul.

And anything she could do about it would only land her in the same execution line. Her heart aching for the mortals she couldn't help, Tsila turned away.

**********

Wesa cursed and slapped away the hand that stroked her shoulder. "Don't touch me," she growled.

The young blond officer laughed at her objection. "This one has fire; I like her," he said to his companions.

"Ah, but does she like you, Werner?" retorted one of the other officers. "Looks to me as if you'll have your hands full."

"He'd better not!" Wesa muttered under her breath.

Werner laughed again; he was a little drunk. "Give me ten seconds alone with her," he bragged, "and she'll be begging for more."

Give me ten seconds alone with him and I'll rip off his face and scoop out his brains for cat food, Wesa promised herself. She only put up with these gatherings to try to learn what had become of Tsila, pumping the officers for information none of them seemed to have. Even that small source of information would dry up immediately if she were forced to kill one of them to defend herself against their unwanted advances. So far, that hadn't been necessary, but it was only a matter of time. Last night she had been dragged away from a Luftwaffe Oberst who seemed to be a true gentleman, if rather older than she appeared to be. He had been flattered by her attentions but unable to help her when a fat Obergruppenführer had demanded she accompany him. As a result of the ensuing struggle, Wesa no longer had much in the way of decorations in her room - those not broken had been removed - but the Obergruppenführer would require some time to recuperate before he returned to duty.

She hadn't been raped since Krystallnacht, but she knew eventually she would be held down and forced, the way her husband had forced her so long ago. She wanted to be out of here before that happened, and if she had to go out dead to avoid it she would. But she wanted to know where Tsila was, first.

**********

Tsila had been assigned to assist with orientation of new arrivals, and she did what she could to make the transition easier for them. She knew that the few belongings they had brought with them were being stolen from them when they exchanged their clothing for prison uniforms. She wondered where her sword had gone while she was unconscious. And what had the finder thought when he had found it?

"Please." A woman thrust her child into Tsila's arms. "Take care of my baby."

Tsila looked down into the wide brown eyes set in a face framed by nearly black hair. If not for the color of his skin, he might have been a child of her own people. Long suppressed nurturing instincts broke free and took control. Glancing around, she realized the guard wasn't paying any attention to her, and she quickly passed the baby through the gate to another woman who was already inside, who turned to shelter the child from the eyes of the guards with her own body.

The attempt was futile; intellectually Tsila knew that the guards would find the child even if they managed to hide him for a little while. Psychologically she knew they needed the small act of rebellion as much as she did. It gave them hope, but the hope was short-lived. Other guards witnessed the movement of the woman who was inside the gates, and investigated. They took the baby away and beat the woman who had sheltered him to make her say who had given him to her.

Knowing it would mean a flogging with the steel-wrapped flail, Tsila stepped forward anyway. "Stop it. I passed the child to her," she confessed.

**********

Wesa screamed in outrage and attacked, her only weapon a piece of broken mirror. The man before her was bigger than she was, physically stronger, and only her centuries of experience in fighting gave her any advantage. She would not submit to his desires. She would kill him first, mortal or not.

He made a lunge at her, trying to take the piece of glass away, and she sliced at his hand, wishing furiously for her sword. Guns or no guns, with her sword in her hand, she would fight her way out of this place butt naked, or die trying.

Die trying? Wesa glanced at the window, out into the black November night, briefly taking her eyes from the now-bleeding officer who was yelling for help and trying to make an exit only to find that the door had been locked from the outside. Die trying?

The key rattled in the lock and the door opened, allowing the SS Hauptsturmführer out. Her guards rushed in. Without another moment's thought, Wesa flung herself through the third-story window.

Impact with the frozen ground broke a leg and crushed her skull. Thinking, Damn it, Loki, how about a little help for a change? she lost consciousness and died before she could hobble away into the woods surrounding the house.

She woke with a gasp, frightening the young soldier who was reaching to check her pulse. Wesa felt a little sorry for him, but jerked away haughtily. "Don't touch me!" She hated the fact that that phrase had become what she was most known for in this house of all houses. For years this house had been where she, Tsila, and Kanetsidohi had taught Rayen about their ancient art, where they had brewed up health tonics for farm animals and local schoolchildren. For years this house had been where they had lived. For years their neighbors and the common people of the district had respected them.

And now she was being forced to whore in her own bedroom.

Wesa shook off the hands that helped her to rise, and marched back into the house, recaptured but not subdued.

**********

The elder witch paced the well-appointed sitting room of the apartment occupied by her former student and lover. "Then they just disappeared," Kanetsidohi continued, pausing briefly before the sofa as if considering sitting down on its inviting cushions. "No one I've been able to locate has seen either of them since Wesa left the post office with her mail three weeks ago. That was the night of the riot, Kronos. They would have survived, but where are they?" She turned to look at him, her worry creasing her forehead.

SS-Sturmbannführer Roswald Kronischke, Kronos to those who had known him for centuries or even millennia, poured the witch a glass of wine. "As a major assigned to Schutzstaffel Headquarters, I have access to certain documents, Kanetsidohi," he told her as he handed her the glass. "It's likely that Tsila is in one of the camps, but I doubt Wesa would be with her. She looks like the Aryan ideal. And she does appear to be of breeding age."

Kanetsidohi took the wine, shaking her head. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "Immortals are infertile."

"Yes," he agreed, "but the Nazis don't know that. They would encourage her - in the strongest terms," he added with an impish grin, "- to bear Aryan children."

The witch glared at him. "Do you think she's being raped? Kronos, how could you allow such a thing to happen to Wesa? I told you what her early life was like."

"I didn't allow it!" he defended himself. "I didn't know they were still here. You said you were all going to Portugal. And I don't know if that's what happened anyway, not for sure. She could be in Dachau or Buchenwald for all I know. Tsila will be in one of those, and as long as they haven't discovered the way she heals, she'll be fine."

He drank his entire glass of wine in one swallow, put the glass on the fireplace mantel, then turned back to Kanetsidohi with lust in his eyes. "I'll find out what I can tomorrow," he promised. "Meantime, there's tonight."

Her hazel eyes traveled over his trim body from his feet upward, letting her appreciation of his uniform show in her expression. "Tonight," she said regretfully, "I search for my sisters. If you will assist me," she added with a sly smile, pausing to touch the tip of her tongue to her teeth, "I could be very grateful."

**********

Tsila gritted her teeth in anger as she was flogged, fighting the pain with the extreme emotion. With her arms chained to the wooden post above her head and her buttocks exposed to the icy afternoon air, she was helpless to prevent the ironbound flail from striking her again and again. It lacerated her flesh. Blood ran down her legs. Thirty strokes, she reminded herself. She had made it through twenty after the incident with the baby, and had only had to walk stiffly for a couple of days to prevent undue curiosity. She could stand thirty strokes, she felt sure, but would she manage to remain conscious? Would her hands be released in time to draw up the trousers of her camp uniform before the blue flashes of healing energy revealed her strangeness to the guards?

