Breakfast came at exactly 9 a.m. -- a plate of egg bagels, not English muffins, and a pitcher of orange juice. Kyra tipped the bellboy, re-locked the door and set the platter on the coffee table, careful not to rattle the dishes and wake Claudia. She fell heavily onto the couch and began munching on a bagel, looking anywhere but at the figure sleeping on the opposite end of the suite.

Three days. If Claudia continued her outrageous behavior, those days would seem like an eternity. Why could the girl not understand that Kyra was her ally? Why was Claudia fighting her on every little point? Kyra had agreed to act as a bodyguard, however unwillingly, and that meant endangering her life to protect her charge. At least Claudia could act civilly.

Then again, maybe the girl's subbornness wasn't all bad. Claudia certainly did not remind Kyra of sweet, cooperative Richard, which was a blessing.

Sheets rustled, and Kyra glanced at the bed. Claudia had leaned up on one elbow and was watching her with sleepy, uncomprehending eyes. Kyra grabbed a bagel and approached.

"What's this?" Claudia stared at Kyra's offering.

"An apology. For last night." Kyra sat on the edge of the bed.

After setting the bagel on her pillow, Claudia rubbed her eyes and blinked owlishly at Kyra. "What are you doing in here? I thought I told you to leave last night."

"You did. If you remember, I refused."

"I remember now. You were being dreadfully annoying."

"Yes, well, I'll make a note of that."

Claudia lay back into her pillows and grew still. Just when Kyra began to wonder whether she had fallen asleep again, Claudia rolled over and peered at her bodyguard under half-lidded eyes.

"Where's my bagel?" Claudia asked.

"Under your head."

Claudia glared and sat up, holding the sheets to her chest with one hand and eating breakfast with the other. She dropped crumbs all over the blankets. After a few peaceful moments of listening to rain patter against the windows, she looked up at Kyra as though seeing her for the first time.

"What are you doing on my bed? Can't I get any privacy? Get off."

Ah well, Kyra thought. The vulnerability had been nice while it had lasted. She sighed, returned to the couch and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. Claudia, dressed in a hotel robe, wandered over a few minutes later. She poured herself a glass of juice and began pacing.

"So," Kyra said, "are you going to tell me what I'm protecting you from, or do we play twenty questions."

Claudia shrugged. "There's not much to say."

Gods above, Kyra thought. Getting information from Claudia is like pulling teeth and not nearly so pleasant. "Try. Anything at all. When did you first realize you were being hunted."

"Two weeks ago, in Berlin."

"What happened?"

Claudia sank to the edge of the coffee table, her eyes far away. "It was just after a concert. I was at a restaurant, having a drink with some musicians, and I felt an immortal. The only immortals I'd ever met before were Duncan and Walter and some other guy. One of Duncan's friends, I think. Adam something-or-other.

"Anyway, I didn't expect to feel a presence in Berlin. I looked around the restaurant, but I didn't see anything unusual. Then it faded, and I didn't think about it, until it returned the next afternoon. I was walking around the city, window shopping mostly, when it hit me and vanished so quickly I wondered if I'd imagined it. Then it came back that night. This went on for several days. Every time, I looked for who it might be, and every time, the immortal left before I could react."

Claudia bit her lip. Kyra sat silent, waiting for her to continue her story.

"I got scared," Claudia said. "I mean, who wouldn't with an immortal stalker? I started to bring bodyguards with me everywhere. That's also when I started carrying my gun. I knew that if the immortal challenged me, neither would do me any good, but I felt safer when I was armed, and when I wasn't alone.

"On my last night in Berlin, I was walking from backstage to my limo, which would take me to my hotel, when I felt it again. I had two bodyguards with me, big guys with guns, so I figured I was OK. I just walked faster. Then I heard shots, and my bodyguards both fell dead, one on either side of me. I think I started screaming -- I don't remember exactly what happened -- and I ran for the limo, but it wasn't there. So I ran a couple of blocks to a church and stayed there all night."

Kyra laid a hand on the girl's trembling shoulder, but Claudia refused to look at her.

"The presense had disappeared when I left the alley and hadn't followed, but I was so scared. I couldn't believe that this hunter would kill my bodyguards and not kill me. I don't know how long I was in that church, but finally a priest asked me what was wrong, and I couldn't tell him the truth. I mean, what could I say? Father, an immortal just killed my bodyguards, and I'm afraid that he'll cut my head off if I walk outside? I just asked him to call a taxi, which he did, and I got back to my hotel without incident. That's when I called Duncan. I didn't know what else to do."

