Demons In The Darkness-Part One

Demon Out of Time

"Demons" was my first foray into the wonderful world of Fan Fiction for more than 25 years.  I had no intention of writing anything and the story just snickered and said write me anyway. Of course, the show, "Highlander" surprised me too.  Other than the original version of "Star Trek"  I'm not much of a TV addict.

Highlander had its flaws and inconsistencies, but it had better than average writing, production values and casting.  The last episode of their fifth season was a shocker.  There had been rumors that one of the characters would be killed off, but the reality was a real kick in the gut.  I had always regarded Richie as a necessary evil but his loss, at MacLeod's hands was going to really mess with the characters as we knew them.

Then there was the possibility that this was the last show of the series...

Well, I couldn't ignore that.   Eng accepted "Demons" and the sequel, "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning" for the Highlander Quill Club Library and was kind enough to do two elegant illustrations for them.

Some years passed and I had another Maggie story to tell.  I'd also learned a lot from the wonderful on-line Highlander community about writing.  Since I do have my own Web Page now, I thought I'd take advantage of the situation to do a little more editing and illustrating of my own. The stories are broken up into sections to make them a little easier to load.

The illustrations started as screen captures from the series and, in a few instances borrowed, with permission, from other fan sites.  Please be kind enough to ask before using either the stories themselves or the pictures on any other sites.

The characters and the concept of Immortality as used here, with the exception of Magdalene Frost, are the property of TPTB and no infringement or profit is intended (or likely). This was Maggie's idea.  Many thanks to the betas who are trying to make me a "beta" writer, Maygra, Cheryl, Beverly, Chuck and Cindy . . .

This is an Alternate Universe, rated NC-17 for Violence, sex (m/f, m/m)

Joe Dawson wept against the shoulder of the Eldest. Footsteps faded into the enveloping fog and they were alone. Methos called softly, "MacLeod," but there was no response. The late night wind began to clear the mists but there was no one in sight.

At their feet lay the body of a younger immortal, their friend, the boy's head beside it. The oldest held Dawson, trying to soothe Joe's pain, submerging his own in the face of the mortal's needs.

The fog played havoc with sound. Joe's sobs seemed to come from all around them, echoing against the night. Methos peered into the shadows, was there someone there or just trash blowing with the wind?

Joe Dawson tried to get his breath back. "This just can't be. " He took a step away from Methos. "What happened?"

Methos looked down at the headless form at their feet. "I don't know."

"But why? Why would MacLeod take Richie's head? The boy was his student, his friend."

"Joe, he tried it before."

"That wasn't him, Methos. You of all people know that."

"Yeah." Methos shuddered at the memory of the dark quickening. "We've got to get Ryan's body out of here." Methos walked away from the Watcher, his voice on the cell phone the only sound in that hollow place under the racetrack grandstands.

Dawson sat down awkwardly on the concrete beside the body of the young immortal. He reached out to Richie. He couldn't stop the tears; tears for the youngster he'd seen grow from street punk to bright, ambitious immortal, MacLeod's son in all but blood. Blood. There was so much of it. He brushed the blond hair back from the forehead. He closed the startling blue eyes.

Methos was back beside him. "Come on, Joe. We need to go."

"I'll stay. It's all I can do . . . "

The immortal sighed. "Joe, this won't help Richie."

Joe looked up at Methos. "I can't just leave him here alone in the dark."

"MacLeod's alone in the dark too - suicidal and alone . . .  We've got to find him." Methos took Joe's arm. "We have to find Mac before someone else does."

Joe Dawson looked up at the immortal. His face was white in the street lights. "You go ahead, Methos. I've stood by him through a lot, defended him to Richie and you both. Hell I've even defended him to Amanda. Maybe I should have tried to get Richie to go home when Mac first started acting weird."

"Joe, Richie wouldn't have gone anyway."

"Richie believed him, trusted him. Look what it got him."

"Richie saw 'you' and Horton in a car. That's why he came out here. He thought you were in danger. It was a set up. Somebody set MacLeod up to kill him. We need to find out who. The kid deserves that."

"He deserved to live, not to die at the hand of somebody he trusted."

"There are people, other immortals who would do anything to get MacLeod's quickening. You saw him. He's in shock, out there alone and unarmed. He would be an easy kill."

Joe was still for a minute. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "You're right, I guess" He glared up at the older man. "Sometimes I hate that, you know."

"Yeah, we'll discuss it later. Now, where would he go?"

"Darius's church, Tessa's grave . . .  Maybe the barge, but the chapel's more likely"

"That's where he went after the dark quickening. OK, come on. Need a hand?"

Joe brushed Richie's hair back again, in farewell. Methos took his arm helping him to his feet.