This morning she hadn't behaved deferentially enough to one of the guards, and that had been all the excuse they had needed to chain her to the post and flog her again.

No. Oh, no! Not yet! The tingle that accompanied healing began in her buttocks.

The guard wielding the flail gasped at the sight of the little blue lightning bolts dancing across his subject's ass. A moment later her chin was grasped, and her head roughly turned toward his. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "How are you doing that?"

She couldn't tell them she was Immortal. "I'm a witch," she admitted, hoping that would be enough.

Tsila was left hanging from the post while the guard ran and brought his superior officer, then had to endure being whipped again until the healing set in. Again she was left hanging while the officer notified the Kommandant.

He returned with both the Kommandant and the camp doctor, and again she was flogged. When the healing was done, the doctor ran his fingertips over her buttocks. "There is no scar, not even the finest line," he told the Kommandant. "Her flesh is unmarked."

"How can this be?" asked the Kommandant.

The doctor pleaded ignorance, but dismissed the guard's report that Tsila had admitted to practicing witchcraft. "Sir, this requires investigation. I will do what I can, but I'm not truly qualified. I've heard that Professor von Verschuer of the Third Reich Institute for Heredity, Biology and Racial Purity at the University of Frankfort is looking for research subjects. If this is true, perhaps he would be interested to discover if this phenomenon is hereditary."

The Kommandant considered. "There isn't enough security at the University. If he wishes to study this creature, there are facilities at SS Headquarters, and he may do so there," he decided.

**********

Dressed in only a lace negligee, Wesa shivered as she paced the confines of her bedroom, looking out through the bars that had been installed when she last attempted escape by leaping from her window. She had died from the fall, and recovered just as the guards rushed up to recapture her. For the first time in millennia, Wesa cursed her quick recuperation time. If they had thought her dead, she wouldn't have been guarded so closely, and she might have been able to slip away. As it was, she had to talk fast to avoid being examined by a doctor.

The irony of being imprisoned in her own bedroom, in her own house, was not lost on her. She deeply regretted having shipped her practice swords to Portugal with her sisters. With one of those, normally stored in her bedroom, she might have fought her way free. As it was, after five escape attempts and two attacks on her 'suitors,' Wesa no longer had access to even a mirror, and her flatware was counted after every meal before her tray left her room.

It was getting dark outside. In this first week of December, the sun set early, and that meant the SS officers would be arriving soon. They came every night, and although occasionally one was reluctant to hurt her, if she tried to fight she would be restrained while they used her body. Lately they seemed to have been warned that she would resist, and for the last three nights she had been stripped and tied down before any of them even entered her room. This was how they treated a woman they professed to admire and respect? What hope, then, did other women have? If this was how they treated an Aryan woman, how would they treat a non-Aryan? What were they doing to Tsila? She was almost certainly still alive, of course, but in what condition? Was she free, or -?

The vibrating sense of another Immortal intruded on her introspection, and for a moment Wesa felt fear wash over her. With no blades, no weapons of any kind, she was vulnerable to any Immortal who might make his way here, and she went back to the window to see who it might be.

**********

Walking down the hallway toward his office, SS-Sturmbannfuhrer Kronischke was yawning after another long night of searching with Kanetsidohi when the strong sense of another of his kind hit him. Where was the sensation coming from? Surely Kanetsidohi hadn't followed him to SS Headquarters? He looked around, searching, and finding nothing he cautiously decided to check inside Professor von Verschuer's examination room.

The subject of the professor's experiments had a shaved head and four missing teeth in the front, but Kronischke recognized Tsila despite the changes in her appearance. Kanetsidohi would be pleased that serendipity had worked in their favor for a change. But as he watched, the professor's assistant lifted a scalpel and carefully removed a half-inch square of skin from her breast, ignoring Tsila's screams of pain. Then, standing back, they watched as the blue flashes that accompanied Immortal healing danced across the wound.

Kronos stepped back out of the room silently. He had found one of Kanetsidohi's missing sisters, but what should he do about it? He couldn't get Tsila out of SS Headquarters alive, even with Kanetsidohi's help, and he couldn't allow the SS to learn about Immortals. Kanetsidohi would be irritated if he beheaded her sister, and that was one witch Kronischke didn't want to piss off.

Another one he didn't want angry with him was the still-missing witch, the usually quiet, almost shy Nordic sister, Wesa. He had seen her avenge the deaths of sisters before, and she sometimes took days to kill the unlucky bastard, slowly removing every vestige of his humanity before taking his head. Kronischke didn't know what had happened to her to make her the way she was, but no man was really safe around her; no man had been since Methos' death many centuries ago. And anyone who took the head of one of her sisters was digging his own grave. No, taking Tsila's quickening was out of the question.

When the professor and his assistant exited the room and walked up the hallway, discussing their lunch plans, Kronischke slipped back inside.

Tsila lay supine upon the table, still recovering from her injuries. Her eyes widened when she saw her visitor. "Kronos!" she exclaimed, lisping past her missing teeth. She pulled at the straps that bound her to the table. "Get me out of here!"

"Be quiet!" he hissed. "I can't help you. But they must not learn about Immortals."

"If you take my head here, you're going to have to explain to them, as well as to Kanetsidohi," Tsila warned.

"Where's Wesa?" he asked. "Do they have her here, too?" In a position of power, Kronischke could afford to be generous, and he draped his coat over Tsila's nude body.

"I don't know," was the response, with a faint smile of thanks. "We were going to the train, but we were stopped by a gang of boys. I was knocked out, and when I woke up I was on my way to Dachau. I haven't seen her since."

Kronischke paced. "I can't be seen to help you, Tsila, and I won't expose Kanetsidohi to the danger of discovery in SS Headquarters. There's only one way out of here. Dead." He paused. "They'll be back soon. I can get you out by myself, but I'll need Kanetsidohi to take you away after you're in the open. We'll be back for you. Try not to let them kill you before we get here." He took his coat and left the room quickly, looking up and down the hallway to make certain he hadn't been seen.

**********

In the late afternoon, Kanetsidohi drove her Mercedes out to the witches' house in the country. Wesa had sent word that she planned to sell it to the state to protect it during their absence, and inquiries in the city had confirmed that the government had purchased the property. It was now in the possession of the SS, though she hadn't been able to learn to what purpose her house had been put. A vague suspicion gnawed at the corners of her mind, upsetting her already agitated emotions.

The posters she had seen encouraging young Aryan women to bear children out of wedlock to SS officers - the epitome of Aryan manhood - bothered Kanetsidohi. When was the last time she had seen women actually encouraged to have multiple sex partners and to bear children out of wedlock? She couldn't recall that ever happening before. Men usually wanted to keep a tighter reign on their women than that. Even in the female-dominated society of the Amazons, where men were unwelcome, women rarely had multiple lovers, and they were always encouraged to know who was the father of their child. What was Hitler thinking?

The face that stared out from many of the posters could have been Wesa's, and that bothered Kanetsidohi, too. Could she be in one of the breeding facilities that Kronos had said were being set up around the country? What would they do when they learned she was barren?

