Methos paled at the threat. "It's a virus, Melanie, there are a thousand like it," he insisted, trying to be reasonable. If anything, that only made her more furious. She stalked forward, her demeanor rigid. Methos wouldn't have been surprised if she spat lightning -- something that reminded him uncomfortably of his recent experience with a cattle prod.
"It's not just a virus," she snarled. "It's a plague."
"So was the black death," Methos said patiently, trying to simultaneously buy time and draw information out of her. Melanie's eyes lit.
"Yes, exactly! You understand! A disaster big enough to open the gates of Hell themselves. The black death again, only a thousand times worse." She grinned ferally at him. "They will reward me for this. I will rule with them -- forever."
Methos felt a sudden chill as he realized what her words meant. The demons knew how to open a gate from Hell -- or have someone open them a gate -- built on the energy of several billion people dying of a plague Kronos created. She was right -- it would be a thousand times worse. A greater population, living closer together, with a greater ability to travel -- a plague of that caliber would devastate the world. And into that would come the demons, unleashing their unknown strength into a world completely unprepared to fight them.
Melanie saw the comprehension in his face, and leaned toward him. She touched his cheek, a mother's comfort, and said softly, "I go with the winner."
Methos jerked away. His words, Cassandra's Watcher -- she must have told the Watchers who "Adam Pierson" truly was. Not just the Watchers, she had told the demons as well. She was traitor not only to the Watchers, but to humanity. For what? The Immortality that so many Watchers envied? It shouldn't surprise him, not after Geiger's ruthless bid for Immortality, yet it did. Why was it that he still expected the best out of people, even knowing the worst they could be? Five thousand years, and still a damn idealist, he thought, disgusted. So surprised that Duncan MacLeod could be dark enough to take Sean's head, so surprised that your precious Watchers could want what they can never have, and do whatever it takes to become what they Watch -- even destroy a world.
"The virus," Melanie demanded. "The virus, and you live. If you aid me, you may even find favor. I know you, Methos. You hate to lose."
Methos closed his eyes, despairing. Not at that cost, Melanie. Never again at that cost. I am not Death, not anymore. "I gave the virus to Matt Brennan to be destroyed. He exposed it to radiation intense enough to destroy it."
"You lie!"
"Do I?" He chuckled humorlessly. "I don't think so."
"So be it," she declared, stepping away. "If you will not co-operate, your Quickening will give the demons strength -- perhaps even enough strength to break thhrough this tiny furnace gate. Guards! Take him to the basement. Go the back way; we have company."
The two summoned guards nodded and moved around her to drag Methos to his feet. Methos immediately began to thrash violently, trying to loosen his bonds enough to get free and fight back. The guard on his left punched him viscously in the stomach. He hung there for a moment, trying to breath and fight through the pain enough to move. His short incapacitation gave Melanie the opportunity to inject him with a hypodermic needle. His vision doubled, then blurred, and he couldn't seem to make his body move. The guards dragged his now limp form ahead of Melanie and down to the basement. With a last thoughtful look in the direction of the rescue party, Melanie followed them to the basement where the demons waited.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duncan followed the silent Emily down another set of stairs. After finding the room where Methos had been held empty, Emily had reluctantly revealed that he'd probably been taken down to the basement.
"Why the basement?" Duncan asked at length.
She shrugged. "Because the higher ups will want to give his Quickening to the demon. Either that, or he's told them what they want to know, and they're already gone. If that's the case, then it won't do you any good to look anywhere in the house because you won't find them here. Helpful demon that I am, I'm bringing you to the only place he'll be if he'd still in the house, and that's the basement."
"Why are you being so helpful? I thought you'd be more . . ."
"More what? Loyal?" she asked scathingly. "I'll give you a hint. Demons are never loyal. But loyalty matters nothing, in this case, because it won't matter once you get down there."
"What do you mean?" Duncan asked uneasily.
"I mean that compared to them, I'm nothing. A very minor demon -- that's why I'm able to cross the gate at all. But if I do very well, maybe they'll let me feed on a Quickening," she stated nonchalantly. "It's the fastest way demons know to gain strength."