Claudia alternated between looking at her hands, cupped around the glass in her lap, and out the window at the rain. She seemed scared, and rightfully so, Kyra thought. The immortal, whomever it was, had been playing with her, knowing she couldn't fight back.

"How long ago did you call Duncan?" Kyra asked.

"I don't know. Two or three days ago."

"So, just before he called me. Have you felt this presense since you arrived in London?"

"Just once. At the airport." Claudia's frightened eyes met Kyra's, and Kyra squeezed her shoulder. "I know he followed me here. Oh, Kyra, I just wish ... it was over, one way or the other. I can't take this anymore."

"It's all right, Claudia. If this immortal comes again, we'll find out who he is, and we'll convince him to stop hunting you ... one way or the other." She smiled reassuringly. "What I need you to do is go on as normal, do whatever it is you usually do when you're in London. It's my worry to keep your head on your shoulders, so don't you worry about it. OK?"

Claudia nodded hesitantly and walked to the window. Kyra liked her like this, honest, trusting, not defensive or snobbish. Maybe MacLeod had not lost his mind completely by wanting Claudia to be safe.

Still, this pensive mood would do nothing to solve their slate of problems. It was time for a change of subject.

"So, what's on the schedule for today?" Kyra asked.

"I was hoping to spend the day with Duncan. You know, go out to lunch, enjoy the town. I haven't seen him for several months."

Kyra grimmaced, grateful Claudia was looking the other way. "Actually, MacLeod was already here this morning."

"What?" Claudia spun around.

"He came to say good-bye before heading back to Paris, but you were asleep. We decided you needed the rest."

"What! Duncan left, and you let me sleep?"

Kyra rubbed her neck in a nervous habit. "He said he got a call from a friend in Paris -- Joe, I think it was -- who was having trouble finding a missing co-worker. Something like that. He asked me to pass on his apologies."

Claudia's eyes bulged, and she started pacing. "I can't believe you did that. I cannot believe that Duncan would show up for one night and then vanish."

"You have to understand he hasn't been himself these past few months. He's been ... sad, withdrawn. I don't know what's wrong, but I think he has a lot on his mind. I'm sure he didn't mean any slight."

"Fine," Claudia said indignantly. "Fine. I should have no trouble finding other amusements. Change into some more suitable clothes. We're leaving for town."

Claudia stalked to her bed, then pulled clothes from her suitcase and threw them all about, muttering to herself the entire time. Kyra licked the remaining bagel crumbs from her fingers and watched -- mostly from academic interest -- the temper tantrum erupting before her. She added another mental note to her growing list about Claudia Jardine: Step lightly, or she might take someone's head with her bare hands.

"Why are you still in those dreadful pants? I told you to change."

Kyra matched Claudia's distainful glare. The pianist had dressed in a frilly blouse and slacks and was standing before the couch with her hands on her hips.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but these are the only clothes I brought with me."

"Well then," Claudia said, her expression becoming even more snobbish, if possible. "That's the first thing we'll take care of this morning. Come on."

Claudia pulled on a heavy coat, grabbed an umbrella as frilly as her outfit, and stomped out the door. Unwilling to follow orders too much like a good little soldier, Kyra took her time checking her gun clips and shrugging into her coat. The weight of her sword was a comfort against her side.

She hoped, as she followed Claudia to the elevator, that MacLeod's disappearance would not spoil the day. She soon realized, however, that her hope was in vain. Nothing satisfied Claudia, and she felt the need to complain about everything. The clothing was much too expensive, but she paid for it anyway because, she said, she wouldn't have her bodyguard dressed like a member of the A-Team. The tunes piping into the restaurant were just so tacky, and couldn't management change the music? Rain poured all afternoon just to spite Claudia and ruin her amusements.

If this was how Claudia enjoyed herself, Kyra certainly did not want to see her in a bad mood. She quietly endured the nonstop stream of complaints and insults and devoted her attention to watching for unwanted immortal visitors. She hoped, in a moment of wistful desperation, that perhaps the stalker would appear and put her out of her misery, but Claudia's hunter never came close enough to sense.

That night's concert offered Kyra her first respite, but she almost felt too bone-weary to care. She collapsed onto a crate backstage, pulled her phone from her purse -- bought that afternoon -- and pressed an automatic dialing key. Come on, pick up, she thought. Pick up. Pick up, dammit.

"Duncan MacLeod."

"MacLeod, you are going to pay for this."

"Kyra? Is that you?"

"Yes it's me," she hissed, ignoring the startled glances of stage hands. "I am in hell. Hell. That girl you've trapped me with is a demon."

"Kyra, slow down. Now, what happened? Is Claudia OK?"

