Chapter 4


I stole away in the early morning, before the sun had even begun to rise. As wonderful as it had been to sleep with him again, there was no denying that he was the friend of my enemy.. and the friend of my enemy had to be my enemy as well. Which is why I found myself outside of Richard Ryan's apartment. Before I could go in, I felt a vibration on my side and from my hip pocket I withdrew my phone. Clicking it on, I realized that the small bugging devise I had planted on my mater's phone was working more than perfectly. Not only had it been activated but worked wonders as the call I had been notified of was non other than one between him and Duncan MacLeod. I listened carefully:

"Mac, I saw her again last night."

"Who?"

"The woman who ran out on you in the bar yesterday... Eve."

He hadn't given my real name. I was glad.

"So, what did she say?"

He paused. "She lost one of her students. From the way she acted, it was most likely recently, too." He paused again. "I'm not saying anything. I don't want to be involved any more than necessary. But if she ran out rather than meet you and Amanda last night..."

"I understand. I'll ask Joe what he knows about it. Thanks."

"Yeah, Mac." And a dial tone.

I grinned and ran my hand through my hair. Taking my sword from its place, I admired its beauty. Even though it had been my first sword, the flamberge had always been the most beautiful of them all. It's "flame blade" let light dance from it in delicate crurves, the strong blade able to withstand more than a considerable amount of force because of it. And though it weighed a good six pounds, it seemed much lighter in my two hands. Then, with a deep breath, I summoned all my strength into one small second as I kicked the door in. The moment I stepped in, I felt the gentle rush of another immortal. A younger, less powerful immortal, but an immortal just the same. I knew it would only be a matter time so I darted into the bedroom- to find the light from the bathroom peaking out from beneath its door. I kicked that one in, as well, to find a dripping, blond- haired Richie Ryan standing half naked, one hand clutching the towel at his waist, the other with his stiff, gleaming bastard pointed straight at my neck.

"Why the Hell do all you guys come into my bathroom?" he said, walking forward as I walked backwards, reemerging into his quite untidy bedroom.

I was in no mood for games. 'Twas a pity he couldn't see that. "Tell me what you know about Duncan MacLeod, and I'll spare that young little body of yours from being cut from your obviously stupid head."

He shook his head. "Look, Lady. Anything you can get from me about Duncan you can get just as easily from a phone book."

I shook my head back, putting on a sly smile. "I seriously doubt that!" I lunged at him, perfect form, and he countered with a backhanded parry, jumping to the side as we circled, holding blades in key positions, ready, able, staring each other down like animals. This was the rush. I knew he felt it too.

He came at me next, a brilliant thrust with a twist that I knew he must have learned from his teacher- it was that second-nature to him. It nearly caught me off guard but I blocked it, moving forward with my own as my heavy sword's brilliant strength came through against his sword.

A lamp crashed to the ground as a table was over-turned. I glimpsed the half-empty wooden bookcase and sprang for it, knocking it over with brute force and cunning as it crashed down upon him, helplessly covering him from the neck down. There was no way for him to escape. It was to be over that quickly. I surprised even myself sometimes at my adeptness.

His blue eyes looked up at me in wonder and fear. I rested my boot on the blade of his puny sword and gave him a smile. Say hello to Alex for me, will you, dear?" I pulled up, the sword over my head and came down with a startled yelp as his hands dug into my ankles and pulled my feet out from under me. I fell backwards with a crash, looking up to see two bare feet running out the fire escape. I grimaced, swore, and gave a deep and heavy sigh. Then made my way back to Joe's Bar.

* * * * *


"But what does she have against me?" Duncan asked, swallowing the last drop of Glenfiddish from the shot glass.

Doc shrugged. "She wouldn't be the first to want the head of the great Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

I was just out of sensing range but could see and hear the two men perfectly as they slumped on bar stools, leaning on the counter, downing their frustrations and confusions.

Duncan looked down shaking his head. "But it just doesn't make sense. And all that talk to you about losing her student? Was she afraid she'd lose and you'd challenge me over her?"

With a deep breath, "You know, I may not have seen G-Eve for a hundred and fifty years but I know that what I saw was real. Those tears weren't for me," his eyes looked almost sad, his voice one of calm reason. "She's hurting over someone."

"Yeah," Duncan grumbled. "We just have to find out who."

"Alexander Karloff."

Two pairs of eyes turned from their glasses to see Joe enter the room from the back, with a familiar manila folder in his hands. Joe's steps were stilted but aided by the use of his cane as he leaned on it gently, his hobble so comfortable to him after so many years of living with it. "Alexander Karloff," he reiterated. "He was the only student of a one Graciene Wyss. Four years ago, you killed him."

Duncan paused a moment, then a look of recognition passed over his face. "Oh, I remember Alexander."

