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Dark Hearts, Modern Days

© AUTHOR NAME

The erstwhile Adam Pierson slammed shut yet another research book, breathing an ancient term that described his current feelings to a "T." What good was it, being connected to the Watchers now? Ten to one they already knew "Adam Pierson" was an Immortal; exactly how stupid would they have to be to not deduce he was, in fact, Methos? Not that they hadn’t been plenty boneheaded in the past, but one didn’t survive on the stupidity of others. Well, not for long.

Where to go was the question. He didn’t like Paris so much he wanted to spend unnecessary time there. As for Seacouver, he could do without that city for awhile, too. Why not pack up, create a new alias, and head somewhere else entirely? Someplace where he didn’t know anyone, and they didn’t know him from, well, Adam.

The only problem with that plan was that he’d become disgustingly comfortable with having real, live friends around. Joe, Amanda, even the Infuriating Scot—it was nice to be part of a circle again. Not smart, Old Timer, he told himself. You’ve gotten attached. Oh, well, at least I can escape to cyberspace for awhile. No danger of personal contact there. He turned to his computer and booted up his email.

Two new messages. One was spam, which he deleted with indecorous haste. The other, delightfully enough, was from Angel Covington. Eagerly, he opened it. Most of the email was describing yet another funny incident involving one Theodore who worked at the Covington Institute. Methos chuckled. He’d really have to meet this chap someday.

Methos suddenly felt like a light bulb had turned on in his head. Why not? Yes, that would be a very good idea indeed.

 

Methos had only actually met Angel Covington once, but he felt like he’d known her forever. Well, forever or two thousand years, whichever came first. She was, for one, the exact image of her ancestor Gabrielle. Aside from that, he’d known her grandmother, Janice Covington, quite well. And all that aside, he’d loved her cousin Alexa. Angel wasn’t Alexa—and, frankly, he was just as glad—but the two of them had enough similarities in the way they reacted to things like, say, a certain ancient Immortal’s sense of humor to give him the occasional bittersweet pang in his heart that he wouldn’t have traded for anything. Even with all that, though, he was nervous to see her again.

New Zealand was lovely once he got over the jet lag. Chalk one up for Immortal recovery time, he thought. He wasn’t nearly as dazed and stupid as he thought he’d be. He’d have to ask Angel to show him around.

Well, the Covington Institute had certainly grown in the past fifty years. Rather than being a disreputable-looking corner in an office building, it was now its own complex complete with offices, research rooms, and an exhibit. Methos stepped into the quiet lobby and spotted the secretary. She was a nice-looking, curly-headed blonde with fashionable frames perched on her pert nose, and her name appeared to be "Stephiny Cormack."

"Excuse me," he said by way of getting her attention. "I’m Adam Pierson, and I believe Miss Covington is expecting me."

The secretary looked up at him, then smiled as if she recognized the name. She stood and offered her hand. "Adam Pierson, I’m glad to meet you. Please call me Stephiny. Angel’s told us all about you." Her voice, a warm, smooth alto flavored with a Kiwi accent, wrapped itself pleasantly around Methos’ ears. He shook her hand, and then she pointed down the hall. "You’ll need to go down this hall, take a left, follow that one to the end, take a right, and Angel’s office will be the first room you come to on either side. And she’s usually got her door open."

"Thank you." He walked down the way she’d sent him. No sooner had he reached the corner before he was almost run over by the gangliest creature he’d ever met. The Immortal skipped sideways and whoever it was took a header.

"Oops! Sorry! My fault!" the person yelled from the floor. Methos reached down to help him up.

"Hi there, sorry about that," the young man continued apologizing as he gained his feet and adjusted rather thick glasses.

"Quite all right. No harm done, I trust?" inquired Methos. This had to be Theodore, he decided. He also realized Theodore was an American and somewhat taller than Methos himself. "I’m Adam Pierson, by the way."

"Theodore. Theodore Kleinman." The young man looked at Methos askance. "Hey, have we met?"

Only through Angel’s emails, Methos thought. Aloud, he said, "I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. I was just on my way to visit Miss Covington."

Now Theodore drew himself up to his full height, which would have been impressive if Methos had suspected he possessed anything resembling a muscle. Now, now, Old Man, he chided himself, you know better than to judge by appearances. No one would ever suspect you of having a physique on first glance either.

He took in his new acquaintance. Tall, floppy brown hair, big puppy-dog brown eyes behind thick glasses, pale skin, lumpy Adam’s apple—kind of refreshing, in a way, Methos thought. I believe I’ve found a completely non-threatening character at long last. Adam Pierson’s template come to life.

Theodore cleared his throat. "Visiting Miss Covington, you say? Do you have an appointment?"

"Actually, no," Methos demurred, "but I believe she’s expecting me." So I’m lying, he thought. Shoot me. I’ll just get back up.

Now the young man was trying in vain to look imposing. Methos wanted to laugh at the effect. "Well, I-I’m sorry, Mr. Peeson . . ."

"Pierson," Methos corrected.

Theodore appeared to not take notice of the correction. " . . . but you have to have an appointment before you can see Miss Covington. She’s-she’s far too busy. I’m sorry, but that’s-that’s just the way things are, I’m . . . sorry . . ."

David the Nervous Novice. That’s who this person reminded Methos of. Actually, but for the height, the resemblance was striking. Well, at least he’s protective of Angel. I can respect that, thought the ancient. He decided a new tack was in order.

He drew in a breath as if he’d just thought of something. "Now I recognize you. Angel showed me a picture of you a few months ago, when she was in Paris. Yes, and she told me about your dream of making Xena’s life into a TV series."

Theodore turned into a puppy dog. "She did?" Methos could practically see a tail wagging behind him. "Well, it makes sense, don’t you think? I mean, with all the female heroes around nowadays—you know, like Buffy, Nikita, Captain Janeway, that Raven chick . . ."

Apparently, he hadn’t noticed that they were moving toward Angel’s office again as he rattled off his ideas to Methos, who greeted them with polite sounds. When they were within what Methos thought must be earshot of Angel, he spoke up. "Well, I can definitely see your point, Theodore. I think . . ."

"Adam?" The voice came from just around the corner. In a moment, Angel appeared, hair braided, wearing casual clothes, and looking quite fetching. "Adam! You’re here!" she squealed, and in the next moment Methos was catching her in a hug.

Methos held her tight. "Angel, it’s so good to see you." And it was. He hadn’t been prepared for how good it would be to see this woman who reminded him so much of two of his deepest loves.

She pulled back to look at him. "What are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you or anything, but I thought I’d have to go back to Paris before I met you again."

"I quit my old job, and I’m taking a little time off to figure out what I want to do next." Gross oversimplification was a fact of Immortal existence. "I wondered if the IAXS could use another linguist/historian."

Angel gaped at him. "You want to work here? That’s wonderful! We just lost a linguist to another museum—I’m sure we can work you in here."

"Um, excuse me?" Theodore interjected. "Angel, I hate to have to point this out to you, but Mr. Piersley here"

"Pierson," Methos corrected pleasantly.

". . . just in case you didn’t notice, is English . . ."

"Welsh."

" . . . and we don’t even know if he’s legal to work in New Zealand . . ."

"Taken care of."

" . . . and we don’t have any references for him . . ."

"Glad to provide them." Methos had known there was a good reason to have blackmail material on Joe Dawson.

Angel cut off Theodore’s next protest at the nub. "Stop worrying. I happen to know Adam and can vouch for his character, and as for his competency with languages, all we’ve got to do is run him past Xan. She’ll have his potential pegged in seconds."

"Somebody say my name?" asked a rich alto. Methos turned and beheld Xena.

No, he told himself, not Xena. Xan. Alexandra Pappas Kanaredes, Xena’s descendent. He was suddenly glad he’d spent so much time around Amanda. He wasn’t intimidated by tall, incredibly striking women anymore. Who’d have thought Xena would look so good in blue jeans?

He offered his hand. "Hi, I’m . . ."

"Adam Pierson," Xan finished for him, smiling. She, too, he noted, had a distinct Kiwi accent—and quite a grip. Talk about the apple not falling very far from the tree . . . "Angel’s told me all about you. I’m very sorry about Alexa."

Methos nodded, grateful for her willingness to bring up difficult subjects immediately. "Thank you. Actually, I’m here to apply for a job as a linguist, if you have the need for one."

"Sure do." Xan grinned, releasing his hand. "Since that’s my department, why don’t we head back to my office and see where we can fit you in?"

Thus it was that Methos found himself working for the Covington Institute. He quickly decided he liked the place. He liked the casual-dress atmosphere, he liked the project Xan had set him on, and he most definitely liked his coworkers. Stephiny—or Ephie, to her friends—ran the main office like a drill sergeant. Nothing escaped her notice, and heaven help you if you disturbed her organizational system. She also made the best coffee on earth, and when she let her hair down at the end of the day, she was a warm, friendly, generous woman who enjoyed kicking back with a beer and a few good friends. Methos suspected she rather liked him, but she had been too recently widowed to want to do anything about it. So, for that matter, had he.

Angel and Xan were two halves of the same person. Together, they possessed all the qualities their ancestors had, only distributed differently. Angel was the more intense when it came to her work. She could lose herself in a problem for hours and nothing short of a nuclear attack would budge her from it. Compared to her, Xan was laid back and easygoing about the translations she did and oversaw. However, Xan had an incredible mind. She seemed to leap past levels of reasoning to arrive at conclusions that were almost always solid and defensible, if not indisputable. Angel tended to take her time looking at all sides of an issue and often played devil’s advocate, which annoyed Xan no end. The fact that Methos did the same often had the tall woman shaking her head in resignation.

Then, of course, there was Theodore. The young man was one of those people who had probably never fit in anywhere—and probably never even noticed, so out of touch with the world was he. His social ineptitude was equaled only by his total inability to avoid obstacles in his path. Sometimes those obstacles were provided by his own two feet. Still, he was a computer wizard. Methos wouldn’t have been surprised if he could have hacked the Watchers. And he was a nice enough guy—once he’d decided "Adam" wouldn’t make a play for Angel. Theodore and Angel seemed to be one of the great unrequited love stories of the century.

They’d apparently decided they liked the lanky Brit who’d descended on them, too. Angel would pop into the research room Methos had made his sanctuary throughout the day to give him updates, invite him to lunch, or just to chat for a few minutes. Xan, once she saw Adam’s talents as a linguist, was always eager to hear his opinions on her translations or those of the other workers. She seemed to have no ego about her work; if you could prove her wrong, so be it.

He was also included in the office’s social life. The office people and, quite often, a number of researchers, would gather at a local pub called the Reef for drinks and a little unwinding each Wednesday. One particular Wednesday, the company started out small and whittled itself down to Methos, Angel, Xan, and Ephie.

"I have got to meet this Duncan MacLeod sometime," Angel said, giggling over an anecdote Methos had just related concerning the Aggravating Scot (so he’d had to edit out a Quickening . . . ). She had a greenish cocktail whose name Methos could never remember sitting in front of her. He should have known its name; it was her regular order. Xan was midway through a Scotch-and-soda, and Methos and Ephie tended to stick to beer.

"He’d bore you," Methos declared. "He’s a total Boy Scout. You probably go for the dangerous types."

Xan snorted at that. Angel tossed her an irritated glance. Ephie stretched hugely, then started to slip back on her jacket. A corner of it caught on her chair. Methos freed it for her.

"Thanks, Adam," she said softly, then abruptly looked away. "I think I’ll be going now. Unlike the rest of you, I actually have to get some work done tomorrow."

The others bade her goodnight, and she left—but not before tossing one more glance at Methos. For his part, the Immortal noted yet again what a nice-looking woman she was. Angel and Xan traded a look of their own.

Methos caught that look. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "All right, out with it."

"You two would look really good together, Adam," noted Angel.

"Adam" muttered something under his breath about matchmakers. Xan chuckled. "What?" demanded Methos.

"You can’t expect us not to notice, Adam," the tall woman pointed out. "You’re the first man Ephie’s so much as looked at since her husband Stephen’s death. She’s an old friend for both of us. If she’s decided to take another chance on men, well, we’re behind her. Especially when it’s you she’s looking at."

"Been a little over a year for her, hasn’t it?" Methos inquired. Xan and Angel nodded. "About the same since I was widowed myself." The latest time, he added silently.

Angel reached across and touched her friend’s hand. "Hey, we don’t want to pressure you or anything. It’s just that we’re really fond of both of you, and from where we sit, it looks like a great idea. If you’re not ready, though . . ." she trailed off.

Methos sighed softly. The pain of Alexa’s loss had softened, leaving the memories of love and laughter in its wake. Maybe it was time to move on. He was happy in this life. No pesky Immortals coming out of the woodwork like in Paris or Seacouver, good work, good friends, and now, possibly, a good woman.

"Maybe," he finally said. Then he, too, started to pull on his coat. Angel and Xan did the same, and the trio headed out into the Auckland night.

Xan stopped abruptly, looking around. If Methos hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was an Immortal sensing another of her kind. However, since he couldn’t sense anything, that theory was out.

"What is it?" he asked. The tall woman didn’t answer for a moment. Then she pulled her jacket around her a little tighter.

"I just . . . felt something for a moment. Like I was being watched." She still seemed uneasy. Methos strained with his own senses, trying to detect any threat.

A slight breeze kicked up out of the previously windless night. All three of them shivered suddenly. The wind was cold, and it brought with it a hint of an unpleasant smell. As it passed, Methos thought he heard a whisper, a single word.

"Thanatos."

Shaking off his own uneasiness, Methos touched Angel’s elbow, then Xan’s. "Come on," he said, and led the two to Xan’s car. After he watched them drive away, he stood, looking out into the night. Thanatos. Death. The name he’d once taken pride in. Had it been a hallucination, or just his own guilt coming up to nip him yet again? But Angel and Xan had felt something, too.

Anything can influence feelings, Old Man, he told himself. You’re getting jumpy in your dotage. Besides, the three of you just spent a few hours consuming alcoholic beverages. It was just a collective case of the willies, that’s all. Nothing else to it.

Nothing at all.

 

By the time Angel and Xan had gotten back to their apartment, they’d managed to put the strange breeze and the foreboding emotions it had stirred up mostly out of their minds. Angel made a beeline for the bathroom. In the living room, Xan sat down and tried to sort out her thoughts.

"Something wrong?" Xan’s head snapped up at the sound of her best friend’s voice. Angel was standing there removing her earrings (all six of them) and looking a little worried.

"No, no . . . I’m just thinking." Xan trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how to phrase this. "Angel, do you ever get the feeling that there’s a lot more to Adam than he lets us see?"

"How do you mean?" Angel perched on a chair, still studying her best friend.

Xan waved her hands a little helplessly. "I mean, I sometimes think I know him, and other times—it’s like I need to throw out everything I know and start over. I just get the feeling there’s a lot about him we don’t know."

"It’s only been two months, Xan," Angel pointed out. "That’s not very long. Of course we don’t know everything about him."

Blue eyes suddenly focused on green. "Do you know how old he is?"

The question took Angel by surprise. "I-I’m not sure. Alexa said he was about ten years older than her, and she was twenty-four when she died. That’d make him mid-thirties."

"Yes, but what would you think just to look at him?" Xan demanded. She stood, starting to pace, and Angel recognized her friend’s "battle mode." "Ever look at him and think he’s just a kid?"

Angel’s immediate response was to say "no," but when she thought it over, there were moments when she’d seen a boyish grin, or watched as Adam had enjoyed turning someone’s (normally Theodore’s) head inside-out, when she had thought he looked like a teenager. Slowly, she nodded.

"Ever think he’s a lot older?"

Now Angel thought of one moment in particular. She’d come into Adam’s research room, where he’d been bent over one of the Xena Scrolls in deep concentration. It had taken her a moment to get his attention, and when she had, his eyes had given her a strange feeling. It was as if she was seeing him sometime in the past.

Xan, for her part, was thinking about the bar, when Adam had told them it had been a year since Alexa’s death. It was so strange—nothing about him had changed, but he suddenly seemed much older.

"Xan—what are you suggesting?" Angel’s voice brought her back to reality.

"I don’t know," Xan admitted. "It may be nothing. I like Adam a lot, you understand. I’m just not sure what to think of him sometimes."

"Are you suspicious of his motives?"

Xan recognized Angel’s "friend defender" program coming on-line. She waved a hand. "Not suspicious, exactly. It’s just that something doesn’t add up."

"Look, Xan," said Angel, "Adam took my cousin on a tour of the world when she was dying. Not every man would want to pull closer to a dying woman rather than pull away."

"I know. That’s just the thing. He took her around the world, apparently without a thought to the expense. He doesn’t seem to have a permanent place of residence—he told you he keeps apartments in Paris and Seacouver, among other places. He’s incredibly intelligent, talented, and obviously well-educated, yet he chooses to work here rather than get a higher-paying, higher-profile job at a university or a respectable museum, even though he easily could. The question is, why?"

Angel didn’t know what to say. All she’d seen was a man who she thought of as a friend, a man who’d loved someone Angel had loved. After a moment, Xan went on.

"And aside from that, have you ever noticed him hesitate before answering questions? Really simple ones. For instance, the other day I asked him how he learned about the IAXS. There was that brief pause before he answered, and then he gave me an answer that was perfectly logical, totally believable—and I think he was lying to me."

Angel looked disturbed now. "Do you—do you think he has an ulterior motive for being here?"

Xan was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "If I had to trust Adam with my life, I would. I don’t think he means any harm. I just feel like I’m looking at a bunch of puzzle pieces that I could put together if only I had one more piece of information, and I don’t have any clue what that might be." She got up and went to her bedroom, still trying to put her finger on what was bothering her.

Angel sat in the living room for a long time after Xan had gone to bed. Her eyes drifted up to settle on a pair of drawings. One was a charcoal sketch of herself and Xan. The other was an oil crayon of a sunset as seen from Santorini. Both had been drawn by Alexa. The sunset had been a gift from Adam shortly after he’d arrived. Angel fingered the iron bracelet he’d given her at his apartment in Paris.