Kyra snorted. "Oh, yeah. She's in fine form. I don't think I've ever met a more arrogant, disagreeable person. She expects me to obey her every command, and when I don't, she throws a fit."

"You're both very strong-willed women, and there's bound to be some conflict at first."

"You don't know the half of it, MacLeod."

"It can't be that bad."

Kyra started pacing, the only outlet for her frustration. "This morning, I thought maybe we had called a truce. We were talking civilly, even being friendly, and then I had to tell her that you'd left and she went sour on me for the rest of the day."

"Yeah, that sounds like Claudia."

"You have to help me, MacLeod. I cannot take two more days of this. She seems to think that I'm the enemy. You know Claudia better than anyone, so tell me what I can do to get through to her."

Silence.

"MacLeod?"

"Sorry, Kyra. Just thinking things through. Now stop me if I'm wrong, but I think the problem is that Claudia doesn't trust you. You're an unexpected, unknown addition to her life when she's already scared and confused. You have to make some sort of connection to her through the things that she loves."

"Well, that's great," she muttered, sinking back onto the crate. "The only things Claudia loves are herself and her ..."

Oh, of course, Kyra thought. Why didn't I see it before?

"Kyra?"

"Thanks, MacLeod," she said. "You've helped a lot."

"Any time," he said, sounding confused.

Kyra smiled broadly as she snapped shut the phone and walked to the curtains, where she could watch Claudia play. With some luck, day two of this little experiment would prove less of a nightmare.

The next afternoon

Claudia closed her eyes and glided her fingertips over the keys, touching them without producing a sound. Few things made sense anymore, but this beautiful instrument, this companion and friend, this made sense. A collection of tightly wound strings attached to ivory keys, all housed in a wooden box. A mystery of music able to play everything from Chopsticks to Bach.

This marvel had always made sense, in a world of inconsistencies and impossibilities, and it had always been there when she needed comfort -- like now.

Claudia was surprised to hear Rhapsody in Blue as she began to play, not knowing her choice of song until the first notes echoed into the rehearsal hall. She let the music come, as if it had assumed a life of its own, independent of her will.

Hmm. Now this was right. No stalkers. No overprotective bodyguards. No immortals or swords or killing. Just the music. Nothing could ever compare to this absolute peace, this heavenly meditation.

Claudia felt something tickle at the edge of her awareness, but she pushed it away, wanting to cling to her music. The tickle, however, would not be put off and formed into a solid presence, forcing itself into her consciousness and shoving her down the rabbit-hole once again. A presence!

Her fingers slipped off the keys as she shot to her feet and tripped backward over the bench, landing hard on the cold stage floor. Soft laughter drifted toward her from the small auditorium. She knew that laugh -- had memorized its mocking undertone -- even though she had first heard it only two days before. Couldn't that irritating bodyguard give it a rest for one afternoon?

"Kyra," she spat, getting to her feet, "you better have a good reason for interrupting me."

"Do I need a reason?" Kyra sauntered toward the stage. "Maybe I just want to hear you play."

"Oh, yeah right," Claudia said mockingly. "Miss Leather Jacket wants to listen to classical music."

Kyra drew close enough to the stage that Claudia could see her purse her lips and flush. Had she finally sparked a reaction in her unflappable bodyguard? Claudia flushed herself at her victory, and she spun around to hide her red face as Kyra jumped onto the stage.

"George Gershwin." Kyra skimmed her fingertips across the piano's polished siding. "You play his music beautifully. Almost as well as he did."

That's not possible, Claudia thought. She could not have known Gershwin. She's only trying to annoy me, find another way to control me. I won't allow it.

She felt Kyra move closer, but she kept her back turned, irrationally afraid to face the other woman.

"I know what you're thinking, Claudia," Kyra whispered. "I assure you that I did know Gershwin. He was very passionate about his music. Of course, all composers, however famous or obscure, are passionate about their music. He promised to write a song for me, but he died before he even started."

She sounded wistful. Could she be telling the truth?

"Oh, it is the truth," Kyra said. "I promise you that."

OK, maybe she could read minds. It was no less plausible than immortality, after all. But it didn't matter because, either way, she couldn't stand Kyra any longer. What had Duncan been thinking when he had pawned this woman off on her?

Kyra laughed again, so quietly, and Claudia's frustration won out over silence. She turned to meet those infuriatingly calm blue eyes, hoping to break the composure again. Anything was better than being read so easily.

"I suppose Gershwin is your favorite, then?" Claudia asked.

"No, actually, my favorite is Scott Joplin. At least among the American composers."

