by Red Wolf
London, England
1997
The man's dreams were troubled as he floated in that transition state between sleeping and waking. He had the feeling that he was being watched, but that was ridiculous. Nobody knew he was in London, the security in this hotel was beyond reproach and there was no way that anybody could have gotten in without him knowing. But the feeling was still there none the less.
Suddenly his eyes snapped open, he was being watched. His dark eyes focused on the green ones that glittered only inches away from his face in the dark of the room. He started in surprise, sitting up and launching unsheathed claws into his assailant.
His hand froze in mid-swing, a grip of iron encircling his wrist. Very few people had either the strength or the stupidity to even attempt something like that. And only one could have pulled a stunt like this, he relaxed and pulled the woman down into his embrace.
"Long time, Mac," his voice was a soft growl.
"Too long, gorgeous," she agreed, weaving her fingers into his dark hair and drawing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.
Logan broke the connection and held her face in his hands, running his eyes over the face one of his oldest friends. He thought she was one of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Lightning green eyes in an pale elfin face, slightly pointed ears and short scruffy hair. She was short — the same height as he was — but could move with the grace of a dancer. And she was one of the fiercest warriors he had ever seen in battle. 'Warrior suited her,' he thought, soldier or fighter just didn't do her justice.
"You know that you're goin' to get yourself killed doin' somethin' like that one day." It wasn't a question. Logan's first impression had been that a giant fruit bat was hanging over his bed. Wolf was in near-full wolfen form when she attached herself to the head of the bed, hung upside down over his face and proceeded to stare him awake.
Wolf chuckled quietly, kissing him on the nose. "You're just upset that I can sneak up and scare you," she teased. The near-were sharpness of his senses didn't make up for her ability to empathically vanish.
Logan sighed dramatically, declining to encourage her. He looked around the room, noticing an absence. "Where's that brother o' yours?" he asked, knowing that the two of them were never far apart.
A slow smile spread across her face. "Out charming some smitten young thing." Wolf ran her finger seductively across his bottom lip. She felt the groan that escaped him vibrate through her body and shivered in delight.
"So this is a social call?" he asked.
Wolf's response was a distracted, "Mmm," as she ran her tongue along the ridge of his ear.
"Oh... good," he grinned as he pulled her under the covers. "So we won't be interrupted then, Mactíre."
They were wandering the early morning streets of London arm-in-arm, looking for all world like any of the other young lovers that were out taking in the sights and visiting the clubs that never slept. Only both were more than human; one was a werewolf and the other was a genetic mutation.
They had a lot of catching up to do.
"So what's with the face, Mac?" Since he'd last seen her she had acquired blue hair and numerous facial piercings. She looked to have more metal in her body than he did these days. "Tryin' to blend into the crowd?"
Wolf's appearance was definitely not out of the ordinary for London. Logan on other hand was unnerving the bouncers on the doors of the clubs that they passed. What he lacked in height, he more than made up for in sheer menace. He had a built that would have made most body-builders envious. It wasn't the cultivated build of the gym-junkie, it was the hard, wiry musculature of someone who had gained the physique through a life of hard work. His recent changes had lent him a more feral air too. Long buried instincts took over when people saw him. He was a predator amongst the sheep.
Wolf had always considered Logan's true mutation to be his hair. Super sharp senses, claws and fast healing were nothing new to her. His hair, however, swept back and up into points that looked like ears and nothing could stop it from doing this for long.
Wolf smiled to herself, her friend always did know how to get to the point. It was one of the things she loved about him. "You could say that. I was working undercover for InterPol recently and decided to keep the look. It goes down well with the boss, that I can tell you." Cowley fairly bristled when he saw her in the office these days, so she was avoiding it for the moment.
"There's somethin' I'd like to see," he chuckled.
"So how are you doing, Logan?" she questioned. "Still fighting for your humanity?"
She had always thought it odd that one of the most honourable men she had ever met was so afraid of losing his humanity in the heat of the moment. He was afraid that by cutting loose he would never be able to control himself and give into some base animalistic state. It was complete bullshit. As someone who lived as part of a wolf pack at times, she knew that animals were far more civilised than humans. She also knew that Logan should know better.
He grunted. "Same as always. You know how it is."
"I know that you should accept yourself for what you are, rather than reaching for some insane idealistic goal," she admonished.
Logan sighed. "Drop it, darlin'. You know we'll only argue about it an' get nowhere."
Wolf pulled him to a halt and turned to face him. "Okay, it's a deal." She kissed him on the cheek. "Truce?"
"Truce," he said brushing his lips across hers.
"Has Ororo stopped threatening to barbecue me on sight yet?" Wolf asked, sending the conversation off on a more civil tangent.
Logan laughed loudly, startling several passers-by with his sudden outburst. "I don't think you'll be in her good books for quite a while, darlin'."
Westchester County, New York
1996
"Excuse me, Storm. Ma'am," an out-of-breath Sam Guthrie panted as he caught up to the regal white-haired black woman in one of the mansion's many corridors. "Ah don't mean ta bother ya. But could Ah ask a question about the security around the mansion an' grounds?"
"Of course, Samuel," she replied with all the grace of a queen to her subject. "What is troubling you?"
"Well..." he started, not quite sure how to explain what he'd seen. "Ah thought that the security system could detect the difference between people who belong here an' people who don't."
"It can. Why?" she asked, an exquisite eyebrow raised in question.
Sam continued with his questioning. "And there's nobody on the grounds at the moment who shouldn't be?
Ororo had just come from the security room and had noticed that there was no one — unexpected or otherwise — on the property who shouldn't be. "No, Sam. I've just checked in fact. Everything is as it should be." The young man was clearly flustered about something. "Why do you ask?"
"'Cause I just flew over the grounds an' Ah saw Mr Logan swimmin' in the lake..."
Ororo frowned slightly. This was not unusual. Ever since Logan had gone feral, and had taken to living in the grounds rather than in the house, most of the X-Men had spotted him in the lake at one time or another. "I don't see your problem, Sam."
Sam finally got to his point. "He wasn't alone, ma'am."
Logan was the happiest he'd been for a long time. Wolf's unexpected visit had broken him out of his withdrawal. There was something about the woman that always brought out the kid in him.
He felt something slither between his ankles, and was yanked below the surface before he could pull his feet to safety.
"No fair, Mac," he spluttered as he bobbed to the surface.
"Fair!" she laughed in delight. "There is no fair in a water fight. Do you give up?"
"Will you stop tryin' to drown me?"
Wolf pushed her long red hair out of her eyes and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess so," she finally decided with a mock pout.
"Okay, you win." He hooked an arm around the waist of his friend and drew her into a tight embrace, kissing her with a passion. She all but vanished in the circle of his hugely muscled arms. "As long as you don't pull that face again."
Wolf wrapped her legs around his waist and rubbed herself against the already aroused Canadian. "Anything, love..." She was interrupted by another long slow kiss. "I'll do anything if you kiss me like that again."
Logan raised an eyebrow in question. "Anythin'?"
"You've known me long enough now," Wolf chuckled quietly. "And you need ask?"
The short dark-haired man grinned broadly in response. He ran his hands lovingly over her body. Down her back, over her buttocks and down the length of her legs that were still wrapped securely around him. Trailing his hands over her feet, he kissed her lightly on the mouth. "Race you back, Mac." His grip on her feet tightened as her thrust his arms upwards and catapulted the unsuspecting woman out of the water like a cannonball.
She came up spitting water and looking like a Fury. "Consider yourself toast, furball," she growled low in her throat.
"You gotta catch me first," Logan shouted over his shoulder as he headed into shore with a good head start.
After several minutes of swimming — that was interrupted by much good-natured cheating on both sides — Logan and Wolf finally collapsed in a mound on the small beach amid gales of laughter.
"Damn, it's good to see you again, Mac. You're good for me," he whispered once their laughter had died down.
She held his face in her hand and leaned her forehead against his, looking into his beautiful dark eyes. "I wish I could have gotten here sooner for you. I've missed you."
They continued the exploration of each others body's that had been interrupted by their race back to shore. Wolf ran sensitive fingers over the familiar planes of Logan's body. He arched against her in pure joy and crushed her body to his.
Breaking contact with regret, he smiled into her confused eyes. "We'd better find somewhere a little more private to continue this. Before Wonderboy returns at ground level with company," he said in reference to Cannonball's earlier high altitude flyover.
Reluctantly disentangling herself from Logan's lap, Wolf stood, drawing her friend to his feet, and started towards the woods that covered much of the estate. She stopped suddenly, causing Logan to bump into her.
"What?" he started in confusion, before catching the same scent Wolf had.
"We've got company," they muttered together.
Wolf stood to face the reception committee, with Logan behind her, his arms tight around her body.
Storm's black-clad figure swept gracefully down onto the small beach, with Cannonball dropping in her wake like an afterthought.
"What is the meaning of this, Logan?" she blustered, startled by the sight of the naked red-haired stranger being embraced by her equally bare friend.
Sam Guthrie's only contribution was to turn bright red, mutter an apology and fly off the way he'd come. Wolf stared after him with intense interest, snorting to herself at the misfortune that would leave him trapped with a face even younger than hers for the rest of his days. She doubted that anybody here knew what he really was, they probably just assumed it was another manifestation of mutant powers. She would have to have a chat with Logan about preparing Sam for life as an Immortal before he lost his head without knowing why. What he really needed was a mentor, and with no other Immortals handy, Logan was the best candidate for the job.
"None o' your business 'Ro," he stated quietly, thinking privately that Sam had the manners of a true gentleman. Something that Ororo would do well to take note of. "Just old friends catchin' up."
"A breach of security is most definitely my business, Logan" she said irritably. "Your old friend has eluded our security system and could be a threat to the X-Men."
"Drop it, 'Ro," he allowed a hint of menace to creep into his voice.
"I most certainly will not," she countered, full of righteous indignation. Finally taking closer look at the strange woman in Logan's arms, she gasped in shock. "Logan, how could you? She's only a child."
