He realized that in a few minutes he would be on shore again and all the demons that had come to haunt him in recent years would be queued up ready to ambush him again. Drugs and booze. Women. Scumbags – criminal and cop. Lana Vitale and Lena Hull – babes like them were in a separate class when it came to resident evils. He could picture all of them standing there jousting for position as to which one would get to take the first punch. He wished he could stay on the harbor a few hours, days, or months . . . longer.

He reached for another beer and then realized he’d been trying to cut back. The little voice inside his head tried to convince him that it was only beer, not that much different than a fizzy drink, and that one more on a warm afternoon would not make a bit of difference. The other voice inside his head said nothing. It relied on non-verbal communication such as the headache throbbing in his temples.

He picked the empty his stubbys off the bottom of the boat and was about to toss them into the harbor when ecological conscience got the better of him. He stuck a couple in his jacket pockets, filled his hands and promised himself to throw them in a rubbish bin. It was time for him to stop acting like a hoon. It was time for him to grow up, clean up his act, and get on with his life. All of these things had been difficult if not impossible in the past.

* * * *

"You an actor?" Kara Kirk asked after John had introduced himself.

"No, why?" He had an embarrassed look on his face, as if she had paid him a compliment that he wasn’t expecting.

"That’s usually who signs up for fencing lessons at your age. They get a role and need to know some basics so they don’t look like a total spaz." The slender brunette scrutinized him carefully and then shook her head. "We used to get a lot of extras when Renaissance was filming down here. Now the business has almost completely dried up, except for pre-teen boys."

"I’m a private investigator."

"And you have this need to defend yourself and thought of sword fighting?"

"You’d laugh if I told you why I wanted to learn."

"Try me. I started because this young man came up to me at university orientation and recruited me for the team. I was always a sucker for boys with purple spiked hair and bolts through their eyebrows."

John smiled. He wondered if the woman could sense that he understood those unusual attractions all too well.

"Actually, I’ll be honest. I’ve been looking for a new form of exercise. I lift a lot, but have always felt stupid jumping around doing those aerobic exercises. My partner, Jodie, the one who called you, suggested this as a possible way to work through some of the headaches I’ve been having."

"Well, as she probably told you, I don’t usually give private lessons. I have groups every afternoon at four and five. Fencing is one of those few sports where you actually learn more quickly at group lessons than you do one-on-one. That’s because you learn by watching and by doing."

"But I thought your groups were mostly kiddies?"

"They are, that’s why I’m making an exception for you. I think YOU might need a few private lessons before you are up to THEIR speed."

"Gee thanks. I thought fencing was dangerous, and . . ."

"Really its hardly more dangerous than lawn bowls."

"And I could have taken up badminton. . .

"That’s not nearly the workout – physically or mentally."

"Further more I think I’d look rather fetching in those tight pants."

She laughed out loud. She realized that he must have been commenting on the way she looked in her breeches.

"From now on, Ms. Kirk, every time you laugh at me, you are going to have to buy me a beer."

"That would seriously effect the aerobic benefits you’re going to get from fencing, Mr. Lawless." Her brown eyes met his and she gave him a wink. "And it won’t do a thing for your headaches."

* * * * *

"Don’t you have something heavier?" Lawless tossed the epee into the air and spun it around before grabbing the hilt.

"Actually this is the middle range weapon, but I think it is the easiest to learn. Also because it has the widest target range it gives the fencer the best aerobic workout."

"How about something sharper?"

"First an epee is not a cutting sword, it is a poking sword. Second you’re lucky I’m even starting you with a metal sword. Did you know that during the filming of Hercules, early in the series, Michael Hurst accidentally hit Kevin Sorbo in the head with a sword? Fortunately it was with the side of the blade because if it was with a sharp edge it might have killed him. After that the show’s producers only used wood and cardboard swords and the clangs were put in by the sound editors."

"At least this is real, if even it is not sharp?" John commented. "How do I rate?"

"I don’t use "fake" weapons even with six year olds. There’s a fine line between fake and play, I don’t want my students to play with the swords, I want them to work with them.

"And another thing, Mr. Lawless. I’m going to help you get dressed today, but in the future I expect that you drop your gear and be properly dressed when the class is scheduled to begin. Starting off you don’t need to wear breaches, tracksuit pants are fine. You need sneakers or squash shoes, not running shoes, the heel extends too far back and you’ll lose your balance. You should know why you wear each piece of equipment and what might happen if you don’t have it placed properly on your body."

"Do I need to wear a box?"

"I’d hate to see you lose something important. "

"Get the point, Ms. Kirk." He wrinkled his face in anticipation.

"I’ve been teaching for 10 years, Mr. Lawless. I assure you that even my teenage boys have used that line on me."

"Sorry. But I bet your teenage boys don’t ask you out."

"I wouldn’t bet on that. I’ve been asked to school dances more times than I care to admit. Teenage boys have very active libidos. Glad to see they don’t grow out of them, in all cases. Now, would you care to begin your lesson?" She followed him to the dressing room but dismissed the chat-up as if it were a casual comment.

* * * * *

Duncan MacLeod waited for the majority of the other passengers to exit the plane before relinquishing his window seat. He knew it would feel really good to stand and by waiting he insured himself more space in which to stretch. The last time he had made this trip he had started in England and it had taken him seven months on a white-sailed clipper ship. This time it had been a mere 17 hours from Los Angeles. He wasn’t sure which had made him more uncomfortable.

Despite the spectacular view afforded by the window seat of the countryside that reminded him so much of the Scottish Highlands, he would have preferred a slower descent into Auckland. Because he relied so much on feelings generated in his sinus cavities to detect the presence of other immortals, anything that upset that balance, such as changes in altitude, created a feeling of uneasiness. For the next few days he would not be sure when he met someone if he was actually reacting to the presence of an immortal, or merely still feeling the effect of the flight. He had to be careful. A wrong decision could cost him his head.

His luggage was waiting for him in customs. As he walked through the concourse, he passed the lines of outgoing passengers going through security. It never ceased to amaze him that despite all the advances in airport security he was always able to board the planes with his katana in the back of his long coat. It was as if it wasn’t there, and to the majority of mortal human beings, it wasn’t. His greatest fear is that one of his kind would be working in airport security. Depending on his or her mood, it might create an international incident or just a wink and a smile.

He reached in a hidden pocket in his jacket and rolled the two rings contained within in his hand. Customs hadn’t found out about them either. While their actual worth was above the import limit, he was not intending the sell them. They weren’t even his, belonging to Helena and Erika now; but they had so wanted necklaces to match that they had allowed him to take them with him. The rings generated their own special feeling; he knew that it was the same as when he first felt them almost two hundred years before.