"Feed on Quickenings?" Duncan repeated in horror. She grinned. Demons had no compunctions about playing with their food -- and once he was through the basement door, he was dead anyway.
"Don't be so childish, Duncan. It's the circle of life. It just didn't bother you so much when you thought you were at the top of the food chain."
Duncan could only stare at her, repulsed.
"Ah, here we are," Emily said at last, stopping by a plain wooden door. "Ready?" Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door and stepped in. Duncan gave the room a quick survey, and followed her. The distance must not be as far as it looked, because Emily was nearly at the old furnace the rescue party had noticed when they broke in. Instead of being the lowly banked furnace he remembered, it had flared to life, lighting the entire basement. He could see one woman standing to the side, but Emily blocked his view of the furnace itself. Where was Methos? Emily turned back, waved to infuriate him, and stepped into the gate.
The revealed furnace shone with a blinding light, distorting the objects nearest to it with its brilliance. Caught in the very center of that light was a black, indistinguishable form. A choked off scream from the figure spurred Duncan into a sprint -- Methos was dying! He was near enough to make out the incandescent demon holding Methos, near enough to hear the soft, whimpered pleas, near enough to reach out for his friend, but not near enough to help when the demonic shield closed in front of him, throwing him to the ground. He lay there, stunned, then forced himself to his knees. His head rang from the impact.
The demon smiled at him. Its form shifted and wavered -- first succubus, then incubus, as wholly without gender as only demons and angels could be. It drew Methos toward it again and pressed its lips to the crown of his head, drawing deeply from Methos' Quickening -- his very life force -- through the Sahasrara chakra. The energy lit the room in violet and Methos couldn't hold back his scream as his life was torn from him. Duncan had lived in the East and studied their religions. The crown chakra was considered the connection to the world beyond a person. The demon, he realized in horror, was a being of that other place, and could use that connection to feed on Methos. Duncan cried out in fury and desperation, trying to force his way past the forcefield that completely encircled him. The only effect his actions had was to draw the attention of the waiting woman.
She watched him for a moment, then made her way over.
"Let me out," Duncan growled. She smiled slightly.
"I'm not the one keeping you trapped," she said mildly. Duncan tried to keep his temper in control so he could think. He had to find some way to get to Methos.
"Why are you doing this?" he demanded, not expecting to get an answer. She surprised him.
"Because they will make me Immortal," she revealed, face lit by obsession. A Watcher, Duncan realized. She has to be. I'd bet she's one of the leaders in this pact with Hell, too.
"This is worth Immortality?" Duncan growled, gesturing toward the demon and Methos' trembling form.
"Immortality is worth everything," she insisted. "Oh, not to you, because you will never grow old. You will never live knowing you must die while others live forever. You will never watch another squander the gift of Immortality. To me -- to mortals -- there is nothing we would not give. Our very souls, if necessary, or in this case, your souls."
"But why this?" Duncan pounded at the shield again, a futile action.
"Methos destroyed the key to the gate of Hell. He should have given us Kronos' virus instead of ruining it. Instead, his Quickening feeds the demons the virus should have released, as will yours. We had planned to use the Quickenings to strengthen the demons for their conquest. Now, it may just give them the strength to break through."
Duncan ignored the danger of the demons breaking through, ignored her use of Methos' real name and his questions of how she knew it, and in that instant realized the lie that might save his friend's life.
"But he designed that virus!"
The woman stared at him. "That's not possible!" she insisted vehemently.
"He has a medical degree. He could design another one -- a better one -- if you release him. With Matt's help, he could improve the virus even more: more communicable, a longer life outside the host, maybe make it airborne. Think, don't waste your resources. Just because one virus has been destroyed doesn't mean you can't succeed. There are a thousand viruses, just let him live," Duncan pleaded.
The inadvertent use of Methos' words convinced Melanie that Duncan told the truth. "Why would he design the virus for us?" She was incredulous that Methos would ever agree to help them once he'd been released. Duncan was a fool if he thought she'd believe that.