Wolf growled to herself. It wasn't unusual for her to be mistaken for young — considering her true age — but this was getting ridiculous. This matter needed to be settled, one way or another. "Listen, you self-righteous bitch, if you've got something to say to me, say it. Otherwise shut up and fuck off," her voice was a growl very similar to Logan's.
Removing a hand from its place on one of the arms wrapped protectively around her, she reached behind to run her fingers through Logan's thick mane of hair in affection. He growled softly, nuzzling into her neck and rubbing his still-hard erection against the cleft of her arse. She needed to get rid of this interfering bitch — now.
Looking into the ice-blue eyes of the much taller woman, Wolf summed her up in an instant. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm a hell of a lot older than I look. So you can take your concern for my well-being and shove it. I have neither the time nor the inclination at the moment to deal with your Pampered Princess on a Pedestal performance so, unless you have something of interest to say, you can piss off."
Ororo stepped back in shock. Nobody ever spoke to her that way.
Wolf watched the woman's mouth open and close like a fish out of water. "I didn't think so." She took Logan's hand and led him off into the bush.
Logan waggled his fingers at the stunned woman as they retreated. "See you later, 'Ro," he grinned in amusement.
Watching as the pair vanished into the thick brush, Storm's face clouded over in fury and she took off back to the mansion, the sky darkening in her wake.
London, England
1997
After much chuckling over Wolf's probable demise at Storm's hands and updates on the progress of Sam Guthrie under Logan's watchful eye, they eventually wound their way back to the London flat that Wolf shared with her partner.
"Is he home, Mac?" Logan asked. It had been a while since he'd last seen Declán and was looking forward to seeing him again.
Wolf shook her head. "He didn't make it home last night either. He may be in later." Well maybe not considering what she could feel from him now. He'd met a dancer three days ago and he hadn't surfaced since.
She led Logan over to the fireplace and settled onto the couch beside him. "So what brings you to London, love?"
He loved the mesmerising effect the fire was having on him, but it was still not as captivating as the small redhead — well she wasn't a redhead at the moment, but force of habit made him still think of her that way — curled against his side. "Business," he stated briefly.
"Zoe Culloden." It wasn't a question. Ms Culloden was the current Expediter for Landau, Luckman and Lake.
Logan nodded. "I expect so."
"How did I ever let you get me tied up with Landau, Luckman and Lake?" Wolf spoke to herself more than to Logan.
They both had considerable amounts of money invested in a vast array of interests, some of which they shared a common concern in. Investments leant towards the technological future, but antiques were always a ready source of income. A learned habit from long and interesting lives.
"You wanted technology to invest in..." he shrugged. "You can't get more hi-tech than Landau, Luckman an' Lake."
Dealing with Landau, Luckman and Lake was always an interesting proposition. The inter-dimensional security firm gave a high return for your investment and they never asked questions of their clients — even if they had been continuous clients for more than the standard human lifespan. One of the more interesting business practices of the firm was to occasionally call on the services of their clients. It tended to be dangerous, but extremely well paid work.
Wolf had a sneaking suspicion that very few — if any — of Landau, Luckman and Lake's client base were retained if they couldn't assist the agency in some way.
She raised an eyebrow. "I take it you didn't travel by conventional means then." She had felt the strange, but unmistakable instantaneous movement of her friend from one place to another.
Logan smiled down at the woman beside him. "Does anyone workin' with Landau, Luckman an' Lake?" he sighed. "I was in Westchester when I got a message to meet Culloden in Boston. Address turned out to be a condemned building."
Wolf rolled her eyes, not in the least surprised. Their offices tended to be in odd locations. Always hidden away from curious eyes.
"Culloden wasn't there when I arrived. I guessed that she'd been an' gone just before I got there, 'cause I picked up a recent scent in the building. I found the door with a note taped to it instructin' me to enter. An' here I am. London."
Wolf was well acquainted with the door that Logan spoke of, she'd had many encounters with them. All Landau, Luckman and Lake offices had a door marked WC. It wasn't a bathroom, it was a warp chamber and it had the ability to transport you across realities.
"You're lucky you ended up on the same world." Wolf stared into the flames before continuing, "So you think I'm involved in this, Logan?"
Logan nodded slowly. "With that firm, I don't believe in coincidence and there's no other reason for me being sent here. It wouldn't be the first time we've worked together for them."
"And I doubt it will be the last," Wolf finished with a resigned grin. "How long do you think it will be before we —"
Wolf was interrupted by a knock at the door. She reached out with her senses to feel the courier waiting at the door.
She accepted and signed for the envelope. Her brow furrowed in thought, "An odd way to contact me. I wonder who it's from," Wolf flipped the envelope over looking for any form of identification and found none. There wasn't any writing at all, not even an address.
Wolf returned to her seat beside Logan. "Any ideas?" she held the envelope up for him to see.
"Open it," her friend offered ingenuously.
"Ta. I'd gotten that far by myself already."
Logan grinned as he watched her slit the envelope open with a freshly elongated claw. "You asked."
Wolf ignored his sarcasm as she saw a single sheet of very expensive paper slide out. The hand-written note invited both of them to attend the London office of Landau, Luckman and Lake in half an hour.
Logan whistled softly as he read the note. "They don't mess around, do they? At least they were polite enough to let us get reacquainted."
A polite, well-groomed young woman awaited their arrival in the lobby of the London office building. In an efficient, business-like manner she greeted them, led them into the bowels of the building and ushered them towards the door unobtrusively hidden amongst janitorial and supply closets.
Before they could ask any questions, they were thrust through, to find themselves standing in a vacant parking lot in a city that was definitely not London.
The first thing Wolf did was to close her eyes and reach out to her partner. Weaving serene forest tones into her thoughts, she calmed her very startled brother.
Declán felt infinitely better as the familiar sensation of their Canadian friend entwined with Wolf's in his mind. It also explained the freakish disruption of Wolf's presence that he had just felt. Landau, Luckman and Lake. Fortunately for him Logan's presence meant that he wouldn't have to spend days catching up with his sister. After all if Landau, Luckman and Lake wanted him, he would not still be in London. With a beautiful young lady.
'Hope you have fun, Wolf,' he thought to himself. 'I certainly will.'
Logan looked down at the newspapers that swirled around his feet before being whisked off by the light breeze. He sniffed the air trying to identify their location. It was familiar, but evoked a strange overlapping image in his mind.
Wolf smiled as she eased away from her immediate mindlink with Declán and settled into their usual gentle brush with each other. Even as worried as he was, her partner still provided a calming influence over her. 'Very Zen,' she thought to herself as she took in her new location.
She had noticed her friend's brief surveillance of their surroundings and was conducting her own. "Any ideas?"
"Vancouver?" he suggested at the same time as Wolf offered, "Seattle?"
He smiled shaking his head. "I can't get a clean fix on this place. Weird. I've never had that problem before."
Wolf nodded, she was having the same problem. "Looks like Seattle, smells like Vancouver. You know, I was in Washington DC recently and had the same thing happen." Shaking the memory off, she suddenly smiled widely in delight. "Well wherever the hell we are, we aren't alone. I've just felt some very old friends."
"So whatta you want to do, Mac?"
Wolf tilted her head on the side in thought. "How about you try to find out exactly where we are and let Declán know," she suggested.
"No problem. An' where'll you be?"
"I'm going to see if I've been missed. I'll be in a bar about..." Wolf tilted her head to the side as she focussed in on the current location of her friends, "...three kilometres south-west of here."
"Great. I'll track you down when I've spoken to Dec."
Seattle, Washington
Joe looked over at the young punk woman who was in deep conversation with Connor and Duncan. She seemed to have of some kind of a past with both of them. 'A very close past,' he thought. Considering the greeting she had given the elder MacLeod. But if she knew them so well, why was it that they seemed shocked to see her.
He knew she wasn't an Immortal because of the way she had been able to sneak up behind the pair and scare the hell of them. In fact he hadn't even noticed her until Duncan's startled yelp drew his attention. That in itself was strange considering that she wasn't someone you could easily overlook, for starters her hair was a shade of blue that almost hurt to look at.
He noticed the uncanny similarity that her movements bore to those of the two Immortals at the table. She moved like a warrior. She also wore one of the Immortals favourite all-purpose sword-hiding coats. Not that she was using the coat for sword-hiding at the moment. Strapped across her back, under a backpack, was a carefully wrapped bundle that had the right shape to be a sword. Strange.
There was something familiar about her too. Something that was just out of his grasp. He wondered who she was.
Neither of them had really changed. Duncan was still darkly intense and brooding. 'He always did take things too much to heart,' she thought sadly. 'Far too serious for his own good.' And Connor, her beautiful Connor. He still had the slightly scruffy look that she found so endearing.
They were like chalk and cheese. Duncan with his long dark hair neat held back in a silver clasp while Connor's stood up in all directions. She had missed them both so much.
The MacLeods had last seen her in London nearly 170 years ago and knew that she wasn't an Immortal, but here she was alive and looking as young as she did the last time they'd seen her. She'd picked up a different name and occupation since then, but then so had they.
"But you're not one of us," Duncan sputtered.
"Work with me here, guys. Please," Wolf implored, her arms folded across the back of the chair she was straddling. "I am not an Immortal. Once I'm dead, that's it, I stay dead. I just come from a line of extremely long-lived people. And I am older than the pair of you put together."
Duncan knew there was more to her than she was telling them, but he also knew that she wasn't about to part with that information unless she had to. Something he could appreciate. He was curious, but if he had to wait, then wait he would.
Connor shook his head sadly. He'd left her all those years ago for fear of becoming too involved and watching another love die. But how was he to know she was older than he was. He had never told her what he was, but she'd known. He remembered that even then she had a knack of knowing exactly what was going on.
London, England
1831
Connor hated this. He wanted to stay with Redfern Davidson, known to most as Wolf, but every time he found himself getting close to someone he cut his ties and left. He'd come to believe that Ramirez was right. 'You must leave her, brother.' The words were still with him after all these years.
He knelt before the woman he'd spent the past year with, holding her hands in his. "Wolf, I don't know how to say this..." he trailed off. He looked deep into her strange green eyes and saw something that gave him pause. She knew. Everything? Maybe, but she definitely knew that he was leaving.