* * * *

MacLeod had traveled the muddy road up the coast from Hope to this god forsaken village for almost two weeks only to discover that the man he was seeking had returned to Hope. Like the two ships Peerless on the high seas, they may have actually crossed on the road. Lawrence Hayes had returned to Hope to tell his sister-in-law that his wife and her child had perished from the latest plague. The blokes in the bar told him that a lesser man would have sold the land, taken the money and sailed off to another far horizon; but the consensus of opinion among the mates gathered there was that Hayes had always been more interested in the sister than he had been in his wife. He’d returned, after having commissioned the making of two ruby friendship knot rings, to see if he could, as one bloke put it "reopen the negotiations."

MacLeod had seen the rings in a jeweler’s in Sydney. He’d picked them up and felt something special that he could not identify. It haunted him for a week and when he returned he was told that the rings had been sent by mail to a Lawrence Hayes in a small Queensland outpost.

Mac did not relish a return trip to Hope, but the word on the streets in Sydney had said that this Mr. Lawrence Hayes was a most interesting fellow. MacLeod had decided that an introduction was necessary in order to consider what steps he would need to take regarding this handsome stranger. If Hayes were an immortal, MacLeod had to know how interested he was in playing the game, or if, like him, he was just willing to live and let live.

With its muddy streets, corduroy sidewalks and disparate population, Hope was not the type of town MacLeod wished to spend a great deal of time exploring. Yet he knew it was exactly the type of place immortals were known to frequent for good and bad purposes. He’d have to be careful while he sought out the illusive Mr. Hayes.

* * * *

Kara grimaced. She always hoped that her memory of the headache caused when an immortal approached was more intense than it actually was, but she was always wrong. Her self-invited visitor was nearing her studio, probably paying the cab driver his fare. She told the fifteen-year-old girl she had been instructed to hit the showers and brushed her hair back in anticipating of the arrival of her old friend.

She laughed when she saw the clothes he was wearing. When you have been picturing some one at the turn of another century a hundred years of clothing styles make a big change. She looked the same, traditional fencing garb, except for the invention of Kevlar, had not changed much over they years.

He kissed her on the cheek and looked around to make sure they were alone.

"What brings you to my corner of the world, Duncan?"

"I’m here to check out a man, actually one of your students. John Lawless."

"Yea, he started lessons a fortnight ago, said he’s looking for a new form of work-out."

"I don’t suppose it was just a co-incidence. That was just about the time that I came in contact with one of his friends. A Ms. Helena Hull. She had some strange stories about feelings Lawless had shared with her."

"Is she one of us?"

"No. But she seems to be fleeing some old demons."

"Exactly what I am doing, Duncan, quite successfully I may add. I moved here to get away from that stupid game. I don’t want to be the last one standing – I just want to stand. The immortals who pass through here are usually just on vacation. They don’t come to New Zealand to fight, and I like it that way. Quite frankly I’m not really too fond of your being here, except that I kinda always liked you." She smiled softly. Duncan MacLeod was worth a smile.

"So what’s your take on Lawless?"

"He seems serious about learning to use a sword. I gave him a lot of outs and he just kept to the same story."

"Learning. Shouldn’t he have a lot of skill?"

"That’s strange, he actually seems like a beginner. But then, you have to understand, that living down here you don’t run into many people like us. He mentioned headaches, but the man drinks like a fish. Mostly beer now, but from what his partner told me he’s had some problems with drugs.

"I feel nothing in my head when he is here," she continued. "You on the other hand just about split my sinuses, but then I knew you were coming. I’m not sure that I even considered that Lawless might be one of us. I’m really out of practice."

"Wish I could say the same. I’ve had a rather active . . . damn, I don’t need to rehash it with you, Treva."

"Kara. I go by Kara now."

"Sorry. I forget . . ."

"I wish I could, Duncan. I wish I could forget this whole thing. Tell me again why you are interested in this man, why you think he is one of us, why you want to reinstate memories that you are can’t be sure he has?"

"Long story, Kara. Why don’t we change and go get a cup of coffee talk about it in depth."

* * * * * *

Lawless spotted a bloke standing on the quay, leaning against a pier post. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt, loose jeans, and cowboy boots. A brown leather jacket was thrown over his shoulder and his long black hair tied back behind his head. His first thought was that he had to be an undercover cop and his second was whether he had looked that identifiable. The man’s resemblance to Johnny Wilson was far too uncanny to be a co-incidence.

The strange man seemed to be watching him. He wondered if Snow had put him on to him? Obviously this man had been waiting for him to return from his sail. He watched as the man walked toward him, thinking about how painful those boots were to wear and wondering if someone should tell him that most of the hoons now wore running shoes.

"John Lawless?" the stranger extended his hand and asked.

"Yea," John growled back.

"The name is MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod."

"You’re the bloke, Jodie said was flying in yesterday. Sorry, I was thinking of some one or something completely different."

"I’m sorry. I miscalculated the date. Knew when I was leaving and mistakenly told her I would be there . . . you know the problems with that damn date line."

"Right. Well you’re here now. Welcome to paradise." As Lawless spoke those words a damp mist seemed to fill the air as became a full fledged rain as they walked to his car.

"You want to go back to the office, or want to stop for a beer."

"Beer is fine. We have to talk. I’ve been trying to catch up with you for a while."

MacLeod raised his hand to his temple and rubbed it gingerly. John wondered if a beer was what the man needed or if his body was craving something stronger. He seemed to have a knack for finding those with substance abuse problems lately and wondered if the "once a junkie" burden was with him again. So many of the people who entered his life had drug problems -- a constant reminder of his own.

In the pub, Mac ordered a beer, forewent the nibbles and ordered a banger on a roll. John found some comfort in people who ate while they conducted business. However, once it became clear that Duncan MacLeod was not an undercover police officer, his manner of dress and intense interest in Lawless became even more disconcerting. The man seemed to stare directly into his eyes as they talked, but Lawless could not read his expression.

"I met a friend of yours a while back. A Ms. Helena Hull."

The hairs on the back of Lawless’s neck stood on edge. Lena was talking about him to other people in Washington or wherever else she was living now. She remembered him!

"Yeh sure, I remember her. Her lover hired me to find her when she disappeared in Japan. Sort of a mess, she’d got herself into. Hope she’s right in Washington, now."

"She’s doing fine."

MacLeod was fingering his forehead again. He kept wrinkling his brow and gawping into John’s eyes, which made John a bit edgy.

"I have no idea what Lena Hull may have told you about me, so why don’t you tell me. I’ll let you know if it is true or if it is just a figment of her overactive and drug enhanced imagination." John’s voice had a bit of impatience and a hint of anger.