She arrived at the house, turning up the long, sloping drive from the main road, and feeling, as she came into the courtyard, the strange and unsettling sensation of the presence of another Immortal. She looked around as she got out of her car, her sword still hidden but easily within reach, and finally saw the pale figure in the window above.

Wesa didn't call out, didn't do anything that would tell her guards that this was a woman to be reckoned with, but she did open her window and lean against the bars, willing her sister to look up. When they finally made eye contact she shook the bars that had been bolted into the stone only the day before, showing Kanetsidohi how solidly they were attached. Her older sister nodded understanding. She would have to rescue Wesa some other way.

They had some disadvantages: the bars on the window and the guards who came scurrying out were among them. The guards' guns were definitely against their chances of success.

They had some advantages: they knew the house intimately, far better than its new occupants possibly could. They knew the lay of the land around the house, where the paths through the woods went and how easily they could be traveled. They were witches. And they had an ally who could go in 'under cover,' as it were. Kanetsidohi's smile was genuine as she spoke to the guards about some non-existent missing business papers she thought might have been inadvertently left behind when she moved.

Kronos would be pleased with his role in Kanetsidohi's plan; he had always hated that the blonde witch preferred Methos as a lover. Wesa would be furious, but Kanetsidohi didn't see any alternative way to get her out.

**********

When Kanetsidohi arrived back at Kronos' apartment that evening at almost the same time as he did, each greeted the other with news of their discovery. Kanetsidohi was excited that both her missing sisters had been found, and disturbed that Tsila was being tortured. It wasn't as bad as what she herself had suffered at the hands of the Turks a few centuries earlier, but the Immortal witch didn't wish any of her sisters any pain. Beyond that, she was concerned that the 'research' might escalate into pain for the joy of inflicting pain.

Kanetsidohi was torn. Which of her sisters needed her help the most? She couldn't help both at the same time, and rescuing either one first would cause a liability, in the form of dodging Stormtroopers and Police while hiding and transporting a fugitive.

"Unless she's dead," Kronos pointed out. "They won't send out search parties for a deceased woman. What are their recovery times like?" He saw the witch's hesitation, and understood her reason. "Kanetsidohi, I'm not foolish enough to try to take the head of any of your sisters. I know if they didn't kill me, you would. I need to know for Tsila at least, because I don't know how else to get her out of SS Headquarters, except to stab or shoot her and carry her out over my shoulder. If she recovers too quickly, I may need to kill her again to keep her dead, in case we're stopped."

"Even so, you'll need some reason why you are removing the body," Kanetsidohi warned, seating herself on the sofa. "You have underlings that normally do that sort of thing, don't you?"

He frowned. "You're right. I also need to destroy any tissue samples they've taken from her. Who knows what the damned scientists can do these days? We don't need them to learn about Immortals by studying bits of her flesh." He paused, then smiled craftily. "Perhaps the examination room will need to be cleaned up after she escapes and destroys all the samples? I might catch her in the act and shoot her."

Kanetsidohi nodded soberly, but a smile twitched at her lips. "Very well. Tsila normally recovers within ten minutes or so, depending on the severity of the injury. You will have to move quickly."

"Then you'll have to meet me at the charnel house," Kronos replied, "to take her and hide her until I can meet you with travel papers."

"Make travel papers for Wesa, too," Kanetsidohi instructed, "and it would be a good idea to make them for yourself as well. I don't think you're going to be too popular if your role in this becomes known."

"Perhaps not." Kronos stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I haven't lived in Italy for a century or so. Or perhaps this would be a good time to return to Greece or Egypt."

"You could come to Portugal with me," Kanetsidohi suggested, "at least for a little while."

Kronos laughed. "Still trying to control me, Mob-Boss?" he teased. "I would have thought you would have learned better by now." He considered her figure. "Still, a life of ease does have its rewards," he admitted thoughtfully. Sitting beside her, he put his arm around her shoulders and stroked one finger down the side of her long neck. "What are we going to do about Wesa?" he asked.

The witch smiled and pressed her body against his. "The first thing we're going to do is take the edge off your carnal appetites, Kronos," she murmured, and traced the tip of her tongue around the curves and ridges of his ear. "If we don't, Wesa will never forgive either of us." With that, she pulled him close and kissed him, effortlessly taking control and moving their discussion into his bedroom.

**********

With Professor von Verschuer and his darkly handsome assistant gone, Tsila took the time to breathe, to regain her composure as best she could, and to hope that Kronos returned soon with her escape plan prepared and ready. Already her throat, raw from screaming, was healing; she could feel it, as she could feel the lacerated soles of her feet healing from the cuts that had been inflicted, her kneecaps knitting themselves back together after being deliberately broken during the morning session. Her fingers had already healed where her nails had been pulled out, but she wouldn't be scratching anything for a while. The thought triggered an itch on the end of her nose, which she couldn't reach even to rub.

While she dreaded the return of the Professor and his assistant, Tsila couldn't help wondering where Wesa had been taken. If she was in one of the camps, she might be impossible to rescue. Tsila certainly hadn't been able to escape. And while sexual contact with non-Aryans was forbidden, Tsila had seen several blonde women raped by the camp guards. Despite her own situation, she shuddered at the thought of what might be happening to her sister.

Suddenly Kronischke was there, unbuckling the leather straps binding her to the table. "Get up. Put this on," he instructed her urgently, throwing a white lab coat at her. He re-buckled the strap that had been around her right wrist, then he turned to the tables and cabinets around the room.

"What are you doing?" she asked, watching him create a frenzy of destruction while she buttoned the lab coat.

"They cannot learn about us," he said. "Destroy all the samples they took from you."

While Tsila set about destroying the examination room and all its contents, Kronischke stepped back out into the corridor, watching for the return of the professor - or anyone else for that matter. With his hearing tuned to listen for footsteps, he became aware of the approach of several men before Tsila did, and so just as they came through the doors at the end of the hall, Kronischke yelled, "Halt!" and shot her dead.

He stood in the doorway while the other officers ran up to see what had happened. "She must have gotten loose somehow," he said in a slightly dazed tone. He hadn't watched Methos' acting for centuries without learning a little of the Old Man's craftiness. "What a mess." He took a deep breath, then stepped carefully into the room. "Would you call someone to clean up all ... this? I'll dispose of the body." He picked Tsila up by the collar of the lab coat she wore and started to drag her out, leaving a trail of blood.

One of the other officers objected. "You're leaving a wet smear," he said. "Take a cart, or someone could slip in the blood."

Kronischke nodded and, with the help of another officer, put Tsila into a cart meant for laundry. He swallowed hard as if this was difficult for him, then straightened, steadfastly declining offers of further assistance, and pushed the cart out of the examination room and down the hallway toward the charnel house. Feeling eyes on his back as he pushed the cart down the hallway and out into the rear courtyard, he carefully didn't hurry, but when he felt Tsila's quickening strengthen, he slipped a stiletto from his pocket and thrust it through the bullet hole in the lab coat. Tsila gasped once and collapsed again, dead and quiet for another few minutes.

