Newtown, Wales, UK
"As I said before, Dhurgal, we have to take care of some things here. That was why we could not follow that fool. Bronwyn will take care of it, I am sure. Here we are. Remember, we need this one alive and unharmed. We only have to convince him to follow the current course he has been taking."
When he knocked on the door, he heard a sound like scuffling or running.
"Oh, bother! Dhurgal, go around the back way and block the door, would you."
Without any regard to any who could possibly be watching. Dougal punched out a pane of glass in the door and unlocked it from the inside. Once inside, he shut the door. He wrinkled his nose. They should be better housekeepers here. He walked on old, wrinkled newspapers and destroyed books. He sneered and kicked over one of the volumes. Though it was faded, it still bore the Watcher symbol on its cover. He heard some noise towards the back and headed that direction. Dhurgal held a rather slight looking gentleman. Even though he looked at Dougal in fear, there was also some sort of defiance.
"You have no right invading this place! I have always done what you asked!"
There was defiance still in this one, Dougal thought.
"We do know this, but now are especially treacherous times. We just came by to make sure the Head Watcher in these parts knew their role in this matter?"
Dougal absentmindedly rubbed some dust off of a bookshelf.
"You will have no contact with others of your kind by any means! And you will produce no more lists or compilations of immortals. You know what happened the last time that was tried. As a matter of fact, that was how you gained your esteemed position as Head Watcher! You will abide by what we say, that is if you do not wish to be replaced." Dhurgal giggled as Dougal patted the man's cheek. "We will bid you good day, now. Also, you may want to do some housecleaning. This place looks dreadful! "
They both left in high spirits, never noticing the man's baleful look he cast in their direction. You can be assured that I will do my job, but never in the way you imagined, you bastards. I will kill you all.
It was fortunate that no other person was around later when it struck both of them. They simply knew that something had gone badly wrong in Paris. Dhurgal roared a string of obscenities. It took Dougal a supreme effort to calm him down. "It seems that we have lost our dear sister. She must have run into him there. We simply will have to kill him then, and nullify the decree." Dougal himself was close to tears. "That is all we can do! It is apparent he has lost none of his skill; you can bet that many of her followers are also dead. Our advantage has always been strength of numbers; none of us save Uncle is as well versed in his brand of havoc, though. Taeg is still alive, and I guess soon we will find Clwdweth. We no longer have a choice. Here is what you will need to do…..
Edmund Laskey may have been frail looking in body, but within a somewhat demented, homicidal framework, his mind was still there. It had been different sometime back, though; he had been hale in body as well as in spirit. He looked at the Watcher sigil on his right wrist. This is almost the joke of all jokes! He was Head Watcher now for this area of Wales. To any who saw the chart in his office, that would appear to be the case. The fact was that only he was alive out of all the names listed. He still cried at night when he went to sleep; it was a major effort just to get himself up some days. Up until about six years ago, it had been different. Then there had actually been some Watchers that had watched. In two horrible days, that had changed. In a stunning blow, all but him were slaughtered. This was in only 24 hours. When he came home, he found his wife and son-in-law dead from gunshots. His daughter had been brutally violated then butchered. The place had been ransacked looking for something. The police were called but no leads emerged. He had tried to contact the other Watchers, but he was contacted first by Dougal. Don't even bother, they are all dead. You will be next unless you agree to our terms. Something in him had wanted to live, so he agreed.
It seemed that several of the Watchers were making a list of the known immortals in the area, Dougal and others included. That sealed their fate as far as the immortals were concerned, so the Watchers were disposed of, all except him. They made him destroy what they thought was the only copy of the list they had found while they searched. They had then forced him to stay in the house where his family had been slaughtered. By degrees, they had robbed him of all freedom of movement. His mail was checked, his phone tapped. He knew that someone was always watching. Even his computer was probably monitored, but that was of little concern to him at the moment. Their surprise visit almost cost him his project data. Too many had died for him to fail now. He knew that what he was about to do would be his death warrant, but living the way he had been for six years was no way to live. It is wise to never underestimate those in a position with nothing to lose. Edmund Laskey was one such person, and what he wanted was revenge. Yes, revenge against the Watchers for his friends who had died, but most of all, he wanted to wipe that smirk off that red-haired bastard's face and all who followed him.
There actually had been more then one list made; painstaking manual data had been placed in a database, but there was the matter of getting the information to someone who could use it. He had heard them talking numerous times; he had ascertained a lot from what he had heard. The red-haired bastard had compromised a lot of watcher cells by various means; as far as he knew, this had been done in order to hide immortals from people like him. He wasn't the type to stand up long under torture, but he was pragmatic enough to come up with a plan. He was not only resigned to the fact that he was already dead, but he almost would welcome it. Life held no more joy for him. If he failed, then they would forever be able to force him to do what they wanted. If he succeeded though, he would have a chance to laugh at the bastards as they all roasted in hell, watcher and immortal alike. As far as he was concerned in his twisted, damaged mind, both parties were to blame for his predicament. He sniggered as he withdrew a thick cardboard box from the rubbish. It had cost him a gold ring, but it did not matter anymore. Quickly he opened a hiding place in his study. Three compact discs were extracted and packed in the box. Then he filled the box with packing material and garbage and then sealed it. On one disc was a video recording of him warning whoever had the misfortune of receiving the contents. The other two discs were as complete a list that could have been compiled. He chortled as he inspected the package. All that had to happen was to have this data merged into the Watcher database. If that occurred, Dougal and those other bastards would never be safe again!