The small woman shook her head. She wasn’t going to be suspicious of this gentle, loving man who’d given her cousin back her life. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for all Xan’s questions. Angel would give Adam the benefit of the doubt, she decided. There was, after all, no real reason not to. None at all.

The following morning seemed refreshingly mundane to all of them. Theodore came to work as late (as usual), Ephie and "Adam" heroically tried to ignore the growing attraction between them, and Xan and Angel went to work organizing the new shipment of scrolls from Greece.

Methos wasn’t in the best of moods, but that had little to do with nebulous feelings, strange whispers in the night, or the teasing looks from other employees whenever he and Ephie were in the same room. No, he’d just received an email from "[email protected]." In other words, Amanda. She was still trying to run interference between Methos and Mac.

"No such luck, you little vixen," Methos muttered sourly. In spite of Mac’s recent revelation that he himself was not, in fact, perfect, the Highlander was still keeping Methos at a distance. Methos knew the revelation of his own Horsemen past had been a shock to Mac’s system, but couldn’t the man get it through his thick Scottish skull that Methos wasn’t like that anymore? It had been two thousand years. Didn’t that count for anything?

Maybe not, Methos thought. Has two thousand years even washed the stink of blood from your hands?

He didn’t want to follow that line of thought anymore. Therefore, he got up and went to the lounge for a cup of Ephie’s wonderful coffee. As he approached, he heard Angel and Xan talking.

"That’s the question I’m asking, Angel. Who was Methos?"

Methos froze in the doorway, heart pounding. What was going on? Angel spotted him and smiled.

"Morning, Adam. Come on in and help us settle something." She waved him over to a chair next to her.

"What exactly are we debating?" asked Methos, trying to look natural and curious.

Xan produced a scroll. "We’ve been working on cataloguing these scrolls, and I’ve been doing a preliminary translation as we go along. Seems we’ve come up with a new character for our collection: Methos."

This was hitting just a little too close to home. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a hot idea . . . "And who is Methos?" Methos inquired.

"The $64,000 question," deadpanned Angel. "He seems to have been a friend the Dynamic Duo ran across several times. What we know about him is that he was an exceptional sword fighter, probably an ex-warlord of some sort, and Gabrielle says that he was immortal—three thousand years old, according to her."

"Sounds like an interesting chap," murmured Methos. "Maybe I could help with the translation. I just got done with my last project." And I want first dibs on this particular set of scrolls, he added silently. Besides, I could sell ‘em to the Watchers for a perfect mint.

Xan passed him a few of the fragile parchment scrolls. "Have at it. Your translations invariably make better sense than mine, anyway. Why is that?"

Something in Xan’s eyes suddenly made Methos a little nervous. He chose his words carefully. "I don’t know, exactly. I’m Greek by heritage myself and have known the modern language practically all my life." Rather, all its life. "Maybe I’ve just got a good feel for it."

He didn’t know if that answer satisfied Xan, but as the phone in the lounge suddenly buzzed, she had no time to follow up. Angel hit the com button. "What’s up, Ephie?"

"Call from Greece," came Ephie’s voice. Something in her tone caused the three in the lounge to trade worried glances.

"Put it through here," said Xan.

A moment later, a ragged voice came out of the phone. "Angel? Xan?"

"Both of us, Lari," said Xan. "Adam’s in here, too. Is what you have to say private?"

"Um, no." Lari was the head of the archaeological digs in Greece, and Methos had spoken to her a few times. He’d never heard her sound anything less than rock-solid until now. She sounded . . . grief-stricken. "There’s been a terrible accident. I wasn’t on the site at the time, but someone must have struck a gas pocket. There was an explosion." There was a long pause before Lari could force the next words out of her throat. "Fifteen people were injured, and five were killed."

All three in the room looked at each other, shocked. Angel was the first to shake it off. "Lari, we’ll be coming as soon as we can. In the meantime, find out everything you can about what happened, okay?"

"Okay." Lari sounded like she was pulling herself together. "Okay. I’ll see you when you come."

The call ended, and Xan patched back through to Ephie. "Ephie, Angel and I need to get to Greece as soon as possible. Could you . . ?"

"Already taken care of." Ephie’s cool efficiency helped wash some of the distress from the air. "You and Angel leave tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Eph. Remind me of this when bonuses come up." Xan sat back and raked her fingers through her thick black hair. "What in Tartarus could’ve happened?" she snarled suddenly.

Angel shook her head, looking dazed. "It looks like we’re going to have to find out. I wanted to get back to the digs myself, but this isn’t exactly what I’d been thinking."

Methos had been thinking very carefully for the past few minutes. Now he looked up at Xan. "Why don’t I come along?" he suggested.

Angel looked shocked. "Adam, there’s not going to be much of a need for a researcher there. It’ll just be a big legal mess."

"I know. But I’ve always wanted to see the dig. Besides, I’ve a friend who has a residence in Greece. If she’s not using it, I’m sure we can stay there. I can even take this project" he brandished one of the scrolls "and work on it if things get too boring. Not to mention that I’m not bad with legal matters myself."

Xan had been studying him intently for the past few minutes. Methos met her eyes as steadily as he could.

Finally, she said, "Okay, Adam. I’ll have Ephie get a ticket for you. And I want to have your opinion on the first scroll before five."

 

The first scroll turned out to be Gabrielle’s account of the time she’d been kidnapped by Korynas. Methos had to smile. He hadn’t thought of that incident in centuries. It was like the cliched walk down memory lane. He gave a synopsis to Xan and headed home, going to bed early in anticipation of getting up at four-thirty to catch a plane.

After five thousand years, Methos didn’t have a hard time telling when he was dreaming. That, however, didn’t mean he could control those dreams. As he looked around this particular dreamscape he realized he knew it from somewhere. A dark, abandoned power station—as an Immortal would put it, "Good place for a Quickening." Now he looked at his clothes. He was wearing a brown sweater that felt somehow wrong. Then he realized it had a hole in the chest, crusted with blood. The buzz of an Immortal confirmed his sudden, awful suspicion.

"Greetings, Brother." Kronos’ voice came out of the darkness, chilling Methos to the very marrow. He decided it was time to wake up. Dreams featuring Kronos were invariably A Bad Thing.

Only he couldn’t wake up. He watched helplessly as Kronos approached. The leader of the Horsemen sized him up.

"Have you gone soft?" Kronos sneered. "Remember what we used to be, Methos. The terror of two continents. We bathed in blood and fear. We were the masters of the world around us. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten."

"I-I’ve changed," Methos choked out. "I’m not like that anymore. Don’t you remember? I betrayed you, I betrayed the others. You’re all dead."

"Are we?" Kronos smiled coldly. He jabbed a finger at Methos’ chest. "Don’t you feel us in there, Brother? We’re still together inside you, thanks to the bond you have with MacLeod. Give it time, Methos. It’ll return to you."

"No!" Methos stated emphatically. "It’s not going to work, Kronos. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. You don’t have power over me anymore."

Kronos’ smile grew colder, more cruel. "Don’t I?"

Suddenly, the scene changed. Now they were inside a tent. Methos realized he was watching now, rather than participating. He looked and saw the Bronze Age image of himself, clad in white with long, flowing hair and a blue streak painted on his face. And standing by his side . . .

Cassandra. She was looking at Kronos, now in his own Horseman garb, with terror and revulsion in her eyes.

"The time has come to share the spoils of war," declared Kronos. He was speaking to Horseman Methos, but looking at modern-day Methos.

Not again, begged Methos silently. He wanted to yell at his Bronze Age image not to do it, to keep her from Kronos by any means necessary. But he couldn’t. He watched as his image turned away from the woman he’d taken captive, the woman who had come to be the only beauty in his world of violence. Cassandra’s eyes grew wide with horror and betrayal as Kronos grabbed her.

"No!" she cried. "Methos! Methos, please!"

Methos desperately wanted to jump in, to stop this nightmare from happening again.

"You see, Brother?" taunted Kronos. "You see how much power I still have over you?"

"Methos, help me!" Cassandra begged, but she wasn’t Cassandra anymore. Now the woman Kronos dragged away was smaller, slimmer . . .

Alexa! Methos’ brain yelled. No, don’t make me watch this. He tried to wriggle free of the paralysis that held him, but it was no use.

Now the image had changed yet again. The woman’s hair lightened to bright strawberry blond and her features changed.

"Methos, please!" Gabrielle begged him. Kronos wasn’t Kronos anymore, either. The man who dragged Gabrielle away was taller, with a heavier build, and wilder and more barbaric than even Kronos.

"She wasn’t good for you anyway, Thanatos," said the new man, who seemed somehow familiar to Methos although he’d never seen that face before. "You got attached. You know you should never do that. Just makes it easier for me to do this."

Gabrielle’s last scream faded as Methos finally struggled free of the nightmare. He sat up, gasping, and fumbled for a light. His heart was pounding as if he’d just run the London Marathon.

"See you soon, Thanatos."

Methos stared out into his Auckland loft, trying to discern where the whisper had come from. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

 

Swords, Methos reflected, are damnably difficult things to hide when one’s on an airplane. He settled for the thoroughly unsatisfactory solution most other Immortals did: check your Ivanhoe with your baggage and hope to high Heaven it stays on the same route you’re taking. At the moment, his duster felt extremely light, and he himself felt a little naked as he approached Angel and Xan.

Xan was looking solid as iron. Angel, on the other hand, seemed rather gray and dismal as she leaned on her friend. When Methos greeted her, she grunted lightly and closed her eyes. Seeing Angel was a little strange after Methos’ nightmare. He wondered how he’d known it was Gabrielle in his dream rather than Angel.

After they’d finally gotten on their plane (international flights, Methos thought, are an almost perfect way to drive one mad), Angel immediately snuggled up next to Xan and was fast asleep before the plane left the runway. Methos attempted to stretch his long legs into the aisle. This was going to be so much fun. He looked at Xan, who was probably going to be miserably cramped after a few hours. He decided he’d switch places with her midway through the flight. Chivalry, his brain snorted at him. Was he really becoming infected with the Highland Boy Scout’s standards?

Methos rubbed his eyes. Xan caught this. "Didn’t want to get up this morning, eh?" she surmised.

"Actually, I’ve been awake since two," he replied without thinking. He caught the brunette’s look. "Bad dream."

"Really?" Xan’s blue eyes narrowed. "That’s odd. I had a nightmare last night, too. I don’t remember a lot of it, but it was very violent. Made me not want to go back to sleep."

"Same here." Methos knew he was stretching the truth to the breaking point. He remembered every hideous detail of his dream.

Xan looked pensive. "What’s even odder is that I think Angel must’ve had a nightmare, too. When I woke up from mine, I heard a sound from inside her room. I went in, and she was sobbing like her heart was broken—but she was fast asleep. And this morning when I asked her about it, she barely remembered dreaming at all."

Methos was glad he wasn’t a superstitious type of person. Otherwise, he’d have had chills running up and down his spine by now. He looked at his seatmate. "We should probably follow her example now. Otherwise we’ll both have king-sized cases of jet lag."

He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes. After a moment, Xan spoke up again.

"Adam, why did you come along? The truth."

Methos sighed. He considered a lie, but he knew someone as bright as Xan wouldn’t be fooled for long. Finally, he opted for a half-truth. "Have you ever had a feeling you were absolutely supposed to do something, or be somewhere?" Xan nodded, and Methos went on. "That’s the way this whole thing feels to me. I think it’s important for me to be with you two, whatever happens. I . . . wish I had a better answer for you."

"Adam, you don’t think this explosion was just an accident," Xan stated flatly. "I don’t either. I don’t know why I think that, but I feel in my gut something’s wrong with this whole thing."

"We’ll find out soon enough," Methos assured her. "For now, we’d best get some sleep, Alexandra." He settled back down again.

Xan stayed awake for awhile longer. Something was niggling at her mind. Then it hit her: Adam had just called her "Alexandra" for the first time. It wasn’t just the use of her full first name that bothered her, either. Sometimes, Adam would read from the scrolls in Ancient Greek, his rich voice infusing the language with almost hypnotic beauty. When he’d said her name just now, it had been with the same inflection he used when reading the scrolls. She added that little fact to her mental database on Adam Pierson as she, too, closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

 

They were all jet-lagged and uncomfortable when they reached Greece. Methos fetched his baggage, a single long duffel that accommodated his sword. He hoped the thing hadn’t aerated too many sets of boxers en route. Xan saw about renting a car while Angel let Lari know they were in Greece and gave her the phone number and address of the place Methos had said they could stay.

"Adam’s friend’s" house actually belonged to Methos. He’d found over the years that disclosing the number of properties one has, especially when one is masquerading as a grad student, tends to be a bad idea. The house wasn’t enormous, but it was comfortable, and the view was spectacular. On the way there, they picked up some groceries.

After they’d eaten a light dinner, Methos walked out onto the southern porch of the house. He watched the Mediterranean sparkle in the distance. It made him forget, for the moment, the growing sense of uneasiness that had been gnawing at him for two days now.

Angel walked out and leaned on the railing next to him. "It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

"Mmm."

She fixed her green-eyed gaze on him. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Methos looked down at her, feeling a bittersweet pang in his heart. "The last time I stayed in this house, I was with Alexa."

"Oh, Adam," Angel breathed covering his hand with hers.

He squeezed her hand lightly. "Don’t say you’re sorry. I’m not. I wouldn’t trade those few months for anything."

Angel squeezed his hand back, and they both watched the sunset. After a little while, she retired to her room. Methos, meanwhile, went to his computer and booted up the Internet. He was wanting to catch up on world news. Sifting through a lot of what amounted to global gossip, he finally isolated some hard news. More bombing in the Balkans, mainly. Didn’t they ever get tired of war?

Something caught at his brain as he skimmed the accounts. Hadn’t the fighting been more or less confined to Bosnia? Wars tended to spill over borders, but why would there have been bombing that far into Macedonia?

On impulse, Methos isolated the area. When he did, he found that he’d actually stood up out of shock.

 

That night was, thankfully, nightmare-free for all three. The following morning, however, wasn’t. They went out to the dig and what they found went far beyond what any of them had feared. It looked like a tactical nuke had hit the site. Lari, a slim, cool brunette, was waiting for them.

"I’ve already spoken with all the workers who were here that day," she said. "At least, those who were able to talk to me." Her eyes darkened as she remembered the injured and the dead. "No one remembers anything unusual up to the time of the explosion except a very slight tremor a few minutes before it happened. All the people who were in the immediate area were either killed or are in intensive care, though, so it’ll be hard piecing together what happened."

"How big was the tremor?" Xan asked.

Lari waved a hand. "I checked with the Geological Service, and they said a 3.2 on the Richter Scale registered that day. That’s barely big enough to be felt, let alone wreak this kind of damage."

As they talked, Methos walked over to the edge of the crater. Looking down, he thought about the news reports he’d read the previous night. Methos wasn’t, by nature, a very spiritual man; he figured that if he left the gods alone, the least they could do was leave him alone in return. But if Janice Covington’s report of what had happened at Thespin’s Cave had merit . . .

"Thanatos."

There wasn’t any guessing this time. The voice was real: low, male, almost seductive. Methos stood slowly and looked around. No one. The nearest people were Xan, Angel, and Lari. This was getting irritating, thought the Immortal.

Angel came over to stand by him, as did Xan a moment later. "Any ideas?" asked Methos.

Xan shook her head. "None. The police are examining the site, but it looks like a gas explosion of some sort. Quite frankly, it makes no sense to me at all."

Methos turned to face her. "There’s something you should know. The IAXS pulled all its workers from the Balkans once things started heating up there, didn’t they?" Both women nodded. "Well, I was looking over some news reports last night, and I discovered that there’s been bombing in Macedonia. Not all of Macedonia—it was concentrated in one particular spot."

"And that would be?" prompted Xan.

"Thespin’s Cave."

Angel and Xan stared at him without speaking for a full half-minute. "Y-you mean the Tomb of Ares?" sputtered Angel at length. Methos nodded.

Xan traded a look with her best friend. "I think we’d better get to our liaison office post-haste."

"Liaison office?" Methos inquired.

"Second biggest concentration of Xena experts on the planet." Xan allowed herself a wry grin. "It’s in your neck of the woods, Adam. Paris."

Methos groaned. "But I just got out of Paris."

"Well, get ready to go back," said Angel lightly. "We’ll have access to all the information we need there, and considering what’s been going on, I think we’ll need to remain on the Continent."

"I hate Paris," Methos muttered. Nonetheless, he pulled out his cell phone and tossed it to Xan.

 

A day later, they were in Paris. Good old smelly, snobby, smug Paris. Methos thought wistfully of his Greek house overlooking the Mediterranean.

At least the IAXS office, known as Covington House, was more comfortable than Watcher Headquarters. Not too big, not too small, and decorated tastefully. The secretary wasn’t exactly Ephie, but she was competent enough to have the updates from Greece and Macedonia waiting. Angel, Xan, and Methos studied them together.

"Too bad this info coming out of the Balkans is so sketchy," Angel mused.

"It’s wartime, Angel," Methos reminded her. "All the decent news services are crowding around the fighting in Bosnia."

Xan looked pensive. "Ironic, isn’t it?"

"What?" asked Angel.

"Ares’ Tomb is right next to a war zone," replied the tall brunette. "Kinda makes you think . . ."

Methos didn’t like what it made him think. "Are there any other digs in process?" he inquired.

Angel shook her head. "No. We had one in northern Greece for awhile, but it hasn’t been active since the late ‘80’s. The only other places you’ll find the IAXS are here and New Zealand."

For the rest of the afternoon, they worked on the legal side of matters in Greece. Fortunately, no one seemed to be blaming the Institute for the explosion. Since no one could figure out what had caused it, no one saw how it could’ve been avoided. At about five-thirty Angel finally gave up the ghost.

"My brain hurts," she complained. "Anybody else need a drink?"

"I’ll second the motion," put in Xan.