"Hmm?" Doc muttered, inquiring without words.

Duncan rested his elbows on the table, folding arms flat against its surface. He looked up at Joe, then back down at Doc. "Alexander was a pyromaniac."

* * * * *

New York, 1992


Seven buildings in 2 days. Even I could tell he was getting worse. By now I knew the routine. First he would enter with a single red candle, lighting it fairly in the open for all to see. And then came the fire bombs in a dozen strategically set spots in the building. Then came the big guns. He'd block all exits from the outside and slip into the last, becoming a victim, too, as the whole place went down in flames, taking with it every man, woman and child within. This one was no exception.

The flames leapt and kissed the sky, smoke curdling to nearly block out the sun itself. And in it all, I saw my Alex emerge, burned but as handsome as ever. As he came closer, I saw the death in his eyes, and he looked at me, tears running in streams down his cheeks. I held my arms out and he came to me, crying, sobbing, shaking.

"Grace..." he whimpered. I held him tighter.

"Shhh, it's all right, Darling."

"But... I... I killed all those people."

I shook my head. "It's not you, Alex. It's the dream."

He shuddered in my arms. "I just... I can't fight it any more, Grace. I've tried and I just can't do it.... I'm too tired."

I rubbed a hand on the back of his head. "Shhh... it's all right."

"The flames, Grace. I saw him through the flames."

As many times as he'd woken up screaming about his first death, he'd never quite told me the whole dream. "You saw who?"

He shook his head, placing it flat against my shirt. "It was the week after my eighteenth birthday. I woke in the middle of the night to see fire. Fire everywhere. The sort of flames that leap at you as if they were alive. They were screaming, my family, the others in the house, the people outside. And I yelled for help, dropping to the ground as the smoke filled my eyes to make them water, and my lungs to make them ache for a breath of clean air. I reached the door to the room beside mine, my sister's room, it was, and from my spot on the floor I noticed what was happening. It was a backdraft, all air being sucked right under- smoke and all, building inside her room. I could hear the screams no longer, just the pounding of my heart in my ears. I ran for my door but it was too late, I could barely breathe. My hand was at the metal door knob, which burned into my palm so much that I was forced to recoil in pain. It was then that I yelled, feeling faint, hearing a sound which was almost a roar. I froze, mesmerized by the viscousness of the sound, and then suddenly, it happened. A wall of flames from my sister's room- an explosion larger than words could describe, directed exactly at me. I can't remember how long I lay there, yelling, as the flames seared and devoured my flesh. I lost consciousness after a while, but right before I did, I saw a dark figure hovering over me. I couldn't lift my hand to reach out to it, but it reached out to me, and whispered the words that seemed to blend so well into the roar of the flames, 'Fear not. It is your destiny. It is your life blood. It is you.'

"I woke in a pile of ash. I sat up instantly, looking around to find that no one was there. My family was gone. My house was gone. My entire life was gone. But the man remained, a skinny, lightly-breaded fellow with large eyes. The whites of them shown at me through the darkness, and I scrambled to my feet, hoping to find something to defend myself with. But all that remained were ashes. And a pounded sensation in my head which seemed to grow stronger as the smiling man approached me. He took my hand, brushed the suet from my face, and spoke kindly towards me. 'You are the phoenix," he said. 'Born a man and reborn by fire. You are like me, and shall live forever. Let the fire embrace you, flames touch your soul. Let them make you feel alive. Honor them for making you what you are and bringing you the magic and power of immortality.'

"Needless to say, I was stunned. This man and the kindness and truth behind his voice called out to me as his words settled into my heart. 'Your name, Sir?' was all I could manage to ask.

"He laughed, letting go of my hand and backing away. 'Bryce Coreland. Son of fire. Prince of darkness. King of death.' And before I could even reply, he was gone. Several days later, I met you, Grace. But I never could forget what had happened and all that he'd told me." He sighed. "Which is what makes my dream all the more frightening."

It was now or never. I knew that much. "Come on, Alex. Tell me your dream. Please?"

He nodded, closing his eyes, dropping his voice down to a quiet whisper. "My house. My room. There are flames on every side of me. I run but I cannot get out. Every door is locked. Every window barred. I hear metal clanking- swords, screams. I know he's coming for me. My head fills with the feeling, the sensation, and I know he's close. So close I can hear his steps. But I cannot escape the flames. And suddenly the flames become my friends. They cover the doorways, every entrance to my room. And I know that as long as I am there I am safe. He cannot get to me. He cannot ever come near me. The fire is my savior. And all of a sudden there is but smoke, and then I'm standing out on a field. I am facing him. He's dressed in black, the color of ashes, of flames dead and gone, and he is holding a sword. He comes at me... we fight. And he wins... he always wins." He looked up at me with frightened eyes. "He's come, now, hasn't he?"