"We'll find him, Joseph. And we'll find out why it happened." Methos quietly picked up the ivory hilted katana and Richie's rapier and led the way to the car. He settled Joe in the passenger seat and opened the trunk. Mac's katana, "He'll want it back. He's got to want it back . . . "

Methos wiped the blade clean on one of his old T-shirts. He wrapped the swords in his sweater, trying to do things that needed to be done to keep from seeing Mac and the boy, still so young for all his immortality. Seeing the quickening's lightening flash through the deserted building,  smelling the blood. He hated the smell of blood. He closed the trunk and got into the car with Joe. They drove off, the last of the mists swirling behind them.  

Maggie Frost was worried. She'd had an offer on a consignment of MacLeod's antique pieces and e-mailed him about it. It wasn't like him to ignore a fat sale. Joe was "out of town on business," but Mike said he'd pass the word to Dawson.

She looked around the antique shop. In the last three years she'd done very well. Joe had been concerned about her after her immortal assignment died. She'd been a Watcher for 10 years, Allan Doyle's Watcher for six of them. Allan designed fine jewelry at his home in the northwest, and traveled to San Francisco once or twice a year to sell the pieces. He was followed home by another Immortal, one with a taste for gold and gems. After Doyle lost his head to Xavier St. Cloud, she'd had no interest in a new assignment.

Seacouver was beautiful and she decided to stay there at least for a while. She didn't want to go back into the field, but had no objection to working in the office. Joe asked her to work on some of the older chronicles. Coordinating data, names and identities was quiet, useful work. She'd met some of the other researchers including Joe's friend, Adam Pierson.

Then, in the files crossing her desk, came the information that Xavier St. Cloud was in Paris and up to his old tricks. She'd called Joe, warning him that "his" immortal was at risk. Joe agreed, but said he couldn't do anything. MacLeod was an expert swordsman.

"He'll use a gun, gas, anything, just as he did with Allan."

"He may be out of his league. Mac isn't stupid, Maggie. He's run into St. Cloud before and I don't think his tricks will work this time. He's just the kind of son of a bitch Mac regards as sword bait."

"I hope you're right Joe. I'd hate to see us lose another of the good ones."

"Oh, Mac kills. He can be pushed. But he was raised to be a protector, the Clan Chief's son. He fights when he has to or to eliminate a danger to someone he loves. He's walked away from fights rather than kill someone who didn't "need" killing."

St. Cloud had gotten away. Maggie wanted St. Cloud dead and the anger she felt frightened her. She turned in her resignation. Joe had tried to talk her out of it. "Joe, I've lost my objectivity. I can't just "watch, record but never interfere." It's time for me to get out of this while I can still look in the mirror."

"What will you do?"

"I've been collecting things for years. Antique pieces mostly. A friend of mine is going to let me work in her shop in Ellensburg. While I'm learning the business, I'll be looking for a place a little closer to the city. When I find it, I'll buy it and pull all those things out of storage. Wish me luck?"

"You know I do."

"Finding a place with decent parking is going to be the biggest problem."

She'd been away for six months when Joe called her, he knew of an antique shop that was available and explained that the immortal who owned it had just lost his mortal lady to a mugging.

"Duncan MacLeod's shop?"

 "Yeah, I'd like to think he'd approve of you taking it over. The Watchers can help with money if you need more . . .  "

"I'll feel like a ghoul, Joe."

"Look, you want a place and he's putting it up for sale. I'll get one of our attorney types to act as your agent."

"Shouldn't the shop go to her family, if he doesn't want it?"

"Her parents are in France. Mac and Richie were all the family she had. Richie packed up some of her sculptures and sent them on with appropriate sympathy notes."

"I know you said she was an artist. Well, what about the boy?"

"He was shot too, resulting in his "First Death.""

"He's an immortal?"

"It looks as though Mac knew somehow. He's taken Richie on as his student."

As it turned out, Richie was the one who handled the sale. She'd met MacLeod later on, and they'd become casual friends. She liked the boy. His energy reminded her of Allan

She'd seen both of them after that; the tall darkling Scot and the live-wire American, buying things for the dojo Mac bought and then restoring an old house in the suburbs. Mac had quietly given the house to Ann Lindsey for her daughter, Mary. Maggie had asked Joe about it.

"He wanted her to have a place to bring up her baby."

"He's not the father . . . "

"No, Maggie, immortals, even the good ones still can't have children. I always thought he'd have made a good father, though. He and Ann had a relationship, but she couldn't handle the way he lived, the way all immortals live, have to live. She's an ER physician, saving lives and he has to take them. Not a good mix."

"I can understand that."

"Did you ever consider going back to nursing?"

"No. Perry, Lou and you were the last of the guys I worked with."