"Moved, seconded, carried," agreed Methos cheerfully. "And I’ve got just the spot. I hope you two like the blues."

 

Joe Dawson looked up as the trio entered his bar. "Hey, Adam," he called in his gravelly voice. "You bringing a little class into my bar for a change?"

Methos ambled over to the bar. "Angel, I believe you already know this old sinner. Xan, my I present Joe Dawson? And Joe, this is Alexandra Pappas Kanaredes."

"Call me Xan." The tall woman reached out and shook Joe’s hand. She decided she liked him.

"The pleasure’s all mine," said the Watcher. Trust Joe to go from zero to flirt in no time flat, Methos thought sardonically. "What can I do for you?"

They ordered dinner along with their drinks. As usual, Angel stuck to light cocktails, Methos stuck to beer, and Xan sipped at a glass of harder stuff. She never seemed to get drunk, Methos realized. Of course, considering her lineage . . .

The thought cut off as the buzz of an approaching Immortal hit him. Inwardly, he growled. This was one of those things he had not missed while in New Zealand. A second later, he realized that Duncan MacLeod was approaching. Ever since they’d shared that Quickening in Bordeaux, Methos had been able to discern whether or not the buzz belonged to the Scot.

His suspicions were confirmed as MacLeod and Amanda entered the bar. Methos leaned back, deliberately casual. Mac regarded him with a friendly smile and guarded eyes. Amanda just looked delighted, probably by the chance to twit Methos on his company.

"Well, hello," the Immortal beauty greeted them. "This a private party, or can anyone join?"

Methos sighed in resignation. "Angel, Xan, these are Amanda Darieux and Duncan MacLeod. Duncan, Amanda, meet Angel Covington and Xan Kanaredes."

Amanda welcomed herself to a seat. "Delighted to meet you both. It’s good to know the Old Man is keeping such good company."

Methos winced and glared at Amanda, who looked deliberately innocent.

"Old Man?" repeated Xan, raising an eyebrow.

"A nickname with a very long and boring story attached to it," Methos bit out. He threw another pointed look at Amanda. "Have a seat, MacLeod. We seem to be having a party."

Mac took a seat. "Glad to meet you both," he said congenially. "Adam’s told us about you, Angel."

"Same here," Angel returned. "You know, I think my cousin Alexa once mentioned you to me, too. Did you ever meet her?"

"Only once." The Scot’s guarded look softened a bit. "She was . . . a lovely person."

After that, MacLeod seemed to relax a bit. The drinks flowed, and Angel and Xan got along well with the Immortals. Eventually, Angel excused herself to the restroom. When she exited her stall, she found Amanda in front of the mirror, apparently attempting to smooth a piece of her very short black hair back down. She’s every bit as tall as Xan, Angel thought.

"You have such lovely hair," Amanda said wistfully.

Angel was startled. "Actually, I was just wishing I could carry off your style."

"Don’t cut an inch off yours," Amanda commanded. "I always wished I had hair your color. Even dyed it a time or two, but it just didn’t look right."

"How long have you known Adam?" Angel asked.

About a thousand years, give or take a few centuries, Amanda responded silently. Aloud, she said, "A long time. I lost touch with him for awhile, and then we met up again a little over two years ago. Why?"

Angel looked at her new acquaintance very seriously. "How is he? Really."

Amanda remembered all too vividly the oldest Immortal’s response to losing Alexa. It had been Amanda’s shoulder he’d cried on, and her heart still ached at the thought of that awful roar of pain he’d given in the trainyard where they’d fought over a misunderstanding. "I think he’s doing pretty well. It’s been a hard year for him, but . . . he’s stronger than he lets on."

"Good." Angel pulled out her lip gloss and reapplied it. "We’ve gotten to caring about him at the Covington Institute." She looked back at Amanda, who was refreshing her own man-killer red. "Tell me, is there something wrong between him and Mac?"

Amanda made an impatient sound. While she didn’t know the specifics of the problem, she did know she found its effects frankly tiresome. "You’re dealing with the two most stubborn, irritating males on the planet out there. I guess Mac found out something that Adam did a long time ago that he didn’t approve of, and now they’re punishing each other. It makes no sense to me, but you know how men are."

Angel laughed. "Well, I guess it’s none of my business. I suppose I’ve got to be content with matchmaking for Adam."

The Immortal woman’s eyes lit up. "Really? Who?"

By the time the two got out of the bathroom, they were friends. Amanda sashayed over to the table, where Xan was filling Mac in on what the IAXS was doing, and purred, "Oh, it’s so boring talking about work. Why don’t we talk about something more interesting, like, say, a certain well-built, curly-headed, blonde secretary?"

Methos gave Angel a look that should have flayed her alive, but it was too late. Amanda spent a delightful hour tormenting him before he finally called it quits, promising himself that he would get even if it took him another thousand years.

The five walked out into the Paris night, still talking and laughing. It was a warm night, and all of them had walked to the bar. When they’d gotten to the point where Mac and Amanda were about to peel off and head toward Mac’s barge, they stood for a moment while the ladies said their good-byes. Methos would never know what instinct prompted him to look up at that moment.

From a nearby rooftop came a metallic glint and a slight movement. Without thinking, Methos threw himself in front of Xan as a single shot rang out. The bullet that would have killed her slammed into his chest instead.

"Adam!" shouted Xan as his body fell, dragging her down with it. Mac and Amanda, shocked into immobility for only a moment, leaped into action. Amanda pushed down Angel, protecting her with her own body, while Mac found the gun Methos always kept on his person. Whipping it around, he shot at the sniper, who quickly disappeared.

Just as quickly, a half-dozen or so black-clad figures materialized on the otherwise deserted street. Suddenly, there was a mad whirl of violence. Angel crouched by Adam’s side, trying vainly to protect him. It hadn’t registered to her that he was already dead. Xan saw Mac and Amanda flanking each other as they fought off the dark figures. Absently, she identified Mac’s style as karate and Amanda’s as hapkido. Then she decided she wasn’t going to let them have all the fun. Summoning her rage at Adam’s death, she stood, took up a kickboxing stance, and began to do some damage.

Two well-trained Immortals and a very tall, very angry woman who’s just lost a friend can make short work of any number of thugs. As Mac finished off one and Xan another, the thug facing Amanda drew a knife.

She, in turn, flashed out a Rainbow Fan. The moment the thug saw the razor-sharp knives that made up its spines, he decided his interests were best served elsewhere. Amanda let him run while she turned back to the others.

"Angel, Xan, you okay?" Mac demanded.

Xan answered him with a terse nod. She had a few bruises, but those didn’t hurt as much as seeing Adam lying in the street, dead.

"Adam?" Angel’s voice was broken as she touched Methos’ face. He can’t be, she thought desperately. He can’t be dead. "Adam!"

Mac and Amanda traded a look. They didn’t know how much time they had before he awoke. Mac knelt by Methos’ side and found his cell phone to call the police.

Too late. A sudden gasp announced Methos’ return to the land of the living. Angel shrieked and Xan’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. Methos sat up, coughing a little. Mac groaned.

"But-but you were dead," whispered Angel.

Xan felt the last piece of the puzzle fall into place, but the picture it made was so unbelievable she was unwilling to commit to the answer. Now "Adam Pierson" leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, and smiled.

"Come on, Alexandra," he prompted.

Xena’s descendent narrowed her blue eyes at the creature in front of her. "Methos," she whispered.

A single nod confirmed the impossible.

"I don’t believe it," murmured Angel.

The company had moved to the barge. It had been a shorter pull than to Covington House. Neither Angel nor Xan had said anything on the walk there, but Methos could see the questions burning in Xan’s blue eyes.

"You’re Methos," she finally stated. "You really are Methos."

"How do you know about Methos?" Mac questioned.

Methos turned his quiet hazel gaze on Mac. "I told you about Xena and Gabrielle. It seems that Gabrielle wrote about me in her accounts of Xena’s life. Those scrolls were recently uncovered at Gabrielle’s Tomb in Greece. Needless to say, the Covington Institute was most interested in this ‘new character for their collection.’"

Angel walked up to Methos, staring him in the face. "You knew them. Like you know us, you knew them."

Methos nodded. "You’re very like your ancestor, Angel," he told her. "That’s why I fell down the first time I saw you. You looked so much like Gabrielle I had a hard time believing you were actually there."

Almost of its own accord, Angel’s hand came up, her fingers lightly brushing his cheek. "Methos," she said, as if trying on the name for size.

"This explains a lot about you, ‘Adam.’" Xan’s mouth quirked. "I knew some things didn’t seem to make sense, but I’d never have come to this conclusion if I hadn’t seen you die and come back. Speaking of which" and she turned her gaze on Mac and Amanda "you two—you’re Immortals too, aren’t you?"

"Guilty," confirmed Amanda.

Mac was frankly astounded at the way this woman’s mind worked. Obviously, Angel was no dummy, but Xan seemed to have a corner on extrapolation from very limited information.

"And since you called him the Old Man" Xan jerked her head at Methos "I would assume he’s the oldest of you three."

"Actually, I’m the oldest of all of us. Immortals, I mean." Methos crossed his arms, a rueful smile flickering across his face. "I wasn’t back then, but I am now."

Angel was still staring at him. "If Gabrielle’s account was accurate, you’re—five thousand years old?"

"Or thereabouts." Methos reached up and flicked a piece of hair from her shoulder. In a way, he was glad this had come out. He didn’t like hiding from these women.

Xan stood up and walked over to stand behind her friend. "All right, then, Methos. I’ve asked you this question before, but now I want the whole truth: why are you here with us?"

The Old Man sighed. "At first, I wasn’t entirely sure myself. Do you remember that night when you felt like someone was watching you?" Xan nodded. "I felt something, too. I checked out the time frame on that bombing in Macedonia, by the way. It took place less than an hour before we all got that feeling. Then there were the nightmares we all had. Tell me, Xan—do you remember from yours a tall, dark man?"

Xan suddenly shivered. "Yes, I do. The dream was so violent, and he seemed to be the center of it."

"I had the same man in my dream. Angel, do you remember anything from your nightmare?"

Angel thought hard. "It’s so hard to think—I’ve got this image of a man, though. Very tall, muscular, dressed in studded black leather, with sort of wild dark hair. He . . . scares me."

Xan raised her eyebrows. Methos nodded. "Sounds like the same man." Now he stood up and started pacing. "I was with the Covington Institute practically from the beginning. Janice Covington’s personal account of the incident in Thespin’s Cave describes the same man."

Now Xan sat down. "Ares? Tell me you’re joking, Methos."

Amanda spoke up. "Ares? As in, Greek god Ares? Methos, you can’t be serious."

The 5000 year-old looked troubled. "Ordinarily, I’d throw out the idea. Given the destruction of two IAXS digs and the attack just now, I’d think that someone was just out to hurt the Institute. The question would still remain, who?" He sat back down next to Xan. "Alexandra, Angel, Gabrielle wrote about the Greek gods not in abstract terms, but as if they were people she and Xena saw and talked to. Ares topped the list of gods they ran across regularly. Janice Covington described him in the same detail as Gabrielle, right down to the facial hair. Frankly, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Whoever or whatever Ares was—I think he’s still active. Supposedly, he was entombed in Thespin’s Cave. With the tomb breached . . ."

Xan suddenly shuddered violently, like she was going to be ill. A moment later, all five in the room, mortal and Immortal alike, felt a prickling in the air.

"Very good, Thanatos," came a mocking voice out of thin air. "I always said you were a bright boy."

There was a sizzling sound, and a strange light that seemed to darken the room rather than illuminate it appeared. It dropped toward the floor, and in its wake, the God of War materialized.

He was big, Methos thought. Taller and thicker built than even Mac, with wild black curls falling to his shoulders and a strangely trimmed beard that made his inhumanly beautiful face look fierce. Ares’ dark eyes scanned the mortals and Immortals.

"Quite the assemblage, Thanatos," the god commented. He walked over to stand in front of Amanda. Mac stepped closer, ready to protect her. "Here we’ve got one of Autolycus’ ilk." He looked her up and down. "Very attractive, though. Don’t suppose you’d be interested in the last of the Olympians?"

"I’ll pass," Amanda told him. It seemed to be one of those rare occasions when her brown eyes went hard as agates.

"Too bad." Now Ares moved in front of Mac. "Here we’ve got an honest-to-goodness warrior. Dedicated to fighting evil and injustice, defending truth and honor—enough to make you ill, isn’t it, Thanatos? Why do you waste your time on one like this?"

"We’re none of us perfect," drawled Methos.

"Not entirely true." Ares continued his evaluation of Mac. "Still, this one does have promise. Felt good, didn’t it, Highlander? Avenging the loss of Scottish blood after Culloden. Wreaking havoc on your enemies. Becoming the terror of the English as you fought and died and returned to fight again. Oh, yeah, there’s something inside you I can use."

Mac’s upper lip had disappeared. Those who knew him well knew this meant he was only an instant away from slicing into the nearest available Bad Guy. Ares laughed.

"There it is again, Highlander. Keep up the good work." The god sauntered over to look at Angel. "And, of course, every lifetime, we’ve got to have the Irritating Blonde. You have always managed to make a nuisance of yourself." Angel shrank from him, not in fear but in revulsion. "I can’t tell you how irksome I found your ancestor. I hope you’ll have better judgment than she had."

Now he turned to look at Methos, who stood casually, letting himself be examined. "Thanatos." The name should have shaken Methos, but it didn’t. He felt oddly calm about the whole bizarre situation. Ares spoke again. "We could have made such a team, you and I. I almost had you once."

"Oh, yes," Methos returned smoothly. "When was that? Why, that was right after you had my family slaughtered."

"I was doing you a favor," shot back Ares, showing real emotion for the first time. "You who could have been the greatest warlord ever and ruled for a thousand years, but you chose a peasant’s life instead."

"No accounting for taste." Methos’ voice was an Arctic wind.

Ares looked thunderous for a moment, then shifted his stance. "We could still make a great team. Come over to my side and I’ll do you a favor. I’ll leave all your friends alone—even the blonde. You always had a thing for her, didn’t you? If you work with me, Gabrielle’s little girl lives. If not . . . I’m not responsible for what happens to her."

"Don’t, Methos!" Mac shouted.

"Not to worry, MacLeod," said Methos calmly.

Ares laughed derisively. "Taking orders from someone who holds you in contempt, Thanatos? He does, you know."

"He’s young," Methos shot back. "And I don’t use that name anymore. You want a butcher, look elsewhere."

"Already thought of that." Ares looked insufferably smug. "Not as smart or inventive as you, Methos, but not bad, in his own way. Xena would find my choice very . . . appropriate. Speaking of which," He walked over to Xan, who stood looking at him with her lip curled in contempt.

"Alexandra," the war god breathed. "The perfect image of Xena. The very sight of you makes me feverish. Almost makes it a pity."

"What?" Xan evidently wasn’t impressed by this creature out of myth.

Ares stepped even closer. She held her ground. "Your lineage has always made things difficult for me, Alexandra. As long as one of you remains, my interfering sister Athena has a champion in the mortal world. I’m afraid that means I’m going to have to destroy you."

"I wouldn’t go there, Ares." Methos’ calm voice came as a bit of a shock after Ares’ declaration. Out of the corner of his eye, Methos noted that MacLeod had drawn his katana and started forward. However, Methos’ words had caught Ares’ attention. After a moment, the 5000 year-old continued. "Let me tell you a little story. You are, of course, aware of the events that transpired when Thespin’s Cave was first opened?"

Ares waved his hand impatiently. Methos went on. "Perhaps I’ll recap, for the sake of the others. Janice Covington and Melinda Pappas recovered the broken pieces of Xena’s chakram. Once they were brought together, the shock awakened Ares. However, it also awakened Xena, who inhabited the body of her descendent, Mel Pappas. Ares and Xena fought, Xena won, and the chakram was broken. Ares was once again trapped in Thespin’s Cave, and Mel Pappas got her body back. That’s not the official record, of course; it was the record found in Janice Covington’s writings after her death."

"We know all this," Ares said testily.

Methos smiled placidly, the look that had nearly driven Mac into a murderous rage several times. "Well, what’s not so well known is that during the fifties Janice Covington made another excursion to Thespin’s Cave with a small, select group of archaeologists. She recovered the pieces of the chakram. Eventually, she gave them to the one person she knew would be around if they were ever needed again. One Immortal person." Now Methos drew from his coat two C-shaped pieces of metal. Casually, he tossed one toward Xan. "Catch, Alexandra."

She caught it. Ares, suddenly realizing what was happening, reached for her hand—

But it was too late. Methos released the other piece, which flew across the room to its mate. Their joining was like a small explosion. The shock of light and noise caused Angel and Xan to fall down, and Ares was thrown across the room. It took him a moment to recover. From his vantage point on his bum, he said, "Oh, very bright, Thanatos. This’ll be fun." With that, he sizzled out of existence.

There was silence for a long moment, which was finally broken by MacLeod’s voice. "What the hell just happened?"

"MacLeod, I think we’re in for a long week," Methos sighed. He walked over to Angel, who was lying still on the floor. Mac made his way over to Xan. She stirred, then opened her eyes.

"Xan?" asked Mac. Something wasn’t right about those eyes . . .

She grinned wolfishly as she looked into Mac’s all-too-handsome face. "Now that’s a pleasant sight to wake up to. How many years has it been this time?"

"Uhhh . . ." This wasn’t Xan, Mac suddenly realized.

Whoever was inhabiting Xan’s body gave a sniff and grimaced. "Ares has been here. You can always tell from the stench." She grabbed Mac’s arm and stood swiftly. "He’s using somebody this time. Do you know who it is?"

Mac cleared his throat. "Methos, maybe you’d better take this one."

Methos was helping Angel up. She looked dazed for a moment, then focused on Xan. Rather, Xan’s body. For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Then Angel whispered, "Xena?"

Everyone in the room suddenly realized that Angel was no longer present, either. The look that crossed Xena’s face was pure joy. "Gabrielle?"