She was still dead when he put her into the trunk of Kanetsidohi's Mercedes just outside the gate where the contents of the charnel house were removed and taken away for disposal. He paused long enough to remove the lab coat from Tsila's body and give Kanetsidohi the papers he'd had drawn up that morning, then he closed the trunk, and she drove away.

Kronischke deposited the bloody lab coat beside the oven door and left the laundry cart nearby, then went back to his office and the interviews he was scheduled to conduct that afternoon.

**********

Kanetsidohi pulled off the main road into the woods near their house, going far enough to be hidden from casual view before she turned off the engine and got out, bringing a bag of clothing with her. She went to the trunk and opened it, letting Tsila out, seeing her properly for the first time. "Oh, Tsila!" she exclaimed mournfully, helping her sister climb out of the Mercedes' generous trunk.

"Guess I might have to see a dentist," Tsila said ruefully.

Her elder sister smiled at the weak joke. "It will take several months," she said softly, "but they will grow back." She gently rubbed her thumb across the nailless fingertips. "So will your nails." She gave her the bag of clothing.

"I know, I've lost my nails before. But in the meantime I'll look like a freak," Tsila said ruefully, reaching into the bag for clothes to put on. "Where's Wesa?"

"They took her to a breeding center," Kanetsidohi replied. "Our old house."

"A what?" Tsila asked, startled. "We can't-"

"But they don't know that."

"In our house? That's obscene." Tsila scowled. "We have to get her out of there. She won't submit willingly; they'll have to force her." She pulled a sweater on over her head. "She couldn't escape?"

"She's been trying," Kanetsidohi assured her. "They've put bars up on her window."

"Her own bedroom?" There was a little envy in Tsila's voice. "There are worse places." She ran a hand over her bare scalp, then bent to tie on shoes.

"No doubt she would agree with you, but while you suffered privation and horrible pain, Wesa has faced terrors of her own these past weeks," Kanetsidohi chided softly. "There are other kinds of torture besides the physical, Tsila. You have known her only as a strong woman, capable of doing or enduring whatever was necessary. They found her greatest vulnerability, her greatest fear. Did they find yours?"

Tsila thought back to her youth, to the terror of being chased through the jungle near her home by the enemies of her family, of knowing what would happen if they caught her. She shook her head. "No, they didn't," she admitted. "So how do we get Wesa out?"

**********

Tied spread-eagled over the footboard of her own bed, enduring being shafted by yet another SS officer, Wesa struggled against the ropes, growling in anger and frustration at her situation. Kanetsidohi knew she was here; why hadn't she gotten her out yet? The bars on her window must have made it abundantly clear that she had tried to escape. She knew the elder witch had not been allowed inside, as she had watched the entire scene through the bars, but still felt betrayed that her mentor and friend would leave her behind to be raped again, multiple times.

The rope burns at her wrists and ankles would heal within minutes, and Wesa didn't let the pain keep her from struggling. If she could get free, she would ensure that this particular Aryan never bred, maybe get them to kill her in the process. He leaned forward and grabbed her breasts for leverage to increase the force of his last few thrusts, then groaned his pleasure aloud when he finally orgasmed.

He patted her on the butt as he withdrew his flesh from her body, and Wesa twisted as far as she could, snarling at him. "Don't touch me!" she raged uselessly. "Get out, get out!"

He mistook her fury for pleading, and laughed as he dressed. "I hope you don't catch right away," he told her. "I'll be back for more of that." He stroked her bare thigh possessively.

Wesa screamed every epithet in every language she knew, telling him in explicit detail what she would do to his body if he was still in the room when she managed to pull her hands free. She was still cursing when she suddenly felt another quickening nearby. Her head came up and she turned her face toward the window, completely unaware of the laughing departure of her most recent visitor. "Kanetsidohi?" she breathed. Had her sister returned to rescue her after all? Or had the feared Immortal finally arrived to take her head? It might not be such a bad thing after all, she decided. At least once her head had left her shoulders she would no longer know if men used her body as if she were no more aware than an animal.

The quickening felt stronger as the Immortal entered the building two floors below. If it wasn't her sister, he had to be aware of her presence by now. What would he do? If he didn't know she was one of the women incarcerated here, he'd probably leave. Unless he was headhunting. Wesa's attention was so riveted on the quickening she felt that she hardly knew when an attendant came in to clean her up, to check her ankles and wrists, which had long since healed from the rope burns.

The other Immortal didn't leave; he came closer and closer. There was familiar laughter outside her door, which opened to admit another officer, still wearing his greatcoat. Wesa stared in horror as the door closed behind him. "Kronos?"

Kronischke chuckled at her astonishment, eyeing her appreciatively. "Do you realize how often I've wanted to get you into a position like this?" he asked her, only half-joking.

She jerked at the ropes binding her to the bed. "You bastard, if you touch me, I'll kill you, I swear!" she yelled.

The ringing sound of a sword being drawn and the touch of cold steel to the back of her neck silenced her. "That's better," he murmured. "Remember who's in control and who's helpless here, my little witch." The sword was withdrawn, barely drawing blood, and Kronischke sat on the mattress beside her, his sword still in his hands. "I think I can get you out," he said, "if you want me to."

Getting a crick in her neck from holding her head high enough to look him in the eye, Wesa frowned suspiciously, her blue eyes narrowing. "You know I want out," she said. "What's your price?"

"My price?" he repeated, holding his hand over his heart and feigning innocence. "Wesa, dear, I want to help you out of the goodness of my heart."

"Liar. There is no goodness in your heart; note my complete lack of surprise at finding you in a Nazi uniform. You wouldn't be here if you didn't think you could get something out of it. What do you want?" she asked again.

He chuckled, putting his sword down, then removing his gloves and running his hand over her bare back and buttocks. "What I want, little cat, I can take, you are in no position to do anything about it, and I don't even have to get you out. So I want more."

"What?" she repeated angrily.

"Your voluntary cooperation," he told her.

Wesa gaped at him. "You're insane."

He shrugged. "Be that as it may, darlin', I am going to have you. But if I rape you and Kanetsidohi finds out about it, she'll take my head. So either you cooperate, or you stay here. Your choice."

Wesa jerked at her bonds again in frustration. She had no words to express how much she loathed the man who held the keys to her destiny. "All right," she said at last, "with one addition to our bargain."

"What's that?"

"You stay here until you take me away from this place."

He smiled, a sweet little-boy smile of innocent joy. "When you give yourself to a man, you do it whole-heartedly, don't you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she told him. "If I'm going to do this voluntarily, I have to know you'll keep the rest of them away."

"An addition for an addition," he bargained.

"Don't ask me to do that - I bite," she warned.

He laughed softly. "Yeah," he agreed, "Methos told me."

"He what? That bastard!" She drew a shaky, angry breath. "What else do you want?"

"A second time."