Joe remembered. Ian Holmes had recruited him into the Watchers while he was still in a field hospital in Vietnam.  Holmes had been a frequent visitor to the VA Hospital then. The offer he'd made had shaped Joe's life from that day on.

Maggie had been one of the best nurses on the floor. She'd chivvied and pushed until he'd agreed to be fitted for the prosthetic legs. Then she'd pushed him into dancing with her, making him learn to move again; making him love her more than just a little. He remembered the day she'd found out about her husband. She'd bullied all three of her patients into a walk around the grounds. They'd grumbled, but it wasn't easy to say no to her. Lew, the gunnery sergeant had picked a bunch of daisies for her. For just a little while, they could pretend everything was "normal."

When they got back, her boss was waiting for her. The older nurse had asked her to come down to the office with her. She'd come back half an hour later, white lipped and quiet. They knew something was wrong but she'd said nothing, gotten them all tucked in for the night and left.

When she wasn't in the next day one of the other nurses had told them her husband had been identified as one of the MIA's. His body was flown home and all of them had gone to the funeral.

Joe had been discharged a week later and left for training in London. When he got back to Seacouver, she was gone.

She'd been working at a hospital in San Francisco. The Watchers recruited her after she saw a fight, beheading and Quickening. Joe had crossed her path a number of times and he'd often wanted to make a move. He just wasn't sure that a woman who'd held a bedpan for him was going to be interested in a romantic relationship.

Maggie came to the opening of Joe's Bar. Dawson had given up the bookstore where he and MacLeod had met face to face. Joe was caught in an impossible situation. MacLeod had been angry enough to kill. The loss of Darius just weeks earlier was still a raw wound and he'd believed that the Watcher was involved. Joe talked to him, explaining about the Watchers, in spite of his promise of silence. The two men liked each other, but Duncan's immortality sometimes came between them.

Maggie had seen Joe's face when his high school sweetheart walked into the bar, and the hurt in his eyes when she left to return to her husband days later. Maggie had been there for him. "That's what friends are for."

Joe and Adam Pierson, their friend from the Paris office, came over to the apartment at the back of the store for dinner once in a while. Joe kissed her goodnight, but the kisses were just "friends." She'd accepted that. She liked Joseph, but he'd always been so caught up in the Watchers he seemed to have little time for ordinary things. Friendship was enough, she'd told herself.

Her business had grown. She sold off a number of MacLeod's pieces and made sure Ryan got the checks. Once or twice a month she stopped off at the bar for a drink, dinner and any Watcher gossip Joe felt like sharing. He's asked if she wanted to come back, but she always said no. She still liked to know what was going on though.

There was someone at the door. She opened it, "I'm sorry, we're closed for the evening."

The woman moved into the light. "I'm Amanda Darieux. We met at Joe's Bar a couple of times."

"Yes, I remember you Ms. Darieux. But, as I said, we're closed."

The taller woman seemed restless, shifting her balance from foot to foot. "This really is more of a personal visit, Ms. Frost. I'm looking for the former owner."

"Mr. MacLeod? I haven't seen him for . . .  oh, a couple of months."

"I've been looking all over. There's no answer at the Paris number, the barge."

Maggie smiled at her, "I've been trying to get hold of him too, business. Look, it's too chilly to talk at the door, please come in. Would you like some coffee, or a drink?"

"Sure, thanks, and please call me Amanda. I know you're a friend of Joe's"

"We've known each other for years. Hi, Amanda, and I'm Maggie."

The two women moved out of the light, locked the doors and walked back to the apartment section of the building. Amanda looked around the apartment. "I guess I expected more changes."

"Well, not in the kitchen. He had a Wolf range in here, for heaven's sake. Nobody in her right mind would get rid of that."

"Is that good?"

"You don't do a lot of cooking do you?"

"No. Not for a long time . . . "

"Amanda, I'll be honest with you. I was a Watcher for 10 years. I know who you are and who MacLeod and the others are. I Watched Allan Doyle until St. Cloud got him and I was glad when MacLeod killed that bastard. I agree with Joe. MacLeod is one of the good guys."

Amanda laughed, "Just an overgrown boy scout."

"A lot like Joe in that respect."

Maggie poured coffee for both of them. Amanda took a sip and looked up as a small black cat sauntered into the kitchen, examined her, and levitated into her lap. "Nice kitty."

"Sharra, you know you're supposed to ask first. Not everyone is like Adam.  Some people don't like cats."

The cat made a derogatory sound and rubbed against Amanda's hands. Amanda laughed, the cat looked up at her, obviously pleased with herself. "She's darling, bright too."

Maggie laughed. "She's a familiar. They average brighter than the usual run of pets."

"You're a Witch?"