Wolf gently removed a hand from Connor's grasp and pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh. I know. You have to go. I won't ask why, love."
She drew him to his feet and kissed him in a way that made him want to change his mind and stay, but before he could act on that impulse she pulled away from his embrace. Standing on her toes she kissed him on the cheek. "I promise you this, Connor MacLeod, we will meet again."
And then she was gone.
She hadn't walked away, she had just vanished, leaving a very confused Scotsman in her wake."
Seattle, Washington
1997
"You knew even then," Connor accused. "You knew what I was, what we both were," he included Duncan, "and yet you let me leave you. Why?"
Wolf shrugged. "You weren't ready for a relationship at the time. And I..." she paused, remembering. "I had responsibilities elsewhere." She laid her hand against his cheek. "Perhaps another time."
Connor took her hand and pressed his lips to the palm. "I would like that."
Duncan snorted. "And you said I got all of the good women."
"At least you've had the sense to hold on to them," Connor countered.
Wolf felt the tension in the bar rise as a feral-looking biker entered the bar. He was dressed much the same as Wolf — he even had a similar pack slung over one shoulder — in jeans and a tee-shirt, but with a leather jacket rather than a trench coat. She noticed the bartender making a move for a weapon behind the bar. 'Bloody hell! And I thought I agitated people,' she thought with a sigh.
He spotted Wolf at one of the tables and called out, "Hey Mac, I can't get holda that cousin o' yours anywhere."
"He's right here," Connor and Duncan answered in unison and looked at each other in surprise. They were fast losing the plot.
"Don't worry about it, Logan," she said to her friend as he came up behind her with a slightly confused expression on his face. "Thanks. I'll try him again later, he may not want to be disturbed at the moment." Logan grinned at her reference to the probability of Declán's current distraction. "This is Connor and Duncan MacLeod, the friends I was telling you about. Gentlemen, this is Logan."
Logan nodded to each man and went in search of beer.
Wolf was relieved to see that the bartender had relaxed since Logan's entry and subsequent introduction to the MacLeods.
"Mac?" both Immortals echoed each other again. This was the third name they'd heard her use.
"Mactíre Mac Conchúir," Wolf explained with a lopsided grin. "It's the name I was born with. He," she pointed in Logan's direction, "is one of the few people who still calls me that."
"Isn't that a rather unusual name for a woman?" Duncan asked. He wondered who on earth would call their daughter 'Wolf' in the first place. It was an Irish word he hadn't heard in a very long time, and even then he'd never heard it used as a name before.
Wolf smiled slowly. "Let's just say that my father knew what I was from the moment I was born. He knew that to keep my presence hidden from the church it would be best if I travelled with him as a son. I was named the son of the wolf-lover — it's ironic that after so many years I should find another," she smiled fondly at Connor. "It's something of a tradition that I've kept over the years, my selection of names have always been either male or reasonably ambiguous.
"Ever tried owning property as a woman in the past?" she continued, raising an eyebrow in question. "All of my property transactions have been, and still are, handled in writing. That way I've always been assumed male without question."
Duncan nodded in understanding. "And this cousin?" he questioned.
"Um..." Wolf looked down at the table before slowly raising her eyes to meet Duncan's. "You know him better as Gabriel."
"Your brother?" Connor blurted out in surprise. "He's still alive too?" 'What other little surprises do you have in store?'
She smiled. "Oh, very much so. He goes by the name of Nathan Blade now, and he's really my cousin. Although you're probably more closely related to each other than we are."
Duncan nodded in the direction of a returning Logan. "How does he know so much about you?" he asked curiously.
Wolf moved around the table to allow the drink-laden Logan room to sit down.
The man in question just smiled. "I know a great many things," he replied enigmatically raising his glass.
Connor held his glass up. "To second chances."
"And old friends," Duncan continued.
Wolf smiled at her friends. "Sláinte."
Joe Dawson sat back and stared at the entries on his computer in frustration. He guessed that she was in her mid-twenties, but even going back fifteen years he couldn't find any reference to the young woman he'd seen with Duncan and Connor.
He had asked Duncan about her earlier and gotten a secretive smile and, "She's an old friend, Joe". But he did get her name.
Running a background check on Jordan Wolf had produced some interesting results. She was an InterPol agent assigned to a little known but highly regarded section of the agency. The fact that she had been working with InterPol for twelve years was what made him look further back into the MacLeods history than he first thought necessary.
He called up the image of the young agent on his screen. While it was not a recent photograph, it was definitely the same woman, sans-piercings and with orange rather than electric blue hair. "Who are you?" he asked the image. "I know you from somewhere."
Joe started running open searches on the Watcher database. Both Jordan and Wolf produced dead ends. "Red," he muttered to himself. He'd heard Connor greet her as 'Red' when she surprised them. Maybe it was just a nickname, but what the hell. He typed in "RED" and hit enter.
The computer spat references across the screen.
"Redfern Davidson," he scanned through the information. "Confidant of Duncan MacLeod and companion to Connor MacLeod. London. 1831."
'A bit too early,' Joe thought, but continued reading anyway. It was, after all, the only connection he'd made all night. And he vaguely recalled the strange disappearance of an Immortal about that time.
London, England
1831
The small redhead tossed her cloak over a chair and flung her hat in the direction of the hat stand — surprisingly enough it caught on one of the hooks. She dropped exhausted into one of the overstuffed armchairs that littered the parlour of the small London townhouse she shared with Connor MacLeod. Rubbing her temples, she tried to ease the ache of overloaded senses that had now coalesced into a full force migraine. Train travel really took its toll on her. Too many people, in too close an environment. She shuddered at the memory.
Wolf was home earlier than she expected to be. She had just returned from Glasgow after visiting Seaghán Mac Conmara.
Her brother Declán, currently known as Gabriel Davidson, had elected to stay with the Laoch Sí to further develop his fighting skills. 'And drinking skills, knowing Seaghán's influence.'
Seaghán was an old friend of the family. She grimaced to herself at the reference. He had suggested that she consider the prospect of about leaving the country for a while, as the Family were starting to get interested in her talents again.
"That's all I need," she chewed on a nail thoughtfully. The last thing she wanted was to get tied up in Family business again.
She knew they'd catch up with her sooner or later, but she planned to give them a run for their money first.
What she needed now was a distraction.
A slow smile spread across her face as she felt the man entering her apartment through a rear window. 'An Immortal,' she could feel the intruder, his Immortality shone like a beacon in her mind. There was only one reason for him to be breaking into the house of another Immortal. 'This should be fun.'
Robert Silk had only been an Immortal for a few years. Even so, he was barely in his twenties.
Born into a world that treated orphaned children like slaves, he came to die at an early age, a victim of the dangerous conditions under which he was forced to work. His brief life had left a giant chip on his shoulder and a determination to prove himself against the older Immortals.
His decided method of attack was to lure one of the more experienced Immortals into battle on his grounds through blackmail. Be it theft of personal items, threat of disclosure of their identity or as a hostage, it didn't matter to him. Robert was planning to case MacLeod's house for potential blackmail opportunities while nobody was home. He firmly believed in Know thine enemy.
Slipping quietly through the small kitchen window, he padded silently into the parlour.
The sight of the woman sitting in the chair with her back to him startled him for an instant. Quickly recovering his composure, he smiled to himself at his good fortune. This was going to be easier than he thought.
Creeping up behind the unsuspecting woman, he clamped a hand over her mouth and held his knife to her throat. "If you want live, you'll tell me where to find Connor MacLeod," he hissed in her ear.
The hand dropped from her mouth allowing her to reply. "Hmm..." Wolf considered the proposal with slow deliberation. "I don't think I will, if you don't mind."
"Don't mind?" the young Immortal spluttered indignantly. "Tell me where he is or I will be forced kill you." Robert pressed his knife against her throat hard enough to break the skin. A small trickle of blood pooled along the blade before sliding down her neck.
Wolf's eyes flared. "That was uncalled for," she said in a voice ripe with menace. "And to think I was going to go easy on you."
Before Robert could react to her words, Wolf had grabbed his knife arm and flung him over the chair to land in a heap at her feet. "Will you play nicely now?" she asked the dazed man.
Robert shook his head and looked up at the woman now standing in front of him. She was dressed like a man, in a loose linen shirt, a black vest and high-waisted black trousers, with the cuffs rolled up over her bare feet. A 15th Century Claymore was held loosely in her left hand.
There was no way he was going to be shamed by a mere woman. He muttered obscenities under his breath and launched himself from the floor... and crashed into the base of the armchair he had previously sailed over. His victim had just vanished.
"I didn't think you would," Wolf said to herself with a laugh. Side-stepping his clumsy attack had been ludicrously simple. She gestured with her weapon for the young man to get up.
Clambering ungainly to his feet Robert drew his sword and faced the woman who mocked him. "You're not an Immortal," he spat. "What do you have to gain from killing me?" He knew that she didn't stand a chance against him.
Wolf paced around the small parlour sizing up her opponent. "Nothing," she replied casually. "But I take exception to you being here for Connor's head and that makes you mine." She bared her teeth and growled, a low growl that seemed to rise from her feet.
Robert swallowed. He was starting to think that this wasn't going to be so easy after all. She had, after all, held her heavy weapon at guard far longer than he could have and was still showing no signs of strain. Then he saw it, an opening in her guard. He leapt forward, striking out for her weakness.
The clash of swords lasted less than a second before Robert's weapon was casually flicked across the room with practised ease.
Redfern tripped her overbalanced combatant and stood over his prone body, the point of her weapon pricking the skin at his throat. "Never underestimate your opponent," she smiled charmingly. "Do you cede? Will you leave here and never return?"
"Never," the young Immortal spat at her. His wounded pride refusing to let him submit to a woman.
"Your choice," she shrugged and swung her sword.
The room lit up with his escaping Quickening. It swirled around her — looking for something that wasn't there — before dissipating into the walls.
Wolf surveyed the body of the man at her feet. Fortunately he hadn't taken any Quickenings, so the windows and most of the furnishings were still in place. She shook her head sadly at the needless waste and went in search of something to clean the blood from the floor boards.