"Because you'd have me to insure he did it," Duncan promised.
Methos' agonized screams paused, leaving only helpless sobs as the demon considered.
"Agreed," it whispered, its voice simultaneously like a viper's hiss and a swarm of infuriated bees. "Him -- for you, if he does not succeed."
Methos fell to the floor, released from the demon's grip. The light dimmed as the demon backed away from the gate, revealing an old furnace with partially banked coals. With the demon's presence gone, the forcefield dropped. Duncan moved as soon as it did. Melanie only had time to be shocked that the honorable Highlander had broken his vow before he'd rendered her unconscious. Duncan smiled grimly as he moved to Methos' side. The Watchers knew from their chronicles that he had been willing to give his life for his friends, but what was not in his chronicle was his promise to Methos. To survive, not to die honorably.
Duncan knelt down by Methos and supported him as he struggled to sit up. Methos groaned.
"What happened?" he asked, wincing at using a voice sore from screaming.
"I told the demon you'd make them a better virus, with me as collateral. When the demon released you and the shield around me vanished, I took out their guard dog."
Methos laughed shortly. "Sounds like something I'd do, MacLeod." Duncan grinned, relieved his friend was well enough to joke.
"I know. Don't get used to it."
"I won't. It's too . . . not like you," Methos teased, glad Duncan was willing to talk here on the floor so Methos wouldn't feel compelled to pretend nothing hurt and stand up.
Duncan shrugged slightly. "Some things have to be avoided no matter the cost. What is honor if I let them have you, or if I let them release a virus worse than the one Kronos designed? What choice did I have?"
"None," Methos answered, then smiled slyly, "but I'm rather glad you chose the way you did. I didn't much care for the idea of being demon food."
"Again?" Duncan asked softly. "What happened, Methos?"
"What do you mean, 'what happened?'" Methos' smile faded at Duncan's serious question and he struggled to sit up so he could meet Duncan's eye. "MacLeod, this is the first time I've been here."
"No, it's not. What happened when you were here the first time?"
"Listen to me, Highlander. I wasn't," Methos insisted emphatically.
Duncan shook his head. "Do you remember how the fights work? They lure the two combatants to the fight, one is killed, and the witnesses are disposed of. The victor is taken away to be fed to the demons. So how did you stay free to contact us after your fight?"
"How do you know about my fight?" Methos demanded angrily.
"Joe filled us in. He thought, rightly, that it was important. Just how did you come by this theory of yours -- all those pat answers, Methos? Youu didn't stay free; you must have been released later. So what happened?"
Methos looked down, unable to answer.
"He doesn't remember," a familiar voice answered for him and Duncan felt the presence of another Immortal.
"Connor," Duncan said, turning quickly and rising to meet his kinsman. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to help, cousin," Connor retorted with a slight grin. "You always did need me to bail you out of trouble."
Duncan snorted in amusement, but inspite of the grim surroundings he felt remarkably better. Connor's presence rarely failed to have that effect on him. He was a comfort.
"How do you know he doesn't remember?" Duncan questioned his usually taciturn older kinsman.
"Because I was the one who picked him up," Connor explained logically.
"What are you talking about?" Methos demanded from the floor. He wished he was upright, but seriously doubted that he could make it fully standing on his own yet.
Connor glanced at him. "I was watching the house when you came out. You started walking, and I followed. When it became obvious you were wandering, I picked you up. You were disoriented and had no idea where you'd been or what you'd done, which is not too surprising considering you were being held by Zachareus demons. All it would have to do is drain your Manipura chakra to make you forget temporarily who you were."
Methos recalled a brilliant yellow light and a blinding pain -- an almost memory that frustrated him.
"Why release me at all? Why not just kill me when they had this great source of power?"
Connor's gaze was compassionate. "Because of the deal you made with them."
"What deal? How do you know all this?" Methos shouted, irrationally not wanting to believe.