"I assure you that it was nothing bad. She just seemed a little concerned about some memories you seemed to be bothered by while you were together."

John shook his head. The whole thing didn’t make a lot of sense to him. His short relationship with Lena Hull had been full on, but it had ended when she returned to her lover Erika. Now she’s yacking about him to a stranger who has flown half way around the world because she was concerned. It made no freaking sense.

"Glad to hear she still cares about me, but I don’t get why you’re here. Can you fill me in on what I’m missing?"

"I have my hands in a lot of things. A former lover of mine ran an antique shop that dealt in rare pieces. She died a while back and I closed the shop, but her name is out in the community. Ms. Hull and her lover approached me with a question about some rings. They were interested a pair of antique ruby friendship rings which had originally been designed and cast in Australia."

"And like all Yanks, you thought, going to be in the area, I’ll stop in Auckland and say cheers to her old friend Johnny Lawless. I’m not stupid, Mr. MacLeod. Tell me why you are really here?"

* * * *

MacLeod watched as Lawrence Hayes stood on the pier. Hayes’s eyes were glued on the ship whose huge white sails billowed in the freshening wind. He had been standing there for at least fifteen minutes after the others who had come to see the ship depart had returned to their day-to-day lives. Mr. Hayes was in no hurry. From what Mac had gathered, the purpose in for Hayes’s existence had just departed on the ship bound for America with her fugitive female lover.

MacLeod followed Hayes to the communal bathhouse. He felt uncomfortable walking among naked men as they gathered around the tub of warm water. Steam rose to fill the cold room, and was welcomed as much to conceal as to cleanse. This was not the place to engage Hayes in conversation; but since it had taken him so long to find him, he was not about to let him slip his grasp again.

Dressed Hayes was no less provocative. He worse a thin, almost translucent white shirt, white duck trousers and carried his money in a purse that he wore low and centered on his groin like a codpiece. MacLeod had seen such accessories on male prostitutes in England – a way of protecting the source and proceeds of their livelihood. He knew that Hayes wore it to protect his little money from the riffraff of the streets of Hope. Hayes seemed to have no weapons relying only on his size and his fists for protection. Though a larger city, Hope was even more dangerous than the small frontier where Hayes had lived the past few years. MacLeod was only glad that he had sensed no other immortals.

A shout of "FIRE" was followed by a stampeding throng of townsfolk. When the crowd cleared, Hayes was gone. Despite numerous visits to flee-bag hotels, seedy pubs, houses of ill repute and opium dens, MacLeod was never able to locate him again. Lawrence Hayes had slipped off into the night without revealing his secrets. The story was he had sailed for Auckland. It was close to 150 years until MacLeod thought of him again.

* * * *

MacLeod continued to want to talk about rubies and other gemstones. Unless they were part of a heist, gems held little interest to Lawless. Marla had a plain gold wedding ring because he couldn’t see spending money on little bits of sparkling rock. Jodie had tried to tell him that women like such things, but they were definitely not on his list of top items on which you could spend money. They certainly were not a reason to fly to the other side of the world to pursue, even if the woman who was sending you there was Helena Hull. Lawless continued to scull beers, not really listening to the man’s ramblings.

Duncan reached in his pocket and pulled out the rings and sat them on the table. Lawless thought that he was being a bit cavalier with someone else’s jewelry.

"Why do you have them? Why aren’t they on Lena and Erika’s fingers?"

"There is a story about these rings. The rubies are of exceptional beauty and color, but they are small. The story goes that they were the chips that resulted from cutting a much larger stone. A stone that is now in New Zealand. That’s why I am here, I want to find this stone, or at least find out if it ever existed. If it does, Ms. Hull is interested in purchasing it and having it made into two necklaces."

"For her and her lover, how sweet." John reached over and picked up the rings. Even without the obvious difference in size he could have told which one was Lena’s. When he held her ring in his hand he could feel her presence. He slipped it over the end of his little finger and stared at the stones.

"I told you they were hypnotic. I’ve never seen such stones. In a large piece they would be priceless."

"I wasn’t thinking about the rings, or the stones, I was thinking about the owner."

John took off the ring and handed both of them to MacLeod.

"You’d better take care of these, since they don’t belong to you. But I seriously doubt if you are going to find the ‘mother gem’ here in Auckland."

"I have my sources and a couple of leads."

"Then why the fuck did you contact me?" Then he realized. It had to be because of Lena’s request. She’d asked MacLeod to help him out a little. She remembered old Johnny who had helped her though those bad times, and wanted to throw him a crumb or two."

"I think I am going to call it a night. Jet lag you know. My head is pounding."

"Not used to Kiwi beer. It each one has the alcohol content of two of your Yank beers. Three if you count Bud Lite."

"Thanks for the warning, I’m not a Yank. I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Yea? Cheers!"

* * * *

MacLeod sat in his hotel room staring at the rings and a half-empty bottle of scotch he had picked up at the bottle shop on the way back to the hotel. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Were it not for the long flight, the pain in his head would certainly indicate that John Lawless was an immortal but he couldn’t be sure. The physical resemblance to Lawrence Hayes was indeed remarkable. The parallel story between Dorothea and Anne had been convenient and surprisingly true. It seemed that this immortal had an aptness for falling for lesbians.

None of this had any bearing on his interest in the stones, however, which suggested even a stranger lineage. The rubies were obviously not of Australian origin. Their high red color suggested an Indian or middle-Eastern source. He had reason to believe that they were small chips of a much larger stone that had existed for centuries or even millennia, a stone to which even an immortal would not have had access. They were the stones of priests, sultans or kings. He had often wondered how they could have come into the possession of either Dorothea Brooks or Lawrence Hayes.

There seemed to be no recognition of his presence by Lawless, and there was no reaction to the rings other than that caused by memories of his recent affair. Even when he had given the formal identification of his being, Lawless had grumbled and taken his leave.

It seemed highly unlikely that an immortal could exist for several hundred years, even in this far corner of the world, without being aware of the presence of others and the rules of the game. He wondered if there were immortals who didn’t play the game, or yet even another form of the immortal. If this were the case, perhaps the end might not be as near as it seemed; the gathering might be as mythological as the Christian rapture.

Or he could be totally mistaken. Mislead by physical characters and the drug induced tales of a woman he barely knew. Maybe he was reading too much into John Lawless and his headache.

* * * *

"Hi."