Wesa stared at him. "Why?" she wondered. "You don't like me any more than I like you."

"That's the bargain, little cat. Yes or no?" He caressed her outstretched arm, stroking his hand down her side to her breast, pausing to play with her nipple.

Wesa closed her eyes in pain and fury. "All right," she agreed reluctantly. "All right, yes. Two times. Now get me loose!"

He leaned close and kissed her temple. "All in good time, little cat. As I said, I rather like seeing you in this position." He rose and circled around behind her to caress her buttocks and thighs. He tickled the folds of her labia possessively, sighed, then moved away. "How much time do you need to get dressed?" he asked.

"What?" Confused by his sudden interest in her wearing clothes, Wesa had difficulty answering the question. "A - A couple of minutes. Why?" She twisted as far as she could, to find Kronischke going through the few clothes in her closet. "Got a fetish?" she asked, deliberately using the word in the new Freudian meaning.

He snorted softly and threw the skirt and sweater she had meant to wear on the train at her. "No underwear," he warned.

"I won't be putting anything on if you don't get me loose from these ropes," Wesa pointed out. "Kanetsidohi never mentioned that you were kinky."

"I can do kinky if you like kinky," he murmured, leaning over her from behind, fingering her once again. "Otherwise it's for ease of access." His sword flashed, cutting her ropes. "Get dressed."

Wesa froze in the act of removing the ropes from her wrists. "You're not going to - I mean, now?"

He laughed at her expression. "Just at this moment, I feel like taking you for a walk in the woods. By the way, my name is Roswald Kronischke, and I'm your fiancé."

Finally realizing she'd been duped, Wesa cursed him soundly, but she put on the skirt and sweater, and the sensible shoes he had selected. "Can you get me my sword?" she asked, her fists propped on her hips.

He snorted scathingly. "Not likely, not when you're this pissed at me," he told her. "We'll find you another."

"I like that one," she insisted.

He considered, then shook his head. "You can buy it back from whoever has it at another time. It's not like you don't have the money." He pulled out his watch. "It's time to go. Do you think you can pretend you like me for a few minutes?"

"When the other choice is being tied to my bed?" Wesa asked rhetorically. "You'll believe I like you."

Kronischke chuckled, opening the bedroom door and offering Wesa his arm, apparently quite gallantly. She smiled sweetly and placed her hand on his elbow, allowing him to lead her out.

Much to Wesa's surprise, no one tried to stop them on the way out. As they stepped out into the courtyard she smiled up at Kronos and asked, "How did you get permission to take me outside?"

Kronischke shrugged. "When I learned you were here, my love, I went to my commanding officer. I told him how I had been searching for you since Krystallnacht, and vowed we would wed immediately, that you would soon bear Aryan children for the Reich," he explained for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. "Until that day, I will visit you here every evening." He led her across the courtyard toward one of the paths through the woods.

"You will turn my days from refuge into torment and my nights from torment into refuge." Wesa chuckled softly at the expression on Kronischke's face. "I read a lot," she murmured in explanation of the syrupy sentiment.

"But what do you read?" he asked in a horrified whisper. Wesa giggled artistically and clung closer to his side as they stepped into the woods.

Half a dozen steps down the dark path they released their hold on each other and began to run. In the courtyard there were shouts as the guards realized Kronischke had no intention of bringing back his fiancée. The clatter of boots on the frozen ground behind them gave added impetus to their running feet. The bang and whine of a shot fired over their heads hurried them faster still. After nearly a kilometer they began to feel other quickenings approaching quickly from the left, and they heard the rumble of a large truck. "This path ends in a cliff at the road," Wesa told Kronos.

"I know, that's why we chose this one," he told her. "When we get to the end, jump!"

"Are you crazy? - Don't answer that," Wesa exclaimed, seeing the end of the path coming into sight. "The truck -"

"Is our ride!" Kronos grabbed her arm and launched both of them over the edge of the cliff into the air.

The canvas cover over the frame on the back of the truck broke their fall well enough that Kronos only broke his left arm, and Wesa cracked three ribs against one of the supporting struts. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs, and the broken ribs made trying to refill them painful. A red haze washed over her vision, and she dimly heard Tsila shout, "Got 'em, Boss!"

The truck accelerated smoothly down the dark road.

"Tsila?" Wesa gasped as soon as she could breathe a little. She reached blindly for her sister. "Tsila, are you okay?" As her vision cleared she got a better look at her. Her hand shook as she stretched it out to touch Tsila's shaved head. "I know you wanted to get it cut, but don't you think that's a little short?" she asked.

Tsila wiped away the tear that rolled down her sister's cheek. "I'm okay, Wesa," she lisped.

"Your teeth! Oh, Tsila!" Wesa cried softly, embracing her tightly.

Kanetsidohi drove the truck into the woods and parked it beside her Mercedes. "Next stop, Lucerne," she announced, getting out. "Then we'll take a train to Lisbon." She paused to hug Wesa. "I'm so sorry I had to leave you there last night," she murmured. "Are you okay?"

Wesa let her mouth twitch to one side in a half-smile. "I'll live," she replied dryly. She looked at Kronos and sighed. "'Okay' remains to be seen."

"We'd better get going," Kronos said. "They'll soon find the truck. I'd rather not be here when they do."

**********

Wesa woke with a start when Kronos slammed the driver's door of the Mercedes, unaware she'd dropped off to sleep, slumped against her Mayan sister, both of them lulled by the gentle hum of the motor. "What is it?" she asked groggily.

Kanetsidohi looked at her over her shoulder, then reached to draw their shared blanket higher, over Tsila's lightly clad shoulders. "There's a patrol ahead," she replied softly.

"Tsila looks like a refugee from one of the camps, but they wouldn't be looking for her. They have your name and description and my former name and rank," Kronos said, "although they wouldn't have had a chance to get photographs here yet."

"Should we abandon the car and walk across the border?" Wesa asked softly.

"And have some Gestapo officer driving my car? Not a chance," Kanetsidohi replied firmly.

"What else did you bring for Tsila for clothes?" Kronos asked.

"Just this watch cap," Kanetsidohi replied, pulling the knit hat out of the bag. "She doesn't like them; since you said her hair had been cut, I thought she might make an exception to keep her head warm, but she wouldn't."

Kronos frowned, then nodded. "Wesa and I are the ones they'll be after. Tsila's dead, and they have no idea about you. You should be able to get past without too much trouble." He looked back over his shoulder at the blonde. "We could go across the border in the trunk, kitten," he suggested.

She scowled at him. "Stop calling me that!" she objected. "Boss, I can't get in that confined of a space with him; you know he wouldn't behave himself. I'm afraid I might make enough noise to get them suspicious of you, and if they found us, you'd both be in trouble, and we'd be trapped. No." She shook her head. "No, there's nothing good about that idea."

"What then?" Tsila asked, surprising them. No one had realized she was awake. "Are you and Kronos going to walk across the border together? You don't even have a coat; you'll freeze to death."