"I kidnapped one of their men, Wilson Thomas," Connor explained with an easy grin. "He wasn't very bright, for a Watcher."
Methos hunched his shoulders slightly, seeming smaller than he was.
"What did they do to me?" Methos asked, coolly detached. He could have been discussing the weather for all the interest he showed. Duncan stared at him sharply, wondering if he could get through this without falling apart.
"What do you think? Melanie Hind had you delivered personally to the demon's leader. Wilson said she hoped to earn special favor for it, though she wouldn't say why. She was the one who gave the demon your name, and told him you were the oldest. 'A rare vintage,' he said she termed it. The demon fed from your Muladhara chakra first to drain your will to survive."
Methos remembered the blinding red light and the pain, eclipsed by the terror at losing himself. After five thousand years, dying. He remembered the demon's voice calling him, instructing him to give in and find peace, but he fought anyway, the indomitable will to survive that had driven him five thousand years refusing to give in. He recalled Melanie's comments, and knew then that what the demons -- especially this one -- craved was the old Quickenings, and the powerful ones.
"You offered them other ancient and powerful Immortals instead of yourself," Connor narrated his inner struggle softly.
Methos remembered calling out, grasping sanity and self, and naming the powerful and old -- the demon, drunk on true power for the first time, agreed and demanded the names. 'Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, Amory once of the Horsemen, Temlan who was Loki, and Ôwrtâvekchôshek -- now Irena Gregory.' Lying on the floor, desperate to avoid that soul killing touch again, Methos named their families, and offered himself to give the baiting news of the demons' Watcher allies. The demon agreed, and before Methos could elude him, pulled the ancient close again and fed on the Manipura chakra, stealing memory but not the message.
"When they released you, the demon gave your list to Mark Hampsher. Refusing to give you up, the demon added your name as well, even though Mark thought you were nothing more than a myth. When you returned to Joe, you told him what you remembered."
Methos remembered being worried, but not remembering why, knowing part of the menace -- but missing the crucial piece. He remembered feeling the urgent necessity of dealing with this threat, though in most circumstances he wouldn't have bothered to become involved, Mr. Don't-give-a-damn himself. The fatal knowledge the demon stole from him -- the knowledge that would have kept him wary in his own home and among friends -- cost him his freedom a second time, and the revelation of his identity to Mark, probably by Melanie herself.
"No," Methos denied in despair. Once again, he'd turned traitor to all he loved. The demon should have taken his soul -- it would be better off in Hell.
Then Duncan was beside him, kneeling. "Are you okay?"
"Just dandy, Highlander. I just found out I betrayed my friends -- my family -- once again. You do you think I feel?" Methos asked harshly.
"Methos, had it been me, I probably would have done the same," Duncan said, compassion in his voice as he remembered a demon too strong to fight and the sound of Methos' screams. He didn't doubt they'd wake him every night for the next decade.
"Yes, you would have," Connor interjected calmly, causing both men to look at him in consternation. Duncan had forgotten he was there, as focused as he was on Methos. "Now, we need to get that gate closed before something nasty comes through it to make sure Melanie's done her job. Like Emily."
"You knew Emily was a demon?!" Duncan asked, incredulous.
"Of course, cousin. I know everything," Connor reminded him with a hint of a grin. "Her mind projected evil calculating as soon as she came into my shop."
Curiosity roused Methos. "You read her mind? How?"
"He killed the Kurgan," Duncan answered. As if that explained anything, Methos thought irritably.
"So?"
Duncan stood again and offered Methos a hand up, which he used to lever himself painfully to his feet.
"Ramirez could hear the thoughts of others," Connor explained. "He used the ability to eluded the Kurgan and find new Immortals. The Kurgan never mastered it, but it gave him enough of an advantage that he tracked me closely for four hundred years," Connor cut his kinsman off.
"How'd you learn to use it?" Methos asked, the scholar in him completely distracted by Connor's revelation -- which was Connor's plan.
"I was trained by an old friend of the family's," Connor replied, teasingly obtuse. "You two should catch up with the rest of your party before they decide to tear this place apart looking for you."
