Solace in Hell

by Jennifer Campbell

I do not own the characters of Claudia Jardine, Kyra Albright or Duncan MacLeod and have no affiliation with the show "Highlander: The Series." The character of Peter Olson is my own; if you want to use him (although I can't figure out why you'd want to...) please ask for permission. This story is all in good fun with no harm intended. I don't make any money off this, unfortunately.

Thanks go out to a ton of people. Mom, Katie-did, Dee and Linda, thanks for all the encouragement and pushes to keep writing. Thanks to the Highlander Writers and Readers Club for helping me through a couple of rough spots. And, last but definitely not least, to my betas, Farquarson, Linda and Sandra.

This story takes place during "Indiscretions." It also contains spoilers for "Timeless" and "Patient Number 7."

"Solace in Hell" originally appeared in "A Zine of Their Own: Stories Honoring Immortal Women," published in fall 2000.

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part 1

Claudia Jardine possessed a gift.

Kyra watched from behind the heavy curtains of stage left as Claudia's fingers blurred over the keys, as she swayed in time with the impossibly beautiful sounds she coaxed from the grand piano. No, her music transcended beautiful; extraordinary, flawless, passionate more aptly described her gift. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra seemed to fade to the background in the company of her genius.

Kyra slowly shook her head, sure that she would not have believed this musical miracle had she not heard it herself. MacLeod had not lied when he had said Claudia was a treasure worth preserving. Then again, he also had been correct when he'd labeled her as stubborn, snotty and impossible to live with. MacLeod exhibited too much wisdom for his scant 400 years, which could prove bloody annoying at times.

He had instinctively known, for instance, that Kyra would appreciate this infant immortal, despite the two women's conflicting personalities. So much genius and so much arrogance in one small body. Claudia was a perversion of nature beyond her immortality, and Kyra found herself caught in a web of curiosity and fascination. She wanted to stay and learn more about what motivated this complex woman.

A dangerous desire? Yes. But also incredibly exciting.

Closing her eyes, Kyra let Beethoven's Second Piano Concerto flood her senses. She remembered the first time she had heard this music: Vienna, 1852. She also remembered, 25 years earlier, joining an ocean of tearful ranks mourning its composer's death because she had believed no one else could ever again play with such passion.

Claudia Jardine, however, came closer to capturing that passion than any other pianist Kyra had heard in the past 150 years. Claudia felt the music, and she allowed her audience to feel it as well. Oh, yes, this snotty, stubborn woman possessed a gift -- one perhaps worth dying for.

Then, Claudia hit a wrong note.

Kyra jerked back from her thoughts and drew her gun from under her loose-fitting, silky dress. Most of the audience probably had missed the mistake, but Kyra's trained ear picked up on Claudia's unease immediately. She had recovered and continued, but her timing was slightly off; something had upset her badly.

Then the source of Claudia's distraction reached her -- the lightheaded buzz that announced another immortal. She cocked her gun and scanned the auditorium, but darkness cloaked the audience in anonymity. She frantically turned her attention backstage. No one.

Some instinct drew her eyes upward, above the stage, to a slow movement outlined against a tangle of spotlights and wires. Oh, gods, she thought. He's on the catwalk. Light reflected dimly off something in his hand, but Kyra couldn't quite see what he held. A bomb? A sword?

She squinted at the shadowy figure, shielding her eyes from the spotlights' harsh glare. The figure pointed his hand at Claudia, directly below him, finally giving Kyra an unfettered view of his weapon. Long, black ... a gun!

"Claudia!" she screamed, ignoring the shocked looks of the stage hands and murmurs of the audience. "Claudia, move! Now!"

The pianist didn't react, her fingers continuing to dance across the keys. Kyra swore, dashed on stage and dove at Claudia, shoving her onto the floor. She landed with her stomach draped across the piano bench, and she started to roll off -- but not fast enough. Claudia yelled indignantly, the orchestra suddenly silenced and the dark figure shot two bullets into Kyra's back.

She grunted at the impact. A thousand screams erupted on stage and in the audience, but to Kyra, they sounded hollow, as if originating from the bottom of a well. Only one high-pitched scream rose above the others, clear and piercing to her ears, but it too faded as Claudia ran off stage.

Kyra hoped that she would revive before the immortal hunter, whose bullets had killed the wrong target, could finish the fight.

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Three days earlier

Kyra Albright, ancient warrior, unemployed bodyguard and immortal extraordinaire, walked into Le Blues Bar at exactly 6 a.m., just as pre- dawn illuminated the sky with a promise that light soon would return to the world, just as it had for more sunrises than she could remember. This time of day was her favorite and usually found her wandering the streets, enjoying the sound of her footsteps echoing through the waking city. This morning, however, was unusual.