Seattle, Washington
1997
Joe scanned through the last of the cross-entries.
A young Immortal had last been seen entering the London home of Connor MacLeod. A Quickening was witnessed on the premises, but a body was never found.
The Watcher had emphasised in his journal that only one person had entered the premises before Silk. And yet when Robert Silk's Watcher had checked the house later there was no evidence of the man having been there. No disturbance, no body and certainly no sign of the young woman who had been there at the time.
Both Connor and Duncan MacLeod had been on the other side of London at the time of the occurrence, so they had been ruled out.
It was just after that incident that Connor had parted ways with the woman and she was never seen again.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Joe tried to clear his head and get his thoughts together.
If the description of Redfern Davidson hadn't been so close to the image on his screen, he would have dropped the thread long ago, but something called to him. Call it a hunch, a gut-feeling, but Joe Dawson was sure that Redfern and Jordan were one and the same. 'But how is that possible.'
When Wolf and Logan had excused themselves to find a room for the night, Duncan had refused to hear of it. His reasoning was, that with Connor already getting in the way, what was another pair of warm bodies sharing his apartment atop the dojo.
Connor had stumbled out of the lift to crash on the sofa in a drunken stupor, while Logan — studiously ignoring the comfortable armchairs — draped himself over the coffee table.
That was how Wolf found herself seated with Duncan on his sofa. Either Duncan could hold his liquor better than she remembered or he hadn't been drinking the same amount of alcohol that the rest of them had. Knowing Duncan's ways, Wolf suspected the latter.
"Do you think they're both asleep?" Duncan asked as soft snoring issued from the two men. He wondered that anybody could sleep on a coffee table, but Wolf had assured him that Logan was comfortable enough as he was, and more that capable of finding somewhere softer to sleep if he wanted.
"Oh aye," Wolf could fell the distinct sleep patterns of the two men. "Without a doubt. But they are not going to be happy come morning," she grinned evilly.
Duncan snorted. "That I can believe. I think Joe's going to have to restock half the bar after tonight."
Wolf sobered at the mention of the bartender's name. "You do know what he is, don't you?" she asked in concern.
"A Watcher?" Yeah, I know —" Duncan stopped mid-sentence and looked carefully at Wolf. "How do you know what he is?"
"Let's just say that I've encountered them before," Wolf smiled secretively. "I was a bit worried about the attention a Watcher was paying you."
Duncan laughed softly. "Joe is a good friend, but he is a bit of a mother hen."
"I could say the same for you, Duncan," she spoke softly. "Why did you switch drinks?"
Duncan shifted in embarrassment, he had asked Joe to switch his drinks to something non-alcoholic earlier in the evening. He wanted to be clear-headed when he spoke with Wolf, and he remembered only too well the killer hangover that had resulted from his last attempt to keep up with her. "I was curious about your relationship with Logan and..."
"You were wondering if my intentions towards Connor are honourable?" Wolf finished his question, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Close enough," Duncan offered her an abashed grin. It sounded pretty silly to him too now that he thought about it. "How about if you tell me about you and Logan instead.
Wolf smiled fondly, feeling the mind of her sleeping friend. "We're very good friends." Duncan raised an eyebrow.
"And what of Connor?" he prompted.
"That, Duncan MacLeod," she poked him is chest, "is entirely up to him. But there's one thing that I am determined to do."
"Which is?" he asked curiously.
"To never lose contact with the pair of you again." Wolf flung her arms around the tall Scot's neck in a fierce hug that took him by surprise.
Duncan held the small blue-haired woman tightly in his arms. He hadn't realised, until he had seen her in the bar, just how much he had missed her.
Wolf reluctantly drew away from Duncan. "So what are the sleeping options?" she asked. "Seeing as we've been beaten to the beds."
"I'll take the floor, you can have the bed," Duncan declared with all of his legendary chivalry. "Just a moment and I'll grab some blankets."
Wolf caught Duncan's hand as he rose. "This bed is big enough for both of us, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course, but —"
"No buts, bunky. We're sharing."
"But..." Duncan stammered.
"Is there some reason for me not to trust you?" Wolf asked, holding his dark eyes in hers.
Duncan shook his head and smiled. "No."
"Then get your arse back down here and get into bed."
Connor wandered blindly into the kitchen, feeling his way by groping the furniture. His eyes were clenched shut and his face was screwed up in pain. A hand on his shoulder stopped his forward progress and a hot cup of coffee was placed into one hand.
"What happened?" he winced at the sound of his own voice echoing in his head.
"Well, my friend, considerin' you were all talkin' in Gaelic at one point an' I think I was startin' to understand it, my guess would be that we all made the grave mistake o' tryin' to outdrink Wolf," Logan laughed softly.
Connor sorted through his jumbled recollections of the previous night, the Gaelic definitely rang a bell somewhere. "I seem to remember you were doing pretty well at keeping up with her. How come you're still walking?"
"I heal fast," he said quietly.
Connor snorted. "Yeah, well so do I. But unfortunately hangovers don't seem to come under that category. Where's Duncan and Wolf?"
"You passed 'em on the way in." Connor still looked confused. "On the bed. You had your eyes shut at the time," he explained with a sigh.
Connor turned around towards the bed and found it was currently occupied by Duncan MacLeod, with Wolf curled against his side, her head on his chest. Duncan's arm was wrapped protectively around her shoulders. To say the Connor looked crestfallen was an understatement. "What's going on?" he asked weakly.
Logan shook his head, he'd expected this when he first seen them upon waking. "Nothin'. Trust me."
Connor opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to articulate what he was feeling. Wolf had never shown any interest in the younger MacLeod. Logan decided he'd better put the man out of his misery.
"Watch this." Logan walked across to the sleeping figures and ran a finger along Duncan's jawline.
Duncan shifted in his sleep and murmured, "Tessa."
A second later Wolf echoed, "Tessa."
Connor's eyes widened in astonishment. "She's sharing his dreams. Has she always done that?"
Logan shook his head. "No. That's somethin' she picked up recently, it's somethin' of a defence mechanism."
"Why?" Connor asked.
"When was the last time you saw Wolf?" Logan responded with a question.
"London. Early 1830s," Connor said without thought. Even had he been fully aware of what he was saying, he would still have replied truthfully. There was something about Logan that made the Highlander think that he was a lot older than he looked.
Logan nodded as if that explained everything. "She doesn't like to sleep alone. Nightmares. She's had 'em since the 1940s. Believe me, if she sleeps alone in a strange place, her screams could wake the dead." He had run into her in France just after she had lost her bondmate and couldn't believe the state she was in. If anything, she was even more dangerous than she normally was — she didn't care about anything any more. He had spent a long time working together with Dec to help her handle her nightmares in a way that didn't involve killing people.
"So nothing's happened here?" Connor waved in the direction of the bed.
Logan smiled. "No. I doubt Duncan even knows she's wrapped herself around him." His smile broadened, "Who do you wanna wake first?"
Connor finally caught up to the present and grinned evilly at Logan's suggestion. "Duncan, definitely."
After much good-natured teasing of Duncan — during which he woke, rolled her eyes at the behaviour of her friends, snorted and went in search of the bathroom, all without saying a word — they finally settled down in the dojo office to discuss what had brought them together.
"I take it that you're familiar with Landau, Luckman and Lake?" Wolf asked the Immortals. In her experience, there were few people with her life span and skills who weren't acquainted with the firm. Both men nodded their affirmation. "Then you have as much idea about why we're here as we do," she finished.
"You don't think our meeting is a coincidence though?" Duncan asked. He met the eyes of each person in the office. "Neither do I," he concluded.
"So what do we do now?" Connor asked.
Logan shrugged in indifference. "We wait."
Connor looked at Logan. "But for how long?"
"As long as it takes, kid," the Canadian replied.
"That would be my cue," a low cultured voice uttered from the doorway.
A tall willowy blonde entered the office, startling both Wolf and Logan, neither of whom had sensed her before she spoke.
Zoe Culloden was clad in her customary form of attire, a lycra bodysuit that masqueraded as a uniform.
Wolf was sure that she wore it purely to elicit the response she was now getting from the three men in the room. She rolled her eyes at their reaction. 'You'd think they'd never seen a woman before,' she thought half in amusement. She could end Culloden's enrapture of the men with a thought, but instead decided to settle back and see how things panned out. 'At least one person in the room needs to be clear-headed,' she reasoned.
What annoyed Wolf more than Culloden's posturing was her ability to outline a situation without giving anything away. Wolf had never been able to get a clean fix on the woman either — with any of her senses. There was an artificial shield that protected the woman. She privately wondered if dangling the blonde over the lift shaft and doodling on her legs with a straight razor would yield any further information. 'Maybe not,' she smiled in forced politeness at the woman. 'But it would be fun.'
"I'm glad to see that you've found each other, that has speeded matters up considerably," she announced to her attentive audience. "Landau, Luckman and Lake require your assistance with a small matter."
Wolf and Logan squatted on the roof edge of the building. They were watching the still-lit office on the opposite side of the street.
Logan lit a cigar and inhaled, settling back on his haunches in the darkness to wait. Wolf's hand snaked out without warning and grabbed the cigar from his mouth. From long experience Logan knew he could never smoke in peace around her. He had asked Declán about it once, and laughingly been told, "She only ever smokes around you, Logan. Go figure." He sighed, knowing that this one would go the way of all the others and be passed between them like a joint. He took it back from her outstretched hand.
The man got up from his desk and walked out his office. He opened the front door, snapped off the building's lights and locked up for the night. A minute later he was in his two-year-old white Volvo, driving conservatively homeward.
"This guy is like clockwork," Wolf whispered blowing smoke from her nose like a dragon.
Logan snorted quietly. "Yeah, I noticed." He got to his feet and stretched, his spine making satisfying cracking sounds. "That's us done for the night. Let's get some shut-eye."
Landau, Luckman and Lake had provided detailed surveillance records of their subject, Mr Conservative, more commonly known as Michael Brown, accountant. And in their checking of those details the man had not once deviated from his daily schedule. He was first in and last out of the office — seven days a week.