John looked over at the young boy standing beside him in the dressing room. All of his fencing gear was carefully laid out on the pine bench and the boy carefully inspected each item for tears and snags before putting it on. He knew he was supposed to do that, but never took the time. Hell, the stuff had only been worn a couple of times. He knew of the importance of the alignment of the seams between his jacket and plastron; he’d actually listened to Kara when she told him that, but this boy was fanatical. Kept asking John to check for him and make sure.

John had to listen when he explained about the prescription goggles he wore under his mask. As a child he always made fun of kids who wore thick glasses like that. Back then he was just a typical boy, and this boy, now, was still the typical geek. Neither had changed much over the past 25 years or so.

"How long you’ve been taking lessons?" The boy asked.

"Couple of weeks."

"Me, too. Kara says I am good."

"Me, too."

It was almost a feeling of fatherly pride. John was very glad that Kara had asked this boy to come and watch his lesson. She had told him that you could learn almost as much from watching someone else fence as you could from doing it yourself. You had to watch carefully and think. The boy was going to learn a lot.

John took his place at the end of the piste, the designated field for fencing matches and waited for Kara to take her place. She stood there watching hands on hips, with a strange smile on her face. The boy moved to the end of the piste and fully extended his sword arm so that the foil tip threatened Lawless.

"Sorry mate, this is my lesson time."

"Mine, too."

John turned to the instructor who was smiling knowingly. "You heard him Lawless. You’re fighting Brandon today. Watch carefully perhaps you’ll learn something."

What John learned very rapidly is that in fencing quick beats strong most days of the week. The boy was definitely quick. He brought out a competitiveness that was lacking when he spared with Kara. He always knew she could beat him and that she wasn’t trying very hard. The kid was different. He was giving this big man his all. Jodie had been right when she said fencing was a good aerobic work out. After about ten minutes he found he had to fight for breath. It was a better workout than a five K run and it wasn’t boring at all.

"Careful, Mr. Lawless, a slip like that last one and I could have taken your head." Brandon said without a smile.

"Yea, sure." Lawless didn’t have time to think about the ramifications of that statement, he was busy thinking of how he would turn his body when he rose to avoid another hit and at the same time clear a path for a lunge of his own. This was fun.

It seemed as if they spent most of his hour lesson going at each other full on. The small boy definitely provided a good workout. Lawless felt that he had gotten better as the hour progressed and that he had probably beaten the boy. On the other hand, he was an adult and even if the boy had come close it shouldn’t be considered a victory. Since they had not hooked up the electronic vests, there was no way to know.

"OK, times up. Hope you had a good time." Kara called. John was exhausted and flopped to the floor with a mock smile on his face.

"Give him the chocolate fish, he beat me." John told Kara.

The boy came over and extended his hand in a mark of sportsmanship, then left for the dressing room.

"You were choice, Mr. Lawless."

"Should have beaten him more. Just a kid."

"Brandon is on the junior-Olympic team."

"But he said he’d only been taking a few weeks."

"From me, yes, but he’s been fencing since he was six."

"Oh." John dropped his head so that Kara would not see the delighted smile on his face.

"One more thing. I have a special assignment for you." She indicated that he should join her at a case on the side of the room. Inside were several swords of all shapes and sizes. Not fencing swords, but real swords with scabbards and sharp edges.

"Pick one."

"What?"

"That’s your assignment for this week. I want you to pick a sword and get to know it on a day-to-day basis. Keep it with you as much as you possibly can. Get to know how it feels, what it can do, what it can’t do. Understand?"

"I thought you said you didn’t teach sword fighting. Or let your students play with their swords."

"I don’t. This is just part of the psychological training." She gave him a wink. He wasn’t sure why.

"Good thing the weather’s had a change, I can slip it under my long coat when I go outside. But might be a tad problem driving."

"Those are the things you have to figure out. Enjoy. Now pick one."

"Don’t suppose you have one that folds up and you can slip it in your pocket."

"Nope."

John looked at the swords. There was an interesting collection from Japanese katanas to British cavalry sabers. Most were functional, but a few were ornate. He wasn’t sure he wanted to carry any of them with him while he went about his day-to-day, but they were fun to look at. He was good, too. He’d held his own with an Olympic – junior Olympic – team member. His head hadn’t hurt in weeks.

Kara told him that the one he picked was a copy of a Roman broad sword. He’d liked the thick blade with a grove running down it. She told him that was a blood groove and a shiver went down his spine. It was shorter than the sabers and looked like it might fit in a jacket as well as a long coat.

"Does Brandon carry a sword with him?" He felt somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of boys carrying swords to school.

"No, it’s not part of his training. He’s just here for the fencing."

"Oh, then there’s more to this than just lessons?"

"Of course, Mr. Lawless, I thought you knew that."

He tucked the scabbard under his arm. Just when he started looking at Kara Kirk as a women he might not mind going for a root with she would come up with something like that. All scary and crazy. He’d had enough of those women. He’d best get dressed and get the fuck out of there.

* * * * *

His first thought was to leave it in the back seat of his car. With his luck some hoon would see it through the window, smash and snatch it. He’d be out a car window and a sword, so he reckoned he’d be better off taking it with him. He was pretty sure they didn’t allow knives in the pub; but figured if he carried it in, sat it on the bar and told people it was a bloody antique, he might be able to get away with it. He didn’t want to have to spend the next week holed up in his flat, held hostage by a fucking sword.

The last person he wanted to run into in the pub was Duncan MacLeod. He’d made a few calls on the elusive ruby. Hell, no one had actually ever seen it. It seemed logical that choice stone like that was either in a museum or a private collection. He’d checked the museums and come up empty. There was no gossip in the community about such a stone having changed hands in the last thirty years. He wasn’t sure where to turn next, and wasn’t particularly interested.

MacLeod was drinking scotch. Lawless placed the sword on the bar and ordered a beer. He figured he’d give the appearance of civility.

"What’s this?" MacLeod picked up the scabbard and started to remove the sword.

"Careful, you might cut yourself. It’s not a toy."

"I know it’s not a toy, it’s a genuine antique reproduction. I run an antiquities business, you remember."

"Sorry, mate. Slipped my mind. I’ve been taking fencing lessons, and this is part of the psychological training. I have to keep this with me for a week. Become one with the sword."

"Strange."

" My instructor is a bit of a dag. Her idea was for me to bond with the sword."

"You any good?"

"Think I’m getting that way. Just started."

"Oh. It’s a fun sport. Have to come with sometime. I used to do a bit of fencing, too."

"Some how I can’t see you in those white duds, MacLeod."

The man shook his head and indicated that he needed another scotch.

"Found any rubies."

"Not a clue. I think I’m wasting your money. No one is going to talk. And certainly no one is going to sell if I did find it."