"So where did you meet him, hmm? And how many songs did he write for you?"

"I never met Joplin, but I still love his music."

Claudia's eyes narrowed. Something had to break Kyra's relaxed exterior. "I don't believe you. I don't believe you know anymore about real music than what you might accidentially hear on the radio while scanning for your rock stations."

With a smug smile, Kyra slid onto the piano bench and spread her fingers over the keys. "That sounds like a challenge," she said, her face bowed over the instrument.

Claudia watched intently, wondering what her bodyguard thought she was accomplishing, as Kyra touched the keys in reverence and her hands found the correct fingering. She paused before striking the first notes.

Some musicians, Claudia knew, possessed the rare gift for pouring their emotions into their music; Kyra, she admitted grudgingly, was such a musician. Each note fell like a teardrop into the empty auditorium, an offering of heartbreaking sadness, and of something more: Comfort, understanding.

Solace

Joplin had named the song well.

The music seemed to wrap around Claudia like an embrace, whispering assurances that everything would turn out all right. She had no reason to worry because everything would be fine, in the end. Her eyes began to water, and she let the tears fall.

As the last notes died, Kyra's hands fell to her lap and she twisted to look at Claudia, still silent behind her.

"I'm a little out of practice," Kyra murmured. "It's been several months since I last played. Not since the night before ..."

Her voice trailed off and she looked at her hands. Claudia sat beside her on the bench.

"It was beautiful," she said. "I don't understand why you insist on playing with guns when you could be playing music. You have the talent, and you obviously enjoy it."

"Yes, I did. I loved to play, especially for ... Richard. My last assignment. He loved the music."

"Where is he now?"

A tear trailed down Kyra's cheek. "He's dead. I was supposed to protect him, but an immortal shot him in his own home, right in front of me." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I'm sorry. It's been a year. I should not be crying anymore. I've finished with my grieving."

"We never stop grieving," Claudia said, and Kyra looked at her in surprise. "No matter how long ago they died, we still mourn them. We wonder what we might have done or said differently. It's what makes us human."

Claudia didn't know where the words of comfort came from -- she had never lost someone close to her -- but it sounded right. And Kyra needed to hear it.

She reached into her blouse sleeve, pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to Kyra, who smiled her thanks and wiped her red-rimmed eyes. As Claudia watched the woman regain her composure, she realized with amazement that something had just happened between them. Ten minutes ago, Kyra had been an annoyance, someone to defeat and humble, but now ...

Their relationship had changed between one breath and the next. The music had opened a door showing her that Kyra was human, just as she herself was human. They were more alike than Claudia had wanted to admit, but now she had no choice but to accept.

And this contest for dominance, she realized, not only was unnecessary, it might prove dangerous. Kyra might die to protect her, and all she had done was throw insults.

Oh, Lord. What have I done?

Kyra pressed the handkerchief into Claudia's hand.

"Thank you," she said.

Claudia could not bring herself to meet her bodyguard's eyes. She muttered something she hoped Kyra would take as a polite response and left the stage, rushing down the hall to her dressing room. The concert would start in less than three hours, and she needed to calm herself or she would play badly. She needed time to think, time to sort out what had happened. Time without Kyra.

On stage, the object of her confused thoughts sat silent on the piano bench, reveling in the understanding she had seen light in Claudia's expression. Friendship perhaps was too much to hope for, but civility seemed possible now that Kyra had proven they had something in common: their passion for music, and their humanity.

Kyra closed the hood over the keys and rubbed her irritated eyes. She had not planned to show so much emotion. The music, though, reminded her so much of Richard that she had almost believed it was him standing behind her, listening, waiting for the perfect moment to caress her neck with his gentle hands. The memories still were too potent. Perhaps Claudia was right; she never would stop grieving. Thus it had always been, thus it would always be.

I cannot alter the past, Kyra thought, but I can stop it from repeating. I hope.

She rose to her feet, intending to follow Claudia to her dressing room, but all thoughts of protection fled her mind as she saw a dark figure at the back of the auditorium. As if her notice had released the figure from immobility, he walked toward her, clapping in a slow, mocking rhythm. When he reached the halfway point between the doors and the stage, Kyra felt his presence. She reached for a weapon under her coat, then cursed silently. Her coat, complete with gun and sword, lay draped across an auditorium chair.

As he drew closer, under the stage lights, Kyra saw him clearly: medium height, slim build, no facial hair or distinguishing features. Except for his pale blond hair, everything about him seemed so average. This man, she thought, could blend into any crowd and no one would look twice at him.