"What about you?" Duncan asked, hoping Connor would stay awhile.
"I'm going to leave the back way." He grinned wolfishly. "This one's kid brother is under the impression he killed me and I'd hate to disappoint him."
"What?" Duncan asked, startled. Connor's grin widened at the look on Duncan's face.
"It's a long story. The Krugan's son was going to kill me because of what I did to his father, Temlan interfered, and I threw an illusion that he killed. We both walked away with our heads."
"Since when have you been able to throw illusions?" Duncan wondered wearily, knowing Connor was baiting him into asking the question.
"Since I took out the bastard who killed Nankato," Connor answered smugly.
"Kinsman, if you don't stop bragging, I'll start telling the stories about how you thought you won the prize," Duncan mock-threatened.
"Enough, you win," Connor conceded with a laugh. "You have matters to take care of upstairs, so go."
"Matters? What matters?" Duncan wondered, startled.
"You'll find out when you get up there," Connor evaded infuriatingly.
"Come on, let's go," Duncan told Methos, giving up on Connor.
"What about her?" Methos asked, pointing to Melanie's fallen form.
"Who was she?" Duncan asked.
"Cassandra's old Watcher, Melanie Hind, and the one who told the Watchers I was Methos. Most recently, she took over questioning me from a man she called Mark -- it must be the same Mark Hampshire you mentioned earlier, Connor -- and had me brought down here when I couldn't give her the virus," Methos explained briefly.
"What did this Mark look like?" Duncan asked, concerned. If this woman wasn't the only one in charge, they needed to find Mark as well.
"He was very average looking and completely smitten by Melanie here." Methos eyes gleamed and his smirked in sudden inspiration. "Why don't you bring her along, MacLeod? I'm sure Mark would be much more willing to talk with us if she's along."
"Can you walk?" Duncan asked, concerned. Methos rolled his eyes, despite the fact that he wasn't sure he could walk alone.
"I'm five thousand years old, I think I remember how," he snipped, stepping carefully away. To his relief, he didn't immediately resume his former position on the floor. Duncan merely gave him a patient, you-don't-fool-me look and bent to pick up the Watcher.
With Melanie slung over Duncan's shoulder and Methos leading the way, the two Immortals made their way back up to where their friends waited.
Connor watched them leave, then called to Cassandra, "You can come in now."
She glared at him. "That's closer than I ever want to be to him again." Connor gave her a humoring smile.
"Can you shut this gate down?"
Cassandra paced forward and studied the furnace. "Yes, the focus -- that would be the furnace, Connor -- is set far enough away from the wall to make a circle, which makes sense -- someone had to set a circle to open the gate in the first place. It's the waning moon, an ideal time for banishment. You can stay or leave, as you wish." Connor nodded, and retreated far enough to be out of her reach, but close enough to watch.
Cassandra stood in front of the furnace, her white robe, symbolic of purity and truth, lit by the sullen glow of the embers. Over the simple robe she wore a blue cloak embroidered with silver -- both colors representing protection. A simple necklace was the only jewelry she wore, a silver crescent moon set with three creamy pearls. A black bag rested near her bare feet. With a sure, economical motion, she picked up the bag and removed what tools she needed. Three candles, three stones, and three thuribles to hold her incense. Each candle she set at a point around the furnace, and in her mind, she could already see the circle that would form, connected by those three triangular points, the stones, and the incense. She spoke aloud to focus her thoughts on the spell.
"Purple candle to drive away the evil. Black to reverse the gate, to bind the negative force, to protect, and to repel what would return. White candle to purify, and call the power of the higher nature."
She set the first stone between the white and purple candles. "Obsidian to bind and defend from those within the gate." She set the second between the white and blue candles. "Amethyst to protect those who come here with good intent." She set the last between the purple and black candles. "Agate to heal this place." She set the three thuribles out, one between the purple candle and the agate, one between the white candle and the obsidian rock, and the last between the black candle and the amethyst. Into one thurible went the incense to banish: betony, fern, and rose. In another went the incense to bind: cypress, pine, and rowan. In the last went the incense to purify: cedar, vervain, and elder. She had carefully crafted this ritual in triads -- to banish the evil, bind the gate closed, and purify what remained.