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Suggest anything you fucking want, and if you want, go look for it yourself. I’m much better with cheating husbands and missing teenagers."

"I have reason to believe that at one time the stone was in the possession of a man named Lawrence Hayes. He lived in Queensland but moved to New Zealand after. . . some unpleasantness . . . perhaps if you did a genealogical search, you might find that the ruby is still in the possession of his family."

"I don’t know why you can’t do that yourself, MacLeod."

There were times when the strange man would shut up and direct his evils to his glass of scotch. It was as if he were trying to suss a puzzle that just wasn’t coming together. John was glad that Mac earned his living by selling antiques and not by trying to figure out mysteries. Mac would be even poorer than John was most of the time, or else wrack up huge bills the clients wouldn’t pay. He guessed he shouldn’t worry about these clients who seemed to want to give him money for half-asses services, but somewhere deep inside there was a conscience. He’d just about decided however, that he shouldn’t worry about Duncan MacLeod.

Lawless patted his sword and ordered another pint. Tonight he would do his best to become one with this instrument.

* * * * *

John punched the pillow and kicked the sheet into the air. He had awoken from a particularly violent dream with a headache. He reached for the sword at the side of the bed. If this was being one with the weapon, he wasn’t sure he wanted it. But in the dream it wasn’t the sword he was reaching for . . . it was the rubies.

"That dream was a little to real, Johnny," he thought. What was it with those rings anyway? He could feel Lena’s presence, but he could also feel something else. The searching for a woman, the love for a woman he could never have -- now there was even a new name. "Damn you Lawrence Hayes. Why am I having your dreams?"

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He thought about Kara Kirk in her tight white breeches and felt his cock grow slightly. At least that would make him sleep. He knew it would only take a few minutes, a little oil, a piece of tissue, a few thoughts and he was on his way. Sometimes it was better this way, you didn’t have to face the woman in the morning. He was beginning to fancy Kara, even if she was a little spooky; most of the women he met were that way, at least the ones he liked.

* * * * *

Kara was asleep. Duncan ran his hands along her body and tussled her short, straight hair. She could have been a keeper. Her body was trim and athletic and her mind as sharp as any immortal he had ever met. In a way he envied her ability to drop out of the game and retreat to New Zealand. It was as if the vigor she obtained during the quickenings had no power over her. She could resist that to which others had developed deep addictions. She could release herself from it and find her peace in this beautiful rugged country. He had had that desire many times in the past four hundred years, but was always lured back into the mystery world of swords . . . hell, she lived with swords on a day-to-day basis and never had to think about taking anyone’s head. Unless possibly, as he feared, John Lawless.

They had shared a wonderful dinner of New Zealand lamb with, as she had joked, the "traditional" kiwifruit chutney. The wines, both red and white, were some of the finest produced in the country and not readily available in either Paris or Washington. He had been a little surprised when Kara agreed to come back to his hotel room with him and even more surprised, though none-the-less delighted, when they had ended up naked in the huge four-poster bed.

She had told him that in a world populated mostly by teenage boys and gay actors she hadn’t been involved with many men over the last few decades. He laughingly reassured her that like riding a velocipede it was something that once learned you didn’t easily forget. He was the one who did most of the remembering that night anyway, allowing her to relax and enjoy. He knew that a woman was always grateful for a man who moved slowly and accounted for her pleasure before taking his own. It was not a problem for Duncan MacLeod, and in the end, Kara was anxious to repay.

Still he couldn’t take complete leave from the eternal vigilance. Even lying next to her in bed he thought about his sword and other lovers who had risen from their beds and tried to take his head. It is hard to kill a woman with whom you had just had sex, but he had done it before. Still tonight, he felt safer with Kara than any immortal woman he had been with in a long, long time.

She stirred, rolled toward him and opened her eyes.

"I fell asleep."

"Sometimes happens. You had quite a workout."

"Thanks to you. I’m usually the one people say that to."

"Thought you didn’t do this much?"

"I was talking about fencing," she smiled softly.

"Yes?"

"Yea, sure. That’s . . . Damn it Duncan, what did I do?"

"What?"

"I can see it in your eyes, I did something really stupid, didn’t I."

"I don’t know . . ."

"Don’t lie to me, you don’t lie well. What did I do?"

"A gentleman doesn’t tell."

She reached her hand down under the sheet. "If a gentleman values his balls he does."

Even if he were immortal and she would do no permanent damage, it would hurt like hell. He knew Kara was used to getting what she wanted.

"So tell me, Duncan."

"You called me Johnny."

"I’m sorry, I’m not responsible for what I do under the influence of two bottles of wine and. . ."

"I know, and it’s not like . . ."

"Yea, exactly, it’s not like that at all. I don’t know why he’s in my mind, except possibly because you’ve done nothing but talk about him while we’ve been together. I’ve done what you suggested. He’s got a sword that he’s supposed to carry with him all week. If he doesn’t figure it out by his next lesson, I’m going to think that you are wrong.

"By the way, I thought was interesting what sword he picked out."

"You know?"

"Yes, I had a drink with him. He was becoming one with a Roman sword."

"I have six Roman swords, five of them copies. He immediately took the real one. Of course I told him it was a copy, wouldn’t want him worrying about the insurance on the real thing."

"I saw that, too. I know antiques, but it’s not Roman, it’s Greek."

She had moved her hand slightly. A flesh approximation of a Roman battle sword was rising between them.

" Would you like to see how well I perform as a sword-swallower?"

He did not have to speak, as she ducked her head under the covers and gave a most convincing performance. This time she didn’t call him Johnny.

* * * * *

It was a wooden chest. Perhaps at one time it held a bottle of sherry, brandy or even scotch. Now it smelled of mold and old leather. It had been his family for generations and as far as he knew not opened for over a hundred years. When you shook it, something rattled inside. He knew what her grandmother had told his mother was inside. Both women had actually told him, but he’d never believed either one. He’d never believed the curse they swore was connected to it if any of the women in the line looked inside. As the first son, the story went, he could open it and claim his destiny; but the destiny came with its own price. He had enough demons and monsters in his life without worrying about this one.

John Lawless did not believe in myths and legends. His world had always been real and present. His world was one where violence was just an arm’s length away. Strangely enough handling the sword had brought him a sense of comfort he had never felt before. Like it belonged with him in his world for him to use to protect . . . The word that always came next in that sentence, despite the fact that he was thinking about and seeing Kara at his side, was always Lena.

The chest was closed with a tiny padlock in the shape of clasped hands; the same hands on the two rings but without the rubies. He placed the tip of the sword under the lock and twisted slightly. The hasp began to loosen. He realized he could free it without breaking the lock. He didn’t really know if he was ready to see what had been placed in the trunk so many years ago, by a mysterious relative whose name was Lawrence Hayes.