They were in each other’s arms in a bare moment, laughing and crying. Xena pulled back, wiping tears from Gabrielle’s face. "I can’t believe you’re really here. I thought I’d have to do this on my own."

"Never again," whispered Gabrielle, still crying. "I promised you last time, never again." Xena kissed her forehead and the two embraced again. Xena spotted Methos.

"Good to see you, Old Man," she greeted him. "You getting mixed up in this, too?" Gabrielle pulled free of Xena’s arms and went over to hug Methos.

It hit MacLeod like a thunderclap that Methos was in love with Gabrielle. There was no other way to explain his expression as he embraced her. It took Methos a moment to let her go. Then he turned to Mac and Amanda, who were looking, to say the least, confused.

"Mac, Amanda, meet Xena and Gabrielle," Methos introduced. "Xena, Gabrielle, meet Duncan MacLeod and Amanda."

Mac looked at Xena. He looked at Gabrielle. He looked at Methos. Then he spoke.

"I think I need another drink."

 

Methos lost no time bringing Xena and Gabrielle up to date on what had happened. They absorbed everything quietly. When Methos got to the part where Ares said he was working with someone else, though, Xena stopped him.

"He said I’d find the choice ‘appropriate?’" she questioned. Methos nodded. "To me, that sounds like he means he either brought someone from my time back from the dead—which would be difficult for even him after two thousand years—or he’s talking about an Immortal." She stopped, looking worried. "Methos, he wouldn’t mean Kronos, would he?"

Methos shook his head. "No. Kronos is decidedly dead. Not even Ares could change that."

"You knew Kronos?" Mac demanded.

Xena shook her head. "No. All I knew was what Methos told me of him."

Mac turned an accusing glare on Methos. "How much do they know, Methos? Did you tell them the truth?"

"They know more than you can imagine, MacLeod. More even than you." Methos’ tone should have been a warning, but once one of Mac’s sore spots had been touched, he could be difficult.

"Really?" The Highlander’s voice was tight with anger. "You conveniently left that out of what you told Amanda and me a few months ago."

"Can you blame me?" Methos sounded exasperated. "You didn’t even know about the Horsemen then, and it’s not one of my favorite conversation starters."

"You lied!" Mac accused.

"No, I didn’t," Methos snapped. "I concealed certain facts, yes, but I didn’t lie."

"There’s no difference," insisted the Scot.

Methos crossed the line from "irritated tone" to "deadly sarcasm." "Oh, yes. I forgot. You always introduce yourself as ‘Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, merciless slaughterer of the English after Culloden.’"

Mac went white. He didn’t even think about the next words he said. "Well, at least I wasn’t merciless slaughterer of women and children."

Methos flinched visibly. For a moment, anger and pain blazed from his hazel eyes. Then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and consciously slipped his mask back into place. His exit was a piece of artwork. Little "whatever" shrug and smirk, casual amble toward the door, practically shake the barge to pieces slamming it after him.

Gabrielle stood, gave MacLeod a look that made him feel about an inch tall, and ran after Methos. Amanda glared at her lover.

"Mac," she scolded. Whatever she was going to say next got cut off by Xena’s sudden, deadly quiet voice.

"Amanda," it said, "may I have a private word with MacLeod?"

Amanda looked at the other woman. There was no trace of affable, easygoing Xan Kanaredes left. Now the Warrior Princess was giving Mac a look that should’ve incinerated him on the spot and clutching her chakram like she was having trouble not letting it fly.

Xena gave Amanda a frightening smile. "I promise not to hurt him. Permanently."

The thief glanced back and forth for a moment. Mac looked at Xena, then back at Amanda. "I’ll be okay, Amanda," he reassured her. He sounded more sure than he actually was.

Amanda grabbed her coat and left, leaving Mac and Xena staring at each other.

 

Methos walked along the Seine, clamping down on his anger. His own words to MacLeod in Bordeaux echoed in his ears:

"What I have been, you cannot forgive. It’s not in your nature."

The Highlander would never forgive Methos’ past, he knew. Instead of seeing who Methos was now, he was seeing the blood-soaked ghost of Methos’ past.

It never ends, he thought. It’ll never be over. Didn’t you know that, Old Man? Or is it just that you can’t accept that?

Soft, pattering footsteps ran up to him from behind. "Methos!" Gabrielle called. He stopped.

He didn’t turn when Gabrielle touched his arm. For some reason, he didn’t think he could stand to look into her eyes right now. Therefore, she moved around front of him.

"Methos." She spoke his name softly, concern in her tone. He looked into her eyes. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to touch her. One hand came up, caressing her face. The other followed it. She moved a little closer. He reached out to embrace her, but as she came closer he realized that wasn’t all he wanted, and he was powerless to stop himself as he pulled her into his arms and brought his mouth down to meet hers.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders as she kissed him back, accepting him completely and giving freely of her own self in return.

 

Note to Subtexters: Don’t worry; Methos and Gab don’t "get together."

Note to everyone else: Sorry.

Crystal blue eyes locked on Duncan MacLeod’s face. He stood stock-still, wondering if he was going to have to fight this mysterious woman. For a moment, he was certain she was going to attack him. Then her posture shifted slightly. Mac was now pretty sure she wouldn’t take his head off, but he had no idea what else she was going to do.

"I don’t know you, MacLeod," she said. Her voice had changed, Mac realized. Gone was the soft Kiwi burr, replaced with an accent that sounded vaguely American, hard and dangerous. "You don’t know me, either. Since you’re so hung up on honesty" she hit the word hard "I think I ought to let you in on a few things.

"For starters, did you know I was once called the ‘Destroyer of Nations?’ I worked hard for that one." She walked over to stand toe-to-toe with the big Scot. " ‘Ares’ Favorite’ was another big one. You’ve met him; you know what a charmer he is. Of course, a lot of my titles weren’t repeatable. I was a butcher, MacLeod; a warlord bent on conquest, and I didn’t much care who got in my way."

A thundercloud formed in Mac’s face. "Methos made you out to be some sort of hero," he accused, as if Xena’s words were yet another betrayal.

"Later, yes," she said. "I finally met a line not even I could cross, and when I did, I turned around. I tried to redeem my past by taking up the cause of good. But it wasn’t easy. Do you have any idea how hard it is to do what you know is right when everyone around you sees only your past? Or, worse yet, when you’re the monster in your own nightmares?"

MacLeod suddenly turned away, remembering the violent dreams that had plagued him ever since his rampage after Culloden. Xena’s voice followed him.

"You do, don’t you?" it asked. "What did you do?"

It took him a moment. "My people, the Scots, were conquered by the English. We fought, but they defeated us. Not content with that, they tried to decimate us." He paused for a moment, the familiar pain welling up. "After we lost the war, I went out and killed every English soldier I could find. When I found the generals and lords who commanded them, I killed them, too."

Silence reigned, broken by Xena’s voice. "So it begins. My first earned title was ‘Lioness of Amphipolis.’ I started out trying to defend my home, Amphipolis, from warlords and bandits. That grew to subjugating the towns and villages around it. That grew to piracy. It all went down one long, slippery slope until I became the sort of monster I’d started out to fight." She let that sink in for a moment. "Did you ever wonder about Methos? Have you asked him why he became what he did?"

"Nothing can excuse what he was," Mac stated flatly. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what might’ve become of him if Ceirdwyn hadn’t stopped his rampage.

"No, nothing can," Xena agreed, surprising the Highlander. He turned and saw that she’d sat down on the sofa. "But if you understand where he came from, you might have a little more compassion. With compassion comes the ability to lend your strength where it’s needed."

Those amazing blue eyes looked away, and Xena was silent for a long time. Finally, Mac asked, "What exactly do you mean?"

When Xena looked back at him, her face was softer. "I mean that when I gave up my life as a warlord, I was lost. I didn’t know what to do, or how to even be a human being again. Then I met a young girl who insisted on following me wherever I went. She became my way, my source, and because of her, I found my path. I’m not saying I didn’t backslide a time or two, but without Gabrielle, I would’ve gone back to what I had been within a year."

MacLeod felt an undercurrent to what Xena was saying that made him uncomfortable. He turned away from her penetrating stare. Her voice followed him.

"Like it or not, MacLeod, you’re an example to Methos. You help him find the right way. I could see it between you two the moment I reawakened." MacLeod heard Xena stand and walk over to him. "What you do about that is your business. If you choose to shut him out because of what he was, I can’t stop you. But maybe you’d better understand a little more of what he can be."

Mac turned back to face Xena and was surprised to find tears standing in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was tight with remembered pain. "The worst part about dying was that my soul was still so tightly linked to Gabrielle’s that I could still feel her pain, and there was a lot of that. She’d been hurt physically in the battle with Ares, but that was nothing compared to open wound in her heart caused by my death. I couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t comfort her. All I could do was nudge her in one direction or another.

"As she was heading back to the Amazons, I pushed her along the road, all the time realizing her time was limited. She’d lost her focus for living. What she needed was someone to take care of the necessities of life for her—food, shelter, physical healing—so that she could release the grief that was strangling her. So I nudged her in the direction of the finest healer I knew: Methos. I hoped he’d take her in.

"He did better than that. He doctored her wounds, made sure she ate and slept, comforted her through her nightmares—and he didn’t do it to look like a good guy, or to get her in bed with him. He did it because he loved her. And because he loved her, she healed.

"You work that into the image you have of the man you just condemned." With that, the warrior-woman turned to walk out.

"Xena."

She turned back to MacLeod, ready for a fight, if that’s what he wanted. It wasn’t. He looked at her, his golden brown eyes less guarded than they had been for a long time.

"I think it’s time Methos and I talked," he said slowly.

Xena smiled approvingly. "I think so. We’ve all got better things to fight than each other." She turned and walked out onto the deck of the barge.

Now comes the tough part, Mac thought. Now I’ve got to apologize to a stubborn 5,000 year-old with a knack for mental torture. Can’t I just get boiled in oil instead?

 

Amanda sat quietly on the deck of the barge, idly playing with her Rainbow Fan. Well, she’d come to Paris for a little excitement, hadn’t she? Of course, the excitement she’d been looking for was of the 400 year-old Scottish variety, but why be picky?

Now this. A Greek god (gorgeous, but he gave her the creeps), two warriors out of the ancient past, and another tiff between Methos and Mac. Bermuda was nice this time of year . . .

There was a sound from below. Amanda watched as Xena emerged, then looked around until she spotted the thief.

"I didn’t hurt him," the warrior stated without preamble, walking over.

Amanda gestured for her to sit down. "Really? Too bad. When he gets to behaving like this, I feel like killing him myself a few times until he gets over his big self."

A rich laugh, like and yet unlike Xan’s, came out of Xena’s throat. "I’ve been accused of being stubborn a few times in my life, too. A few times in my death, too, for that matter."

They were interrupted by the door opening and shutting again. Mac emerged, tossed a smile to Amanda, then walked off in the direction Methos and Gabrielle had gone.

Amanda looked back at Xena. "So what’s the story with Methos and your friend—what was her name? Gabrielle?"

The warrior grinned ruefully. "Methos loves her. The light in her that attracted me had the same effect on him. Gabrielle doesn’t love him in exactly the same way, but there’s still a bond there." Xena’s voice was warm. "Gabrielle once pulled him back from the brink of being a killer again, and he returned the favor some years later by saving her life."

"Sounds fair enough," conceded Amanda. "I’m fond of the Old Man myself. He’s known me ever since I was a wee baby Immortal."

"Really?"

Amanda grinned impishly. "He and my teacher were good friends. Sometimes I suspected them of being more than that, but I never had the nerve to ask."

Xena considered her. "You know, I only met one female Immortal that I know of. She was a beautiful redhead named . . ."

"Rebecca," Amanda finished for her. "She was my teacher."

Xena caught the huskiness in Amanda’s tone. "When did she die?"

Amanda bit her lip. The pain of Rebecca’s loss would probably never leave. "Only a few years ago. One of her students violated the Rules and killed her for something she possessed that he wanted. He’s dead now, too, but it doesn’t bring Rebecca back."

"No," Xena agreed softly. "It never does."

The thief shook off the uncharacteristic heavy mood. "Exactly why are you here now? I mean, generally, coming back from the dead is a privilege reserved for Immortals."

Xena sighed, looking at her chakram. On impulse, she gave it a throw. It ricocheted off a few lampposts before coming back to her hand. "I made a deal with Athena that I would come back whenever the world was in danger from Ares again. The last time was about sixty years ago. There was also another time about two hundred years before that. This time, I’m hoping to finish it for good."

"Can you do that? I mean, with him being a god and all . . ." Amanda trailed off.

"The Olympians weren’t all-powerful," Xena explained. "There were ways to trap them. There’s even a way to kill them, but I’ll have to discuss that with Methos."

Amanda nodded. She found she was adjusting to the situation surprisingly well, probably because she was starting to like Xena. "Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know."

"I’ll need a sword," said Xena. "Can you get your hands on one for me?"

The thief waved her Rainbow Fan negligently. "Not a problem. I’ll loan you one of mine. You can take your pick."

Xena looked at the fan, a feral half-grin tugging at her mouth. "You have got to teach me how to use that."

Amanda smiled. She touched the chakram lightly. "Teach me how to use that thing, and it’s a deal."

 

He’s a good kisser, Gabrielle thought. In fact, he’s incredible. Those 5,000 years of experience really show. I must speak with Angel about her hormones.

Slowly, reluctantly, Methos pulled out of the kiss. "I-I’m sorry," he whispered.

"Don’t be," she admonished him. He pulled her into a tighter embrace, and she buried hr face against him. He smelled wonderful.

I’ve really got to talk to Angel about her hormones, Gabrielle thought.

"I’ve missed you so much, Gabrielle," breathed the Immortal. "Gods, how I’ve missed you!"

"I know," she murmured. "When you think of the dead, the dead hear your thoughts."

"Then you know I love you."

There was no response, but Methos didn’t need one. He knew she didn’t love him in the same way he loved her, but that was beside the point. Gabrielle, who had a perfect right to judge him for his past, didn’t. She knew his worst, and yet she still offered him her friendship and her love. Not only that, she accepted his It’s grace, he thought. Just grace.

After a few moments, she pulled slightly out of his embrace. "Oh, and Methos—I did send Alexa to you. Sometimes, you can give a nudge to someone you love, someone who’s connected to you, and she was my child. I nudged her to you because . . ."

"We needed each other," he finished for her. One hand caressed her face again. He shook his head, as if in disbelief. "Gabrielle, how can you . . ? You know what I’m capable of; how can you still accept me the way you do?"

She smiled serenely. "Because I know what you’re capable of. You’re capable of loving someone back to life, Methos. Do you know how rare that ability is?" Her eyes glimmered as she remembered sobbing out her broken heart in his strong arms. "You keep focusing on what you have been, Methos. I prefer to look at what you can be."

There were no words that would’ve expressed what he was feeling, so he kissed her again, very gently. "You’re a miracle, Gabrielle," he finally murmured.

The Immortal buzz hit him and he stiffened. Gabrielle moved slightly away so she could see past him. Methos already knew who it was.

"Methos?" MacLeod’s voice called.

Gabrielle looked back at Methos. He smiled slightly at her. Silently, she slipped from his embrace and started walking back to the barge. As she walked past Mac, she gave him a warning look.

Methos felt the warmth of Gabrielle’s love leeching away from him as he turned to face the Scot. "So how goes it, Highlander?"

The tone was too deliberately casual, Mac thought. A wave of irritation swept over him. "I thought we should talk," he stated as calmly as he could.

"What, you want to hear more gory details about my past?" Methos inquired. "You want to know names, places, dates?"

"I don’t need to know that!" Mac snapped.

"Oh, but you do, or I’m not being completely honest with you, and that’s the same as lying, isn’t it, Highlander?" Methos’ tone was acid.

"What do you want from me, Methos?" Mac demanded. "My pardon? My forgiveness?"

"I need no forgiveness from you, Highlander," Methos bit out. "And you haven’t the right to pardon me. I never wronged you." Mac had to acknowledge the truth of this. "But even if I did have the forgiveness of Cassandra, the one person who was there, it wouldn’t erase the damage I did. You want candor? Fine. I make no bones about it, MacLeod. I was a monster, a savage, a nightmare, and if there was any justice in the universe, I wouldn’t exist. Lucky for me, there’s no justice."

Mac suddenly recognized something. He remembered Methos once telling him over tea and cookies that "I haven’t felt guilt since the 11^th century."

Don’t you wish, Old Timer, Mac thought. Aloud, he said, "Well, we’re none of us perfect." Methos’ head snapped up to fix Mac with a penetrating gaze as the Highlander finished quoting Methos’ own words back at him. "Not you, not me, not even Darius."

Their eyes met fully for the first time since Bordeaux. For just a moment, there were no walls between them. Then Methos looked away as if embarrassed. MacLeod knew it was necessary for the oldest Immortal to keep that much distance . . . for now.

"Come on back to the barge," Mac urged gently. "I think the bunch of us have some things to discuss."

Methos moved forward tentatively, as if unsure the offer was real. He looked at MacLeod and, seeing genuine warmth in the younger Immortal’s eyes for the first time in too long, began walking back to the barge with him.

A whooshing sound grabbed Methos’ attention. Now where had he heard that before?

"Duck!" he suddenly shouted, grabbing MacLeod’s shoulder and pulling the larger man down. Something clanged on the lightpost behind Mac at just about head level, then went ricocheting away.

"Sorry!" yelled Amanda from the barge. Methos looked up to see Xena catching her chakram and glaring at the Immortal woman. He turned back to Mac.

"On the other hand, I hear Bermuda’s nice this time of year . . ."

Duncan MacLeod emerged from his bedroom. Normally, he would’ve done some t’ai chi or even a kata first thing in the morning, but this particular morning, he had guests to disturb.

The previous night, after the whole group had reassembled at the barge, Xena and Gabrielle had thought to go back to Covington House (they seemed to be able to access Angel and Xan’s memories). Amanda, however, had absolutely insisted that they stay on the barge, largely because she saw the opportunity for mischief. Methos had backed her up, saying that since Xena was the primary target of an Immortal, she should be protected by Immortals. Naturally, Xena had balked at this, but in the end, Methos had convinced her it was for the best.