Wesa's mouth pulled to one side. "I'll survive," she said dryly. "You had better not behead me while I'm dead," she added, looking at Kronos.

"Of course not. We have an agreement," he reminded her unnecessarily.

"Later," she said firmly. "After we're safe."

He smiled and got out of the car, turning to open Wesa's door. She got out, giving him a withering look, while Kanetsidohi and Tsila also changed their seats, the elder witch sliding in behind the wheel, and the younger sister taking her place in the front passenger seat. Kronos leaned down to kiss the new driver. "We'll meet you in the first village on the Swiss side," he murmured.

"Take care of my sister, Kronos," Kanetsidohi warned. "I'll hold you responsible if the Nazis capture her, or if one of our kind takes her head while she's unarmed."

Wesa laughed shortly. "I'm in no mood for games," she told her sisters. "I won't be taken by the Nazis again; I'll leave them for the wolves first. As for our kind - A good quickening might be quite warming." She looked at Kronos calculatingly. "If there's a problem, you'll lend me your sword, I trust. Otherwise you might have some difficulty collecting on our bargain. Even you are not that perverse." She turned and strode off into the woods at an angle to the road.

"What's that all about?" Tsila asked, watching as Kronos followed her sister.

"I have an idea, and I don't like it," Kanetsidohi observed, putting the car in gear and turning the headlamps back on. "Put on the watch cap until we get past this patrol, Tsila, please. It's not like it can mess up your hair. If anyone asks, you've been ill, and the fever made all your hair fall out. It's just now starting to grow back."

Tsila pulled the knit cap down over her ears, then snuggled deeper into the blanket, yawning. "Typhoid?" she asked drowsily.

Her sister nodded. "That'll do."

**********

Wesa could make her long legs work for her when she chose to do so, and having Kronos a half-meter behind her and trying to catch up was wonderful incentive to move quickly. The pristine alpine snow glimmered in the moonlight, backlighting woodfalls and large rocks, therefore making it easy to avoid those hazards to navigation in the dark.

"Wesa!" Kronos hissed, grabbing her arm roughly, and turning her to face him. "Slow down. Are you trying to lose a foot?" He jiggled her arm a little, as if trying to shake some sense back into her.

"I'm fine," she told him haughtily.

"Really." He glared at her a moment longer, then dragged her off the path she was following. He went to the nearest pile of windfallen wood and pulled out a three-foot long, two-inch thick broken branch. Then he dragged her back to where he had finally caught her. He probed in the snow with his stick, then pressed firmly down, springing the trap that lay just under the snow. It jumped up, its jaws snapping the branch in two. "We're on a game trail," he pointed out. "That could just as easily have been a bear trap, and I'm sure losing your foot would come under Kanetsidohi's definition of allowing harm to come to you."

Wesa looked from the trap to him, her wide eyes narrowing at a thought she didn't reveal. "It might be worth it," she said, "to watch her take your head herself." She turned and moved on down the game trail, still leading the way, though at a somewhat slower pace.

**********

"Please don't wake her, Hauptsturmführer," Kanetsidohi murmured, as Tsila pretended to sleep. "My sister has been very ill. She needs to rest."

"Then you should bring her to the inn in the village ahead," he replied, studying the papers he held in his hand. "The innkeeper's wife loves company, and there are few travelers on the road this time of the year."

"We'd love to stay, I'm sure," Kanetsidohi said sweetly, though inside she raged at this officious boor, "but Teila has an appointment with a specialist in Lucerne tomorrow. We're already behind schedule; I've had to slow down because of the snow."

"Lowlanders," he muttered scathingly. He bent lower to look in the window at Tsila. "Your sister, you say?"

"Yes, of course - Oh!" Kanetsidohi pretended to be surprised. "Oh, you mean because of her complexion. Yes, we adopted her. She was a foundling. She looks to be an American Indian, but of course we can't be sure."

"I see." He turned away as one of the soldiers assigned to his unit hurried up to them with a message. While the Hauptsturmführer looked through his new orders, Kanetsidohi murmured a small spell, hoping he was weak-minded enough for it to work on him. "They aren't the ones we're looking for," the Hauptsturmführer told his men, then he motioned to Kanetsidohi with one hand. "Move along."

The witch grinned to herself as she put her car in gear and drove on down the road.

**********

Wesa sighed, looking down into the ravine. "Figures," she said. "It'll take too long to go around; we have to go down."

"Do you really think you can climb down that?" Kronos asked.

She gave him an innocent look. "No. And rather than take the time to try -" Wesa took a deep breath, then broke away from Kronos' side. She took two running steps in the snow and launched herself into the night as if she meant to fly. She didn't.

Kronos found himself on the lip of the ravine with one hand outstretched as if to stop her terrible leap, watching her drop like a stone until she was lost in the darkness below. "Crap," he said softly to himself, and followed her.

**********

The border guard studied their passports carefully and then the two women where Tsila leaned against her sister as if weakened by near-fatal disease. "You have official permission to make this visit to Switzerland?" he asked.

Kanetsidohi carefully helped Tsila into a chair. "Yes," she replied. "See, it's right here." She riffled through the papers he held and extracted one of the ones that Kronos had made up for them. "The best doctors in Berlin refused to treat her because she isn't German. She's my sister, Unteroffizier, and I love her. I can get treatment for her in Switzerland."

The sergeant studied the papers so long that the sisters looked at each other, mentally preparing to make a run for it, but at last he harrumphed loudly and stamped their passports, then signaled to a grenadier to assist Tsila back to the Mercedes that stood waiting outside. Kanetsidohi followed, making a show of covering her sister with the blanket before closing the passenger door and heading around to the driver's side.

**********

Kronos woke to the sound of steel clashing on steel. Almost instinctively he checked for his sword, unsurprised to find it missing, and looked around wondering how in hell Wesa had managed to drag him to a farm and deposit him in a haystack. Was she the one who was fighting, presumably with his sword? Who was she fighting? He straightened his back and neck, wiped the congealed blood out of his eyes, and went to see who was winning, picking hay out of his hair as he walked. He hoped it was Wesa, not only because Kanetsidohi would take his head if she died, but also because he had plans of his own for her body, and they involved having her head attached.

The sounds were coming from behind the barn, and he limped to the corner, peering around just in time to see Wesa spin low to sweep her opponent's feet from under him and flip him onto his back. She jumped onto his chest with one foot and kicked him in the side of the head with her other, stunning him. But he soon shook his head and staggered to his feet, his sword still upraised.

Wesa never gave him a chance to use it. Her borrowed weapon sliced through his neck, cleanly severing his head. As she stood breathing hard, waiting for the quickening to take her, her eyes met Kronos' own, but before either of them could speak, a foggy glow enveloped her, and then lightning struck out of the night. Repeatedly it arced from the barn, the well, the farmhouse, and the sky, until Wesa cried out in pain and pleasure.

Afterward she cleaned the majority of the blood from the sword she held by wiping it on the clothing of the former Immortal she had beheaded. She then gave it to Kronos, saying, "Thanks. I felt kind of naked when he challenged me." She turned back for her opponent's sword and coat.