Until he was sure, it would have to wait. At least now he was confident that he could open the chest and discover its contents without breaking the lock and invoking the curse. Still when given his druthers, he preferred the Celtic spirits to their ancient myths. He poured himself another glass and waited for it to take his thoughts away.

* * * * *

"How’d it go?" Kara asked with her knowing smile when John arrived at his lesson. He had stood and watched as she spared with a handsome young man using fencing sabers. She had told him that he was an actor, which John already knew from seeing him at the gym. He’d wondered how he would do against this man and if he would ever get a chance to try.

"Well, sword and me are mates. He likes to drink scotch, but still has a problem when I go riding in the car."

"Yea?"

"Doesn’t like the back seat, and interferes a bit with the gearshift when he climbs in the front."

"Try putting it in your coat?"

John looked at her with a puzzled look. Of course it would fit in his coat when he was walking, but where would it go when he sat down? Was she making some sort of snide remark about losing his manhood?

She seemed to sense his uneasiness and continued. "Well better get changed. If you want we can try a few blows with it."

"I thought you said it was too dangerous."

"I didn’t say we’d do anything serious, just give it a few whacks. I know you want to do that. But first you need to put on your protection."

"Never do it any other way, Kara. Never any other way." He winked at her.

He changed quickly and took his place facing Kara. She had changed to an even sturdier mask and a heaver plastron. He wondered what she was expecting from him and his sword.

"Need a little more protection with a real man than with that poof," he chided.

"Maybe. . . " she was just as good at chiding back.

He didn’t know where his skills came from -- maybe from watching pirate movies as a child or maybe just untapped talent. This sword was much heavier than the epee and it was difficult to move both it and his body through space. Yet it seemed so natural. He had watched Kara when she faced the younger man and she looked as if she could have knocked the sword out of his hand at any time. Yet he left confident that she would have to catch him off guard to deliver such a blow.

It seemed strange but at some point in the fight it seemed like Kara’s weapon had changed from the sword she had used earlier to a heavier more ornate blade. Perhaps he just hadn’t noticed while he was checking out her clothes and her bum. It wouldn’t make sense to change swords in the middle of a fight. Furthermore, where would the new sword have come from?

He was not used to prolonged fighting and after what seemed like fifteen to twenty minutes, but was probably five or six he began to tire. She thrust at him and he instinctively blocked his arm with his forearm.

"Hey."

"Hey what?"

"Who taught you that?"

"What?"

"You block with the sword, not your arm. Not unless you’re wearing gauntlets. And we don’t use them in fencing."

He stared blankly. "Yea, but."

"But . . . good job Lawless." She lifted her mask and ended the encounter. "You’re getting good, and I don’t want that to go to your head. It’s back to the epee and some practice drills. The saber will be waiting for you when you’re ready."

"You mean I don’t get to keep it?"

"Not that one, Lawless."

"But we bonded!"

"No way, it’s mine. If you want a sword like that you’ll have to get your own."

He pouted and realized that Kara might think even a genuine reproduction Roman sword a little dear; if she only knew? It sure was fun though. He wondered how he could arrange to get it again if he ever decided to open his family heirloom.

The rest of the lesson was spent with basic drills. Kara was efficient and a taskmaster. He wondered if she was as good at other kinds of sparing. The fantasy that had transported his mind away was broken, however, when he glanced around the room and saw Duncan MacLeod lurking in the corner. The man was getting to be a bit of a rat-bag. As a PI, Mac would not make the grade, unless of course his goal was to invoke paranoia.

* * * *

MacLeod had slipped out when he noticed that Lawless had seen him and returned only after he had left.

"You’ve got to be careful Kara, one small slip and he might have had you. Might have been able to take your head."

"For god’s sake MacLeod, he is not an immortal. My head didn’t hurt at all while we were fighting. He’s just a natural fencer."

"Why? Why would he be a natural? He looks like a pugilist more at home in the ring. Unless he’s had to use a sword before, no way he could learn this fast. And my head headache is intense."

"You head is aching because you flew to New Zealand. It takes a good two weeks to get your sinuses back in shape and then it’s time to go home."

"Never have the problem flying to Paris."

"It’s different here. Our little treat to the tourists. As I said, my head is fine."

She was lying, of course, MacLeod made her head pound. She would be happy when he decided to go home.

"I worry about him, Kara. For you and me. I saw you change to your sword. Do you honestly believe that Lawless wouldn’t notice that you materialized a Scottish Highlands Broadsword out of thin air?"

"If he were an immortal like you say, he would have expected it. He would have had his own sword, too. In his own personal space, but he didn’t, did he?"

"Maybe it’s not as good as that broadsword he has bonded with so nicely," Duncan commented.

"We’ll see, Duncan. Just give him time."

"Be careful, Kara. For someone who doesn’t want to play, you are taking a pretty big chance."

* * * *

John was willing to spring for dinner and drinks if it bought him a chance to find out what was going on between MacLeod and Kara. He was surprised that she said yes so quickly and without hesitation and certainly hoped that MacLeod would not follow her.

It was the first time that he had seen Kara without her fencing gear. Surprisingly, rather than jeans and a casual shirt, she had worn a soft dress that looked like she had bought at a vintage clothing store. The dress clung to her body, but the skirt extended below her knees. It was frumpy, funky and hot all at the same time. She’d jelled some waves in her hair that reminded him of pictures he had seen of his great-grandmother when she was a young girl. He took her hand and noticed small gold rings, almost thin wires, on all of her fingers including her thumb. She certainly had a look.

The conversation during dinner was more like the skillful maneuvering of a match than the casual banter of their lessons. He sensed that Kara was not used to dating either her students or any other men. He wondered briefly if he had found himself another lesbian. Still she seemed to be studying him intently, glazing into his eyes, watching his hands as he cut his meat and wielded his flatware.

"I liked that sword, Kara. It felt good in my hands. I don’t know how to explain it." He watched for a response. If she was going to watch him, he was going to watch back.

"Yea."

"I don’t think you understand. The sword, it was like it was something that should have been my life but was missing. Bloody hell don’t understand it, Kara. It was part of me."

"It’s a good sword. Roman in origin."

"Are you sure?"

"What?"

"As I said it spoke to me. I’m an investigator, remember? I did some research on the sword. It’s not Roman; it’s Greek. And it’s not a reproduction. I took it to a dealer I know. I was doing some research on my own, for your friend MacLeod. Figured I’d check out the sword while I was checking on his rings."

"What did you learn?"