They had cased the building with the MacLeod's the previous night and noticed nothing to hinder their job. No security cameras, no alarms, no guards. An easy job. A similar search on his house that morning had turned up the same — nothing.
It looked like an easy job, but something about it was nagging at Wolf. Why did a simple burglary require four expert swordsmen? Something smelled funny here. It was a feeling more than an actual scent, but Wolf wasn't ignoring it. Her hackles still hadn't settled from when she had first set foot in the accountant's office.
Duncan and Connor MacLeod silently worked their way around the side of the darkened Victorian house.
"I don't like this, Connor," Duncan complained again, his deeply ingrained honesty warring with the importance of the task at hand. "What if we get caught?" He had been nervous enough just checking the building out earlier.
"We explain that we're Amway salesmen and that we got a little more over-enthusiastic than usual," Connor said through gritted teeth. Religious upbringings had a lot to answer for. He knew this wasn't really being fair to Duncan, it wasn't his fault that he had an unfortunately high sense of morality. Something that Connor had long since ceased to worry about. But Duncan being a Boyscout wasn't helping Connor's concentration.
Duncan had been uncomfortable about this part of the plan from the start. He'd argued that Wolf was their break-and-enter expert, and therefore they would be better leaving it in her capable hands.
The final decision had been to hit both properties at the same time — negating Duncan's suggestion. This meant that the two Immortals would be breaking into Brown's house just as he left the office, allowing Wolf and Logan to take the office at almost the same time — something that Ms Culloden had suggested was an important factor in their plans. The half hour of travelling time between the two properties provided plenty of leeway for all involved to be long gone before detection became a problem.
Connor ran sensitive fingers around the window frame at the back of the house. Sliding a knife between the window and frame, he quickly popped the lock.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Duncan hissed quietly.
Connor smiled angelically at his cousin. "You never know when the less savoury of skills will come in handy, do you?" He folded the knife shut and slipped it back in his pocket.
Duncan opened his mouth to protest, but Connor shushed him and slipped quietly into the house.
The moment the Volvo's taillights vanished around the corner at the end of the street, Wolf went to work. She had the lock on the rear door of the building picked in an instant. Logan entered the premises like a shadow, as Wolf pulled the door to and followed.
They quickly located the hidden wall safe in the accountant's small office. Logan stood on alert while Wolf expertly worked the combination and opened the safe's door.
"Hey," Wolf whispered her eyes wide at the unexpected sight. "Do you think this is what we're looking for?"
Logan looked at the object in Wolf's hand. It pulsed with an unnatural sickly green light of it's own. He caught Wolf's shit-eating grin. "It can't be anythin' else, smart arse. Let's lock up an' go."
Wolf shut the safe and check to make sure they had disturbed nothing in the office. "Done. Let's move, furball."
"Furball!" her companion hissed indignantly as he stepped out of the building. "You're hairier than I am!"
"True. But not all of the time," she replied with a leer. Wolf reset the door's lock from the inside and quietly closed the door. "This man needs to do something about his security. Anybody could just walk in."
They strolled unnoticed away from the scene of the crime. "You know, Logan, if we are going to go breaking and entering, I'd better do something about this," she pushed the offending lock of blue hair out of her eyes. "It stands out like dog's balls."
"Neither of us are exactly dressed from the Camouflage-R-Us catalogue at the moment," Logan chuckled quietly. "Let's get back an' see how the Scots did.
Duncan held the small Maglight steady as his cousin cracked the safe. "You know, Connor, I discover new things about you all the time."
Connor's surprised look mirrored Wolf's when he spotted the safe's sole occupant. "Shut up and take this," he said absently, handing Duncan a weirdly glowing object and shutting the safe.
Duncan looked at the thing in his hand in disgust. "What the hell is it?"
"This is neither the time nor the place to ask questions, Duncan," Connor shook his head brusquely and headed for the window. "Now let's get out of here."
The dark-haired man broke out of his examination of the strange object, pocketed it and followed his companion out the window.
When they stepped from the lift, the first thing that the MacLeods noticed was a matching paper weight, to the one they'd retrieved, in Logan's hand. The second thing was Wolf's hair — it was back to its more familiar shade of orange.
"How?" Duncan spluttered. Connor was just as dumbfounded.
"I shed," she said. "Um sorry, Duncan, but you may be finding stray blue hair around your bathroom for a while. I tried to get it all, but its kind of got a life of its own," she shrugged in apology.
"That's fine, I guess," he answered lamely.
Connor checked inside the tidy bin in Duncan's kitchen. Sure enough it full of blue hair. He fingered it experimentally, thinking it might be a wig, but it definitely felt like real hair. He looked over to Wolf. Her hair was the same length as the hair in the bin.
Connor held up strands of the blue hair for Duncan to see. "You shed?"
She shrugged distractedly. "It's a family thing."
"But you shed?" Connor continued.
Wolf chose to ignore him.
Connor dropped the hair back in the bin and wandered over to sit on the arm of the sofa beside Wolf. He surreptitiously examined her new orange hair, running his fingers along her scalp. This hair was real too. He was getting more and more intrigued by this old friend that he thought he knew so well.
Wolf leaned against Connor as his fingers continued to massage her head. She closed her eyes in sheer bliss.
Duncan fished the companion piece from his pocket and laid it on the coffee table beside Logan's object. "Any ideas what they are?" he asked, watching Wolf reluctantly drag herself away from his cousin's ministrations to pick one of the objects up and examine it.
Everyone shook their heads. "Nightlights?" Logan offered in jest.
Connor shrugged. "It's as good a suggestion as any."
Wolf turned the object in her hands. It was a cube shape, and it was still glowing sickly. "You want to know something weird?" she said, a look of concern on her face. "I could have sworn this was a pyramid when I took it from the safe."
Three pairs of eyes turned to her, sudden recognition dawning in their faces.
"You're right," Connor exclaimed. "How could something like that slip my mind."
"I don't know," Wolf said with a look of confusion on her face, "but now that they're together, I can't feel them."
Logan started, the slight buzzing at the edge of his perception that had begun when Wolf opened the safe was gone. He hadn't noticed, until Wolf mentioned it.
Duncan was about to ask Wolf what she meant by can't feel them, when he realised that he could no longer feel them either.
"This is very strange," Connor rubbed his temples at the silence he felt from the cessation of a buzz that he hadn't consciously realised was there.
Wolf tossed one of the cubes to Duncan. "Any ideas what those marking are?" she asked.
Duncan frowned. Whatever it was it didn't make sense. "If I had to try and describe this, I'd have to say it was a blend of Arabic and shorthand, with phonetic markings thrown in. This is no language I recognise."
Wolf nodded in agreement. "Aye. That was all that I could make of it too."
Logan wrinkled his nose. "Somethin' about these things smells off. It's nothin' I can put a name ta, but it's almost like...
"Ozone," Wolf supplied, passing the cube to Connor. "It smells like ozone... and pain. I think it's a stronger form of what I noticed when we first entered Brown's premises. I think we should get out of here as soon as possible. I have a feeling that company is coming and it won't be friendly."
Nobody in the room disagreed.
Duncan looked around his home. The last thing he needed was for war to break out in his living quarters. "I think I know a place where we'll be better prepared for an unpleasant encounter."
Connor pocketed the cube he was playing with and stood up. "Let's get going then." He too had a feeling that something bad was coming and he didn't want to hang around and wait for it.
Cascade Range, Washington
Duncan's place, turned out to be a small cabin in the woods. It was accessible only by a narrow, little used path and was sufficiently remote that if you had the urge to fire off artillery shells, there was little chance of any neighbours complaining.
The woods had been thinned around the cabin some time in the past. Enough for sunlight to trickle through the surrounding vegetation for most of the day.
Wolf's friends watching in bemusement as she scampered through the small dwelling with all the curiosity of a child. She had immediately fallen in love with the place, it reminded her of her own place in Colorado. The setting more than the building itself. Where Wolf's barn was basically a technologically advanced bunker, this place was unchanged since it had first been built. There was little in the way of modern conveniences, an oversight that certainly wouldn't bother any of the current occupants.
Duncan deposited an armload of groceries on the table and went about putting them away.
The cabin was one big room, with a kitchen in the back that was dominated by a large wood-burning stove. A very high double bed took up the rest of that end of the building. The other end was scattered with old armchairs that faced a large fireplace. Colourful rugs were strewn throughout and shelves, filled with books, lined the walls.
There was an outhouse at the rear of the building. The small stream that supplied their water could be heard from the back door.
Wolf dumped her gear near the fire, staking out a place for herself for the night. She loved sleeping near open fires, scorched fur be damned.
Connor grabbed his sword and headed outside. Duncan and Logan looked at each other, retrieved their own weapons and followed him.
Wolf unwrapped the bundle she had been carrying since she left London. An inner layer of oilskin further protected the contents — Wolf's swords. She had brought her old Claymore — a 500 year old weapon that should have been gracing a museum somewhere — and her latest custom blade, a broadsword reminiscent of those in favour in the 14th Century. She picked up the Claymore and quickly wiped the blade with a soft cloth, before rewrapping her broadsword.
Wandering outside, she spotted Duncan and Connor sparring with each other. She sat on the cabin steps and started to methodically sharpen her weapon, smiling to herself at how familiar this felt.
Cambridge, England
1831
Wolf lay facedown on her cloak, blissfully soaking up the sun's warmth. Her long orange hair was tied in a loose braid that trailed down her back. She had laced her hands together under her head and was on the verge of falling asleep, when the sounds of an argument snapped her jarringly back into the real world.
"You cheat," a Scottish accent declared.
"I do not," another one answered teasingly. "Can I help if you're too slow."
"Slow! I'll give you slow."
Wolf looked up in time to see Connor launch into a full-blooded assault on Duncan. The ring of the swords echoed off the wall of the barn behind them, giving a weirdly surreal sound to the battle before her.
The small woman reluctantly dragged herself up from the sweet smelling grass and stalked towards the two men.
Before they even realised that she was there, Wolf had interceded and flipped their weapons from their hands with her Claymore. "If you can't play nicely, don't play at all."
Duncan and Connor turned to her with open-mouthed astonishment. They both knew that she was good, but they had never seen anything like that move before. It was unique, much like the woman who performed it. The same one that was now glaring daggers at them both.