"Let's get out of here," Kronos said. "Your sisters are waiting."

"There are horses in the barn," Wesa said. "Let's not walk." Within a few minutes they were riding away, unaware that they were being watched.

Half a kilometer away, on the main road through the area, a routine patrol had witnessed the quickening and arrived at the farmhouse only minutes after the Immortals had gone. They were met by the farmer's stepson, who gestured angrily toward his murdered father and his weeping mother, and pointed the soldiers after the horses, their hoofprints plain to see in the moon-bright snow.

Kronos became aware of the pursuit first, and kicked his roan gelding to catch up with Wesa. He slapped the black mare's rump and shouted, "They're coming! Run!" Wesa glanced over her shoulder and saw the headlights of the car behind them, then dug her heels into the mare's ribs, laying low against her neck and urging her to greater speed. Over the open farmland they were now crossing, however, their horses had no chance of outrunning the patrol car behind them, especially over snow and ice.

Wesa spotted the lights of a village only a mile or so farther on and pointed them out to her companion. "That has to be on the far side of the border. Can we make it?" she asked.

"Maybe," Kronos replied. "If they don't start shooting."

As if their pursuers had heard his words, a bullet burned through the air above their heads. "Halt or be killed!" a voice shouted.

The two Immortals never even consulted each other, both making for the border as fast as their horses could go.

The next shot sent Kronos tumbling from his mount. Wesa never heard the third one.

**********

Kanetsidohi stood with Tsila, looking south toward where a German border patrol had obviously caught someone trying to escape across the border illegally. "Do you think it's them?" Tsila asked, flinching slightly when the report of rifle fire echoed through the night.

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the headlights that were obviously bouncing cross-country, far from a road. "It's nearly morning. They'll be here shortly after dawn," she said. "We need petrol." She turned away when the car stopped shortly after the third shot rang out across the valley, adding, "And they'll need new clothes."

**********

"I'm glad you're awake," Wesa said when Kronos gasped and sat up.

He grinned and looked around to where she crouched by the door of the tiny shed where their bodies had been dumped. "Now you're seeing sense," he said.

She glared at him. "Don't flatter yourself," she snapped. "For some unfathomable reason, they locked the door. I haven't had any luck picking the lock, and I'm not strong enough to break it. Now get your fat male ego over here and get this door open before they come back to bury us!"

Laughing, he came to the door as Wesa stepped away, and put his shoulder to it almost casually. It didn't give. Suddenly sobered by the resistance, he applied his strength more seriously, and this time the door gave with a sharp crack. They froze, waiting to hear shouts and alarms, but there was nothing. "Maybe we finally caught a break," Kronos said. "Let's go." He grabbed her hand and half-dragged her to the nearest patrol car.

"I should have known you could hot-wire a car," Wesa said as they sped out of the camp toward the border, going cross-country once again.

"It's a useful skill," he pointed out.

"It sure is," she agreed. She sighed in relief as they finally crossed the border into Switzerland. "Maybe I should ask you to teach me."

The sun was coming up as he turned onto the road into the village. "I imagine we could work out another bargain," he suggested, grinning lecherously.

"Forget it!" Wesa exclaimed. "You've got all the bargains from me you're ever going to get."

As Kronos drove into the village, Kanetsidohi started the Mercedes where she and Tsila waited. Kronos braked to a stop, and Wesa was out of the patrol car and into her sister's in a flash. Kronos followed only a little more slowly. "Let's go," he said, shutting the door. "I don't think they'll cross the border after us, since we're dead, but let's not take any chances."

**********

They reached Lucerne before noon, and while waiting for the train, Kanetsidohi went shopping. Tsila needed a wig and a sword before she could go out alone in public, and Wesa and Kronos both needed clothing that was neither torn nor dirty nor bullet-holed and bloodstained. With everyone finally outfitted in proper travelling garb, they went to the station to purchase their tickets.

Much to Kanetsidohi's surprise, Wesa agreed when Kronos suggested that he and the blonde should travel as husband and wife. She pulled Wesa aside on the boarding platform and questioned her about it.

"I ... made a bargain with him, Boss," Wesa told her, using the fond nickname in an attempt to distract the older witch.

Her sister was having none of it. "Did he force you?" she asked, shooting a look of anger at the man in question.

"No," Wesa denied reluctantly. "I agreed to this of my own free will, and I'll keep my word. I've survived much worse."

"You'll be sharing a private sleeper with him," Kanetsidohi warned.

"I suspect that's kind of the idea," Wesa told her.

Kanetsidohi frowned, but without Wesa objecting had little reason to protest further, and half an hour later the four boarded the westbound train. Since none of them had slept in nearly two days, they went straight to their sleeper compartments. But while Kanetsidohi and Tsila climbed into their bunks and quickly fell asleep to the soothing rhythm of the rocking train, Wesa sat on her bunk and looked up at the man she had agreed to allow the use of her body.

Kronos turned from closing the window blinds. "Take your clothes off," he ordered, "and get in bed."

Wesa hesitated, but slowly nodded. She unzipped her dress and bent to unbuckle her new shoes, a little startled when Kronos sat beside her on the bed. He had already removed his boots and coat. His shirt and trousers joined the new jacket that Kanetsidohi had purchased for him in a neat pile on the top bunk. Within minutes he was down to his underwear, and he looked at Wesa disapprovingly. "I said, take your clothes off," he repeated. "Do you want me to do it?"

"No," Wesa replied quickly. "No, I'll do it." She stepped out of her dress and folded it neatly. Kronos took it from her hands and put it on the top bunk next to his own clothing while Wesa removed her slip.

He paused after he'd put her slip on top of her dress, watching wordlessly for long seconds while she slowly removed her underpants and camisole and placed them on the upper bunk with her other clothes. A moment later his underclothes were up there, too.

Wesa's eyes grew round at the sight of his flesh, swaying slightly with the rocking motion of the train. She had known he was big - he'd found enough opportunities to press up against her in the centuries since they had met that she couldn't help knowing, but she hadn't realized just how big. "Gods!" she gasped. "You'll kill me with that thing."

He chuckled nastily. "You'll survive," he assured her. "Lie down and scoot over."

He wasn't going to throw himself onto her? Wesa hastily scooted back against the wall as far as she could. Kronos stretched out beside her, and she asked him, "You aren't going to turn out the light?"

"And miss the chance to see your reactions? Not on a bet." His body pressed against hers on the narrow bunk, and he snaked one arm around her shoulders. With his free hand he caressed her cheek and jaw, then gently kissed her.

To her horror, Wesa finally realized that Kronos had no intention of raping her; he wasn't going to mount her, get his rocks off, then roll over and go to sleep. He was going to make love to her. He wasn't going to allow her to disengage her mind from what he was doing, which was the defense she had counted on when she had agreed to this. She brought up her hands, pressing them against his chest, trying to regain some distance, some control.