"Since the 60's. I was working in a hospital in England, an exchange program, and met some people from one of the British Traditions. I've been mostly solitary these last few years."

"You're the first one I've met in a long time, except for Cassandra."

"Cassandra maybe one of the Eldest Ones. I would imagine she's a solitary, too. Hard to say unless you ask and I've never met her."

Amanda made a face, "I don't like her. She showed up out of the blue and nearly got Mac killed."

Maggie looked at the other woman, "Maybe a touch jealous?"

"Hmm, could be I suppose. Silly, isn't it? Jealousy really is ridiculous for immortals, but we run into it from time to time."

"Maybe it's part of growing up."

Amanda looked up at her, "Do you know how old I am?"

Maggie grinned at her, "I didn't say it had anything to do with age."

There was a pause. Amanda flushed slightly, then laughed. "Maybe it isn't all jealousy."

Maggie refilled her cup, "Joe isn't too fond of her either. Nothing he's said, just a look on his face."

"I was furious with her for dragging Duncan off to Bordeaux. All Joe would say was that Duncan and Adam were both OK. Adam is one of the oddest friends he has."

"Adam Pierson is a delightful man but he's been buried in the Methos chronicles so long I think he's starting to believe he is Methos."

Amanda looked sharply at her, "He is."

Maggie looked at her, was she kidding?

"Oh god, I shouldn't have said that. It's just that he can be such a pain when he gets into that 'grad student' mode of his."

Maggie looked thoughtful for a moment, bits and pieces of information falling into place. "I should have guessed. There's always been something about him . . .  He's opened up more since he met MacLeod. Even calls me 'Mags' once in a while. Sharra loves having him over to dinner." Maggie yawned. "This really has been fun, Amanda, but morning is on its way."

For just a minute, Amanda looked a little lost.

Maggie noticed her discomfort, "Amanda, there's a guest room here if you don't want to go back to MacLeod's dojo."

"I guess I'd rather not be alone . . .  This is crazy. I never get silly and female," Amanda said. "But something's wrong and Mac is in the middle of it."

"Well, it is odd that we can't reach any of them. The only new message on my computer was a note that the message to Joe had been received at his e-mail address."
 

 Morning. Joseph Dawson woke with a start. His head ached; his mouth tasted of old booze and bitter memories. The sunlight streaming in the windows of Methos' Paris flat mocked his pain.

Methos was still sitting at the dining room table, his computer running and Dr. Landry's journal spread out in front of him. He was looking out the window, not focused on anything. His eyes were shadowed, dark with pain of his own.

They'd walked for hours checking the old church where Darius had lived and worked. They went to Tessa's grave. Finally, Methos had insisted that Joe get some rest and they'd gone back to his flat.

The computer beeped indicating completion of a task. Methos started paging through the file.

Joe struggled to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. The cups of the prostheses had rubbed his thighs, making standing painful. After taking care of his most urgent need he turned on the water in the sink and washed the grime off his face. He looked at the man in the mirror. The circles under his eyes were as dark as the ones under Methos'. Slowly he maneuvered himself to the other chair at the table.

Methos looked up, "We've got two sites the government says were being worked by Landry and his crew. The tape matches up with the tomb from Iraq. The temple over it was completely destroyed by fire roughly 1,000 years ago."

"Is there anything else?"

"We're lucky there was that much. Do you know how hard it is to hack into government computers?  The Iraqis are paranoid as hell."

"You are good."

"Yeah, I know. The translations are a bitch, though. Landry was sure MacLeod was the Champion, the warrior who could defeat the demon. The translations indicate that the demon can take on the forms of others to defeat the Champion."

"So Mac couldn't tell the difference between Richie and the illusion the demon was projecting?"

"That's what it looks like here. I hate treating ancient middle eastern myth as real, but the alternative is to believe that MacLeod killed Ryan in cold blood. I don't believe that, either."

Joe winced at his words. Again he saw the quickening flash down and the sound of MacLeod's cry. He saw Mac try to hand the katana to Methos, struggling for words and saw him walk away, hidden by the mist.

"We've got to find him, Methos. I'll call and see if anyone in the office has seen anything."

"I checked an hour ago. We looked at the church and the cemetery last night. I asked Paulo to watch the barge. Maurice would have called me if he showed up at the club. No one has seen anything. I've been checking airline ticket sales, too. I thought he might try to go back to Seacouver, or even to Scotland. No luck."

Methos rubbed his eyes. "Joe, can you keep an eye on things for a while? If I don't sleep for an hour or two, I'm going to fall on my face."

"Sure, Methos. You've been doing most of the work. I haven't been much help . . . "

"Joe, its OK, we're both upset. But I really could use a nap. You want to call Mike? It's a long shot, but it is possible that Mac headed for Seacouver . . .  Then we'll go over to the barge and set up there. It's central and he might come back there."