"What started this?" Wolf asked through gritted teeth.
"He did," they both announced at once.
Wolf sighed to herself. "You first," she pointed her sword at Connor's chest. "What happened?"
"He tripped me." As soon as Connor said it, he realised how childish he sounded. But at the time there had been a point to make.
"That's it?" she asked in astonishment, looking from one man to another.
She swung her sword at Connor. He leapt back, blocking her attack instinctively. Wolf dropped to a crouch, held her sword above her head in defence and swung a leg under Connor's feet. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Duncan's laughter rang in the ears of the fallen Highlander. 'Damn she's fast,' he thought in approval. 'Now if I could just wipe that smile from Duncan's face...' Connor made to get up, only to find her small hand on his shoulder.
"I don't think so, sweetheart. This has gone on long enough. And," she leant down to whisper in Connor's ear, "I know exactly what's going through your nasty little mind, I can almost see the gears turning in there." Wolf ruffled Connor's hair with a smile, as she stood up again. He had the decency to look chasten.
"As for you Duncan MacLeod, care to try your tricks on me?" she challenged.
Duncan bowed low before her. "It would be an honour, Miss Redfern."
"You'll lose, cousin," Connor laughed loudly and cheered his woman on. "Take him out, Wolf."
Duncan shot his still seated Clansman a look that promised retribution. "We'll see then, shall we? Ready?" he asked Wolf.
"Always," she drawled with a smile.
Duncan managed to last longer than Connor, but not by much. He had a stunned look on his face and a swordpoint at his throat. His weapon lay several metres away on the grass. 'If she was an Immortal, we would both be dead.' The thought sobered him. She used the sword like it was an extension of her body. He'd seen her practice many times, but he'd never seen her drop all her guards and fight so well. "How did you...?" he asked in confusion. She'd employed movements known only to himself and Connor as if she had used them all her life. And yet they had been subtly altered to suit her style in a way that suggested a mastery beyond her years.
Wolf lowered her weapon. "I've been making swords since I was old enough to swing a hammer. I guess I've picked up a thing or two along the way. And," she added grinning broadly, "I'm an extremely fast learner."
Duncan knew that she was telling him the truth, he also had the feeling that there was a lot more to the young woman than met the eye. What he couldn't understand was how she had accumulated more battle skills in her relatively short life span, than he had managed in all of his 200 odd years. He was curious about her choice of profession too. It was rare to come across a female smith in any day, but in this time it was hard to believe that anybody still trained as a swordsmith.
Wolf could feel Duncan's desire to know more about her and sighed inwardly. Her need for secrecy was as important to her as his was to him. It was to her advantage that she had come to recognise the feel of Immortals long ago, but that was something else she wasn't telling the MacLeods. "What I told you is the truth, Duncan. Not as much of the truth as I know you'd like to hear, but I have my secrets — just as you have yours — and now is not a good time for me to share them." She held his dark eyes. "Ask me again some day and I will tell you." Duncan nodded is understanding.
Retrieving Duncan's weapon she handed it back to him. "Nice broadsword. It's a Clansword, isn't it?"
"Yes it is. How did you know?" They moved over to join Connor.
"It's been a while, but I've seen a few of them. That one, however, has the best balance I've ever seen in such a weapon though."
"I've modified it a little. Adjusted the balance. It's easily to handle in a fight," Duncan smirked. "Now where did you get that from?" he pointed to Claymore lying on the ground beside the small woman. It was a very old weapon, but obviously well cared for.
Redfern smiled into his warm brown eyes as Connor's arms wrapped around her from behind. "Let's just say that it's been in my family a while." She was being distracted by gentle nibbles along her neck.
"May I?" he asked. Redfern nodded her assent and went back to discouraging the other Scot.
Duncan hefted the weapon and made a few practice swings. It handled like a dream, it was perfectly balanced and lighter than it looked, even though it was slightly shorter than he preferred. It was a plain weapon — the only unusual feature being its bronze pommel, hilt and quillions — just simple, deadly perfection. He also noticed that it was razor sharp. Any mistake on her behalf earlier could have had nasty consequences. His appreciation of her skills went up a notch.
"Whoever made this, did a good job. It's a beautiful sword," he breathed in admiration.
"I've always liked it. Connor, don't!" she trailed off in a fit of tickle-induced giggles.
Duncan looked skyward in resignation at their behaviour. "Now, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you mind dragging yourself away from that reprobate and showing me how you disarmed me?"
"Give me a moment," Wolf smiled warmly up at him. She twisted around and kissed Connor soundly, and then unexpectedly pushed the grinning man down on his back. "I'll see to you later, handsome."
"Ooh," he leered, "is that a threat?"
"Oh no," she whispered huskily. "That, my love, is a promise."
Turning back to Duncan she allowed him to draw her to her feet. "I would be my pleasure to show you, sir."
Cascade Range, Washington
1997
Wolf looked up from her task. You could split hairs on the blade of the Claymore at the best of times. It was now sharper still. The MacLeods were still at each others throats. 'At least they sound a little more playful.' They'd gotten the insults down to a dull roar, but she could feel nothing but affection between them. She noticed Logan squatting nearby, offering suggestions and commenting on their respective styles.
"Hey, furball," she walked across the clearing. "Care to put those words into practice?"
Logan moved away from the Immortals continuing battle to join her, his Katana at the ready. "Been a while, darlin'," he growled softly. "Think ya can take me?"
She smiled, enjoying the familiar banter. "I think I've got a better than average chance." She started to circle, mirroring her muscular opponent's movements.
"Age an' experience don't make up for youth an' good looks," he jeered as they exchanged a brief parry.
"Maybe." Their weapons chimed again.
Duncan and Connor had left off their practice to watch the other two. They both wondered how long the small Canadian would last against the mad Irishwoman. He was holding his own so far, but... they'd seen her in action before and doubted she slowed down any.
Logan swung to meet Wolf's attack with practised ease. But she wasn't there. He unexpectedly found himself off balance, a situation that wasn't helped by a further push to his chest. His sword was flicked away from his hand and he found himself flat on his back with a grinning Wolf sitting on his chest.
"You ought to know I never play by the rules, gorgeous," she laughed softly.
He slid his fist under her chin. "Neither do I, darlin'," his dark eyes gleamed menacingly.
Wolf felt two of his claws snap up on either side of her face. "Oh, Logan," she purred. "You know you get me excited when you do that." Her smile widened and she arched her eyebrows over green eyes that glittered with dark amusement. "Want to see who's faster when you pop that third claw?" She slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Logan melted under her.
"Bloody hell," he sighed dramatically. It was pointless trying to bluff her, she could read him too well and she knew just which buttons to push too. "Get off me, woman. Go beat up on somebody else."
"You're just so damn cute when you're mad. Next time trust your nose and not your eyes," she gave him a parting kiss on the nose and obligingly removed herself from his chest.
Connor still had a firm grip on Duncan's arm from where he'd restrained a chivalrous rescue attempt. "I told you she could take care of herself," he whispered in Duncan's ear with an I told you so air.
This wasn't the first time he'd seen her pull that vanishing act. He asked her about it once and she'd explained that it wasn't anything special, and was all a matter of pulling your self in so you weren't noticed. He still didn't quite understand what she meant — and had a feeling that Wolf never quite understood that not everybody could seemingly vanish as she could — but the results were always interesting.
"Who's next?" Wolf was full of chirpy enthusiasm. A rather disconcerting attitude considering she'd just flattened one opponent and bluffed a possible lobotomy.
"Duncan," Connor shoved his kinsman forward, effectively volunteering him to Wolf's tender mercies.
"Wonderful," she grinned in delight. "Let's see what you've learned, Highlander."
"How long do you think we have?" Connor voiced the question on everyone's minds.
"Not much longer. Hours, less'n a day," Logan stated.
Wolf nodded her agreement. "They'll be travelling on foot once they hit the woods. This terrain will slow them down considerably."
Duncan and Connor had given up asking. Wolf and Logan both ran on a full complement of senses, and for some reason had become attuned to whatever was coming for the cubes.
The cubes now sat on the mantle over the fireplace, throwing off enough light that — if a fire hadn't already been lit — would have made lanterns redundant.
Four pairs of eyes drifted up to stare at the objects. They still had no idea what the things were or for that matter, who and why somebody else was interested in them. They all had the feeling that the accountant wasn't one of the people eager to retrieve them. But that still didn't help determine who was after the strange cubes.
Duncan had elected to stay watch for the night. Mostly because he couldn't sleep with the still throbbing bruises, that Wolf had inflicted on him. He slouched back comfortably in an armchair and watched the fire.
The bodies at his feet stirred as one again.
Wolf had decided to sleep in front of the fire and no amount of trying could persuade her to take the bed. Logan and Connor had also declined the bed in some strangely gallant notion and had rolled out their sleeping bags on either side of her.
At the moment Wolf had gone against the grain of the sleeping arrangements and had sprawled across her two companions. Her head was tucked into Logan's shoulder and her legs were splayed across Connor's body. Both men wrapped themselves protectively around her nearest body part. Nobody seemed to mind.
It wasn't that they were moving as one sleeping organism that fascinated Duncan. It was the weirdly synchronised mutterings of the three people. He shook his head as they settled again and turned his thoughts back to the glowing cubes above the fire.
He guessed that Landau, Luckman and Lake were only using the accountant as a caretaker for the artefacts. To have been asked to acquire them by theft would be a necessary arrangement to protect the caretaker from whomever was after them. If the agency had wanted them, they would have taken the objects themselves and no one would be any the wiser. He had a nasty feeling that he was as much a pawn in the scheme of things as the last caretaker had been.
Duncan's eyes wandered back to the cubes. Whatever they were, they seemed to affect everybody with a sense of disgust. But together, the effect was nullified. Very strange. It was possible that the location of the objects could not be determined by the seekers until they were brought together, but that meant that they reacted to them in a very different manner to what he and his companions did. Duncan did not like that train of thought at all.
He had slowly come to realise that the artefacts seemed slippery. Every time he thought about them, they would slip from his mind. There was an unnaturalness to them that grated to his nerves.