Methos had also promised to come by the barge first thing in the morning. Of course, the ancient’s definition of "morning" was just a little different than the general population’s, let alone Mac’s. The Scot didn’t expect him until at least eleven o’clock.

As Mac entered the barge’s living area, he realized that accidentally disturbing his guests was a moot point. Xena was already awake and doing slow movements that reminded Mac of t’ai chi. The warrior-woman had borrowed a set of Amanda’s silk pyjamas, which were a bit tight on her (Mac estimated that Xena outweighed Amanda by at least twenty to thirty pounds, even though they were about the same height), but still looked good. Gabrielle was nowhere in sight.

Mac watched Xena for a moment, admiring the control with which she moved. After she finished the t’ai chi-like exercise, she moved into a graceful kata. The Highlander decided to make his presence known. He walked barefooted over to the cleared area she was using—where he normally did his own morning exercise—and bowed to the warrior. She bowed back. Silently, with a unison that could only come spontaneously, they both took up positions, ready to spar.

She was good, Mac realized. She easily answered his first attack, probing for his weaknesses as he probed for hers. Then she went on the offensive, her attack so swift and aggressive he was reduced to blocking her blows. Finding an opening, he attacked—

--and found himself on his back. He recovered quickly, throwing her over him before she could finish him off. In a moment, both were back on their feet. She grinned, baring her teeth. Mac realized he was smiling back. He drove in for another attack. Now she was forced to be on the defensive. Just as he thought he had her pinned, though, she suddenly turned, bounced on the couch, and flipped over his head to land behind him. She drove her weight into his back, nearly pinning him down on the couch. At the last possible second, he threw her over and she landed on her back on the floor. The Highlander seized his advantage and pinned her down.

"You’re good," she panted.

"You’re not bad yourself," Mac returned.

Someone cleared her throat. Mac and Xena both looked up to see Amanda watching them, one eyebrow raised.

"Don’t you ever get enough?" drawled the thief. Mac flushed and quickly climbed off of Xena.

"It wasn’t what it looked like," he insisted.

Xena grinned wickedly. "Don’t believe him, Amanda. The man’s insatiable."

"Well, I already knew that." Amanda cocked an eyebrow at her lover. Mac felt a headache coming on. Apparently, Amanda had found a kindred spirit. Throw in Methos’ brand of humor and the Highlander wondered if he’d survive the experience. Or if they would. For a moment, Mac envisioned a triple beheading.

"I’m hungry," complained Gabrielle’s soft voice. All three looked over to see her emerging from the guest room, rubbing her eyes and wearing one of Mac’s T-shirts (which came down to her knees).

"I’ll fix something," volunteered Mac as he beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Amanda giggled, and Xena winked at her.

"This’ll be fun," said the warrior-woman.

 

Methos showed up at precisely 11:15. "I feel like a beast of burden," he groused as he entered the barge. He looked a bit like one, too. He had two duffels slung over his shoulders and was carrying another, suspiciously long bundle under his left arm. When he reached the middle of the room, he let all three burdens drop to the floor and performed an Olympic-class flop-and-sprawl on the couch.

Xena grinned. Some things, apparently, never changed. "What’ve you got?"

The oldest Immortal squirmed free of his coat. "I dropped by Covington House on my way over and picked up your descendants’ personal effects. Figured you’d want a change of clothes. After that, I went to Amanda’s apartment and fetched a couple things you’ll probably need, Xena."

Amanda fixed her older friend with a look. "My apartment was locked and the security system was turned on." An enigmatic smile greeted her protest. She gave a disgusted sniff. "Just what did you remove from my digs anyway?"

Methos bent down and picked up the long bundle. It turned out to be a black trenchcoat wrapped around one of Amanda’s light broadswords. He turned his hazel-eyed gaze to Xena. "Like to try it out?" he asked.

Of course she did. It was longer than her old sword, and the balance was different, but overall, she found it to be a fine weapon. "Maybe we could do some sparring, Old Man," Xena suggested.

Methos relaxed into his sprawl as his own trenchcoat dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. "Not me, princess. You might be able to talk Amanda into sacrificing herself, though."

Xena turned her feral gaze on Amanda. "What do you say, Amanda? I need to get the hang of this blade—not to mention Alexandra’s body."

Amanda’s fair brow crinkled. "What’s that like, anyway? Sharing a body with someone?"

"Not bad," Xena shrugged.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes at her friend’s verbal economy. "Angel and Xan are kind of asleep right now. They have the sense of what’s going on, but if they were any more awake, not having control of their bodies would be distressing for them. Fortunately, we get access to their memories, including your language." The bard looked thoughtful. "English is a strange beast, though."

"We do have their consent," put in Xena. "It has to be that way. We’ve also got a time limit this time. Five days exactly from the time the chakram was rejoined. After that, we have to leave."

"So what are you two planning?" asked Mac.

Xena considered her company. MacLeod was a warrior, and a good one. He obviously had a strong sense of personal honor and loyalty, which evidently brought him into some conflict with Methos. However, those same traits could make him into a great asset in her plans. Amanda was different. Xena would lay odds against her being a warrior, although she obviously could fight, and very well. There was something in her face, though—something in the contrast between her wide, innocent brown eyes and her impish mouth that made Xena feel like Amanda was the sort of woman who might do anything—absolutely anything. The warrior-woman couldn’t quite figure out who Amanda reminded her of.

Then there was Methos. In many ways, he was the same man she’d met 2,000 years ago. There were some differences, though. He was more tightly controlled, more guarded, with fewer vulnerabilities. That worried her a little. Maybe she’d ask Gabrielle to do some investigating.

Xena looked back at Gabrielle. As usual, the bard had been following her friend’s thoughts. These three were the allies they’d been given; it was time to get to work.

"First, we need to find out who the Immortal is who’s helping Ares," Xena said, automatically including all in the room in her plans. "Secondly, we need to find the location of a particular object. Third, I need to get some practice with this sword and Alexandra’s body."

"First things first," put in Methos from his sprawl. "MacLeod, how would you like to introduce Xena to your Watcher?"

Mac looked wary. "Not a good idea, Methos."

"Watcher?" inquired Gabrielle.

"An organization that observes and records the activities of Immortals," explained Methos.

"Sounds perfect," declared Xena.

The Highlander shook his head. "Methos, how do I explain this to Joe? ‘Hey, Joe, we’ve got a visitor from the ancient past here, and she wants to know what Immortal the Greek God of War is siccing on her.’"

Methos snorted. "One word, MacLeod: lie."

"Lie?"

"Lie." The ancient bestowed a patient look on the Scot. "Tell Joe that Alexandra and Angel were attacked last night and an Immortal was involved. Tell him that we suspect that it was someone with a grudge against Xena who is now trying to wipe out her line or something. It’s not that far from the truth."

Mac looked dubious. "That’s pretty thin," he noted.

"It’ll do," Xena decided for them. "If this Watcher has any sort of pictures, I might be able to identify whoever it is."

The Highlander felt himself getting in over his head. "It’s a long shot, Xena," he warned her.

"Do we have a choice?"

Mac thought a moment. "No. This will have to do."

"Moving on," said Methos. "What’s the object you’re concerned with, Xena?"

"A dagger." Xena got up. Mac had already noted that the woman didn’t like to stay in one place for long. "If I’m reading Alexandra’s memories right, it’s something the Covington Institute has tried and failed to get their hands on, but I’ve no clue where it is right now."

Methos sat up. "A dagger? Ornate handle, about so long, with dark stains on its blade?"

"That’s it!" Xena exclaimed. "Where is it?"

"Here in Paris." Methos looked at his old friend. "It’s in a museum devoted to ancient weapons. I know that the Covington Institute’s been trying to get it for years because it’s something that came into play in the Xena scrolls."

"We have to get it now," Xena stated flatly, "even if we have to steal it. I wish Autolycus was here . . ."

Methos chuckled. Xena’s eyes narrowed. "What?"

The ancient relaxed back into his sprawl. "We may not have the King of Thieves here, Xena . . . but we do have the Queen."

All eyes were drawn to Amanda, who smiled modestly.

 

About an hour later, Mac found himself walking toward Le Blues Bar with Xena. He couldn’t get over what a strange situation this was. The ancient warrior was wearing standard Immortal gear—a long trenchcoat with a sword hidden inside—and she was over two thousand years old, yet she wasn’t Immortal.

He contemplated her. Mac had only known Xan Kanaredes for a short time before her body had been taken over by Xena, but his impression of the young woman was that she was laid back, smiled and laughed easily, and had a formidable brain. Xena, on the other hand, was purely a warrior. Everything else was secondary. About the only thing she had in common with her descendant was her obvious intelligence.

"There’s something you should know, MacLeod," she said suddenly. It was the first time she’d spoken since they left the barge. "That five-day limit isn’t for Gabrielle and me; it’s for Angel and Alexandra."

Mac looked at her worriedly. "How do you mean?"

She didn’t look at him or break her pace. "I mean that after five days, if we don’t leave, Angel and Alexandra will never be able to come back. Gabrielle and I will remain in their bodies."

Mac stopped abruptly, blanching. "You mean they’ll be locked out of their bodies forever?"

"Yes." She looked into his face. "I’m telling you this because we’re going to have to force a confrontation before then, if we want Angel and Alexandra to survive. Ares may decide to wait it out because he’ll believe I won’t sacrifice them to stop him."

"Will you?" Mac questioned. He already knew the answer.

"Yes." Xena resumed walking.

Mac caught up to her a moment later. "You’ll sacrifice your own descendant for this?"

"I have no choice." Her eyes were hard. "Back in Greece, Ares was dangerous enough. At least then, we had the moderating influence of the rest of the Olympians. Now we don’t. Your world is a violent one, MacLeod. Ares could gain unimaginable power. If I have to sacrifice Alexandra to stop that, I will." Mac didn’t know what to say to that. Xena gave him a sidelong glance. "I always had a reputation for ruthlessness, MacLeod. It wasn’t entirely unearned."

He could see that. They went without speaking the rest of the way to Le Blues Bar. As they were entering, Xena suddenly stopped. Mac looked questioningly at her. The look on her face was . . . rapt.

It took him a moment to figure out what it was that had so thoroughly grabbed her attention. Joe was inside, playing his guitar and singing his heart out. Xena, Mac realized with a start, was a music lover. The Scot watched in amazement as myriad emotions played over her surprisingly expressive face. She was practically drinking in Joe’s music.

She stood stock-still until Joe finished his song and realized he had an audience. The old Watcher grinned at his guests. "C’mon in," he called. Xena let out a breath MacLeod suspected she’d been holding for some time as she followed Mac inside.

Joe stood, grabbing his cane, and made his way over to them. "What can I do for the two of you?"

"Joe, you remember Xan Kanaredes?" Duncan asked.

"Aw, who could forget?" The old Watcher dropped back into the easy flirtation of his bartender persona.

Xena smiled widely. "Your music is wonderful," she complimented. "What’s it called?"

"Little thing I wrote called ‘That River.’ Glad you like it." Joe turned his attention back to MacLeod. "Mac, you have the look of a man who’s going to tell me something I don’t want to hear."

Mac gritted his teeth and decided trying to blunt the blow wouldn’t work. "You’re right about that, Joe. We need Watcher help." Joe looked sharply at him, then darted an involuntary glance toward Xena. "She knows, Joe. She saw Adam rise from the dead last night."

Joe muttered something under his breath and wiped at the back of his neck with one hand. "Okay, why don’t you two come back to my office and we’ll talk about this."

Mac and Xena joined Joe in his office, and Xena watched, fascinated, as the Watcher booted up his laptop. She sifted through the memories of the modern world she’d gained from Xan and came up with similar devices, but she couldn’t quite comprehend them. Too many years and layers of technology lay between her and them.

"All right, what’s the story?" asked Joe bluntly.

Duncan took a breath. "Last night, someone tried to kill Xan. Luckily, Adam took the bullet for her. Since then, she’s received another death threat. We know there’s an Immortal involved, and we believe this has to do with Xan’s work and her family."

"Your family?" inquired Joe, looking up at the tall woman.

Xena nodded. "Yeah. We think this has to do with an ancestor of mine who I’ve done research on—a warrior-woman from two thousand years ago."

She was smooth, Duncan thought. He picked up the conversation. "We’re hoping to get lucky and match up an Immortal from the Watcher database with a description from the Xena Scrolls. It’s a long shot, but it’s all we have to work with."

Joe scratched at his salt-and-pepper beard. This was all on the shady side of his Watcher oath. Not that he hadn’t been there plenty before, but it still bothered him. Xena caught on to his discomfort and decided to lay her trump card on the table. It was actually something Xan had come up with, even in her half-awake state. Xena liked the way the girl’s mind worked.

"I know this isn’t easy for you," the warrior said softly, "but I do need your help, Joe. And to sweeten the deal, I’d be willing to persuade the IAXS to share all the information we have on the Immortals Xena ran across in her travels."

Joe perked up. "Which Immortals?"

Xena shrugged. "Just the few that she had confirmation on. Troyius, Rebecca, Autolycus . . . Methos."

That got the Watcher’s attention. Autolycus and Methos were the two most slippery Immortals the Watchers had ever observed. Any extra information on them would be a serious feather in the cap of whatever Watcher brought it to light. Joe turned back to his computer screen, not noticing that Mac seemed to have swallowed a pigeon. "Okay, what are the criteria?"

"Just two that I can think of for now," said Xena. "We know he’s male and at least two thousand years old. Can you work with that?"

"Actually, yeah. There aren’t all that many true ancients left. ‘Course, if we don’t have First Death information on him, that gets dicey, but let’s look at the ones we do know first." Joe whistled little snatches of the blues as he tapped in the criteria Xena had given him. "Here’s some trivia for you, Mac: did you know that once you get past the two thousand year age barrier, there are more female Immortals than male ones? Makes you wonder about who really runs the show." The computer chattered happily to itself as it searched. In a few minutes, a red "Search Completed" flashed onto the screen, and Joe hit "Display."

"Okay, Marcus Constantine. Ring a bell?" Joe directed the question at Xena, who shook her head, not recognizing Constantine’s face.

"I don’t think Marcus would be involved in something like this," put in Mac. He rather liked the ex-Roman general.

Joe hit a key. "Moving on . . . Cassius Polonius." Another head shake from Xena. "Timotheos Alexandros?" Nope. "Koji Asari?" Apparently not. "Dracius Cornelius?"

"Draco!" Xena hissed.

Duncan strode over to look at the dark, handsome visage on the screen. "Think we have a winner, Joe. Xan?" The cold, icy glare Xena was giving the screen worried him. "I take it you recognize this one?"

"Oh, yeah," she practically growled, then got herself back under control. "He was a warlord who amassed an army powerful enough to take over Greece. I . . . know Xena fought him and killed him, scattering his followers. I guess death didn’t exactly take." Her mouth twisted. "Two thousand years later, he’s still the same old warlord. Guess some things never change."

Joe looked puzzled. "We lost track of him about a week ago, in Berlin. What I don’t get is why he’s taking this up after two thousand years."

Xena’s eyebrow quirked. "Something’s changed, apparently. Guess we’ll have to find out what." She squeezed the Watcher’s shoulder. "Thanks for your help, Joe. I’ll have the Covington Institute send you that information as soon as possible."

As Mac and Xena exited, she turned to him. "I never knew Draco was Immortal. I just knew he was evil—and smart. If he’s working with Ares, we’re facing a tough fight."

"We can handle it." Mac felt confident of his ability to face any Immortal challengers, and he was beginning to see why Methos had spoken of Xena as such a force to be reckoned with. Speaking of which . . . "Is it my imagination, or did you just sell Methos up the river for that information?"

The Warrior Princess turned her smile on him. "Like I said, MacLeod—I’m ruthless."

 

Methos and Gabrielle sat on the floor of the barge, leafing through Alexa’s sketchbook. Amanda was out casing the museum, and Methos was glad to have a little time alone with the bard; having her there had stirred up confusing feelings for him, and he wanted to sort them out. Muddled feelings, after all, are terrible things to go into a battle with.

The drawings were beautiful. Some were pencil, others charcoal, and still others were colored pencil or full-color oil crayon. Each sketch had a caption and a date, and a few had little anecdotes written on them. Gabrielle stopped at an oil crayon of a sunset.

" ‘Sunrise over Santorini,’" she read. "How lovely."

Methos nodded. "Alexa loved Greece. I guess it was in her blood. This whole section of her scrapbook is Greece."

Gabrielle flipped the page. The next work, a pencil drawing, wasn’t of Greece at all. It was a sketch of Methos lying in bed, asleep, with the caption, "He Sleeps."

The ancient touched the picture. "I remember waking up to see her sitting in a chair beside the bed, drawing me. When she saw I’d awakened, she asked me if I’d be willing to lie there for a few more minutes so she could finish the sketch."

The bard’s eyes locked on his face. "Love never dies, Methos. When you think of the dead, the dead can hear your thoughts. Remember?"

"Then I guess it must be pretty noisy where Alexa is right now," Methos said softly, "because I’ve been thinking about her so very much of late."

Gabrielle’s eyes never left his face. "You’ve changed a lot, Methos. You’re more closed off now. Why?"

The ancient sighed. "Two thousand years ago, I was just coming out of the most violent portion of my life. I was rebuilding myself from the ground up. You found me in the middle of that, when my walls weren’t yet in place. Now they’ve been up so long I don’t think I know how to open them anymore." He rose and walked over to a window. "And who could I ever be completely honest with, anyway? The next oldest Immortal I know is a full 1,000 years younger than I am." He turned his glorious hazel eyes back to Gabrielle. "No one now living—no one—has any frame of reference for those times I remember."

"You’re lonely," Gabrielle deduced. Methos said nothing, but she knew she’d hit the mark. She rose and walked over to stand with him as he gazed back out the porthole. "Methos, no two people have the same story—mortals, Immortals, it doesn’t matter. What brings them together is the desire to understand as much as they can. You have friends here, Methos. They want to understand. Even if they don’t, or can’t, you can at least make the effort."