"A lot more about the sword since it was with me. Why would you give me something that should be in a museum to carry around with me? Don’t tell me you don’t know, Kara Kirk."

"I knew it was authentic, but honestly, I thought it was Roman. I got it in Italy. I collect swords. I’ve invested . . ."

"You didn’t answer my question. It has fucking something to do with MacLeod, doesn’t it?"

She shook her head but he knew she was lying.

"We can’t talk about it here. Not in a public place. I’d be stupid to invite you to my place and honestly don’t want to go to yours."

"I don’t bite, Kara. How about my boat?"

"Boats are good. I can jump overboard if you try anything."

"I take it you are as good a swimmer as you are a fencer." He tried to make light of her concern and wondered what she was going to tell him that she couldn’t tell him in public.

"Shall we get a bottle to take with us?" he asked.

"I suggest you get and stay sober for this, Johnny. And I know a little bit about the rings." There was no fun left in her voice only trepidation.

* * * *

"The rings are Celtic in design but the curse that goes with them goes even further back." Kara stared out at the water as the boat cut through the waves. She didn’t look at Lawless but focused on some point of light on the far horizon.

"Don’t believe in curses, Kara. Sorry."

"The usually a knot ring represents undying and never ending love. Celts use love knot rings for wedding bands, yet these rings represent friendship but were designed to be separated. Doesn’t make a lot of sense, unless. . ."

"Unless what. . . "

"Unless you believe that there are loves which transcend traditions, rules and laws. Love that is eternal and clandestine. You give the other half of your heart to someone to wear forever because you cannot be united."

"Sounds like school girl mush to me."

"It was big in pre-Victorian times. Women would fall in-love with other women and there was no way such love could be expressed in public."

"I know it’s a lesbian thing. Helena Hull is a lesbian, now she has the rings. But we had some hot times . . . excuse me . . . she and I were . . ."

"I know about that, too, Mac told me."

"Freaking Mac sure knows a hell of a lot about my sex life. I think it is time for you to tell me why he is watching me. You can tell me about these rings later."

Kara took a deep breath and appeared to be trying to organize her next sentences.

"Do you get headaches when you are around me?"

"And I told you that I took up fencing to get rid of headaches. I was an addict, Kara. Not proud of it, but I haven’t taken a "pain pill" for almost two years. I realized I wasn’t taking them for the pain.

And, since I’ve met you, I haven’t had a headache, except when I’ve drunk too much Scotch."

"Tell me about your family. By any chance were you adopted?"

"No. My family is pretty normal." Unless of course you realized that he was the first male born on his mother’s side of the family for five generations, but she didn’t need to know that.

"Ever have any accidents, near death experiences?"

"Yea, I was a cop. I got shot at a couple times. Became part of my life. I don’t know what you’re getting at."

"Do you heal fast?"

"Never noticed."

"Children?"

"No. At least that I know of. Never tried and always use frenchies."

"Good to know."

"What’s all this got to do with the price of fish?"

"I’m serious, Lawless. These things I’m asking you are related to . . . "

"Don’t tell me it’s related to some ancient Celtic cult relating to swords and immortality."

"OK, I won’t, but I’d be lying."

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. He didn’t want her to lie to him, but he didn’t want to hear this. He had heard his aunts and grandmother talking in secret all of his childhood. He’d known something about him was different. Now this woman knew, too. The secret had something to do with the chest. He wondered if he should show her and wondered if she should go get her sword and they could open it together. She was trusting him and he wondered if he could or should trust her. He just knew he didn’t trust MacLeod.

Jodie was going to be angry with him, but she didn’t have to know. Still he knew eventually he would tell her and she would accuse him of thinking with his penis again. He was like that. When things got tough and he didn’t want to think about it, it was so much easier to just let go and follow his basic instincts. He was good at sex. It was so much easier to engulf your self in a beautiful woman than to wallow in your own self-doubts. He’d done it again, with Kara this time. He just couldn’t help but think as he watched the sliver of a moon set in the distance, that except for the .046mm latex barrier between them, that he had also been fucking Duncan MacLeod.

* * * * *

Duncan had been pacing outside Kara’s apartment for three hours. He had been very upset when Kara told him that she was going to dinner with Lawless. He’d arranged to meet up with her at the restaurant, by accident of course, and was surprised when the hostess had told him that they had already finished dinner, leaving most of their mains untouched, and left. He assumed Kara would have been smart enough to have taken him to her house, but again he had been wrong. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

When the cab pulled out and Lawless rounded the car to open her door, she seemed to fall out in a laughing heap. It was not like the Kara he knew to let herself go like this. She should know better.

"Bout time you got home?" he growled at the still laughing couple.

"Excuse me. I don’t see a property of Duncan MacLeod stamped on her forehead. Didn’t see it embroidered on her knickers either?" Lawless seemed drunk, too.

"And I suppose she hiked up her skirt just to give you an inspection."

"Something like that, mate."

Kara had hurried up her porch and was trying to unlock the door. Fortunately the cab driver had sped off and wasn’t here to watch what was about to ensue. The neighborhood where she had lived in peace for the last twenty years was going to be in for a shock.

The two men circled, staring each other down. The fencing had already started with their eyes.

"I’m Duncan MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod."

"I the fuck know that. You told me last week. What’s that supposed to mean to me, mate?"

"It means we are going to fight."

"With fists. I think not. I’ve no reason to beat you up. You can have her if you want her, or if she wants you."

"Not with fists, don’t you fucking know? Didn’t she tell you? With swords."

"Sorry mate, don’t seem to have one on me. I suppose you have one stuck down your trouser leg?"

MacLeod reached for the space behind the neck of his jacket where the katana resided. It was a personal private space that all immortals had. He knew in a flash the sword would be in his hand and he would be ready to face this kiwi immortal. Lawless, however, stood there, hands spread facing him. MacLeod had no idea where John’s sword might be, or for that matter that he had a sword at his disposal. Perhaps he was completely wrong, but his head felt as if it were about to split in two, the same way Lawless’s head would soon split from his body.

"I don’t understand. This is bull-crap. Put that thing down. I’m unarmed." He backed up slowly and raised his arm in front him, his hand extended as if to fend off his opponent.

A flash of blue light split the darkness of the residential street. From out of nowhere a sword appeared in Lawless’s hand.

"Cor blimey. . ." they heard him mutter.

"Fight, Lawless, this is for real."

"I don’t know what you want MacLeod, and I sure as hell don’t know what is happening, but I have absolutely no reason to fight you."

Lawless continued walking toward the highlander. His strides were long, deliberate and fraught with bravado. Duncan extended his sword to threaten and Lawless continued to approach, his heavy Greek sword lowered to his side. His chest met MacLeod’s sword and he continued to walk, the sword passing effortlessly through him.