A midnight phone call, a short, urgent conversation, and Kyra found herself boarding an airplane for Paris and striding into this bar, into affairs that should not concern her. But she owed the caller, and she never welshed on her debts.

A presence invaded her senses as she closed the front door, and she drew her sword more from habit than any premonition of danger. She thought she knew the immortal, but one could never be too careful.

"Show yourself," she ordered, cautiously moving farther into the room.

"Easy, Kyra," answered a soothing voice. Duncan MacLeod emerged from a dark corner, a mug cupped in both hands. "Coffee?"

She relaxed, sheathed her blade beneath her coat and approached the immortal who only months before had helped her regain her memory, after Richard's death. Had it only been last year that Richard had been murdered? Time moved so slowly without her lover's constant presence, each day another wish that he might have lived to see Paris in the spring. To share it with her.

"I apologize for the call last night," MacLeod said, returning to his seat. He peered toward the faint light filtering under the front door. "Thanks for coming so early. Is the sun even up yet?"

"I think it be," she quoted softly, sliding smoothly into the seat across from the Scot, "but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day."

He nodded and half-smiled. "Shakespeare, Henry V. You're getting as bad as Walter."

She snorted. "Walter can recite the whole play verbatim, I'm sure, but he doesn't understand it. He did not stand his ground at Agincourt against hopeless odds, certain the next day would bring death. Of course, I don't remember the English being nearly that eloquent. It was more like, 'French bastards are going to rip us apart tomorrow.'"

"Why bring such dreary thoughts to the table?"

She smiled grimly. "That's your cue, MacLeod. You're the one who tracked me down with an emergency only I could handle."

"Ah, yes," he replied, pausing to sip from his mug. "Are you sure you don't want any coffee? Joe left a warm pot behind the counter."

She irritably brushed her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ears and leaned forward to stare at her companion. "The emergency, MacLeod?"

He sighed and met her expectant gaze. "It's actually a friend of mine who needs help. Claudia Jardine. Ever heard of her?"

"The pianist," she said, nodding. "What's her problem?"

"She's immortal, and she's being hunted."

"Nope," Kyra replied firmly. "Sorry, MacLeod, but I don't play bodyguard for immortals. Too dangerous."

"Claudia's kind of a ... special case."

"None of us are that different. Tell her to draw her sword and take her chances."

MacLeod shook his head, almost sadly, Kyra thought.

"She doesn't own a sword, and she doesn't know how to fight. She believes that to feel her music, she needs to fear death."

"Then she's a fool," Kyra said, shrugging. "She doesn't need a bodyguard. She needs a psychiatrist." She cocked her head and looked curiously at MacLeod. "Why ask me to do this? Why don't you help her yourself?"

MacLeod grimaced. "Things have happened in my life in the past year that I ... I'm having trouble dealing with. The way I am right now, I don't think I'd be able to give Claudia the protection that she needs."

Then his eyes met hers with a haunted expression that she recognized, had seen a hundred times in the eyes of a hundred immortals, in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror. It was the look of a man carrying unbearable loss and guilt. She knew it would handicap him until he had worked through his pain.

"Kyra, all I'm asking is that you meet her," MacLeod said softly. "She's playing a concert tonight at Albert Hall. Please, come with me to the concert, listen to her music, meet her and then make your choice. Don't dismiss her out of hand." He reached toward her and covered her hands, folded on the table. "Please, Kyra. Claudia is stubborn, snotty and impossible to get along with, but she's also a treasure worth saving. Give her a chance."

Kyra reclaimed her hands and looked away, anywhere but the plea in MacLeod's eyes. Why was he asking her to do this? He knew what had happened last time, with Richard, how she had stood helpless while several men had gunned him down in his own home. In their home.

"Kyra?"

She shook her head. "I can't do it, MacLeod. I'm sorry. It's not you or even your friend. I'm just not ready for this."

"You avenged Richard. It's over."

"Not for me. It will never be over for me."

"Please, Kyra. Do you think Richard would want you to tear yourself up like this? He's forgiven you. It's time you forgive yourself."

But I don't want this, she thought. I don't want to jump into a fight that isn't mine. I don't want to resurrect painful memories that are better left untouched. I do not want this.

But I owe MacLeod.

She sighed deeply and nodded. "All right, I'll come with you, and I'll meet this friend of yours. But I promise no more than that. Agreed?"

"Agreed." He held out his hand, which Kyra gripped, sealing the bargain.

"So," she asked, "when do we leave for London?"

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Claudia sat before her dressing room mirror, absently running her fingers through her curly brown hair. Her other hand tapped against the dresser in time with the Chopin CD playing in the corner. She had performed beautifully at the concert, of course, as guest soloist for the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. And the audience had loved her, of course, giving her a standing ovation and thundering applause. She expected no less.