"Do they really want to know me?" asked Methos, his voice bitter. "Didn’t you catch that grandstand with MacLeod last night?"

"Yes." She looked at his face until he met her eyes. "He does want to understand, Methos. Why else would he have come after you? He’s making an effort; you can at least meet him halfway."

Methos wanted to refute her words, dismiss them, but he couldn’t. MacLeod, proud, honorable warrior that he was, hadn’t yet kicked Methos out of his life, in spite of all that had happened. And Methos had willingly stayed, even while sensing MacLeod’s discomfort with him. Maybe there was something to build on after all.

He turned to the woman standing next to him, smiling a bit in amazement. "How did you get to be so good at this?"

"Practice," she returned. "Remember who I lived with."

The ancient wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "I have missed you, Gabrielle."

A moment later, he stiffened. "Immortal?" asked Gabrielle. In answer, Methos went back to the couch and picked up his sword just as the door opened and Amanda descended into the barge. She plucked the long-haired chestnut wig from her head and helped herself to a chair.

"Well, that was enlightening," the Immortal beauty breathed. "They lock that place up like Fort Knox at night."

"Giving up so soon?" teased Methos. Amanda gave him a dirty look.

"Of course not. The museum that can keep me out hasn’t been built. It’ll just take a little finesse, that’s all." In another second, both Amanda and Methos went still.

"It’s MacLeod," Methos realized. Funny how that works, he thought.

Sure enough, Mac and Xena walked in. Xena looked at Gabrielle.

"Draco," she stated without preamble.

"Draco? He’s Immortal?" Gabrielle wasn’t pleased at the concept.

"Yeah. But at least now we know what we’re dealing with." She looked at Amanda. "Did you find the dagger I told you about?"

The thief nodded. "It’s sitting conveniently below a skylight. I figure I can get in from above and never have to worry about the floor sensors, but I’ll have to confuse the motion sensors. It shouldn’t be a problem. Are you sure that’s all you want? There’s a gorgeous Roman gladius, and a real beauty of a . . ." she trailed off as she caught Mac’s "Be good" look, and cleared her throat. "It shouldn’t be a problem," she repeated.

"The dagger’s all I need." There was a bleak look in the warrior-woman’s eyes. "I’ll go with you tonight. You may need protection, and I’ll need to be sure it’s the right dagger."

"I’m going, too," announced Gabrielle. Xena started to object, only to be cut off. "No, Xena. We’re doing this together, remember?" A moment passed in which the two made eye contact, but nothing was said or done. Finally, Xena smiled a little and shrugged.

She turned to Amanda. "So how about a little sparring?"

 

Mac was worried.

What had prompted his current state of mind was the sparring match between Xena and Amanda. Amanda, being 1,200 years old, had easily beaten Xena in the first few spars. Then Xena had started to gain on the Immortal. Those matches had been wonderful to see—Mac seldom got to see Amanda’s sword techniques, and he’d been pleasantly surprised to discover how good she truly was. Xena had pushed the thief to the limits of her abilities.

Then it had started to get worrisome. The ancient warrior-woman wasn’t just pushing Amanda—she was pushing herself to her limits and beyond. Even when they’d both been red-faced, soaking with sweat, and out of breath, Xena had insisted they go on. There was a look in Xena’s eyes, a set to her face, that was so coldly determined it had sent chills down Mac’s spine. Finally, Gabrielle had gone over to her friend and said something to her, very softly. After that, Xena agreed to end the workout.

And Amanda had walked over to Mac, taken a drink of water, and said, very quietly, "There were times I was afraid she was going to kill me—or herself."

They’d come back to the barge and eaten a light dinner. After that, Methos had gone back to his apartment and Xena and Gabrielle had gone to their room to rest a little before helping Amanda with her burglary. Amanda had left to get her equipment from her apartment. That left Mac time to brood. Xena was obsessed, he realized. She’d died and lived and died and lived time and again to stop Ares. He wondered how many others had fallen to her obsession. Or how many more would.

Methos descended into the barge to find it largely deserted. Only Mac remained, and he was looking markedly unhappy.

"They said they didn’t need me," the Scot said by way of greeting, and sighed.

The elder kept his amusement under wraps with some difficulty. "Then they probably don’t. Amanda’s as good at what she does as anyone I’ve seen, and Xena and Gabrielle are more than capable of watching her back. Face it, you’d only get in the way."

"Gee, thanks," snorted Mac. "I feel a lot better now."

"Anytime." Methos cheerily walked into the kitchen, helped himself to a beer, and found a couch to sprawl on. Mac winced as he heard the bottle cap land with a faint "ping" behind his refrigerator; he swore Methos had invented that little move specifically to irritate him. Judging by the smirk on the ancient’s face, he wasn’t far wrong.

The Scot’s brow wrinkled. "Methos, how well do you really know them?"

"Xena and Gabrielle?"

"Yeah."

Methos sighed softly, thinking. "If I add up all the time I actually spent with Xena, the total would come out to under two weeks. I spent more time with Gabrielle, of course."

"That’s it?" Mac demanded.

"That’s it." Methos met the Scot’s halfway alarmed, halfway outraged look calmly. "With some people, it doesn’t take long, MacLeod. Xena’s a fairly complex woman, but she’s also straightforward; what you see is what you get. And Gabrielle, of course, is just as she seems, almost perfectly without guile. I trust them."

Mac didn’t look convinced. "With your life?"

Methos raised his eyebrows. "I don’t think it’ll come to that. In spite of her ruthlessness—and may I add in passing that she’s quite possibly the most ruthless person I’ve ever met, up to and including Kronos—she doesn’t risk more than she has to. Except herself. The person I’m most concerned for is Alexandra."

"Can’t argue with you there," Mac muttered, running a hand through his long black hair.

"Just go with it, MacLeod," Methos said softly. "I know from experience there’s no arguing with the two of them once they’ve set their collective minds to doing something. That doesn’t mean, though, that we can’t help them stay alive while they’re doing it." He paused briefly, thinking. "Besides, I owe Ares one. He killed off a family I had once upon a time. I didn’t take it too well then, and I’d like him to know I don’t appreciate it any more now."

Mac just muttered something else under his breath and ran his hands through his hair again. Methos thought he was going to end up pulling it all out.

"You know, you’re no fun whatsoever this evening," the ancient told Mac.

The Highlander gave him a look. "So why don’t you leave?"

Methos relaxed further into his sprawl and lifted his bottle. "Oh, I will. But not until I’ve finished my beer."

Mac attempted a glare, but ended up chuckling before getting up to fetch a beer of his own.

 

Amanda found the museum’s security system childishly easy to muddle. It was almost disappointing, she mused. A thief likes a challenge.

"Done," she whispered to her two companions. They made their way up to the roof, and Amanda had to admire the swiftness and silence of the other two women. Once they’d gained the roof, Amanda set up her gear, a remote-controlled winch that would lower her into the museum, while Xena removed a pane of glass in the skylight. Gabrielle kept watch with a pair of night-vision binoculars.

What none of them knew was that another person was entering the museum at about the same time.

Amanda slipped into her harness and lowered herself carefully into the hall, then used the remote to descend gracefully toward the display she’d scouted earlier. As soon as it was in range, she flipped upside-down and reached for the case . . .

Buzz. Amanda’s eyes widened. This was no position to be caught in. A curious squeaking noise caught her attention, and she suddenly became aware that someone was lowering himself toward her.

"Amanda?" asked a male voice. She knew it all too well.

"Jarvik!" she hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," shot back Jarvik. "And if you’re going for that dagger, sweetheart, you ought to know—it’s mine."

Amanda strained to look at him. Jarvik was sitting in a harness similar to hers, only he was upright. He was just as suavely handsome as he’d ever been. He had the type of face that actually looked good with the pretentious little mustache and goatee he wore. Somehow, that fact irritated her.

"Look, Jarvik," she bit out, "I’d love to argue with you over who gets the dagger, but this time, it’s not up for debate. I have friends who need the thing." Again, she started reaching for the case.

"Oh, no you don’t, gorgeous." Jarvik’s voice had always irritated her, and it was more annoying than ever now. "You have no idea of its significance. I happen to know people who need it more than your people possibly could."

"You don’t even know who my people are!" Amanda realized suddenly that she was one step short of shouting. She lowered her voice. "Ever hear of Xena?"

Jarvik lost hold of his line and flipped upside down, ending up face to face with Amanda across the case. "Who did you say?" he demanded.

"Xena." Amanda was a little confused at the effect the warrior’s name had on Jarvik. "She’s on the roof right now, and she needs the dagger."

"That’s impossible," Jarvik stated flatly. "Xena’s been dead for two thousand years. I’m getting the dagger for her descendent."

Amanda gave a snort of impatience. "Look, Jarvik, I don’t have time to explain right now. If you’ll help me out, I promise I’ll explain later."

The mention of Xena’s name seemed to have shaken Jarvik badly because he didn’t even bother to argue as he lifted the case’s lid. Amanda fetched the dagger, which she tucked into her belt, then righted herself and cued her winch to raise her. That was when she saw Jarvik’s gear.

He’d made a perfect spider’s web of lines across the flagpoles near the roof of the hall, and was manually cranking himself up toward them. Amanda’s mouth twisted.

"Still using the same gear you were using during the Renaissance?" she taunted. "The world has changed just an itty bit, Jarvik."

Jarvik, unfazed, continued hoisting himself upward. "If I don’t build it, sweetheart, I don’t trust it. And might I remind you, before you get too high and mighty, that I have a much cleaner record than you?"

"Only because you never take any chances, old guy."

"Only because I’m not reckless, girlie."

Amanda outpaced him, but as soon as Jarvik had reached the flagpoles, he unwound his lines from them with remarkable speed. Then, much to Amanda’s dismay, he threw a grappling hook into the same opening she’d lowered herself through. Amanda stopped her winch.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" she half screeched.

Jarvik swung out on his line, then began to shimmy up it. "Just making sure you don’t get too much of a head start on me, Amanda. And no, I haven’t forgotten Florence, just so you know."

"You going to hold that against me forever?" Amanda finished her ascent and was pulled out to the roof by Xena. The thief looked at the warrior. "Small problem, Xena."

"You’ve got company." Xena didn’t sound either surprised or particularly disturbed. In fact, she sounded . . . amused. In another second, the warrior-woman was helping Jarvik out onto the roof. He looked amazed to see her.

"Hello, Autolycus," Xena greeted him. "I thought that grappling hook looked familiar." Gabrielle scampered over.

"Autolycus? What are you doing here?" she asked. Both the ancient women were smiling broadly.

"Xena? Gabrielle?" the man Amanda knew as Jarvik said, unbelieving. "How . . ?"

Xena smiled even more broadly. "Long story, old friend. It’s good to see you."

"Excuse me?" Amanda waved a hand. "Am I missing something here?"

The other three started, as if they’d forgotten she was there. Xena made the introductions. "Amanda, this is Autolycus, one of our oldest friends. Autolycus, I take it you know Amanda?"

"Oh, I know Amanda, all right." He didn’t sound very pleased about it. "She and I worked together once—and only once."

Amanda folded her arms across her breasts. "Your friend seems to blame me for the fact that we got caught breaking into a mansion in Florence once upon a century. Of course, how he gets from the fact that it was his insistence on doing things his way that got us into trouble to the proposition that it was my fault is beyond me."

"If you’d actually done what I told you, we wouldn’t have gotten caught!"

"Aw, blow it out your . . ."

"Quiet!" Xena commanded. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the nearby rooftops. Gabrielle lifted the binoculars again.

Only the faintest of scraping sounds alerted them a second before black-clad figures came swarming up onto the roof. Xena grabbed her chakram and let it fly, knocking two over the edge. Then she drew the sword she’d borrowed.

"Xena! Don’t kill!" shouted Autolycus as the figures advanced.

"What?!"

"Just don’t. Not more than you have to." And then they were fighting.

Amanda was fairly impressed at the work Jarvik—rather, Autolycus—was doing with only his hands and feet. Xena used her chakram and the flat of her blade as weapons, and Gabrielle also seemed a competent hand-to-hand fighter. The Immortal thief didn’t have much time to watch them, though, as the thugs were coming for her as well.

They weren’t any match for the four they had been sent up against in terms of skill. However, their numbers gave them the advantage. So did their weapons. Amanda had to use her Rainbow Fan to fend off several knives. Fortunately, the quarters were a bit too close for guns, she thought.

Too soon. One of the men near the edge of the roof raised a rifle to shoot at Xena. Gabrielle spotted him and threw a rock, sending his shot awry, then ran at him. He struck her aside using the butt of his gun, then raised it to finish her off . . .

And a second later was falling over the edge as Xena’s chakram struck him in the face. Amanda, who was closest to Gabrielle, ran to her. The tiny blond was alive, but unconscious.

"Amanda, get her out of here!" Xena shouted. Amanda hoisted the bard, who moaned weakly.

"Gabrielle? Honey, you’ve got to hold onto me, okay?" Gabrielle seemed to hear her and wrapped her arms around the taller woman. Amanda looked around for any possible exits. Near the edge of the roof was a radio antenna, complete with a long cable. The thief wrapped Gabrielle’s arms around her neck, then grabbed the cable. A moment later, the two were descending toward the Paris streets, Amanda’s black trenchcoat flapping around them.

Gabrielle collapsed as soon as their feet touched the ground. Amanda yanked off her gloves and touched the smaller woman’s head. Even that light touch brought a gasp of pain. "Concussion," muttered Amanda. She hoped it was just a mild one. The thief laced an arm under Gabrielle’s, hoping to support her long enough for them to reach safety.

Methos’ apartment, she thought. It was only a few blocks away. Gabrielle was groggy, but she was able to walk most of the way. However, shortly before they reached Methos’ door, the bard collapsed again. Amanda scooped her up and walked to Methos’ door, sensing him inside. She gave the door a few good, hard kicks.

After a few moments, the door opened to reveal Methos, clad in blue boxers and an Ivanhoe broadsword and looking markedly testy. "Amanda, I sincerely hope you’re not making a habit of this . . ." he trailed off as he saw the limp figure in Amanda’s arms. "What’s going on?"

Amanda’s patience gave way. "I’m having a butch moment, Methos! Would you let me in?"

In response, he dropped his sword and made way for Amanda. "Here, give her to me and tell me what happened," he ordered, holding out his arms.

Transferring an unconscious body from one set of arms to another isn’t easy. "I said hand her to me, Amanda, don’t grope me!"

"Don’t flatter yourself," Amanda snapped. And my, she thought, isn’t that skin just as silky as it looks. "Nice boxers, by the way."

"I take it things didn’t go exactly according to plan?" Methos inquired a little too politely, laying Gabrielle on his bed.

"Not exactly," Amanda admitted. "We were just wrapping up when we got attacked. Gabrielle got hit in the head with a gun butt, and Xena told me to get her out of there."

Methos turned to look at the thief. "And you just left Xena there to handle the rest?"

"Not alone. We had . . . help." Amanda wrinkled her nose.

Methos decided to examine Gabrielle in favor of pursuing that subject. "Mild concussion, I think. She’ll be all right with a little rest."

The bard’s green eyes opened. "Methos?"

"How do you feel?" the ancient asked.

"Head hurts. Where’s Xena?"

Methos glanced at Amanda. "Apparently, she’s taking care of the help."

Gabrielle attempted a nod, then winced. "She’s good at that. Ow."

"Rest, Gabrielle," Methos ordered gently. The bard complied.

Amanda slipped out of her coat and boots and took over the couch. "You really care for her, don’t you?" she asked softly.

Methos nodded. "Gabrielle sort of inspires that."

The buzz of an approaching Immortal hit them both. Methos was across the room retrieving his sword in a bare second. Someone knocked on the door.

"Methos" Xena’s voice came from just outside. Curious, the ancient opened the door.

There stood Xena and Autolycus. Methos got over his shock first.

"Junior!" he greeted the thief expansively. "How are you doing?"

Autolycus cursed in Yiddish. "You! Didn’t they outlaw your sense of humor at the Geneva Convention, Methos?"

Methos gripped his chest. "Yet again, I am skewered to the heart by the rapier wit of Autolycus, King of Thieves. Élan!"

Said King of Thieves looked the ancient up and down. "Nice boxers," he commented.

"What happened?" Methos turned to address Xena, who was sporting a nice bruise on one cheek and looking irritable.

"More of Draco’s thugs," she said. "Seems he or Ares figured out what our next move would be. I still don’t understand why I shouldn’t have just killed them."

It was Amanda who answered. "Because the French police don’t take dead bodies lying all over the roof of a museum lightly, Xena. There would have been questions. As things stand, the survivors probably are taking care of the bodies as we speak; Draco won’t want to attract any more attention than is strictly necessary."

Xena nodded, then walked over to Gabrielle. "How is she?"

In response, the bard’s eyes opened. Xena leaned over and hugged her fiercely. "I’m okay, Xena," said Gabrielle, voice muffled against Xena’s shoulder.

"Her head’s got a fair-sized dent in it, but she’ll be all right with a little rest," Methos told the warrior.

Xena laid her best friend back down. "Yeah, and probably sooner than you think." She turned to meet Methos’ curious look, and her mouth quirked. "Athena said we would heal faster than most mortals when we inhabited the bodies of our descendants. In her words, we’ve been ‘quickened.’"

Methos barked a laugh. "An irony. By the way, welcome to my humble home."

Xena looked him up and down, then grinned wolfishly. "Nice boxers."

Methos snorted and went to fetch a T-shirt. Amanda looked curiously at Xena.

"How did you know this is where I’d come?" the thief asked.

"Didn’t." Xena shrugged lightly. "While MacLeod and I were walking to Joe’s earlier, he pointed out Methos’ apartment to me. When I realized how close it was to the museum, I figured this is where you’d head." Now she turned her gaze on Autolycus. "I am curious to know what you were doing, Autolycus."