"Sure. I'll call Mike. Methos, I'm not going to say anything to him. I can't tell him Duncan killed Richie."

"You'll have to file a report."

"Damn it, I'll file it after we know what the hell happened."

Methos shrugged, "Your choice, Joe. I'm going to bed."

Methos wandered into the bathroom. Joe could hear the shower running. The phone line was busy the first time he tried. Then he heard Mike's voice. "Joe's, it's after hours, who's callin'?"

"It's me, Mike. What's going on there?"

"Jesus, Joe, where the hell have you been? Amanda's been tryin' to get hold of you all night and Maggie Frost left word for you to ask MacLeod to call her, somethin' about some furniture."

"Amanda? Did she say anything? Where's she staying?"

"Hell, Joe, she never says anythin' to me. I don't think she likes me."

"I don't care whether or not she likes you, I need to talk to her."

"She was at the dojo, then she said she was goin' over to Richie's place. She called from there and asked if you'd checked in. That was around 9-9:30, our time."

"If she calls again, give her this number, 01.23.77.90 OK?"

"Sure, Joe. You are goin' to tell me what's goin' on eventually aren't you?"

"Yeah, Mike. Eventually. Did Amanda mention anything else?"

"She asked about the old antique shop. Is that what Maggie was on about?"

"I'll call there. Thanks Mike. Keep the number handy, OK?"

"Sure, Joe. Take care of yourself."

Joe hung up. He couldn't remember the number of the shop. His headache was back, full force.

Methos came out of the bathroom drying his hair. "So what did Mike have for us?"

"Amanda's in Seacouver. She's been trying to find Mac. Maggie left me an e-mail last night. She's trying to reach Mac, too. I left this phone number with Mike. He has the number at the barge."

"Amanda? Just when you thought things couldn't get worse . . .  Wait a minute.  I remember you saying that she had an absolutely infallible talent for showing up when Mac was in trouble."

"Or getting him into it . . .  it's like radar."

"OK." Methos stood there for a moment, absently rubbing his hair with the towel.

Suddenly he walked over to his jeans and started going through the pockets.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I need a credit card. I have to get an airline ticket." Joe simply stared at him.

Methos dug out his wallet and pulled out the card he needed. He reached over Joe's shoulder and grabbed the phone. "You said she asked about the shop?"

"Yeah, but . . . "

"If she's been there, Maggie might have talked to her. Mags was a Watcher. We're going to need all the help we can get.  Maggie knows the score, and Amanda does love him."

He dialed the number. A sleepy voice answered, "Frost and MacLeod, and you better have a good reason for calling at this hour."

"Mags? It's Adam."

"Adam? Where are you calling from? Have you no concept of time zones?"

"Yes, Paris and Yes."

"Funny man."

"Mags, I need your help."

"You need . . .  what's wrong. You sound awful."

"It's been kind of hectic. Have you seen Amanda?"

"Yes, in fact she's in the spare bedroom. Oh, Gods, she was right. There really is something wrong."

"Yeah, she's right. Can you get the two of you on a plane to Paris? Joe and I need you here."

"She just walked in, Adam."

He could hear murmured explanations, then, "Adam, where's Duncan?"

"Amanda, there's no time now. I need to get off the phone with you and call the airline. I'll get the tickets for you. Get packed and get to the airport. I'll get you on the next plane. Hang up Amanda. Now!"

"Go to hell, Methos. You tell me why, first."

"I'm not going to talk on an open phone line, Amanda. Please, just do as I ask this time."

"Is he dead?"

"No.  Look, Amanda, I'll meet you at the airport. Please."

She waited, but he refused to say anything more. "OK, but if this is some stupid prank . . .  Oh all right."

He turned to Joe as the dial tone confirmed that she had hung up. "I'll make this call. Then I'm going to crash until they get here. Or somebody sees Mac."

Joe nodded agreement. "Maggie's coming too?"

Adam looked at him, "Yeah . . .  I thought she could help out."

Dawson shook his head, "As a psychiatric nurse, Watcher or an antique dealer?"

"I don't know. It seemed like a good idea."

"Sometimes I think you even plot in your dreams. Got any coffee?"

"Yeah, in the fridge."

Joe could hear his voice, insistent, demanding compliance. He found the coffee and got the brewer working. Richie had sent it to Methos for Christmas. He stood there for a minute. Tears threatening to overflow, he braced himself and finished putting the pot together. It started running and he turned back to Methos.

"OK, their flight should be in about 5:00 p.m. our time, Joe, try to get another hour's sleep if you can. I can't do this alone."