Cassandra sat cross-legged before the furnace, mentally cleansing herself. Connor, seeing unobtrusively into her mind, was struck by a sudden vision. The clarity that Cassandra's mind's eye saw what she was doing seemed more real than Connor's own, true vision. She breathed deeply in through her mouth and out through her nose -- the calming bhramari breathing. He could feel her center to the earth, and draw power up through her chakra points: a brilliant red that started at the base of her spine, faded into orange at her abdomen, then up into yellow at her solar plexus and green at her heart. The green became blue at her throat, then indigo at her forehead, and at last, violet as it topped her head, halo-like. She stood, and the centralized, indigo light brightened to pure white and sheathed her entire body. Connor caught his breath at the sight. Was it real, or only in her mind? It felt real -- at least to Cassandra.
Cassandra mixed blessed salt and water, then walked clockwise around the circle, purifying the area within the circle by spraying the area with the salt water, using her silver asperger. The water hissed loudly as it landed on the furnace, and the stench that filled the air was not steam. It felt strange to be casting the circle from the outside instead of the inside, but she intended this circle to bind indefinitely. She drew her black handled, dagger-like Athame and walked clockwise around the circle, drawing with the Athame a wall of blue flame to connect each of the nine points that defined the circle in the physical world.
She intoned formally, "I conjure thee, Circle of Power, that thou beest a boundary between the world of humanity and the realm of the demonic ones, a guardian and protector, to preserve and contain the power within; wherefore do I bless and consecrate thee."
She moved to the point she knew as east, though Connor was unsure how she'd determined that. She traced a pentagram in the air, lit of blue flame to match the circle. "Spirit of Air, Guardian of the Watchtower of the East, Blue Hawk of the Ceaseless Wind, come to this circle and grant me the intelligence and knowledge to bind the creatures that walk though this gate, that they must stay in the plane that spawned them. So mote it be."
She circled next to the south, inscribed a second pentagram, and spoke again, "Spirit of Fire, Guardian of the Watchtower of the South, White Dragon of the Burning Desert, come to this circle and grant me the will and energy to purify this place. So mote it be."
Again she circled, this time to the west. "Spirit of Water, Guardian of the Watchtower of the West, Green Serpent of the Depthless Ocean, come to this circle and grant me the skill to make this once more a place of fertility and life instead of death. So mote it be."
For the last time she circled, ending in the North. "Spirit of Earth, Guardian of the Watchtower of the North, Black Bull of the Silent Mountains, come to this circle and grant me the strength to close this gate and seal it for all time. So mote it be."
She returned to the eastern point and spoke the words to invoke God. "Great Dagda, the All-father, Lord of the Heavens, of Life and Death, and of Perfect Knowledge, bring to this circle your great protection, your knowledge, your magic, and your healing. Attend him, Myrddin, Great Sorcerer Who Sleeps, grant me your protection and guide me in this ritual. Attend him, Bel, God of Sun and Fire, bring your purification and healing to this place." With her Athame, she inscribed a hexagon in the air, then a circle within it and another without.
She moved to the western point and spoke the words to invoke the Goddess. "Great Danu, Mother of the Gods, Moon Goddess, bring to this circle your magic and grant me your wisdom. Attend her, Brigit, Fiery Arrow, Daughter of Dagda, bring your healing to this place and guide me in this ritual. Attend her, Scathach, the Shadowy One, She Who Strikes With Fear, Destroyer, Warrior, bring your healing to this place and drive away the creatures who would linger." She raised her Athame and inscribed a second hexagon with a circle within and without.
"I will, by the love of those who watch, banish the evil of this place to the realm that it came from, bind the gate closed so that none may enter or leave, and purify this place so that none of the harm done will linger in any form."