So why did she feel so uneasy and ... frightened? She had worried all day that her mysterious hunter would attend the concert, kill her in front of hundreds of fans and destroy her career. Her anxiety, however, had been for naught, and Claudia felt both relieved and disappointed that her hunter had left her to live in fear for one more day.

She had known when she had become immortal, when she had left Seacouver with no training and no weapon, that she would make an easy target. That knowledge had fueled her perfect playing with a heartbreaking passion that the critics fawned over. Simply the thought of an icy blade at her neck lifted her music to a higher level. Immortality had become a wonderful gift -- until he had come: her anonymous stalker, who faded in and out of sensory range and killed her bodyguards but never showed his face.

As if on cue, she felt a presence. Claudia's fingers froze as she glanced around. She pulled her gun from a dresser drawer with trembling hands and pointed it at the door. Someone knocked. Hunters didn't knock, did they?

"Who's there?" she yelled.

"Claudia, it's Duncan," answered a muffled voice.

She stood, pulling her robe closer around her shoulders, and cautiously cracked open the door. She almost sobbed in relief at the familiar face that peered back at her.

"Claudia," Duncan said, "please let me in."

"Oh, Duncan," she cried, flinging aside the door and pulling him into a fierce embrace. "Thank you for coming."

His arms tightened around her. "I couldn't abandon my favorite pianist, could I?"

Claudia just as suddenly pulled back, embarrassed by her unprofessional outburst, and studied MacLeod. Something looked different. The tuxedo certainly seemed out of place on her casual friend, but that wasn't the problem. She cocked her head and scowled. "Why did you cut your hair? It looked better long."

"Good to see you, too," he replied dryly.

"No, seriously, Duncan. You really should think about growing it out again."

He sighed with one of those half-smiles Claudia liked so well. He was just so ... Duncan, and the familiarity calmed her fears. She resisted the urge to hug him again and returned to her chair, setting her gun on the dresser.

"As much as I would enjoy discussing my hair with you all evening, that's not why I'm here," Duncan said, gesturing toward the door. "I'd like you to meet someone. This is Kyra Albright."

Claudia met the blue eyes of the slight immortal who entered. She looked tough -- the type to shoot first and ask questions later -- and her choice of wardrobe made Claudia feel nauseated; she had worn tight leather pants and a black leather jacket to a classical concert at Albert Hall. Claudia immediately disliked her.

"Really, Duncan," she said, "you can do better than her. I didn't think you were the type to go for leather-clad tomboys."

Kyra glared at Claudia in silence. She reached calmly into her jacket and pulled out a pistol, checking its clip and snapping it back into place with a soft click, never taking her eyes off the other woman. Claudia couldn't help but shudder, but she refused to look away, subconsciously fingering her own gun.

Duncan sighed. "Kyra is more than twice my age, and she has about half my patience, so I suggest you choose your words carefully."

"Why did you bring her into my dressing room?"

"She's a bodyguard."

"Oh, no, no, no," Claudia said, shaking her head. "I called you because I want you to help me, Duncan."

"This is one problem I won't be able to help you with," Duncan answered quietly. "I no longer carry a sword."

Claudia frowned. "Really? Why not?"

"It would take too long to explain. But when you told me about your hunter, I called the most qualified person I could think of to help you. That's Kyra."

"Duncan, you are not listening to me," Claudia said. "I don't want another bodyguard with a bad attitude. I've already had enough of those."

"Fine," Kyra said.

Claudia looked at her wide eyes, almost having forgotten she was still leaning in the doorway. She noted with satisfaction that Duncan, too, seemed surprised.

"What?" he asked.

"I said fine," Kyra said. "She obviously doesn't want my help, so I suggest we let her fend for herself."

"No." Duncan grabbed Kyra's arm as she tried to leave, only releasing her when Kyra glanced pointedly at his hand. "Both of you need to stop acting like children and listen to me for a second. Kyra, you're a bodyguard without anyone to protect. You can always go back to that art gallery security job in New York, but if you think about it for a minute, you'll figure out that you're not happy there."

Claudia snickered. She could just see Kyra, clad in black leather, standing guard among all those sculptures and paintings, glaring at every person who walked past. She'd probably scare away the patrons.

"And you," Duncan continued, turning to Claudia, "are in big trouble, and you need help. Sooner or later, your hunter is going to try for your head, and we both know who will win."

Claudia's laughter died. She scowled, her hands fidgeting with the tie of her robe. "I hate that you're always right," she muttered.

Duncan nodded curtly and looked at the other woman. Kyra rolled her eyes. "How many days do you have left in London?" she asked.

Claudia shrugged. "Three more nights of concerts. After that, I'm here on my own time."

"All right, then," Kyra said. "I offer a trial period. I will be your bodyguard for three days. Then, if this relationship is not working, we go our separate ways. Agreed?"