Joe looked at him, "You really must be tired."

"Yeah, forget I said it."

"I thought I'd check the chapel again."

"If you want to. If I'm still asleep at 3:30, wake me." Methos took off the robe and stretched out on the bed. He pulled the quilt up over his shoulders and was asleep between one breath and another.

"Amanda, where did you leave your suitcases?"

"They're over at the dojo. Can you drive over with me?"

"Sure. We can leave from there."

Maggie found herself reverting to her old Watcher habits, packing clothes that would work anywhere. Out of habit she picked up the small travel bag she used for pagan festivals. She still could pick-up and go in no time flat. The two women drove to the dojo and got Amanda's carryall.

Maggie usually slept on long trips, once she was airborne. This time she found herself talking quietly with Amanda. The Immortal woman was fidgety, worried about the man she'd known for more than 300 years. Maggie tried to distract her, telling her about finding Sharra as a kitten, the herb garden she was trying to grow in pots on the small porch and the problems of sorting real antiques out from the frauds people brought in.

Amanda told her about Rebecca, the teacher she'd loved and MacLeod's run in with a Romance writer. "Turns out, she was married to the immortal she'd made the villain of the book. Mac and I got them back together. He even admitted that he loved me." The woman's eyes filled with tears, "Maggie, I don't want to lose him."

Maggie patted her arm and handed her a tissue. "We'll pin Adam down when we get there. Try to get some sleep, Amanda."

Amanda agreed, but she couldn't rest. She kept staring out the window. She could feel him. He was alive, but something around him blocked her. Usually she could feel his quickening, just a feeling, a soft presence in the back of her mind. There was something the matter with Duncan. Something serious enough that Methos didn't want to discuss it on the phone.

Methos was waiting at the luggage carousel with papers to get Amanda's sword through customs as an antique. He shepherded the women to his car, moving fast through the evening crowds. He took them to the barge where Joe was waiting. The barge had to be their base. From there, they could get anywhere in Paris quickly.

The Watchers had nothing new. Setting off a general hunt was the last thing they wanted to do.  Only the few Watchers Joe knew and trusted could be asked to help.

Amanda took over the couch. "OK, boys. Now we talk. What is going on?"

Joe was still pale. Maggie moved over to sit beside him.

Joe looked at the older man. It was obvious that Methos was not going to offer anything. "We think there's something out of the damn twilight zone going on here. An archeologist, a Dr. Landry came to see Mac. He claimed that an ancient Zoroastrian demon had returned and that MacLeod was the "Champion," the only one who could fight it."

"Mac swore he'd seen Horton, Kronos and who knows what else. We thought Mac was hallucinating - maybe even losing his mind. He's gone through enough in the last couple of years. Methos and I came over here to talk to him and Richie called saying he'd just seen me in a car with Horton, heading over to the racetrack. Mac tried to get him to come back here. Then he handed me the phone, and told me to try and keep Richie talking, but he hung up. Mac headed over there and after Richie hung up, so did we."

"Methos could tell there were immortals there in the fog, but we couldn't see anything. Suddenly a quickening started tearing the place apart, and when it cleared Mac was kneeling beside Richie's body. Richie . . . " His voice broke. He took a deep breath and went on, " . . .  was dead. The quickening hit Mac hard. He tried to get Methos to take his head and then just left the katana where it fell and walked off. I didn't see where he went."

"We had Richie taken to a mortuary and started looking for Mac. He hasn't been seen since."

Amanda looked at Methos, "Anything you want to add?"

He just shook his head.

Maggie spoke up, "Is there any proof that he did see something?"

"Only if you believe the professor's journals."

"Both Mac and Richie saw something," said Methos.

Amanda stood up. "I need to get out of here. Adam, please come with me. Maybe we can pick up his 'buzz'."

"Sure, Amanda." He got up and took her arm leaving the two mortals sitting in front of the fire.

The haze was everywhere he moved, it cut him off from the real world, the world where he had killed his student-his friend. He could hear voices, too soft to understand, insistent murmuring . . .

The water was near. He could almost smell it. There . . .  He scooped it up in his hands, too thirsty to care where it came from. The haze seemed to push at him. He started walking beside the water. The cobblestones along the walkway were old, slippery with moss. There was an archway ahead of him and a staircase. It was as old and dirty as the walkway. He climbed the stairs and went through the door that opened ahead of him. Everything seemed still, dreamlike.

The voices were a little louder. Another door opened. He walked into the room, absently reaching for the katana. It wasn't there. The voices were louder again, laughing at him. He could hear Richie screaming in the quickening.

Heavy gray draperies covered all the windows. At the end of the room was a casket. Four candlesticks stood at its corners. He approached it slowly. The lid open, the face clearly visible.