Cassandra knelt and placed the Athame on the ground. Slowly she began the yoga pranayama breathing, raising the power around her. The white light that lingered around her strengthened, as did her mental image of the drawn blue flames. She reached for her white handled knife, the bolline, and a small packed of blackthorns. She rose and went to the first candle, the power still building. With the bolline, she carved in three runes, Nuin to bind, Huathe to hold the demons back, and Ruis to end the problem. On the other side, she carved in the name of the demons, the focus for the spell: Zachareus. She pressed three thorns into the candle, speaking, "Evil return to the one who sent thee, this cursed spot is now set free. No hurt nor harm can enter here. By life and love, this way is clear." She repeated the process to each candle, then lit the candles and the incense. The mingled scents rose into the air, thickening into a column of gray smoke that encircled the furnace and its gate. Connor blinked, unsure what was real.
The power peaked, and Cassandra channeled the energy -- first to drive the evil force from the gate. It fought her, straining to retain its hold, but the ritual magic had bolstered Cassandra's enough to allow her to force it back. She sealed the gate closed, binding it in her mind and in truth. When all was quiet, she purified the now cold furnace. Her body tingled with the vibration of the remnant energy, making Cassandra feel hyper-alert and nervous. Had she succeeded? She tested the gate cautiously. There was no presence, no feel of evil, only a misused, beat up furnace. With a quiet sigh of relief, she knelt to the ground, pressing her palms to the earth to release the excess power. She could feel it drain away, returning her aura to its normal state.
She stood again than the Goddess and the God and bid each farewell as the candles and incense slowly burned out. Then she went in turn to each cardinal point and drew the farewell pentagram, speaking with reverence, "Mighty Spirit, I thank thee for attending. If go ye must, farewell."
The circle remained closed, not banished like a normal circle would be. It remained, the stones fused to the floor beneath, to seal the circle and the gate. When the house was empty, she and Connor would bring it down to it's foundation and ensure the former gate would be well buried.
"Are you done?" Connor asked, a touch impatiently. It had been an impressive sight, but they still had things to do before he met up with Duncan again.
Cassandra nodded. "For now. There's nothing else to do here until they leave."
Connor nodded. "Until then . . ."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Methos, Duncan, and their unwilling cargo reached the rest of their group, they found Mark Hampsher blockaded in a room with a gun and a sword and no one particularly eager to go in after him yet.
Methos looked between the man and the waiting Immortals. A small, amused smile crossed his face.
"This must be what Connor meant by 'matters'," he said softly to Duncan. Duncan nodded slightly. Methos raised his voice to address the room wryly, "Why hasn't one of you torn him apart yet?" Amory looked up from where he was trying to help Narcissca get the scent of garlic off her wrists long enough for his glare to make it obvious he was not going to leave Narcissca in her still weakened state, then went back to scrubbing at her wrists with his shirt. From the scent of garlic in the air, Methos could guess what had prompted that decision. Rena was trying to comfort Kathryn, who, now that she had her mother back, was sobbing hysterically. She shot Methos a look of exasperation for his comment. Joe raised an eyebrow and refused to comment on the stupidity of an mortal going up against a gun when there was a room full of Immortals who wouldn't be killed by few bullets. Methos grinned in understanding.
His questioning look took in the rest of the room. Matt shrugged.
"It wasn't really my fight," he explained. "He hurt everyone else here far more than he hurt me."
Methos looked at Spike, who insisted defensively, "Don't look at me! If you'd taken this chip out of my head, he'd be dead now."
Methos briefly examined the strange man, but guessed that he was mortal from the unfading signs of a recent beating. A fellow released prisoner, Methos would wager, since he wasn't being watched or dead. That left Temlan. From the tight grip his wife, Lilin, had on his arm, she was worried that it would be Temlan's psychopathic dark side Loki that would go after the man. And the chips in their heads were enough to make either reluctant to fight if they didn't have to.
"A knife, Temlan," Methos instructed firmly, counting on Temlan's 'on the warpath' philosophy to furnish the proper armament. Temlan shot him a surprised glance, then pulled out the requested knife and tossed it to Methos.