The King of Thieves had been pouring himself a drink from Methos’ favorite bottle of bourbon. Now he relaxed into a chair, took a swig, and looked surprised. "Hey, this is good stuff, old man. Maybe your taste isn’t as bad as I always thought it would be."

"Thanks," Methos said sarcastically. "By all means, make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa."

"I will." Autolycus drained the rest of the bourbon, then addressed Xena. "In answer to your question, Xena, I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. A few nights ago, I woke up with the thought that I wanted to get that dagger for your people at the Covington Institute. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. Next thing I know, I’m in Paris running afoul of all you people. And I still don’t understand what you’re doing here, Xena."

"Ares broke out of Thespin’s Cave," the warrior stated flatly. "He’s working with Draco, trying to build an army. My deal with Athena says that I will return to stop him as long as my line lasts."

Autolycus raised his hands. "Oh, no. Not doing it this time."

Methos grinned. "Just give in, Junior. You’ll save yourself a lot of time and effort."

"Have I ever told you how much trouble I’ve taken on account of them?" Autolycus asked. "Or how many perfectly good heists I could’ve been pulling in the meantime?"

Amanda snorted. "You have this thing about blaming all your problems on women, don’t you?"

That got her a glare. "Look, sweetheart . . ."

"Autolycus?" Xena’s voice cut him off. The elder thief glanced over at her. "We could really use your help," the warrior said softly.

A short war played out on Autolycus’ features. Finally, he gave a groan of frustration. "Fine, twist my arm, why don’t you?"

"Great, just perfect," muttered Amanda sulkily. "Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the museum . . ."

"Oh, shut up," snapped Autolycus. "I’ve been pulling heists since before you were dreamed of."

Abruptly, Methos stood. "All right. Out, you two. I’ve got a patient here, and I won’t have a Quickening in my apartment. Plays havoc with one’s interior decorating."

The two thieves left, still squabbling. Methos sighed and looked at Xena. "Should I kill them now, or later?"

"They’ll be useful," Xena murmured. She finished examining Gabrielle, who apparently met with her approval, then shed her coat and shoes. "I don’t think she should be disturbed, so we’ll just stay here. Thanks for the help, Methos." With that, she climbed into Methos’ bed alongside her friend and threw one protective arm over her. Then she proceeded to fall asleep.

Methos’ protest died on his lips. After watching them for a few moments, he grabbed a spare blanket and sacked out on his own couch. As he laid down, he threw one more glance at the sleeping women. "Mi casa es su casa."

 

When morning came, Methos was startled to see how much Gabrielle had recovered in just one night. Whatever had been done to their bodies wasn’t on a par with Immortal healing, but it was much faster than any mortal healing the ancient had ever seen. Although Gabrielle complained of a slight headache, there was little hint of the concussion she’d incurred the night before. Shortly after she and Xena awakened, they left to go chase down some breakfast and a change of clothes at the barge.

Methos took a shower. As he exited the bathroom, he suddenly stopped. There was a rude shock waiting for him in his living room.

Kronos was laying on his couch.

No, Methos reminded himself. Not Kronos. "Ares."

Kronos’ face twisted into a mocking grin. "Bright boy."

"Why are you wearing that face, Ares?" Methos inquired almost politely. "It doesn’t really suit you."

"I like the reaction it gets," said Kronos’ voice. "The memories this one stirs up for you are . . . quite invigorating." Now the god wearing Kronos’ body stood and walked over to the former Horseman. "I’d like to offer you another chance to join my side, Methos. My offer to let your friends live still stands. Think about it: we could rule the world together. You’re a lot better than Draco, Methos, but I’ll take what I can get. The difference is, if you don’t join me, I’ll not protect the blond. You join me, she lives . . . and I could make her yours. Don’t tell me the thought of her in your bed doesn’t appeal to you."

Methos’ brow wrinkled. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I think you made Kronos just a shade too tall."

The form shimmered and morphed into the God of War. "Bravado, Methos?" Ares mocked. "That’s not like you."

Methos’ mouth quirked. "No. It’s not bravado. It’s called going with the winner." Deliberately, the Immortal stepped closer. Kronos had always invaded Methos’ personal space, a purposeful intimidation. Now Methos made the same gesture. "The real Kronos was killed by MacLeod. You were imprisoned by Xena—several times, as I recall. Draco’s boys didn’t stand much of a chance with Xena, Gabrielle, Amanda, and Autolycus last night. You want to lay odds? I’d give you ten to one against coming out of this the winner. And I hate being on the losing side."

Ares’ expression darkened dangerously for a moment. Then it smoothed, as effective a mask as Methos had ever worn. "Just keep thinking that, Thanatos. As a famed warrior once said, ‘I have not yet begun to fight.’"

Methos shrugged dismissively and walked around the god. He snapped his fingers and turned around, as if a thought had suddenly struck him.

"You know," Methos said, "I’ve been wondering: exactly how limited are your powers this time? I mean, you went to so much trouble to bring us all here—blowing up the IAXS dig was a little on the excessive side, if you ask me. The dreams were a nice touch, though." He sprawled back onto his couch.

Ares considered him. "Okay, I’ll bite. I don’t have much influence outside of southern Europe. When I realized I wouldn’t be able to do much to Alexandra while she was in New Zealand, I decided to bring her here. Getting you in the bargain was just a bonus."

Methos considered this. "And you were able to free yourself from Thespin’s Cave because of all the fighting in that part of the world."

"Oh, yeah!" The God of War’s features lit up with unholy enthusiasm. "Nice little donnybrook they’ve got going out there, isn’t it? Ethnic hatreds are so much fun. I’m thinking of expanding the concept." A map of Europe suddenly appeared in the air. Ares gestured at Greece like a weatherman. "Now, I’m thinking that I could get a little something stirred up between the Greeks and the Italians (never much did like those Romans anyway), and then spread that to . . ."

"So let me see if I’ve got the timeline straight here," interrupted Methos. "The fighting in the Balkans awakened you, and as you gained strength, you were able to start influencing it. Eventually, you were even able to get enough bombing near the tomb to weaken it to the point that you could free yourself. At that point, you tried looking up Alexandra, but were unable to do anything except influence her dreams. Therefore, you caused an explosion at the IAXS dig in Greece. We came to Europe, and the rest is history. Am I correct?"

Ares irritably gestured his map out of existence. "Just about. Why cramp your brain, Thanatos?"

"First rule of war, Ares." Methos drilled him with his most penetrating stare. "Know your enemy. Knowing your moves up to this point makes me better able to predict what you’ll do in upcoming confrontations."

Ares shook his head sadly. "MacLeod and the Crowd are such a waste of that magnificent brain of yours, Methos. Why don’t you join up with me? I’d hate to have to destroy you."

"And you’re still not up to full power, Ares. I don’t take your threats seriously." All humor had dropped from Methos’ manner. "I told you before: I go with the winner. Now leave my house."

"Say hi to Gabrielle for me," Ares spat distastefully. Then he sizzled into invisibility.

 

Back at the barge, Amanda was running interference. It wasn’t her favorite thing to do, but at least in this case, listening to a few of Gabrielle’s stories was interesting. Mac had asked her to keep Gabrielle busy while he talked to Xena. He found the warrior-woman disturbing, and Amanda couldn’t really fault him for that. Amanda liked Xena, but that obsession of hers looked like it could get people killed.

"Of course, when we found out the statue had been stolen and Autolycus was in town, we naturally assumed he had something to do with it," Gabrielle was saying. "As things turned out, he did, but not like we thought . . ."

Amanda turned her attention back to the little bard, fighting hard to keep her nose from wrinkling at the mention of Autolycus.

Xena, for her part, knew exactly what was happening. When Mac caught her gaze, she rose and walked out on deck, leaving Amanda and Gabrielle at the table. Mac followed her outside.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Xena asked bluntly.

Mac met her eyes steadily. "I don’t like my friends’ lives being put in danger. Your obsession with Ares is doing exactly that."

"The whole world’s in danger because of Ares, MacLeod," Xena stated. "I have to stop him."

"And how many lives are you willing to throw away?" Mac pressed. "How many people are going to get hurt just because they’re in the way of your fight with Ares?"

Xena looked at him unflinchingly. "I’m ruthless, MacLeod. Not careless. I protect those I care about."

"Well, so do I," Mac informed her. "My friends are my responsibility, and if I see them being endangered because of you, you and I will have a problem."

"Do you include Methos in that number?"

The question startled Mac briefly, but it also made him realize something. "Yes. I do," he answered. "Methos and I may have our problems, but he’s still my friend, and he’s still put his life on the line for me. I’ll do no less for him."

For a long moment, two sets of eyes, one warm brown and one ice blue, stared into each other.

Then Xena laughed.

It was the last thing Mac expected. Her rich, husky laughter, pleasing to the ears, was almost more disconcerting than if she’d been angry.

"I like you, MacLeod," she finally said as her laughter ended. "You’re a good man. I think we’ll get along just fine."

"Thanks. I think," Mac responded, not certain what to make of her change of mood.

The warrior-woman sobered. "Listen, MacLeod, I don’t want Gabrielle, or Methos, or Amanda, or Autolycus getting hurt any more than you do. I spent my mortal lifetime trying to protect Gabrielle, and those times when I failed her still haunt me." Xena paused briefly. "But I also have to protect the world from Ares. The greater good always takes precedence. Do you understand that?"

Mac did. "Yes."

"Good." Xena’s features softened suddenly as she realized who MacLeod reminded her of: Calion, the father of Xena’s daughter, Lycea. Same warrior’s heart, same strength, same nobility. "I think all our friends have the best chance if we work together, MacLeod. Ares has an Immortal champion now. They won’t be easy to beat."

"I can beat Draco," Mac stated unequivocally.

"You sure?" Xena questioned. "You’ve never faced him before, have you?"

"No," acknowledged Mac. "But I know what’s at stake."

Xena liked his answer. "Okay, then. You take care of Draco, and I’ll worry about Ares. Between us, we’ll keep our friends safe."

Mac looked at her for a few moments, realizing the two of them were a lot more alike than one might think. He realized something else, too: she wouldn’t risk the lives of those she loved any more than he would. Methos was right. Mac felt a smile tug at his mouth. "Sounds like a plan."

The buzz alerted him that Methos was approaching. Xena grinned wryly. "Not exactly a plan yet, MacLeod. Methos can help us with that. But I’ve got a few ideas—just to get us started."

Just after Methos had boarded the barge, the Immortal buzz hit him and Mac again. They looked back over their shoulders to see another dark-haired man standing near the gangplank. He seemed to be fighting an interior battle.

"Junior!" called Methos, sounding delighted.

Uh-oh, thought Mac.

"Autolycus! Glad you could join us," called Xena. She turned to Mac. "He’s a good friend, MacLeod."

Mac turned to Methos. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Methos favored the Scot with his most irritating smirk. "Nothing at all. But you might want to ask Amanda."

"Do I have to do this?" called Autolycus.

Xena tried to look reassuring. " ‘Fraid so, old friend. We need your help."

Autolycus seemed to gather his resolve and trudged up the gangplank. He approached Mac. "Hi there, name’s Autolycus. You would be Duncan MacLeod, and he’s Methos. Apparently, you know him. My condolences."

Mac wasn’t sure what to make of this salutation. "Glad to meet you. Why don’t we all go below deck?"

The small group filed down into the barge’s living area. Mac immediately caught on to the dislike between Autolycus and Amanda. What, he thought, have I stumbled into?

Methos set up his laptop on Mac’s living room table and proceeded to help himself to a phone jack and a beer. Then he started tapping in commands. The room grew restless, with only the sound of Methos’s typing breaking the silence.

"Methos?" Mac finally prompted. The ancient practically jumped out of his sweater.

"Ye gods on Mount Olympus, MacLeod!" Methos growled irritably. "Why don’t you just give me a heart attack?"

Mac sent up a prayer for patience. "Would you care to let the rest of the group in on what you’re doing?" Methos mumbled something. Mac was sure he’d misheard. "What?"

"Hacking Interpol," Methos pronounced deliberately.

Mac choked. Xena and Gabrielle looked perplexed. Amanda looked interested. Autolycus grinned smugly.

"Oh, that’s easy," the elder thief said, flopping down on the couch beside Methos. "Need help?"

Methos spared him not a look. Amanda gave an explosive sigh of exasperation.

"Oh, sure, yeah, right," she snapped. "You, a hacker. You couldn’t hack an abacus, old guy."

Autolycus looked at her through half-lowered lids. "Shows what you know, beautiful. I happen to be an expert hacker."

Amanda snorted. "Thought you didn’t trust anything you didn’t build yourself."

"I don’t." Autolycus took a moment to savor the look on Amanda’s face. "I built my computer myself. Took the best parts I could get my hands on and put ‘er together." He smiled. "I call her Galatea."

"And now we know what your current relationship is with," the younger thief said, very snippy.

"Better a computer than you," Autolycus shot back, even snippier.

"Will you two kindly stow it?" requested Mac.

The two thieves retreated to their respective corners, and Methos gave a soft "aha."

"Find something?" asked Xena.

"Yeah, you could say that." The group gathered to look of Methos’ shoulders. "This morning, I got a visit from everyone’s favorite War God. He seemed fairly determined to bring me over to the Dark Side, and I got to wondering just what his game was." Methos tapped the screen. "I did a little checking of news services. Interpol just confirmed my hunch."

"Care to enlighten us?" inquired Autolycus.

"Certainly, Junior," Methos replied magnanimously. "In the past week, there has been a positive rash of weapons and materials thefts. Everything from light arms and ammunition to bomb parts, mostly in Europe, but also in some of the former Soviet republics in Asia."

"Ares is building his arsenal," Xena deduced.

"More than that, Xena." Methos tapped in a few more commands. "He’s setting up his headquarters." The screen lit up with a map.

"Hey, I know that place!" Everyone looked at Autolycus, who had spoken. "It’s an old manor house. Used to be a hideout for the French Resistance back in World War II. It’s just outside of Paris."

"Well, Interpol is keeping it under surveillance," said Methos. "They suspect that the arms are being funneled through there. I suspect that we’ll find our good friend Draco keeping an eye on his operations from there. Autolycus, you wouldn’t happen to know the layout of the place, would you?"

"I not only know the layout, I can get you a blueprint," boasted the elder thief.

"Showoff," muttered Amanda.

"Easy, honey," murmured Mac.

Xena, meanwhile, moved down beside Methos on the couch. She looked hard at the map.

"This is where he is?" she asked. Methos nodded once.

Xena looked at Gabrielle. Gabrielle looked at the screen, then locked eyes with Xena.

"We’re not going to have to wait for Ares to make the first move," the bard said, very softly.

"No," agreed Xena. She looked back at the screen, and her eyes were flat. "We’re gonna take the fight to him."

 

The day was devoted, for the most part, to planning their onslaught. Mac thought once or twice that he was going to have to break up the Autolycus/Amanda bickering by killing one or both of them, but finally, a plan of action was agreed upon.

Long about late afternoon, Methos left to get something he said was important. Amanda disappeared somewhere, and Mac sat down to listen to Autolycus, Xena, and Gabrielle get caught up with each other. Autolycus regaled the two women with (slightly exaggerated) tales of his exploits while Xena and Gabrielle listened, both with slightly knowing smiles on their faces.

Mac noticed something about the two women. As time ticked down to the final confrontation, both of them seemed to grow quieter and more focused, and they also became physically closer. Mac had noticed the closeness between them before, but now it seemed almost that they were clinging to each other. At the moment, Gabrielle was literally sitting in Xena’s lap. Xena had her arms wrapped around her smaller friend, and her chin rested on Gabrielle’s shoulder.

Why, thought the Immortal. It would make sense if they feared they would die, but they know that no matter what happens, both of them will still be dead. Do they fear something worse than death?

Another thought occurred to him. Perhaps they were only reacting to having each other in the flesh again. A scrap of a Robert Frost verse surfaced in the Highlander’s mind: "Earth’s the place where love is. I don’t know where it’ll be any better."

No matter what form it took, it was evident a very great love existed between these two women. It was a love so strong that death had no effect on it. It even followed their descendants through the generations, always drawing them together. A love that could not be bound by a mortal lifetime.

The Immortal presence suddenly sang through Mac’s head. Autolycus also stiffened.

"It’s Methos," Mac announced. In another moment, Methos was stepping into the barge. He was bearing a duffel.

Autolycus looked at the Highlander quizzically. "How’d you know?"

"Long story," Mac told him. The Scot looked at Methos, who was looking at Xena and Gabrielle on the couch. The ancient man’s expression was full of affection and regret, a strangely poignant combination. Methos’ gaze shifted to find Mac’s, and Mac saw his own ruminations echoed in that chameleon gaze.

Methos broke the eye contact. "I brought you two presents," he announced to Xena and Gabrielle. He walked down into the living area of the barge and presented the two with the duffel. Curious, Gabrielle unzipped it and looked inside. Xena looked with her. There was a moment of startled realization on both their faces, and then Xena looked at Methos. A slow grin spread across her face.

"Perfect, Methos." There was a purr in her voice. She and Gabrielle both rose and took the duffel into the bedroom they were sharing.

Mac looked quizzically at Methos. "What was that?"

Methos grinned enigmatically. "You’ll see soon enough."

"Okay, I’m ready." Amanda’s voice rang out from the bathroom door. Three heads turned to look in her direction, and two jaws hit the floor. Methos chuckled.

Amanda had dressed herself in black—a skintight black turtleneck and equally skintight leather pants—but, paradoxically, had dyed her hair white. Methos and Mac had both seen her with that look before, but it was no less striking for its familiarity.

"Oh, very good," commented Autolycus. "This your idea of subtle? You could see that head ten miles off!"

"Don’t be so stodgy, darling," Amanda replied lightly. "I have a black beret that’s just perfect for the occasion."

In another moment, all talk was silenced. Xena and Gabrielle had emerged from the bedroom, and Methos’ "presents" were revealed.