"You're shivering," Kronos observed. "Are you cold?"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because you agreed to it," he replied, drawing his hand slowly down her throat to her breast. He kissed her again, his lips nibbling at hers, his tongue darting briefly between while he drew his fingers lightly out to the point of her nipple. It crinkled at his touch, and Wesa moaned faintly, dismayed by the betrayal of her own body. Kronos smiled, mistaking the sound for approval. "That's my little cat," he murmured.

"Stop calling me that," Wesa protested faintly.

He chuckled softly, moving to kiss her ear and neck while his hand wandered down her back to her hip and the back of her thigh, caressing, squeezing, tickling. His lips traced a trail down her throat to the previously neglected breast, suckling gently on the pointed nipple, flicking his tongue over the end of it. His hand moved to her knee and parted her thighs, tickling up the inside. Wesa tensed, thinking she knew what was coming next. She was wrong.

Kronos moved, looming over her, and shifted her hips toward the center of the bed, then scrunched down in the cramped bunk and began kissing the smooth skin of her inner thighs, his warm breath disturbing her pubic hairs as his lips explored the concavity at the top of the large muscle.

Wesa waited, astonished at his patience and restraint, unable to bring the focus of her mind away from what was happening, away from anticipation of what was coming. Her intense dislike of Kronos was lost in the involuntary reactions of her body to the sheer animal presence of the man and the things he was doing. When he finally did part her labia and explore them and the opening between them with his lips and tongue, she sobbed aloud in pleasure and need, and found her fingers tangled in his hair, pressing him down and closer.

As if her reactions were what he was waiting for, he sucked gently on her clit, sending her into a wild orgasm and holding her there until she gasped and twitched helplessly. Only then did he finally move upward along her body, his swollen flesh gliding effortlessly into hers. Giving Wesa no chance to recover from her first orgasm, Kronos fastened his mouth on hers and thrust firmly, sending her into spasm after spasm. Her squirming and twisting were exactly what he was after, and he held back as long as he could, until finally he lost control of his reactions and groaned loudly as he exploded into her.

In the next compartment, Tsila looked over edge of the top bunk at Kanetsidohi, bathed in moonlight in the lower one. "That doesn't sound good," she observed. "Shouldn't we check on her?"

Kanetsidohi shook her head slowly. "Wesa told me she'd agreed to do this, and Kronos would not dare to actually harm her," she told her sister. "She's okay."

Wesa woke to find herself cradled tenderly against Kronos' chest. He smiled at her. "Now was that so bad?" he asked smugly.

She struggled away from him. "You bastard, that was not part of the bargain!" she protested.

He raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't explicitly forbidden, either," he retorted. "You prefer 'slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am?'" Sobbing softly, Wesa shook her head but didn't answer, and Kronos sat up and took her into his arms, stroking her hair soothingly. "Shh, little cat, it's all right. It's nearly morning. Sleep now, and we'll conclude our contract tomorrow night." He lay down, still holding her close, and pulled the quilt up over them both.

**********

"Are you all right?" Tsila asked Wesa next morning. She was not reassured by her sister's pale-faced nod. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No," Wesa whispered. "He was very gentle."

"I sort of thought you loathed him."

Wesa nodded. "I do."

"Then why?"

"He conned me into it," Wesa admitted. "He hinted he'd leave me there if I didn't, and I didn't know you and Kanetsidohi were coming, that it was all planned. So I agreed. I thought it would be over quickly, but Kronos had other plans." She sighed, picking up one of Tsila's hands and looking at the nailless tips of her fingers. "None of this would have happened if I had insisted on catching our train on time."

"Or if I had not insisted on meeting the Italian's challenge," Tsila pointed out. "No one can know the future with any certainty, Wesa, not even witches. We can only muddle through like everybody else. My nails will grow back; they did before, after my first death. Kanetsidohi assures me my teeth will grow back, too, and my gums ache already. Makes me empathize with teething babies," she added with a hint of a toothless smile. "And your torment is over now."

Wesa shook her head. "I promised him two times," she whispered. "I have to go back to him tonight."

The day passed too quickly as Wesa watched the French countryside pass by outside the windows. She waited quietly, not eating, barely talking, and when Kronos came to escort her to their sleeping compartment, she went with him docilely. Tsila watched them go with a worried frown.

**********

Their sexual encounter that evening was much like that of the previous night, with Wesa drawn unwillingly from her protective shell and her sense of touch teased until she could no longer bear the sensation. Kronos once more wound her sexual tension up like a spring, giving her release only when she gave him an indication that she wanted it. Afterward he held her tenderly while she slept. Maybe now she would finally forget his brother Horseman.

Kronos woke when Wesa turned over, murmuring softly. Something had caught his attention, even from sleep. Something ... a name? He curled closer, straining to hear.

"Methos ... yes," Wesa mumbled.

Methos. Even after the two most amazing nights of her life, the blonde witch still preferred his long dead brother. Kronos growled softly in irritation and reached to caress her breast, wanting to draw her back to him. She sighed in her sleep and said, "Tahiti? Why?"

Kronos frowned. Tahiti hadn't even been discovered yet when Methos had died.

"Need bet'r sword ... fly ... nex' week."

Kronos' eyes widened as he realized that although she was sound asleep, Wesa was making plans to visit someone ... and that someone was Methos! His traitorous brother wasn't dead after all? Angrily, he shook Wesa awake. "He's in Tahiti?" he demanded.

"Uhh?" Wesa asked muzzily. "Who?"

"How many people do you know in Tahiti?" Kronos asked sarcastically, throwing off the quilt and getting up. He dressed quickly. "No wonder you won't admit you enjoyed our arrangement," he added, drawing his sword as if checking to be sure it hadn't been sabotaged. When he found it was in perfect condition, he resheathed it and turned back to Wesa. "Tell Kanetsidohi I'll take her up on her invitation another time," he said.

"She'll want to know where you're going," Wesa said, wide awake ever since Kronos had drawn his sword.

"Headhunting," he replied, slamming the compartment door behind him as he left Wesa in bed, alone and thoroughly confused.

**********

"Where's Kronos?" asked Rayen Quitral after hugging her sisters when they disembarked in Lisbon two days later. "I thought he was coming with you."

"That was the plan," Tsila agreed.

"He said he was going headhunting," Wesa replied. "I think I was talking in my sleep again. I have no idea what upset him so badly."

Rayen's brows rose. "In your sleep?" she repeated, grinning. "Wesa, I thought you didn't like Kronos."

Wesa sighed. "I never did, much; even less now. It's a long story."

"Then let's tell it at home," Kanetsidohi suggested. "I for one could use a good strong cup of coffee."

"A long hot bath," Wesa murmured.

"With a nice bristly scrub brush," Tsila added, squirming. "My back has itched for days." Rayen reached out to her sister with her long red-painted nails, scratching her back vigorously. Tsila closed her eyes and moaned softly.

The other sisters laughed. Together again and safe once more from the vagaries of the rest of the world, the four women climbed into Rayen's big American Deusenberg for the trip to their house on the southern coast.