"Bravo. You manipulated her beautifully, my dear," he said, his English tinged with a German accent. "Don't worry. I'm not here to fight you."

Kyra folded her arms and stood at center stage, attempting to slow her pounding heartbeat. To run or show fear would give him more advantage than he already had.

"You're him," she said.

He sat on the edge of the stage and looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Him?"

"Claudia's stalker."

"Stalker is such an ugly word. I prefer to be called a devoted fan."

"Who are you?"

Kyra stood directly above him. At least she could give the illusion of dominance. He betrayed no notice of her movement.

"Peter Olson. And I have no fight with you, Kyra."

"If you continue to stalk Claudia Jardine, I will kill you."

"Oh, really?" he said, laughing. He jumped onto the stage, and even though he wasn't tall, he towered over Kyra. He began to circle her like a vulture. "You get in my way, and I think you are the one who will lose her head. The game was going so well. Then you showed up."

Kyra smirked. "Sorry to ruin your plans."

"I'm very serious, Kyra," he said, coming around to face her. "Claudia Jardine has been an excellent challenge. She is so determined to live."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about a game." He smiled chillingly. "Don't you ever get bored by immortality, Kyra? Challenge after challenge ... draw your sword or lose your head. I decided to make things more interesting. I choose suitable victims and stalk them, as you so delicately put it. I see how long it takes to make the unfortunate immortals offer me their heads, just to end the torture."

Kyra shook her head in disgust. "You're sick."

"Things were going so well with Claudia, until you showed up. I want you to leave tonight. I want you to forget you ever heard of Claudia Jardine."

"No deal."

"Consider carefully, my dear. I don't want to kill you, but I will if you get in my way." He jumped off the stage and headed toward the doors, but turned to face her about halfway across the auditorium. "I will give you a few hours to think about it. After that, your time is up."

He left, the doors clicking shut behind him. Kyra retrieved her coat and weapon -- she would have to keep them close at all times during the next few days -- and left the rehearsal hall in search of her charge.

Claudia certainly did not need to know about this encounter. The girl had enough to worry about with her concerts, and she wouldn't react well to the threats of a madman.

The meeting, however, had not broken Kyra resolve. If anything, her determination had strengthened. No one would touch Claudia; this hunt would not end in another tragedy, with Kyra sobbing over another corpse, wallowing in failure once again. Peter Olson would lose his head if he came close again.

No, not if he comes, she thought. When he comes -- because he definately will come. And when he is dead, maybe I will regain some peace in my tired old soul.

Claudia flexed her fingers, positioned them lightly across the keys and began playing. As one, the audience released a sigh of satisfied anticipation, a soft whisper of expectations fulfilled. Cluaida reveled in their approval and enjoyment in her talent. They loved her. They always loved her.

As always when she played, though, she heard her own voice echo sadly in her mind, the question she had asked herself uncounted times. The affirmation of her own self-doubt. "Who will care about me if I can't play?"

"I will," Duncan had said, giving her a promise to cling to.

Without the music, however, no one besides Duncan would notice if her hunter took her head, not even Kyra. Her death would go unrecorded and unmourned, except perhaps for a newspaper clipping on a freak electrical storm and decapitated body.

People had to care, or everything she was would disappear. No one would remember she had lived.

So Claudia played. She played so people would remember -- the only type of immortality that mattered.

A light tickle teased the back of her mind, but she shrugged it off as the music intensified. The sensation returned, stronger than before, and Claudia realized what it was: an immortal presence. Her fingers slipped, and she hit a wrong note.

Dammit Kyra, she thought. That dratted bodyguard knew that her presence wrecked Claudia's concentration. She focused harder on the music, attempting to banish the feeling from her mind by force of will. She heard Kyra's voice at the edge of awareness, screaming in panic, but she was too far gone for the words to register.

Then, time seemed to slow, and vertigo gripped her as she started falling. Claudia yelled, startled. She snapped back to reality in time to see Kyra draped face down across the piano bench. Her bodyguard's wide blue eyes met her own for a moment before Kyra grunted and her expression glazed over. Two red stains spread across her back.

Claudia squinted up at the spotlights and saw a dark figure aim a gun at her. She couldn't stop a scream from escaping her lips, and she picked up her skirts and ran off stage, pushing her way through the crowd of musicians who were darting in all directions.

Amid the chaos of backstage, a fleeing technician bumped into a music stand, sending it clattering to the concrete floor. A few seconds later, Claudia, who kept looking over her shoulder in fear of seeing a man with a gun, failed to notice the obstacle and caught her toe under its long neck. She pitched forward, smacking her head on the floor.

Darkness enveloped her.