Xena was dressed in a dark brown leather battle dress ending just above her knees. A sculpted breastplate and armored boots, plus the metal-and-leather bracers on her arms had transformed her into the ancient Warrior Princess once more. Gabrielle was no less intimidating in her own leather skirt and halter top, which displayed her tight, slim musculature. As she walked forward, Mac realized her boots had a pair of sais in them.

Both of them seemed reluctant to pull on long coats over their ancient battle gear. Somehow, it was right that what they were be revealed now, as the final confrontation loomed.

"It’s time," announced Xena. All four Immortals shrugged into their coats, each automatically checking the placement of their weapons as they did so. It was time.

The group of six made its way to the door, but suddenly, Xena turned back, staring at Amanda.

"Amanda?" she asked. "What in Tartarus did you do to your hair?"

 

As night fell, six figures moved silently through the countryside just north of Paris. Methos raised a pair of night vision binoculars to his eyes.

"I see Interpol’s nice, legitimate stakeout from here. Gods, what has cloak-and-dagger come to? They’re right out front." The ancient swung the goggles toward the manor house that was their target. "Getting past the guards shouldn’t be much of a problem, but I suspect there’s a fairly sophisticated alarm system starting at the outer wall and not stopping until we’re inside."

"That’s what I’m for," said Autolycus, wiggling his fingers.

"That’s what we’re for," corrected Amanda. The two thieves traded a look, but seemed to have called a truce for the time being.

"Let’s get to it." Xena’s voice was eerily calm.

The six moved swiftly and quietly around to the manor’s back gate, where Amanda and Autolycus worked in perfect concert to muddle the security system. After a few minutes, the gate obligingly opened, and the group moved inward.

The two guards at the back of the house never knew what hit them. After they were down, Amanda started working on the security pad next to an old servant’s entrance.

"You realize that as soon as we’re inside, there will be security cameras," she reminded Xena in a whisper. "All this can buy us some time, but we’re going to face resistance, and soon."

"That’s the point," whispered Xena back. "We’re here to make noise."

Amanda tried the handle on the door. It wouldn’t budge. "That’s weird. I could’ve sworn . . ."

Autolycus moved to the door and started working at the lock. "Mechanical lock on top of the electronic one, sweetheart. What are they teaching you kids nowadays?"

Amanda visibly bit back a sharp reply. In another few moments, the door opened.

Xena figured destroying Draco’s weapons reserve would get the attention of both Ares and the warlord. What she really hoped was that Draco would be at home; failing that, blowing up his headquarters would probably make him irritable enough to respond to a challenge.

The first order of business was to find the house’s circuit breaker and put it out of commission. "I really hate this," complained Amanda as she worked with the wires. "Creating this much chaos goes against my instincts. Besides, they’ve probably got the security system on a different circuit."

"The order of the day is creating chaos, Amanda," Methos told her softly. The lights abruptly went out. Methos shrugged out of the pack he was carrying and handed it to Autolycus. "You two find the ammunition depot and plant the charges; the rest of us will cover you."

The elder thief accepted the bag and pulled Amanda to her feet. "Let’s shag it, sweetcheeks."

"Don’t you wish," shot back Amanda. The two disappeared into one of the manor’s many secret passageways.

"Time to make some noise," growled Xena. She ditched her duster. So did Gabrielle.

The four began to make their way in toward the center of the manor. Autolycus and Xena had pegged one area as being Draco’s sanctum, and they hoped to draw him out. Failing that, they needed to cover for the thieves.

Their passage did not go unnoticed long. They surprised a small contingent of Draco’s thugs, and the initial battle went easily. Xena was impressed with MacLeod’s fighting abilities; she noted how well he moved, and the vague fear she’d been harboring about him fighting Draco disappeared. MacLeod was a match for the older Immortal, she knew.

From the initial confrontation, the battle didn’t really stop. Methos drew his gun and killed two gunmen, and then more thugs headed around the corner. Xena’s chakram hissed its way through the crowd. Mac felt himself collect a bullet. Both he and Methos were paying special attention to where the shooters were, because they knew that while they could get up after taking a bullet, Xena and Gabrielle couldn’t.

The battle went on, and the four slowly progressed inward.

Amanda and Autolycus, meantime, followed a passageway toward the room Autolycus thought most likely to be the weapons depot.

"There’s a short hop through a main hallway," Autolycus whispered. "Hopefully, there won’t be any security cameras in there."

"Not a chance," Amanda whispered back. "This’ll have to be quick."

They emerged into the hall and moved silently toward a bend. Amanda peered around the corner.

"Bingo!" She turned toward the elder thief. "Two guards on either side of the door. This Draco guy’s paranoid, isn’t he?"

"People who assemble their own armies tend to be." Autolycus pulled out a gun and silenced it. "In the absence of any alternative, I’d say a frontal assault is in order. Ready?"

The two sprang around the corner, and two silenced shots took down the guards. Amanda immediately set to work hot-wiring the door. After a few moments, it opened, and the Immortals sprang into the room.

Inside was, indeed, the weapons depot. The room was two stories deep, with a high walkway surrounding the main storage room. All manner of smaller arms were lined up neatly alongside anti-aircraft guns and missiles, anti-tank weaponry, ammunition—weaponry that could kill anything under the sea, on the ground, or in the air; weaponry from every country, enough to start up a small army. Moving among the weapons were about a dozen operatives and technicians.

Neither Autolycus nor Amanda liked killing, but when it was unavoidable, both could and would. In the firefight that followed their entrance, half the techies went down quickly. Autolycus jumped from the walkway, catching a set of wires used for hoisting the larger missiles. Amanda was forced to engage two operatives hand to hand. One went down quickly. Then someone shot Amanda. As she fell, her coat opened, revealing her sword.

The operative who saw it was apparently familiar with what the sword meant. Amanda, unable to move because the bullet had struck her spine, watched helplessly as the man drew her sword out, then raised it for the death-blow . . .

A line with a grappling hook wrapped itself around the man’s upraised arm and the operative was yanked over the siderail of the walkway. The last thing that registered to Amanda was her sword falling harmlessly at her side.

Elsewhere, two Immortals and two mortals continued their fight. They entered a secret passage Autolycus said would take them to the manor’s ballroom, temporarily escaping Draco’s men. MacLeod stopped, turning back to Xena.

"Are you two all right?" he demanded softly.

"Gabrielle?" Xena turned to her companion, concern in her face.

"Just fine," Gabrielle reassured her.

Xena looked back at Mac. "I feel him. Ares. This is all going to come to a head soon."

Mac nodded. "Yeah. I feel that, too."

In the weapons depot, Amanda woke suddenly, sucking in a painful breath. Autolycus was leaning over her, and there was noise coming from somewhere.

"Good, you’re awake," said the elder thief. "We’ve got trouble. There are more thugs outside. I hot-wired the door shut, but you’re better at that than me. Help me set the rest of the charges so we can get outta here."

Amanda struggled to her feet. "Thanks, Autolycus. I guess I owe you one."

"And then some, good-looking." Autolycus tossed her a few explosives. "There’s a vent that leads to just outside the ballroom. I had a chat with one of our friends" he indicated a very young-looking man sitting obediently against one wall "and he says that’s where Draco’s set up shop."

"You were right, then. We’ll need to get there to help Mac and the rest." Amanda finished setting up the last of the explosives. "I’ve got the detonator. Let’s move."

Autolycus hunched down next to the very intimidated-looking young man he’d talked to. "You’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before this place gets blown to hell, young man. Less, if we’re caught. I’d recommend you and your friends change your address."

With that, the two thieves climbed into the ventilation shaft and started making their way toward where they hoped their friends would be.

Xena peered into the ballroom. Autolycus’s hunch had been that Draco would use it as his war room, and he’d been right, she realized. Right now, the place was in a state of some chaos as someone bellowed at the men around him to "Find them!" Her eyes found Draco himself.

He looked different. Reserved, conventional . . . respectable. Her lips twitched. No, you don’t fool me, old friend, she thought. She headed back to the others.

"He’s there," she whispered.

"Then we wait for Amanda and Autolycus," whispered Methos.

The wait wasn’t long. The Immortal presence suddenly encroached on Mac and Methos.

"Yoohoo!" a female voice called. The four in the passage took that as their cue to move in. As they opened the door from the passage, they spotted Amanda and Autolycus at the top of the stairs leading into the ballroom. Amanda was holding something, and several of Draco’s men had guns leveled at her.

"No, no, no, boys," the younger thief chided. "That’s not how it’s done. You see, if one of you shoots me, your ammo dump goes blooey. It’ll only inconvenience us and your boss, but I don’t think any of you wants to be here when it happens."

Methos and Mac stepped into the main room, guarding Xena and Gabrielle and drawing the attention of Draco’s men to themselves. Just to make a point, Methos leveled his own gun and capped a few of the men holding guns. A small squad of thugs raced up behind Amanda.

Draco stepped forward. His eyes found Xena, and he smirked.

"We seem to have a standoff," he noted. "Xena, how good to see you after all these years. And Gabrielle—lovely as ever."

Xena stepped out. "Draco. Nice to see you, too. Tell your boys to take the night off. They’ll only end up dead, anyway."

"And then one of you will take my head." Draco’s mouth drew into a sneer. "I’m not stupid, Xena."

"No, Draco, you’ll have a nice, clean challenge." Xena’s eyes flickered to Mac. "As for us and your personal guard here—how about we do it the old fashioned way? No guns, no modern weapons. Any tricks and this place goes up in flames."

"You’ll die," Draco reminded her.

"I died long ago. Choose, Draco. Our way or no way."

Draco stared her down for another few minutes. Then he relented. "Very well." He gestured at the thugs behind Amanda and Autolycus, and they withdrew. Then he looked to the men in the room. "Get rid of your guns. Anything else is permissible."

Methos tossed his gun behind him even as Draco’s inner trust of guards drew out non-projectile, vaguely Japanese-looking weapons. Mac stepped forward, katana in hand.

"I’m Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he announced.

"Draco," responded the other man, drawing his own sword. MacLeod recognized it as a scimitar. "This will be fun, Highlander; I’ve heard a lot about you. Say your prayers."

"Say your own." With that, the battle was joined once again.

Mac and Draco’s one-on-one battle was only one part of the private war as mortals and Immortals engaged. Xena’s shrill battle-cry rang out as her chakram flew. It careened through the room to be caught by Amanda, who used it to block a blow from one guard’s dagger, then cut his throat. The thief, in turn, threw it back toward Xena. Amanda absently realized Gabrielle was engaged in a rapid duel against another guard with a pair of sais matching her own, while Methos (where did he learn hand to hand? Amanda wondered) used another guard’s staff against him. Autolycus was doing fairly good work hand to hand, then threw his grappling hook at the chandelier hanging over the room. He used it to swing over to the other side and engage a few more guards.

The tide of battle shifted inexorably as the mortal guards fell. Amanda finished off one with a high kick, then flipped over to help Gabrielle, who was facing down three at once. Methos, cold-eyed and methodical, cracked one guard’s neck, then threw a dagger into the back of one who was apparently trying to sneak up on Mac as he was fighting Draco.

The last of the mortal guards fell. Xena moved to Gabrielle’s side and watched the Immortal duel. As she watched, she realized that Draco was going to lose.

Draco was good; he’d improved immeasurably since the time Xena had killed him. However many skills he’d gained, though, they were not going to help him against Duncan MacLeod. Draco was skilled; MacLeod was perfect. Every move, every footfall, was flawless, and it was only a matter of time—

As rapidly as she’d thought it, the duel was over. Draco made one misstep. The dragon’s-head katana slashed across his stomach. MacLeod stepped to one side, and the katana fell one last time.

Perfect silence reigned for a moment. The air pressure in the room seemed to build and the air crackled. A white mist rose from Draco’s body and surrounded Mac. In another second, the Quickening struck with tempest-like fury. Xena pushed Gabrielle down to protect her with her own body, and Methos stepped in to protect Xena with his. The chandelier exploded overhead. Pieces of debris from the walls and ceiling fell on the combatants, alive and dead.

Finally, it was over. Xena pushed Methos aside and looked back at Mac, who was kneeling, exhausted. Suddenly, she stiffened.

A dark form materialized behind the fallen Scot. Ares, fury in his eyes, raised his sword to exact his vengeance—

Xena’s chakram knocked the sword from the War God’s hand. Tall and proud, she strode toward her millennia-old nemesis. Ares stepped back, away from the Highlander, eyes dark.

Not a word was spoken as the ancient warrior and the more ancient god re-engaged in their ages-old duel. It was a fight bound by as many rules as an Immortal duel; no interference would be acceptable. In a strange way, the rules of the universe the Immortals had known were suspended. The room seemed to tilt at an odd angle, and gravity and physics were given only a passing nod as Xena and Ares engaged each other. Those still living in the room were frozen in their places. An eerie background of silence fell.

How long the duel lasted no one knew. Suddenly, Ares’s sword slashed down, cutting deeply into Xena’s leg. The silence was broken by Gabrielle’s cry of anguish as she saw her soulmate fall, sword flying away.

For an interminable moment, Xena crumpled at Ares’s feet. He pinwheeled his sword so it was pointing downward for the death-blow. His arms came down . . .

. . . and Xena exploded off the floor. She grabbed one of Ares’s descending arms and used it to haul herself to her feet. One of her hands grabbed the knife she’d carefully kept in reserve in the back of her waistband, and her arm wrapped around the War God as she rammed it hilt-deep in his back.

It was the Hind’s Blood dagger, the only thing in the world that could kill a god.

Time stopped. Thunder growled from someplace. Ares turned his face toward Xena. He seemed surprised.

Then he fell.

Xena fell with him. Her arms were locked around him, and his weight dragged her down. But then Gabrielle was there, pulling her away, bringing her back. Xena leaned into the smaller woman’s embrace, muscles completely slack. Duncan MacLeod was also at her side then, and then Methos, Autolycus, and Amanda.

The air stirred softly, and a golden radiance filled the room. Hazily, a woman’s shape materialized in the air beside the body of the War God.

"It’s done, Athena," Xena whispered. "It’s done."

The Goddess of Wisdom seemed infinitely sad. "Yes. It’s done," she acknowledged. Her voice seemed to come from far away. Athena bent, gently lifting her brother’s body in her arms. "Thank you, Xena. You may rest now, as you have long wished."

The goddess’s gaze traveled around the rest of the gathered mortals and Immortals. To Amanda, she resembled Rebecca. Mac thought she looked like Tessa, or perhaps a younger version of his mother. Methos saw his teacher, saw Gabrielle, saw Alexa.

Athena’s gaze seemed older than time itself and immeasurably sad. She looked at the body of her brother, then closed her eyes. Then the last of the Olympians faded from Earth’s realm, never to return.

Mac allowed Methos to inspect Xena’s leg wound and wrap it. Then the big Scot picked her up to carry her from the manor. They made their way to the back of the house, then outside. As they left the outer wall behind them, Amanda pressed a button on the detonator, and the old manor house with its deadly secret exploded again and again.

 

Duncan MacLeod was feeling unsettled. It often happened to him after taking a Quickening, and Draco’s had been more powerful than any other he’d taken, with the notable exceptions of Kronos and Caspian. Amanda was fast asleep, so Mac slipped out of bed and made his way to the main floor of the barge to do some forms and relax.

The journey back to the barge had been surprisingly uneventful. They’d had to take Xena to the hospital for stitches—Methos had fed the attending surgeon a line of bull about a costume party that had gotten a bit out of hand. He and Gabrielle had also had to save said surgeon from a neck pinch when the man had given Xena an unexpected shot. Mac chuckled. What kind of lunacy was all this?

The best kind, he decided. He wasn’t sure why he felt so good about the night’s work. Granted, it had resulted in the destruction of a serious threat to the world at large, but his feeling of satisfaction went deeper even than that. The Scot resumed his forms and thought about it.

A small sound startled him. Gabrielle had entered the room and was padding over to the sink on her bare feet.

"Can I help you?" Mac asked softly.

Gabrielle smiled softly. "No, I’m just getting a glass of water." Unconsciously, she reached up and rubbed her neck, then felt one shoulder. "I think I’m going to be stiff come morning."

Mac chuckled and walked over to the kitchen. He produced a bottle of ibuprofen from one cabinet and handed her a few pills. "Take these. They’ll help."

"Thanks, Duncan. For everything." Gabrielle swallowed the pills. "Are you all right?" she asked, brow wrinkling with concern.

"Yeah," he reassured her. "I just don’t sleep well after a Quickening. What about you and Xena? She seemed so quiet coming back."

Gabrielle looked thoughtful. "What happened tonight was very serious. It’s the culmination of two thousand years’ effort. It’s hard to believe it’s really over."

"Is Ares dead?" Mac asked.

Gabrielle shrugged. "I don’t know. The Hind’s blood on the dagger was very old; we’re not sure if it really killed Ares or if it just weakened him enough for Athena to take him out of this worlds-realm."

Another thought occurred to Mac. "Xena . . . she didn’t really want to kill him, did she?"

There was a long pause from Gabrielle. "It seems strange, but no, I don’t think she did. She wanted to thwart him, to stop him, but killing him took something from her." The bard paused again, gathering her thoughts. "There was a time when we thought Ares might have actually been Xena’s father. It wasn’t true in the strictly factual sense, but . . . Xena’s own father died when she was very young. She was left with her anger and aggression. Ares provided a channel for that and taught her how to use her natural skills and strength. In a very real way, he made her who she was for a long time. Eventually, she separated from him, but there was a bond between them that was never completely broken. And now she’s spent two thousand years after her death still locked in a struggle with him. There’s a strange intimacy in that, and I think now, having it all over—that’s left her feeling bereft."

Mac nodded. "I think I can understand that." He watched Gabrielle’s expressive face for another moment. "So you two are here for what? Another day?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Yes. We’ll have one more day together in the flesh, and then we’ll pass on. I think we’ve both earned it." She smiled up at Mac. "It was good to be able to see a few of our old friends once more. And it was good to make a few new ones, too."

"It was good to know you, too, Gabrielle," said Mac, voic

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