I opened my mouth to tell him there was no one there but we two when suddenly I felt the strong sensation come upon me. It seemed within me and around me at the same time, filling my thoughts and emotions for an ever-lasting second. He broke away from me, wiping his face clean on a spot of his shirt sleeve. Then he withdrew his sword just in time to see a black caped figure emerge from around a building, heading straight for him. I ducked out of the way, frightened a moment at the reality of Alex's dream and certainly not wanting to be seen.

I watched the whole bloody battle. Every move, every cut, every counter, every mistake, leading up to the terrifying reality of my darling Alexander kneeling on the ground, tears running down his face, his sword a good ten feet from him.

"Please... please..." he pleaded softly. "I didn't know... it wasn't me."

The man sneered. "You sent all those people to the death and didn't know?"

"You don't understand!" Alexander shook his head, knowing it was as much his fault. "At least give me your name."

The man nodded. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." And with that the man's bold katana came down. I turned around and was copiously sick.

When I recovered, the quickening had died down and the man in black was waking away ever so slowly, dragging his katana against the ground as if he had not the strength to lift it. I watched the blade go with him, the beautiful curved form smeared with the blood of my only student, and my greatest friend. I would have my revenge for from that day forth I knew I would remember that man's name. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

* * * * *

Joe's Bar, Present Day 1997

"MacLeod? That's it?" Doc asked, sounding a bit surprised. "The kid burns down a few buildings and you take his head?"

Duncan leaned forward and replied with a harsh whisper. "This 'kid' was mad. He was obsessed with fire and making innocents die at its hands. If I hadn't stopped him how many more apartment, how many more schools would have been destroyed?"

Piping in, Joe added, "His file says he was killed the first time in a fire. His parents saved his brothers and sisters but no one even remembered to wake him until it was all over. And it says he had dreams of it every other night, but it never quite tells what the dreams were about, specifically. Apparently he never spoke of them, even to his teacher."

Agreeing, Duncan realized, "The reason for his insanity died at the hand of my justice."

"So... " Doc began, letting the word die off into near silence. "I hate to break up the reminiscing but I believe we need to figure out what to do about Grace in the present. If she's set on avenging her student, she's not simply coming for your head, Duncan. I know her too well to think she'd rest at that. She'll want to make you suffer." He paused, remembering my cleverness. "Joe will be safe. She'd not dare kill a mortal, I'm sure of that. But the others... well... she's going to go after Richie. Then Amanda. Then you."

"Why am I... always first?" they heard a broken, out-of-breath voice mutter. All eyes turned towards the door where a dark limping form could be make out against the bright sun streaming through the door directly behind. As the door closed and their eyes adjusted, all could see it was indeed Richie Ryan.

"Richie," Duncan perked up, careful not to sound like an over-protective father, but caring about his student all the same. "What happened to you?"

"An old friend- ahh," he let escape his lips as he rested on a bar stool, feeling the pains of healing all too well. It would have been easier to simply die and come back rather than deal with his shattered spinal column and collar bone reconstructing themselves. "An old friend of yours, I'm assuming?" Richie finished as he stole Docs' beer and downed the remainder if it.

"Hey!" Doc exclaimed, snatching it back all too late. "Get yer own, will ya?"

Richie smiled boyishly. "It's no good anyway. Joe?" Joe nodded getting out a Molson and setting it in front of Richie. Richie sighed, feeling his back tingle. "Thanks, Joe."

Duncan remarked at the interplay among them, knowing that without him, they may never have known each other at all, let alone become such close friends. They would trust each other with their lives without even thinking about it and yet- perhaps this was something that would show to drive a rift through their relationship. I was out for Duncan's head, with Richie and Amanda's on the way, and I was none other than a student of Docs'. From the impression Duncan got, it was a much closer relation than simply a friendship.

"She's a tough one- great big flamberge of a thing- not the sort of weapon suited for my tiny apartment, but she managed brilliantly anyway. Damn good training she must have had." Richie between gulps.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Doc whispered, his head turned down, feelings of loyalty mixing dangerously. Richie shot him a look of astonishment. Doc only shook his head. "Look, I'm not getting involved, all right? Mac, you killed her student, so you deal with her."

Doc took his coat and started to leave as Duncan called out. "Methos!" The name meant nothing to me except yet another identity of my master's.

Doc turned, his eyes tired but wise. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're all right with this?"

Doc laughed. "You mean am I going to have to ask you not to kill her? Mac, what's to be done is to be done, and I cannot stop that."

Duncan nodded, apparently thinking of the last time such an event occurred, sending waves of discourse through their relationship. "Remember Byron?"

Doc smiled, shaking his head. "How could I ever forget him?"

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