Claudia looked to Duncan for guidance, but his determined expression told her how he wanted her to answer. Still, she couldn't help but feel betrayed. She had called him for help, and he had saddled her with this immortal for three days. Well, she could endure anything for three days.

"Agreed," she said to Kyra. "But I still think I can take care of myself better than you can."

Kyra smiled and leaned back against the doorframe, arms casually folded across her chest. "If I had been your hunter, you'd be dead now."

"Oh, really?" Claudia picked up her gun and waved it around.

"Be careful with that," Duncan warned. "It might go off, and then we'd have a lot to explain."

"Oh, no chance of that, MacLeod," Kyra replied smugly. "The safety is on."

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Exactly two hours ago, Kyra Albright had sauntered into her dressing room. Well, two hours and 15 minutes. That left approximately 70 hours until Kyra walked back out of her life. But who was counting?

"Stay here," Kyra ordered before walking into Claudia's hotel suite with her gun in hand.

"It's my room, and I'll go in if I want to," Claudia said haughtily. "I'm tired and cold and wet from walking through that damned rainstorm, and the last thing I need is to sit in the hall."

Kyra turned in the doorway and set her hand firmly against Claudia's shoulder. Claudia struggled in vain to break the hold, finally slapping away the hand with a disapproving look. The display had little effect on her bodyguard, though, judging by Kyra's indulgent smile.

In the silence that fell between them, Claudia could hear the soft drip, drip, drip of rainwater fall from her hair and clothes and soak into the expensive carpet. A drowned rat: That's what she sees, Claudia thought. Someone to toss around as she pleases. But I'm a world-famous pianist, dammit!

"Stay here," Kyra repeated softly. "Please."

Claudia rolled her eyes and grumbled about impertinent bodyguards, but she leaned against the wall without further complaint. Why had she given Duncan her promise? Do what Kyra says, he had ordered, and she, like an idiot, had agreed. It's not like her stalker was in her suite, maybe calling room service for some caviar. They'd have felt his presence. This whole situation was so absurd.

She ran her fingers through her tangled, wet hair and closed her eyes, wondering if maybe she pinched herself hard enough, she'd wake up and discover all this had been a nightmare. Maybe she had fallen down Alice's rabbit-hole and was bumbling through some bizarre version of Wonderland. Off with her head! and all that.

Well, I'll keep my head, if you please. Just let me wake up now.

"Do you plan on sleeping in the hallway?"

She snapped open her eyes and glared at Kyra. No nightmare, after all, but hellish just the same.

"If I do, you are in no position to question me."

"True," Kyra said, "but you might find it a rather uncomfortable way to prove your point. The room is clear."

With one more annoyingly smug smile, Kyra re-entered the suite, and Claudia had no choice but to follow. She felt herself falling farther down the rabbit-hole, the situation rapidly slipping through her fingers. Only two hours and 18 minutes, and already Kyra thought she controlled her. Time to make some changes in this arrangement.

Claudia entered and made a show of inspecting the suite, assuring herself that Kyra had not missed something important. She nodded in approval at her bodyguard, who had stretched out on the couch.

"Very well," Claudia said. "You may call room service and tell them I want my breakfast at exactly 9 a.m. Bagels, not English muffins. Tell them if they get it wrong again, I will complain to management. Then you may leave for the night."

Kyra smiled lazily, set both hands behind her head, and stretched out farther, eerily reminiscent of a big cat sunning itself on a window seat.

Claudia scowled. "I know you heard me, Kyra. Now get to work."

For a prolonged moment, Kyra did not move. Then she sat up, pulled off her wet leather jacket and flung it across the back of the couch.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said.

Claudia's jaw dropped. How dare this woman challenge a direct order! "For three days, you are my employee," she said, unable to keep her voice from becoming shrill. "That means you will do exactly as I say."

Kyra sighed. "I had hoped this would wait until morning, but I see we're going to have to clarify a few things now. First, I am your bodyguard, not your servant. If you want something from room service, you call them yourself."

"But..."

"Secondly," she continued, "I can't protect you if I leave you alone. I will take the couch for tonight, but I expect you to inform the hotel staff that you want a second bed brought in here by tomorrow night."

"How dare you..."

"And lastly, remember that you made a promise to MacLeod. You will do as I say. It's very important that you keep your promise because you might put yourself in danger by ignoring me. Understand?"

Claudia blinked, unable to formulate a response to such insolence. Kyra obviously did not have the slightest clue whom she was insulting. In fact, she probably wouldn't recognize genius if it bit her on that pert little nose.

"Well," Kyra said while approaching Claudia, who stood stunned in the center of the room, "I'll take your silence as agreement. I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to sleep. So, if you wish to discuss this further, we will do so in the morning."