Nausea hit him. Richie looked as though he had fallen asleep. A white scarf hid the slashed neck.

Duncan slumped to his knees. His tears had been shed. There were no more. But there was one thing he could do. He took out his pocket knife and started hacking off his hair. He had lived for many years among the Lakota peoples in the Northwest. A Lakota warrior kept his hair long, a vanity since it could be used by an enemy. He cut his hair only when he had shamed himself. He was ashamed, horrified by what he had done. He stayed there for a moment, gathering the locks of hair. He got up. Quietly he took the warrior's mane he'd worn so long and laid it at Richie's feet.

There were other voices, now. He didn't want to talk to anyone, he couldn't. He left quickly, down the stairs and back into the hidden ways beneath the city.

Maggie walked around the barge, examining the layout and furnishings. There was a good feel to the place. The man who lived here had a great love of beauty. The furnishings were solid, an eclectic mix of good antiques and fine modern pieces.

"I never thought of a barge as being so comfortable. I guess I should have known, knowing what the antique shop was like."

"Mac's tastes developed over 400 years."

"The apartment was certainly beautiful. The layout was perfect. My things fit right in. The Hygia print fit over the fireplace, and I set my Goddess Figures on the mantelpiece."

"You told Adam that it was perfect as an altar, I remember. Then the two of you went off on the fine points of Witchcraft and ancient religions, telepathy, I got lost."

"Is that why Adam wanted me to come here?"

"Could be. He didn't tell me."

Joe started talking to her about the immortal he'd watched for so long. He told her about Tessa and about the two of them taking in a street smart youngster. He told her about the man he'd come to regard as a friend, prickly at times, but still, a friend.

He told her about Richie. Tears came and she moved to his side. She put her arms around him, offering what comfort she could. He held on to her needing the warmth of another human being. They stayed that way for a long moment. Joe reached up to take her face in his hands and kissed her. He'd only meant it as a gesture, a kind of thank you for caring but it turned into a harsh, bruising thing. He let go, trying to apologize.

"No Joe, it's OK. Life chooses life . . .  I think you were the one who told me that."

"I'd almost forgotten."

"You were a friend even then."

"Losing your husband was rough on you."

"As rough as losing your legs was for you, Joe."

"Remember those daisies?"

She smiled, "Lew . . .  He was such a sweet man."

Joe started to laugh, "I never really thought of him as . . .  sweet."

She nodded, "Big tough Marine." Her hand reached for his. "You chose life, too."

"You insisted."

"Will MacLeod choose life?"

"I don't know, Maggie."

"There were fresh flowers on Tessa's grave."

Joe looked surprised. "He was there?"

"That's the logical explanation."

The four of them ate, quiet, occupied with their own thoughts.

Joe called the mortuary. No one had come in asking about Mr. Ryan. Amanda was restless.

"We should go over there. We were all the family he had."

"You're right. Maggie, are you coming with us?"

"Of course. He was my friend, too."

"Thanks," said Joe, putting it under his coat.

The attendant indicated the hallway and gave them the room number. Methos led the way. When they got to the room, he stopped. "Wait a minute. Let me go in first"

He opened the door. They all could see the casket, the candles around it. The casket was open. There was a dark mass at Richie's feet.

"Stay back, " Methos ordered, but Joe followed him in with Amanda and Maggie close behind.

"It's Mac's." said Amanda, trying not to cry.

Joe looked at the tangled curls. "Mac lived with the Lakota. I think it was Sioux he was muttering when he walked away from us."

"Mags, could you pick up anything from this?"

"Let me see."

Methos handed the dark locks to Maggie and watched as she took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She stood there for a moment breathing deeply, centering herself. "There's a dark haze or fog . . .  red, almost black. Voices . . .  not clear what they're saying . . .  It's cold, damp old brick, cobblestones around him . . .  someone walking toward him . . .  Richie?"

"What are you seeing, Mags?"

"What he's seeing, I think." She looked at Methos. "He isn't too far from us, Adam. I can feel the dampness and the cold, but he's almost catatonic."

Methos looked at Amanda, "Can you feel him?"

"Only that he's alive." Amanda looked frightened. "How can we get to him?"

Maggie looked to Methos, "Joe and I can follow the trace from the lock of his hair as a link. You and Amanda have the quickening . . .  "

"We need to move before he's too far away."

They split up, Maggie and Joe following the corridor and Methos and Amanda back to the front of the building.

Maggie felt a slight pull toward a door at the end of the corridor, "Here, Joe."

The door opened on a small landing and an old stone and brick stair. "Looks like a smuggler's lair." Joe said.

"Got a torch, flashlight?"

"How about matches?"

"Go back and get Adam and Amanda, hurry."