Methos gestured for Duncan to put Melanie on the ground, and he promptly set about slapping her awake. She came around groggily, and he didn't wait for her to regain her senses. Methos pulled her roughly to her feet and, using her as a shield with the knife at her throat, approached the door.
"Melanie!" Mark cried.
"Put the gun down and she lives," Methos demanded. The sword he wasn't worried about. There were few mortals who could defeat him one-on-one with a sword -- and none who could take on a roomful of Immortal blademasters.
"You wouldn't!" Mark cried, eyes on Melanie. Methos realized he was desperate, and that made him dangerous. Would his adoration of Melanie hold him?
"You know who I am, Mark. What I am. What is she to me?"
Mark stared at them, torn. Then, in resignation, he lowered the gun and spoke to Melanie. "I can't let them hurt you. I can't let them . . ."
In one sharp movement, the gun jerked up. Mark fired, the Melanie's body fell limp in Methos' arms. Released, as Mark had promised her. With a triumphant smile, Mark turned the gun on himself.
Methos stared down at the bodies in disgust.
"Crazy bastard," Spike commented.
"As long as their dead I don't give a rat's ass," Amory declared loudly. "Any time Watchers want to shoot each other is fine by me." Joe shot him a dirty look, which only made the teenage-appearing Immortal smirk.
Noise in the hall put everyone in the room back on alert. Hands went to weapons and every eye went to the entrance to the hallway where the commotion originated.
"Uncle Joe," Beth called from the hallway. Joe relaxed and started towards the door.
"In hear, Beth. Who's with you?" he called back.
"Laura, Jeremy and Sara Tolens, Orson Warras, and Jake Larson. We're your reinforcements." Joe could hear the humor in her voice. If the Immortals who went in couldn't handle what they found, chances were the mortal, noncombatant "reinforcements" the Watchers sent could do less than nothing. The reason Beth and the other Watchers had been sent was to clean up the bodies, get rid of the evidence, and record what happened.
Beth opened the door and entered, finding Joe immediately. She hugged him, and Joe took the opportunity the confusion offered to have a quick, private conversation.
"How'd you get them here so fast?"
Beth studied him, making sure he was okay. "I pulled rank and used my inquisitor status to get them here."
Joe pulled away. "Inquisitor status?"
"I was looking into the Fiat Lux and the Immortal hunters for headquarters. They suspected Watchers were involved. I'm sorry, Joe, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but it wasn't coincidence that I was with you when all this," she gestured around the room, "happened."
"You couldn't even tell me? Did you think I was one of them?" Joe asked, pissed off.
"No! Of course not. But it's Watcher policy," she insisted.
Joe sighed. "Yeah, I know how that is. I'm glad you were here, even if it was as an inquisitor."
"Come on, Joe. Let's get these Immortals out of here so we can do our job," she offered, trying to be endearing. Joe's remaining anger left, and he was glad Methos hadn't heard the exchange -- he didn't need to be teased for the nextt month about his weak spot for his family. Joe quickly found the man in question just to be sure he wasn't nearby and realized the worry was pointless. Methos wasn't looking anywhere but Watcher who was face to face with MacLeod and vehemently arguing about when the Immortals were going to leave. He met Beth's eyes resignedly.
"I have a feeling it's going to be a long night," Joe said, surveying the rest of the room, which was filled with conflicting personalities that, without the focus of a common enemy, had already degenerated into several small squabbles. "You get the Watchers, I'll get everyone else."
-Finis
'Sahasrara' is the Sanskrit name for the crown chakra (the seventh chakra). It means 'thousandfold'.
The Manipura chakra is the third chakra and located at the solar plexus.
The Muladhara chakra is the first chakra, located at the base of the spine.
http://www.kenaz.com/notes/chakra_xls.htm
http://www.sacredcenters.com/chakras.html
The magic ritual I adapted based on what I found in the books "True Magick" by Amber K and "Celtic Magic" by D.J. Conway.
Myrddin you probably know better as Merlin.