Thump! Claudia hit the bottom of the rabbit-hole.

Kyra swept past her and into the bathroom, and Claudia remained immobile until she heard the lock click shut. She breathed out explosively and crossed to her bed, mechanically going through the motions of toweling dry her hair and preparing for sleep, her mind a turmoil of jumbled thoughts. Kyra had won this battle, but the war was far from over. She'd regain control soon enough, and then Kyra would learn that no one could best Claudia Jardine.

She locked the suite door, turned out the lights and fell into bed, pulling the covers over her head. Kyra emerged from the bathroom, and Claudia listened to her move catlike through the dark and settle on the couch. Her breathing slowed to a soft, even rhythm, but Claudia remained awake, forming her battle plan for the next day.

Kyra, she thought, had just met her match.

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"...So, if you wish to discuss this further, we will do so in the morning."

Silence.

The blond man leaned back in his chair and chuckled, switching off the small speakers that had broadcast every word spoken in the suite belonging to Claudia Jardine. The little pianist apparently had attempted to find help and instead had flushed a tigress, more likely to turn on her than not.

Kyra. That is what Claudia had called her. Kyra, a bodyguard who thought she could waltz onto the scene and ruin his game. She soon would learn that her assumption was wrong -- or she would die. This match called for two players, and a third piece on the board would put a serious damper on his plans.

The game was so close to completion that he could taste victory, and no tigress bodyguard would stand in his way when he collected Claudia's head. Only a couple more days until checkmate. First, however, he had to eliminate this unwelcome intruder, one way or another.

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part 2

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.

===============================

part 3

Claudia awoke with both a blinding headache and a peculiar tingling sensation at the base of her neck, the latter of which quickly diminished. Too bad, she thought groggily, that the headache did not do the same. She groaned and clutched her temples, trying to banish the light that filtered through behind her closed eyelids.

"Hey, Doc," a voice yelled. "She's coming around."

Thump, thump. Blood pounded through her head in a strong, steady rhythm. Thump, thump, thump.

"Hey, Doc, come here," the voice boomed.

Go away, Claudia thought, not knowing whether she was referring to the bellowing voices or the pounding in her brain. Just go away, and leave me alone.

A coolness spread across her forehead, and she sighed in relief. She reached up to pull the washcloth over her eyes, and a few blessed drops slid under her lids, lessening the pain enough that she could open her eyes. One glance around the room, and she wished she had stayed unconscious.

The serious young man hovering over her must be "Doc," she decided. She couldn't figure out, however, why all these other people had crowded into her hotel suite -- or why she was in her suite at all. She easily identified the police officers by their uniforms, and then there were the two men in black suits standing at the door. A cleaning lady was busily dusting wall hangings at the far end of the suite.

As her headache lessened even more, Claudia sat up and threw off the washcloth. "What the hell is going on?"

Doc picked up the cloth and pressed it gently against her forehead, pushing her back into her pillows. "Now, just calm down, Miss Jardine," he said. "You had a nasty fall, and you've been unconscious all night. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't break your neck. Do you remember what happened?"

Claudia closed her eyes, and the memories flooded back. The concert, Kyra shoving her off her bench, the immortal with the gun ...

"He tried to shoot me," she whispered.

Yes," Doc answered, nodding. "He did shoot your bodyguard. Lucky for you that she pushed you out of the way."

Claudia bolted upright, eyes wide with dismay. "Kyra!"

Doc pushed her down again. "Your bodyguard was taken to the hospital. The doctors tried to save her, but she had lost too much blood. I'm very sorry, Miss Jardine. But right now, you cannot worry about her. You must concentrate on your own healing."

He began feeling her head, pressing his fingers against her scalp in search for bumps and cuts. Claudia irritably pulled away.

"I'm fine, really, Doctor ...?"

"Johnson."

"Doctor Johnson, just tell me the police caught the shooter."

Claudia noticed the pointed glance between Doctor Johnson and one of the police officers, and the officer's slight nod. The doctor looked back at Claudia, licking his lips nervously. "The shooter, uh, got away."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. He what?"

"He got away, Miss Jardine. He vanished. No one could find any trace of him. But not to worry, the police have investigators on the case, and ..."

The doctor droned on, but Claudia tuned him out. This is too much, she thought. First I lose my bodyguard, and then the police can't even catch the guy. She shoved back the sheets and got to her feet, but one of the officers caught her shoulder and forced back down to the bed.

"Get your hands off me," she hissed, and the officer backed away warily. "All of you, get out!"

Doctor Johnson laid a hand on her arm. "Now, Miss Jardine, I know you've had a shock, but --"

"Get out! All of you, get out! Now!"

"Miss Jardine, I --"

"Out!"