Yawning broadly, Duncan stopped fighting to keep his thoughts on the artefacts and settled instead on preparing himself for tomorrows encounter.
Wolf woke to find two warm bodies curled around hers. 'That doesn't happen often,' she thought in affection as she reluctantly disentangled herself from the two men. She got up, stretched and followed her nose to see what Duncan was cooking.
He passed her a plate of bacon and eggs. Well that was what Wolf recognised anyway. She tended to class anything that wasn't meat as a generic vegetable. He'd done some sort of omelette thing with them, but it smelt good so she shrugged to herself and started eating.
Duncan watched as Wolf first sniffed suspiciously at her meal before starting to eat it — with her hands. "I see your table manners haven't improved," he sighed.
"I wouldn't expect miracles if I were you, Duncan," she grinned around a mouthful of food. "Be thankful I didn't hunt down something and bring it back to eat raw."
Duncan shuddered, some things never changed. "What's with those two?" he asked pointing to the still sleeping men.
She shrugged. "That's what happens to anybody who sleeps near me. Same thing as you the other night. I synched into their dream patterns."
Duncan nodded in understanding. He'd seen her do too many odd things to doubt that she was telling the truth.
"We'll have company soon," she told him quietly, her head cocked on the side listening to something out of Duncan's hearing range.
"Sooner that I'd hoped," Duncan responded grimly.
Wolf shook her head. "No. This is good news. I can feel Dec — Gabriel as you remember him — he'll be here soon."
Duncan brightened. "Before our other visitors?" he asked hopefully.
She nodded, "Give it half an hour, and you'll hear him coming."
Half an hour later, Logan and Connor had roused themselves and foraged through the kitchen for breakfast, and all four people were now awaiting Declán's arrival. He didn't let them down.
Duncan and Connor heard him minutes before he made his entrance, barrelling into the clearing in front of the cabin before tumbling to a stop. His change from wolf-form to human before breaking through into the clearing had gone well, his speed, however, was a different matter. The tall grey-haired man sat on the ground where he'd rolled to a halt, looking slightly stunned. Wolf and Logan were both aware of the cause of his rather unorthodox entry, but the two Immortals just blinked in startled silence.
Wolf walked over to where Declán was picking himself up off the ground. The last of the minor cuts and scrapes from his headlong plummet through the bush were healing as she watched. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt him returning her hug fiercely. "Miss me," she whispered softly in his ear.
"Always," he released her with a final squeeze. "Thought you might need me to keep you out of trouble."
"To late for that, love," she smiled up into her brother's laughing green eyes. "But I'm glad you're here all the same."
"Here, kid," Logan handed the naked man a coat. "Ya might need this."
The MacLeods watched their two old — and, before this week, long since presumed deceased — friends walk back hand in hand to join them.
"Care to do a little explaining?" Duncan asked quietly, his voice suggesting that this time he wasn't going to take no for an answer.
There were just too many unanswered questions between them, her secrecy too impractical and she had promised him the truth long ago. Wolf nodded slowly. She first turned to her partner. "Do we have time, Dec?"
"Sure. A couple of hours, easy. I heard them on my trip in, but they are still unsure of their way. I'm the last thing they'd be looking for," he answered with a smug grin.
"Ya think that cockiness will wear off eventually, Wolf," Logan playfully ruffled Declán's hair.
"I hope not," she smiled at her partner in affection.
Duncan cleared his throat loudly.
"We're werewolves," she explained simply.
"Ahh... So that's how you did that tongue-thing —" Connor murmured in wonder, nodding to himself. He looked up from his recollections to discover four sets of eyes staring at him, and only one pair looked confused. "Um... Never mind," he finished lamely,
Duncan gave his cousin a sidelong glance. "All three of you?" he said a little sarcastically.
"Just Wolf an' Dec, Duncan. Me..." Logan popped the claws on one hand out. "I'm a mutant."
"Werewolves?" Duncan still held onto his disbelief. The sudden revelation was not quite what he expected.
"You know, Duncan," Declán started. "For somebody who's Immortal, you sure seem to have a lot of trouble accepting other peoples little peculiarities."
Duncan hadn't really thought about it that way before. His forehead wrinkled in thought. "But isn't lycanthropy a bit more than a little peculiar?"
"No more than you are, sunshine," Wolf answered him with a smile that revealed very long canines. "I'm be more than happy to discuss the finer point of werewolves with you, but I think we should see to our uninvited visitors first."
Connor nodded and slapped an overwhelmed Duncan on the shoulder. "Let's get prepared."
"Mind if I borrow the old pigsticker, honey," Declán asked his sister.
"Sure," Wolf smiled with an evil glint in her eyes. "Gives me a chance to try out my new toy in something other than play."
The closer the visitors got, the more wired Logan and the two werewolves became. Even the MacLeods started picking up the vibes around the cabin.
Wolf had her new broadsword sharpened and ready. Declán was refamiliarising himself with Wolf's Claymore. The others were satisfied with the state of their Katanas and were anxious to get started.
Connor was willing to try anything to break the tension in the group. Wolf's sword caught his attention as she practised. "Where did you get that, Wolf? I don't recognise the style."
She spun the weapon around her body and adjusted her movements for the different weight and balance of the weapon. Connor thought she looked like a Fury.
"I made it," she spoke without breaking her drill. "It's my latest piece of work. I don't get a chance to do much smithing, but I had the urge to make a new sword." She finished her workout and settled cross-legged on the ground beside Connor. "I think it's my best work so far."
Connor took the proffered sword and examined it. It had a round bronze pommel and a leather-wrapped hilt. The bronze quillions were flattened at the ends and decorated with the same knotwork motif as the pommel. He'd seen several of her swords and knew that this was a personal preference. Some of her commissioned pieces were gracefully ornate weapons, whose beauty belied their deadly purpose. But there was something else about the blade that caught his attention. He hadn't noticed until the light caught the weapon at the right angle. The blade was covered in pale swirling patterns. "Damascus?" he said in astonishment.
"Original Toledo Damascus," she clarified with a smug grin. The steel was stronger and more flexible than any modern steel. The art of true Damascus was thought lost centuries ago, but not all of those swordsmiths had died.
The elder MacLeod stared open-mouthed at the lost piece of history he held in his hands. "It's beautiful," he finally managed in an awe-tinged voice.
Wolf retrieved her weapon. "It'll do the job," her eyes were bright with the expectation of the coming battle. "And then some."
"INCOMIN'," Logan yelled as he leapt from his vantage point on the roof of the small cabin.
Duncan grabbed the two glowing objects from the mantle, and tossed one to Wolf. Everyone scattered to meet the newcomers.
The tension was high as the bush before the five assembled warriors came alive with shadows. The shadows unexpectedly didn't disperse to reveal the nature of their attackers. Their attackers were shadows. They split into two groups intent on regaining the two stolen artefacts.
Wolf and Declán stood side-by-side, as did Connor and Duncan. Their familiarity with each others skills made them each a formidable combination. Logan stood ready between the two groups, he could provide more support by watching the backs of all concerned. All questions about what their opponents were could wait.
One shadow group ranged in a semicircle in front of Wolf, an identical group had stopped before Duncan. The closer proximity still didn't explain the odd appearance of the seeming shadows. They looked like human-shape holes of pure darkness cut into a background of vegetation. And they smelt of ozone and pain. Wolf shook her head to try and clear the smell from her nose. She noticed Declán and Logan's identical reaction.
Duncan and Wolf felt a buzzing at the base of their skulls. The others only caught the vague discomfort of the sensation.
A oozing chitinous sound crept into their minds and assembled itself into a recognisable language, "Return what you have stolen."
"They're not yours to claim," Wolf declared.
She had no idea how she knew this, but she was certain that these people had no rights to the artefact that glowed warmly in the pocket of her coat. She was stunned to realise that it was now putting out heat. The warm sensation moved around her body, wrapping a sinuous trail of light about her in it's wake. It leapt to Declán, then Logan before finally jumping to join its twin that was surrounding the MacLeods. The five warriors were bathed in a warm glow as the artefacts' light trail combined.
The shadow people stepped back from the sudden flare, drawing swords as black as themselves. "NO," a scream ripped into the minds of the five warriors.
Years of battle experience had produced an identical result from the warriors. They gritted their teeth, grunted in pain and raised their weapons in the face of the enemies attack.
Wolf slipped into a back-to-back battle stance with her brother and met the onslaught. Two of the shadows attacked as one. She blocked both strokes without a thought and slashed into the chest of one of the creatures. It dropped, clutching it's opened chest as it pitched forward. A tendril of light from Wolf's nimbus flashed out to touch the fallen creature. The shadow vanished at its touch. She grinned maniacally when she saw that they could be defeated. She just hoped that the healing abilities of everyone in the group would compensate for their lack of numbers.
Logan found himself ignored by the creatures. Seeing that the werewolves could look after themselves, he turned his attention to the MacLeods. They were barely visible through the surrounding mass of creatures.
The shadows' inattention served him well as he cut a swathe through their ranks. As each one dropped, a light tendril reached out from him to banish it from sight.
As he reached the centre of the dark shrouded battle, he found the two Immortals holding their own. They were covered in small nicks and cuts, but otherwise unharmed.
"Care to give us a hand?" Connor asked with dark humour as he severed another shadow and saw it vanish like the others had.
Logan was about to reply when a dark sword slipped between Connor's ribs.
"CONNOR!," Duncan screamed as he felt his cousin drop to his knees at his back.
Logan leapt over Connor's body and took his place at Duncan's back. They stood protectively over the fallen man. Connor's assailant vanished with a flash.
"This is fun, Dec. We ought to do this more often," she joked to distract him from the pain they both felt at Connor's injury.
He snorted. "I guess we don't come across this many crazed sword-wielding shadows in London to have much of a workout — Ow," he felt the sting of a sword as it sliced into his arm.
"You okay, love?" she asked, sword flashing in a blur.
Declán transferred his sword to a single-handed left hand grip, to allow his injury a chance to heal and slashed into the wall of darkness in front of him. "Fine," he gasped through clenched teeth.