Joe hesitated, "I don't want to leave you here."

Maggie reached out her hand for the rapier he'd carried in from the car. "I'll be fine. Get them."

Joe left and Maggie started down the stairs. It looked as though this led straight into the notorious sewers. She'd been on one of the tours 20 years ago, but that had been lighted and this certainly wasn't.

At the bottom of the stairs she stopped. She could hear water, almost the same sounds she'd heard when she picked up the lock of Mac's hair. She kept her hand on the wall as a guide and moved cautiously ahead. Whatever had caused the illusions around him, was still there. She could sense it, picking at his mind and spirit, disabling him.

She stopped for a moment and felt for the chain around her neck. She lifted the small silver pentagram from under her shirt, murmuring an invocation.

Maggie stood still, listening. There was water dripping, rushing through the depths of the city, but there was another sound, too, almost a whisper.

Joe would bring Adam and Amanda, but how would they know where she'd gone? She scraped some of the moss away, almost an arrow in the direction of the sound and moved quietly toward it.

She used the rapier like a cane, to sound the walkway ahead of her. She was getting accustomed to the darkness now. There was a reddish glow ahead of her. She could hear a low moan, almost too low to register. She came to an archway and could see someone rocking back and forth, in pain.

His eyes were opened but he didn't see her. He was following something only he could see. His ruined hair was wet. The sweater and pants were filthy. He dodged something, then he was still.

"Duncan."

He didn't move.

"Duncan  . . .  Duncan, it's Maggie." He looked up, but again, didn't seem to see her. She moved slowly toward him, talking softly to him all the while. He was shivering, but when she touched his face it was like touching a hot stove. He sat so still. She touched his shoulder, "Duncan, we need to go now. It's too cold here. You need to be by the fire. We'll go sit by the fire, OK?"

She took his hand and pulled, encouraging him to get to his feet. It was like working with one of her patients again. He managed to get to his feet, and as long as she pulled him along he moved. "Come on, Duncan. There's food and a fire. You like being warm and fed, come with me, Duncan."

She kept talking to him using her voice to hold the tenuous contact.

At first, she thought there was a work light ahead, but this was a red glow, coming out of the fog gathering along the walkway. She stopped, keeping Duncan behind her. "Who's there?"

The only answer was mocking laughter and a figure coming out of the mist. She swallowed hard. Oh, if this was the kind of thing Duncan had seen . . .  Mark, looking as he had when he'd gone to sea, beckoned her on. "I've missed you Magdalene."

"You are wasting your time. Go away. You are dead."

"Ah, perhaps. Perhaps not, I can wait, Magdalene."

She felt something brush against her, a stench of old blood blew past her and then she could hear real voices, Joe and Methos and Amanda calling for them.

"He's here! Somebody bring a light."

Moments later Methos wrapped a blanket around the taller man. Amanda hugged him and took his hands, startled at the heat of him. "Maggie, he's sick."

Maggie let Joe wrap another blanket around her and nodded. "We need to get him home."

Methos took Duncan into the shower and washed him clean of the blood and filth. Amanda dried him and got him into the bed. She waited until his breathing slowed into sleep then came back into the living area.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

Methos put an arm around her, "Let him rest. We can take turns sleeping, I think someone needs to be beside him." Methos looked at Joe, "Amanda and I can stay with him tonight."

Maggie shook her head, "We all need to stay. He's soul sick and we have to help him realize he is loved and needed. He needs to know that his friends still care about him no matter what he's done."

Amanda nudged Joe off the couch. She opened it up, moving the coffee table with his help. "The sheets are clean."

Maggie hugged her. "If he starts struggling, wake us, but hold him as close as you can. He knows your scent and the texture of your skin. He'll respond to that, or at least that's the theory."

"Good theory. Maggie, thanks."

"I've done this sort of thing before, Amanda. He'll be all right."

Amanda went back to the big bed and picked up a pair of silk pajamas. She changed in the bathroom and slid into bed smoothing Duncan's hair off his face. "I love you" she whispered.

Methos had collected a beer from the fridge and Joe had poured cognac for Maggie and himself.

"What did you guys see in the sewer?"

Joe thought for a minute, "It looked as though someone was trying to kill him. Somebody kept saying that he was a murdering bastard and didn't deserve to live."

"And you Adam?"

"I saw Kronos. He was laughing. He said I'd have to come back to him sooner or later. He had MacLeod by the throat, kept telling me to choose. Did I want him to live or die?"

"What did Amanda see?"

"She said she saw the Methuselah stone and Luther taking Duncan's head."

"And I saw Mark."

"Whatever it is, we can fight it. We have Landry's notes and we will bring Duncan out of it."

"We have to."

Comments, chocolate, brandy always welcome

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