She met the doctor's eyes in a battle of wills. They stared at each other for only a few seconds before Doctor Johnson looked down, and Claudia smiled victoriously.

"All right," he said quietly. "But you'll have a guard posted outside your door, and I'll be back to check on you in an hour."

Claudia nodded curtly and waited until the doctor and his crew left and shut the door behind them. She fell heavily onto the bed and rubbed her fingers over her lids. What would she do now? Kyra was presumed dead, so Claudia could no longer rely on her bodyguard to stop the imminent attack.

That attack would come soon, she knew, because this cruel game of cat and mouse had moved into its final stage the moment that Kyra had been shot. She had to think of a solution fast. Well, the first step was simple: Call Duncan.

She reached across the bed for the telephone, but she dropped the receiver when she noticed, on the opposite end of the suite, the back end of a pale-green hotel uniform poking out from behind a wall tapestry. The cleaning lady's duster lay forgotten on the floor, and she seemed oblivious to Claudia's scrutiny.

"Hey," Claudia yelled. "What are you doing here? I said for everyone to leave, and that includes you."

A soft, deep chuckle came from behind the tapestry, the unmistakable laugh of her greatest tormentor and benefactor of the past few days. Claudia's eyes widened, and she found herself running across the room. The presence hit her after she took only a couple of steps, confirming her suspicion.

Kyra emerged from behind the hanging in time for Claudia to sweep her up in an uncharacteristic embrace. Just as suddenly, Claudia stiffened and tried to pull away, but Kyra gripped her arms and held her tight, leaning in closer until her breath tickled against Claudia's ear.

"The room is bugged. The device is behind the tapestry," Kyra whispered.

Claudia shuddered. "Is it him?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I ... met him. Yesterday. And he called me by name. He couldn't have known who I was unless he was listening."

"You met him? And you didn't tell me?"

"Listen, Claudia, you can argue with me later. Right now, just play along. We can use this to draw him into the open, where we can end it."

"I trust you."

Kyra broke the embrace and smiled reassuringly. She untied her apron and pulled it off, along with the overly large hotel uniform. Under the bulky clothing, Claudia noted with a flash of annoyance, Kyra had reverted to her black leather ensemble. She settled onto the couch while Claudia stood silent, wringing her hands and waiting for the other woman to speak.

"You know," Kyra began, "that to the rest of the world, I'm dead."

"Yes, I know." Where was she going with this?

"That also means," Kyra continued, "that I can no longer be your bodyguard."

Claudia hated the sound of those words; they vocalized her worst fear. Her legs felt like rubber, and she wanted to sit, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

"I know that, too," she said, her voice wavering. "Tell me what to do, Kyra. I need a bodyguard who knows what they're fighting."

"That's why I set up a meeting for you with an acquaintance of mine. Deborah Mendoza. She's not immortal, but she knows what we are, and she's excellent with a sword. She's waiting for you now, at a little Chinese restaurant a few blocks from here."

Claudia frowned. What was Kyra getting at?

"You, ah, want me to -- to go meet this woman. Now?"

"Well, you shouldn't keep her waiting too long. If you cut through that small park across the street, you can be there in ten minutes." Kyra paused. "I cannot go with you, though. Too many people might recognize my face."

Claudia understood. She was to act as bait. "I will go."

"Good."

She dressed in the most nondescript clothes she owned: a pair of gray slacks and a blue silk shirt. Over that, she pulled on her black raincoat and tied it tightly around her waist. As a last precaution, she slipped her gun into her pocket. If she was going to jump head first into danger, she refused to go unarmed.

Kyra efficiently knocked out the two guards outside the suite, and she gestured for Claudia to go ahead. Claudia breathed deeply as she rode down the elevator and crossed the lobby, certain her heart was pounding loud enough for everyone to hear it. She left the hotel without incident, crossed the street and entered the park.

She knew that were she not anxious for her life, she would have enjoyed strolling through the small green oasis amid the buildings of London. The sun shone gloriously for the first time in days; raindrops dripped off the pedals of a thousand flowers. The fresh scent of a city washed clean filled the air, and Claudia mourned that this perfect scene soon would be marred by the power of the Quickening -- hopefully not her own.

She fingered her gun and walked faster, her brown curls bouncing against her shoulders with every step. Then, as she expected and feared, she felt a presence. She stopped, drew her weapon and searched among the trees and flowery bushes for some sign of her hunter. She saw no one.

She licked her dry lips with an equally dry tongue. "Why don't you come out and face me?"

A rustle of leaves caught her attention, and she turned to see her stalker for the first time. He looked nothing like the demon of her nightmares, no horns protruding from his forehead or smoke wafting from his nostrils. He did not even sport a decent, face-mutilating scar. The man looked disappointingly normal, the type she might pass on the street without a second glance -- well, normal except for the sword he held casually across the back of his shoulders.