"Don't play tough guy for me, little brother," she admonished.
He rippled his wolf-form down his right arm, ignoring the familiar sting-itch of muscle and flesh being knitted back together. "Nothing to worry about, Wolf. Just a scratch."
Wolf fended off two opponents with an ease that grew from centuries of training with the Daoine Sí. As she pushed the shadows back, a sword slipped through her guard and slashed up the left side of her face. "Bollocks!" she cried out in frustration more than pain.
"What?" Declán asked, shocked that she'd been hit.
"Nothing," she shook blood from her eyes. "They just caught my eyebrow ring and ripped it out. I'll never find it now."
Declán snickered uncontrollably. He could feel her wound, but found her response more amusing. "You got your face opened up and you're worried about finding your jewellery? If you hurry up and help me finish these guys off, I'll help you look for it."
"Okay. Deal," Wolf said, launching into a flurry of sword strokes. Her weapon a blur as it hacked into the enemy. The light halo flashed continuously as the two weres demolished the shadows.
Before they realised it their dark opponents had all been defeated. With a brief glance at each other they bounded into the remaining fray around their three friends.
The dark creatures couldn't withstand a simultaneous attack on their front and rear flanks and were soon vanquished. Connor slowly got to his feet, clutching his side as it healed and surveyed the trampled battleground. Apart from the passage of the battle and the blood covering his friends, there was no indication of anything unusual happening in the clearing. No bodies, no fallen weapons, no blood. It was unnatural. "Everyone okay?"
They all nodded wearily rather than answer.
Blue lightning flickered around Connor's wound as it healed. The werewolves were as fascinated with Immortal healing processes as the MacLeods were with theirs. Wolf allowed a ripple of fur to run along her facial wound, it closed completely and settled into a livid red scar that would fade completely in a day or so.
The glow from the artefacts slowly receded from about them. Sliding back in the same way that it had appeared. Wolf pulled the object from her pocket and watched in fascination as the light tendrils were reeled back into the strange sphere. "Uh... Duncan. What does yours look like?"
He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a matching ball. They both pulsed with a warm golden light. "What the hell?"
"Hell it would have been, if the shadows had gained access to those portals," Zoe Culloden calmly interrupted their conversation.
"Nice timin'," Logan muttered under his breath.
The Expediter ignored his comment. "May I?" She held out a hand for the spheres. Wolf and Duncan couldn't hand them over quickly enough.
"What are they?" Connor asked in curiosity, his eyes still caught in the light dance of retreating tendrils.
Culloden shrugged. "A source of light in a battle against darkness," she answered simply.
"The accountant?" Logan asked.
"He was our caretaker," she replied. "When we heard that the darkness had learned of the portals location, we had you take them. The caretaker wasn't to know. The nearer the darkness came to discovering the stones, the more corrupted they became."
All of the small gathering nodded, they had all felt the alien touch of the strange artefacts.
Wolf finally asked the question on everyone's mind, "What were those things we fought? They looked like shadows, but they had substance."
"And why did they vanish as we killed them," Dec added.
"They can't exist fully in this world without the aid of the portals," Zoe Culloden explained. "What you saw was similar to an astral projection. As they were killed, the portal stones pushed them back where they belonged."
Connor was fascinated. "But if the stones form a portal, where does it lead?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Do you really wish to know?"
"No," Wolf interrupted. "He doesn't."
"But —" Connor started to disagree.
Duncan clamped a hand over Connor's mouth. "No," he repeated, Wolf glaring at Connor. "He doesn't want to know anything more about it."
Culloden nodded graciously. "Thank you for your help. Landau, Luckman and Lake appreciates your efforts on behalf of their clients." In a blink she was gone as suddenly as she appeared.
Connor tore Duncan's hand away from his face. "But I wanted to know what they were," he complained.
Wolf grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes. "No you didn't Connor. With that firm, nothing comes without a price. Remember that." She felt his acceptance of her statement sink home.
He grinned sheepishly. "What do we do now?"
Duncan looked at his blood encrusted companions. "How about we clean up for a start."
"An' then find a place with nice cold beer," Logan offered.
"And lots of it," Declán finished with a grin.
Seattle, Washington
Joe looked up to see Wolf heading to the bar for another round of drinks. Her appearance surprised him. Gone was the blue hair and one of her piercings. Even the pale line down the left hand side of her face, that she had gained since he last saw her, had faded in the few hours she had been in the bar. 'She's a mystery, this one,' he thought. He wondered if he could get any answers out of her. Duncan had refused comment on his brief disappearance and Connor's Watcher had been, well, disabled.
"Another round please, Joe," Wolf smiled warmly. She could feel his intense curiosity, but could sense no malice behind it. All in all she had found him to be a quite charming man — for a Watcher.
"Coming up," he returned her infectious smile. As he placed the last of the drinks on a tray, he laid a hand over hers. Looking into her strange green eyes, he asked, "What do you know about a young man found tied up in a park not far from Duncan MacLeod's gym?" Connor's Watcher had been found unconscious, but unharmed, securely bound in the branches of a tree. It would, however, be quite a while until the young man's pride recovered from the incident.
"There are some things in this life that even a Watcher shouldn't know, Joe Dawson." She reached out to brush a hand across his cheek. "Some things aren't meant to be written down." She picked up the tray and returned to her table.
Joe ran his hand along his face where her fingers had touched him and wondered what secrets she was hiding.
"What I really want to know," Duncan asked, as Wolf finished her explanation of werewolves, "is where you learned to fight? I've never seen some of the techniques that you use before."
Wolf smiled. "I was taught — we both were — by a distant relative. And no, he isn't a were," she answered the MacLeods questioning looks. "Seaghán is... something else entirely. I couldn't even begin to guess at his age, but he's far older than any of our Clan.
"I wasn't kidding when I said that I was raised as a swordsmith. I took over from Da when he died. I was twelve. My father had always passed me off as a son, so I kept the deception going. I was 18 when I first met Seaghán Mac Conmara. He announced himself as my cousin and, upon examining my work, declared that I had 'absolutely no idea of what I had the potential to achieve'. He took it upon himself to train me in a manner that would 'not bring shame to our family'. Most of our," she included Dec, "skills have been learned at the feet of a born warrior."
"So who is this mysterious warrior?" Connor asked.
"That's not for me to tell," Wolf shook her head. She locked eyes with Logan, she had the feeling that he had a very good idea of just who Seághan's kind were and wouldn't be at all surprised if he'd had dealings with them in the past.
The small Canadian acknowledged her look with a nod. He had learned nothing he hadn't all ready guessed at, but Wolf's story had filled in some gaps and clarified a few details.
Duncan decided that her explanations only gave rise to more questions. "So where could I find him if I wanted to get a little training myself?"
"He hangs around Glasgow at lot. But you won't find him if he doesn't wish to be found, he shares our knack of empathically vanishing," Declán smiled slowly. "He looks a little like Wolf. Similar features in a longer, sharper face, with the same colour hair. Same eyes, but his ears have a more prominent points than ours do. He would be taller than you, Duncan, but a lot thinner."
"Try the pubs first," Wolf suggested. "But don't try to out-drink him."
"I take it that is also a family trait," Connor said with a lopsided grin.
"You could say that, but he puts us to shame," Wolf finished. "I'll let him know that you're looking for him, but I can't promise he'll be interested in helping you."
"That's all I ask," Duncan replied.
The raucous group had gathered at the airport. Declán and Wolf were sharing the flight to New York with Logan, before changing for Heathrow.
Still slightly drunk from the previous night's entertainment at Joe's Bar, they were laughing at Connor's suggestion that in first class Declán would look like a Fed escorting two criminals. They were set off again when Duncan handed a pair of handcuffs to the neatly dressed man.
He stood in contrast to his two flying companions. Logan and Wolf had reverted to their usual jeans, tee-shirts and vaguely menacing air. While Declán was dressed in one of his impeccably tailored suits. "Thanks, Duncan. I'm sure they'll come in handy," he pocketed the cuffs with a grin. "I'll organise a set of keys once we touch down."
The last call for their flight was announced.
Wolf threw her arms around Duncan, "I'll miss you guys."
"Me too," he whispered, holding her tightly.
Declán embraced Connor fondly, and Duncan too, once Wolf released him. Logan settled for a hand shake and a promise of help with the future training of his young pre-Immortal team mate.
Connor held Wolf's hands. "When will I see you again?" he asked sadly.
"We've got to go, honey. We'll miss the flight," Declán prompted.
"I don't know," she replied honestly. "But if you need me, I'll be here." She reached up, pulling his face down to her level and kissing him with a passion that brought all of their time together back to her. Connor stood up looking dazed and grinning stupidly. Wolf planted a quick kiss on Duncan's cheek and ran to catch up with the others before she had to walk home.
Connor watched her retreating form sadly. "Do you think we'll ever have a chance to try again?"
Duncan clapped him on the shoulder as they turned to leave the airport. "After all that's happened this week, Connor, anything's possible," he grinned at his cousin.
The End
Afterword
Irish Translations
Mactíre Mac Conchúir: Mac-tcheera MacConnor — Mactíre means wolf, literally 'son of the land' and MacConnor means son of Connor (wolf-lover), her father. Traditionally she would have been named for her mother, but circumstances dictated otherwise.
Seaghán Mac Conmara: Sean McNamara — Seaghán means 'old' and Mac Conmara is literally 'son of the hound of the sea'.
Sláinte: a toast (slawn-tcha)
Laoch Sí: Faery Warrior (Leek Shee)
Daoine Sí: Faery People (Dun Shee)
Well that's it. If you've gotten this far, thanks for sticking around, and if you've got the time I'd appreciate your comments.
Thanks to Jeannie Howse for her fast and invaluable work as my beta reader.
Thanks to Judi for constructive criticism.
Thanks to Colin Stewart for his comments on my choice of weapons. They were greatly appreciated.
Published The Seventh Dimension — 26.11.1997
connor macleod | declán | duncan macleod | fan fiction | fiction | joe dawson | logan | michael brown | ororo | robert silk | sam guthrie | seaghán mac conmara | wolf | zoe cullodenPost a Comment