"Why’d you do that? I’m going to take your head. Why didn’t you fight me?"

"Mate, I don’t know what in bloody hell you are talking about, but if you want to try to take my head you’re welcome to it. I doubt if your sword will have any more of an effect on my neck that as it did on my chest. What ya’ think?"

MacLeod was silent.

"Mine, however . . . " he lifted it to the neck of the still dumbstruck MacLeod, "would probably do a quick and easy job on yours. For what it’s worth."

Kara flicked on the porch light and ran down to the two men who were still locked together with swords and eyes.

"Stay out of this, Kara." Duncan said harshly. "This is my fight. You know the rules."

"Well it bloody well looks like Mr. Lawless has his own rules, Duncan. And I don’t think judging from what I’ve just seen that he has anything to gain from taking your head and you might have a lot to learn from talking to him."

"Will you please clue me in on what is happening. I have friends on the police force which I am sure your neighbor’s have already called. The do not take to lightly to people playing sword games on the sidewalks in residential neighborhoods."

"This isn’t a game, Lawless," MacLeod glared at him.

"Whatever. " He stepped back and tossed his sword to Kara. "Add this to your collection. There’re plenty more where it came from."

"Come’n guys. Let’s go inside and discuss this like . . like whatever we are. There has to be something that Johnny here knows that we don’t and I think we need it explained."

John looked down at his shoes and quietly walked toward the door to Kara’s house. "Come on mate, I think she’s on to something."

* * * * *

It was his trip to Japan all over again, only this time it was a lot, lot worse. One second he was John Lawless son of Kenny and Jennifer and native of Lower Hutt and the next second he was some all-powerful persona who could walk through swords and make them appear out of thin air.

This time it was more than strange memories and strange sexual yearnings. It had become real. Oddly enough anyone else in the world would have been screaming their damn fool heads off, but Kara and Duncan were treating it as if it were something that happened to them every day.

She got him a beer and Duncan a glass of scotch and they sat together around her table and just talked. She carefully laid out the scenario that she had tried to tell him back on the boat, how she and Duncan were immortals and part of an elaborate game involving beheadings and mega-orgasmic quickenings. She told him that she had dropped out of the game almost ninety years ago and had been living a quiet life in Auckland until MacLeod appeared. She had known him almost a hundred years, they had been lovers briefly but separated when she let him know that she was considering stopping the game. Male immortals became monks, but she had absolutely no desire to become a nun. Duncan had suggested New Zealand or Australia because on an earlier trip there he had only run across one suspected immortal and he had disappeared into the night.

Now it was Duncan’s turn to talk. He explained that the story he had told about his meeting with Helena Hull was true. She had seen the rings listed in an old catalog from Tessa’s shop and had inquired as to their availability. Duncan had not seen the rings while they were in the inventory, but as soon as he saw the rubies he knew they were the same rings that had been made for Lawrence Hayes so many years before. He had always been interested in finding the source stone for those rubies because he had believed that their origin was related to the immortal quest. Ms. Hull had suggested a private investigator in Auckland who might help him with the source stone for the rings, but he had been completely shocked when John Lawless appeared to be a dead ringer to Lawrence Hayes. He truly had believed that John was Hayes living under another name, much like the bulk of the members of his immortal community.

John was dumbfounded. He was certain that the answer lay in the chest he had stashed on his boat. It was a family secret that had been kept for generations as daughters were born to the daughter of Lawrence Hayes. The first son was what his aunts had called him. It made him uneasy and he wanted to forget the story and get away. He’d learned to fight, become a cop, anything but having to deal with a family fairy tale.

"So you going to open it?" Duncan asked.

"Don’t think so. I think it would be better if you guys just went back to wherever you came from and I can pretend that this was just one piss-good drunk. I don’t think I want to know. I want to go back to being Johnny Lawless and work with my partner Jodie. I want to help people when they need proof that their spouse is rooting someone behind their back and help people find lost rellies. I have no desire to be involved in your game. Period. No matter how exciting those quickenings sound. I prefer to get my orgasms the old fashioned way."

"Duncan can go back. I’m going to stay here. But probably will have to move. I was thinking of moving the Christchurch."

"Yea, and I reckon I’d better stop fencing lessons."

"I’d suggest you try kickboxing or Pilates." She smiled the smile he often saw during his lessons indicating that everything was going to be all right.

John whipped out his mobile and began dialing. "Calling a cab. This night is over, and none too soon."

* * * *

John used a screwdriver, not the blade of a sword, to removed the panel from behind the seat on his boat and extracted the chest again. He sat quietly for almost an hour holding it on his lap. He did not have to open it, he knew what was inside, he just never wanted to admit it. He had been just a lad of three when his great-grand mother had taken him into her bedroom and showed him the chest. She told him how she couldn’t open it, nor could her aunts, sisters, daughters, nieces. . . it was only to be opened by the first son.

He’d never believed he was anything special. He when he got older he just thought old Kenny Lawless had more active Y-chromosomes than the sorry blokes his aunts had married. After he was born there were several male cousins in the family, and everyone laughed that the curse had been broken.

If he wanted he could be more than just an immortal. He could make swords appear of thin air and exist in a ethereal world. But why? He was not like Duncan MacLeod. He wasn’t a part of this fight "there can be only one" game that had been explained to him. He was a physical manifestation that came along so infrequently that it had not been recorded in the annals of history. He was the reincarnation of a god.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, you’ve had way too many beers on this trip. The mind has turned to candy floss."

It would have been so easy for him just to drop the chest into the harbor ending its existence forever. But for that damn ecological conscience . . . and the fact that he knew it contained a pair of ancient gauntlets. He could feel them. The way he felt Helena when he held the rings in his hand. Each gauntlet had a ruby set in silver on the wrist, but one of the stones had been cracked in half. The ancient ruby that MacLeod had wanted so badly had been broken and re-cut at the request of Lawrence Hayes to make the rings with which he had hoped to express his love for Dorothea Brooks. The rings that in a few short hours would be back in the possession of Helena Hull, the woman he knew he was destined to love and never have.

He wondered if, like Hayes, he could forget about the gauntlets, the rubies and the women and make a new life for himself. Kara had done it, too. Why couldn’t he? He’d work hard, save his money, and sail off to a new life.

It should have been a simple job to get the chest back into its hiding place, but the fit seemed tighter and he slipped with the screwdriver cutting his hand. Perhaps he didn’t have to open the chest to invoke the curse. Maybe it had already befallen him?

June 14, 2003

McJude