She pointed her gun at him, using her other hand to steady her shaking arm.

"Tut, tut, Claudia," he said, shaking his head. "Guns aren't part of our game."

"Game? This is no game."

He shrugged. "No use squabbling over semantics. I say game, you say hunt. It amounts to the same thing in the end."

"Don't come any closer," Claudia warned. "I will shoot you."

He walked toward her with an infuriating, smug smile. "I don't think you will. I don't think you have it in you, and now that you've lost Kyra, you have no one to protect you. My dear Claudia, you know you can't win, so why keep fighting it? Why not just end this the only way you can and accept death gracefully?"

As he drew close enough to touch, Claudia snapped. All the fear and frustration and anger of the past week gathered inside her and gave her the courage to do what she never thought she could. She pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He ripped the gun from her hand and threw it into the bushes. "Safety was on," he whispered.

With one fluid movement, his sword was at her throat, forcing her to her knees. She gasped at the cold blade sliding along her neck, and her eyes locked onto his malicious smile. He licked his lips in anticipation. Claudia could hardly remember how to breathe.

"Good-bye, Claudia Jardine," he said. "It's been fun."

Claudia winced as she anticipated her beheading, but his expression abruptly changed from victory to confusion, and the blow did not come. She felt the source of his unease a moment later. Kyra stepped from the bushes and pointed her gun at the man's head.

"I can put a bullet in your brain right now, and you'd be dead before you hit the ground," she said calmly.

"You can't interfere, Kyra," he said, pressing the blade against Claudia's neck. "The battle has been joined."

"This is no battle," Kyra spat. "You know that. I know that. There is no honor in this."

"Then we seem to be at a stalemate."

"Actually, we're not," Kyra replied. "You see, to take Claudia's head, you need to pull back your sword and pick up momentum on the swing. That gives me plenty of time to splatter your brains all over the park." She slunk toward him, until the barrel of her gun was flush against his head. "Of course, I'm willing to give you one chance. You let Claudia go, I put down my gun, and we end this the way we're supposed to."

Claudia bit her lip, hardly daring to breathe as Kyra bargained for her life. Please, God, she thought, if You really are out there, help me now.

Whether by divine intervention or the threat of Kyra's gun -- or maybe both -- the man lifted his blade, and Claudia dashed for safety behind a thick tree. Trembling and unnerved by the silence behind her, she peeked around the trunk and saw the two immortals circling each other, swords in hand. Kyra attacked, and the weapons blurred as they clashed again and again. The fury of blows ended when Kyra slashed across her opponent's cheek, leaving a thin, bloody trail.

Kyra pulled back and grinned. The man grazed fingertips over his cheek, and with a frustrated growl, he advanced. Only seconds later, too fast for Claudia to follow, Kyra's blade buried itself just below the man's ribs. He howled and clutched at his stomach, dropping his sword in defeat. With an icy expression that frightened even Claudia, Kyra withdrew her sword and swung at his neck.

The blond-haired head hit the ground and rolled a few feet before coming to rest near Claudia's tree. His open eyes stared accusingly at her, and she lost what little food was in her stomach all over a bush of delicate pink flowers.

She heard Kyra groan, which drew her gaze back to the gruesome scene. A strange white mist rose from the body and swirled around Kyra, before slowly sinking into her. Claudia watched as the first Quickening she had ever witnessed unfolded before her.

Lightning shot from the corpse and crackled around Kyra with increasing intensity, and Claudia strank farther behind her tree. Kyra screamed as her muscles spasmed, and her electrically charged hair flew around her face like a wild halo. To Claudia, the Quickening seemed to last an eternity, but the energy storm eventually diminished. A few lingering bolts flew randomly around the clearing.

Kyra fell to her knees with a weak groan. High above, a branch, thick as a man's waist, cracked from its tree and fell. It thumped down only a few feet from Kyra, but she seemed not to notice.

Claudia left the sanctuary of her tree and dropped beside the fallen victor, gathering the woman into her arms as Kyra trembled uncontrollably. Claudia brushed back a tangled mess of sweaty blonde locks from Kyra's face.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Kyra, answer me. Open your eyes."

Kyra obeyed, with the most exhausted expression Claudia had ever seen. "I'll be fine," she muttered. "I just ... need some ... time."

"Time is something you don't have," Claudia answered. She pointed at the police officers crossing the street from the hotel. "They must have seen the Quickening, and they'll be here soon. You must leave now."

"I ... I don't know if I can walk. He was strong ... so strong."

"You have to," Claudia snapped.

A semblance of life flickered in Kyra's eyes, and she nodded.

"Help me up."

Claudia looked over her shoulder at the approaching officers as Kyra struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against her. Claudia picked up both swords and placed them in Kyra's hands.

"Use these for a crutch," she ordered. "And leave now."

"What about you?" Kyra asked as she accepted the weapons.

"I'll delay the police long enough for you to get away."

Kyra nodded and stumbled into the bushes, her presence quickly fading away, and Claudia slumped onto the fallen branch to wait for the police to arrive. Finally, she allowed the fear and stress of the past two weeks to overwhelm her, and she sobbed for the relief of it.

When the police entered the clearing, they found a strange sight: a corpse with its head a few feet away; two guns, one with the safety still on, but no weapon capable of decapitating a man; and Claudia Jardine, trembling and crying in the dirt, unable to give a coherent response to any of their questions.

The next morning, the London Sun reported a freak electrical storm and an unusual death that somehow involved a world-renowned pianist. The tabloids used the incident as fodder for weeks, but no one, not even Claudia Jardine, ever fully explained what had happened that morning. The murder was filed away among hundreds of other cold cases that the police would never solve.

===============================

Three weeks later

Duncan had moved the barge, forcing Claudia to hunt up and down the river for almost an hour before she finally spotted the boat's familiar silhouette outlined against Notre Dame. She knocked on the glass separating her seat from her driver's, and the man stopped the car at a staircase leading down to the water. He opened her door, and Claudia stepped out, not even minding the cool Paris breeze that ruffled her hair.

"Stay here until I signal," Claudia told the man. "After that, I'll probably be here for several hours, and I'll call you when it's time to return."

He nodded and stood by silently as Claudia descended to the quay. She had so much to tell Duncan and so much to ask him. The London police had held her in the city after Kyra had disappeared, volleying the same questions at her repeatedly from inside interrogation rooms while various inspectors stood outside mirror-windows and listened for discrepancies in her answers. She never gave them any reason to doubt her story, every retelling identical to the previous one. Finally, they had released her, and she had come here, to Duncan, perhaps the only person who made her feel truly safe.

Well, with the exception of a particular bodyguard who had been missing since the morning she had saved Claudia's life.

Claudia felt Duncan before she stepped onto the barge, and her friend came out to greet her with a broad smile. She waved at her driver to leave and accepted Duncan's arm as he led her inside.

"Really, Duncan," she said, stopping at the top of the stairs, "you need to fire your decorator."

The barge was bare except for a bed, a few candles on tall, ornate holders, and a low table, surrounded by cushions, in the center of the room. Duncan gave her an indulgent look and crossed to the bar, where he poured two cups of tea.

"I see that this whole episode hasn't changed you a bit, Claudia."

He carried the cups to the table, while Claudia untied her raincoat, hung it over a candle holder and joined Duncan on the cushions. She sipped her tea with a thoughtful expression.

"Actually," she said, "I have learned something from this. I am not meant to carry a gun."

Duncan chuckled. "Kyra did mention that you're still having trouble figuring out how to take off the safety."

"Kyra was here?"

"She visited a couple of weeks ago, just after she killed your stalker. I've been reading the London papers, by the way. That's an interesting story you fed the police: Kidnapped from your room, dragged into the park and then some mysterious person appears from nowhere and chops off the guy's head. I can't believe they let you get away with that."

Claudia shrugged. "I told them that I think that's what happened. I passed out when my stalker hit me on the head, and I woke up to find police all around me and a headless body only a few feet away."

"Very thin, Claudia."

"The police came in on a very strange scene, Duncan. They were ready to believe almost anything." She sipped from her cup and looked down at the table without seeing it. "I didn't even know his name."

"Peter Olson."

She looked up at him; his half-smile did not quite reach his eyes. She had not noticed his pain before, but Kyra was right -- Duncan was not acting like himself. Then again, Kyra had been right about many things, and Claudia had been blind to most of them until it was too late.

"Kyra said something to me before she left," Duncan said. "She said that as far as she was concerned, you passed the trial period, and in a few years or decades, after the world forgets who died in Albert Hall, she would be honored to be your bodyguard."

Claudia breathed out slowly, stunned by the gift Kyra had left for her. After all that had happened, her bodyguard still might return.

"Someday," Claudia whispered. She smiled wistfully and finished her tea.

Outside the barge, standing close enough to glimpse the two figures within but far enough away to avoid their notice, stood a slight woman in black leather. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders and sighed, sending out a futile wish to the Fates that things might have turned out differently, that she too might be inside instead of purposely keeping her distance.

They had saved each other, in the end. She had stopped Peter Olson from killing Claudia, but at the same time, Claudia had given her the chance to put her murdered lover to rest and regain her self-confidence. The game that should have ended when she took the head of Richard's murderer was finally over.

They had made a good team. Despite the bickering, they had found companionship, solace and redemption. She had no doubt they would meet again.

"Someday," Kyra said quietly, and walked away.

the end

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