There was just one more thing to do, the most riskiest part of his task. He went online and surfed to the Watcher network. He then activated his Watcher sigil icon. All he would have to do now is wait…and hope that Dougal and company would be too busy until it was too late. He drank himself into a stupor and passed out by his telephone.
Late that night in Barcelona, Methos was ready to go to bed. He was tired from the exercise he had gotten that day. It is best to be prepared as well as I can. He took out the short list that he had. After reading the news from Paris and Italy, he crossed off one name from each side of the list. I sure as hell hope that Duncan took my advice and fled from there. He knew Duncan better than that, though. He would have bet that at about this time, Duncan would be indignant and baleful, and possibly looking for a head to cut off to solve matters. It will not be that easy, MacLeod. So far, things were shaping up as he predicted. Monk's ally had been slain by trickery; his enemy, though, was killed with severe prejudice from a sword edge. He laughed mirthlessly. Along with only nine others? Even if the mortals were counted, that only made seventeen or so. I wonder if that bastard has lost his edge? He didn't really think so for a moment. This is just a warm-up, just a preliminary to the fun and games that will occur soon. Even as he mused on this, he saw quickening fire off in the distance. It was not a secluded location by any means.
Duncan was ever the gentleman. He had insisted Gwyneth sleep on his bed while he took the couch. He was well enough rested, though groggy when his cell phone chimed. He glowered at the device and activated it, expecting yet another hang-up at the other end. Dawn was well in progress as he spoke into the phone.
"Hello?"
"MacLeod! I am sure as hell glad to reach you!" It was Dawson. "Where in hell have you been? Your phone was offline!?"
"I received several dead calls yesterday, so I shut it off for awhile. You are up early."
"I have been up for awhile. This really is not a social call, though. We have to talk. Now."
"What is the big hurry? I can meet you—"
"No, MacLeod, its gone way the HELL beyond that! I have done my damnedest at this end, but if you won't meet with me, some of my associates will meet with you. They are not the most pleasant sorts, either." The silence that followed carried truckloads of implication.
Duncan was instantly fully alert. "Dawson, considering all the years I have known you, that sounds like a threat. You know how well I respond to threats from Watchers. Do your associates want another war?"
"As far as they are concerned, MacLeod, one already has started. Watcher cells have been attacked all over the world and immortals we never even knew about are popping up all over the place. Then there is Paris and Italy."
"What happened here? It looked like a terrorist attack. I still don't see—"
"MacLeod, that destruction was caused by a QUICKENING, damn it! And the same goes for what happened in Italy. Eighty-three people are dead here; possibly hundreds in Italy. And here, at least, we have nine unidentified immortals and a possible tenth, but we can't find her head. My associates seem to think that you have something to do with it all."
"That's fair of them. I didn't get up one day the last time and started killing Watchers for the hell of it. I was provoked. As much as I would enjoy the enlightened company of your Watchers, I have problems of my own here." As briefly as possible, he filled Dawson in on events.
"That is impossible, Duncan! Except for getting your head cut off, immortals do not get sick or stay wounded. "
"Tell Amanda that. I also may have something that would interest you. You tell your 'associates' not to come around here or they will get hurt. I will be there as soon as I can make some arrangements."
Though it was rude, he cut off the conversation, and then turned off the cell. A quickening caused the destruction I saw? That was inconceivable. He had killed powerful immortals before; there seemed no difference between that and killing a novice. If a quickening did happen, though, that meant a head had been taken. Maybe the head was dragged home afterwards? He showered and shaved. As he was finishing, he smelled coffee brewing. Gwyneth had done the honors.
"You sleep well?"
"Yes, I did. For once, I had no dreams."
"Dreams? What sort did you have before?"
"Ones that still make no sense. But there was someone in them wearing that circlet. They were killing a lot of people that looked like me, at least in hair and eye color. I don't know anymore. Things have taken a strange turn."
"You will adapt to it. I have to go somewhere to talk to some people. Will you be ok alone for a while?"
"Yes, I will. And I remembered what you said. Do not answer the door for anyone and do not leave here."
"That is right. Your life may depend on it, at until you learn to defend yourself."
"How is Amanda?" Gwyneth sounded concerned.
"I haven't checked, but that is a good idea to do so."
Duncan and Gwyneth both peered into the room where she was. She lay on the bed clad only in Duncan's shirt; she had kicked off the covers at some point. She was white as a ghost and covered in a sheen of sweat; the shirt was soaked in it. The only sign of movement was some random muscle contractions across her frame. In tiny and larger pulses, blue lightning crackled from her right hand. Duncan warned her to be careful, but Gwyneth ran to Amanda's side. She wet a cloth by the bedside and mopped her brow.
"Amanda, what happened to you? Please get well. I am sorry to have lied to you as I did, but I was not sure if you were like Lyonal."
Gwyneth was weeping. Duncan laid a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Then Amanda's eyes snapped open so abruptly that Gwyneth jerked back.
"Amanda?"
Gwyneth said, hopeful for a response. Amanda looked directly at Gwyneth, a smirk marring her countenance. She clearly intoned some words in that unrecognizable language. Then she seemed sad and close to tears. Then anger flashed across her features. Her voice was low and icy, but the words were clear.
"You will not have anymore of me for your repast. I killed your sister; she is the cause of this. When I am through with her, I will deal with you as well, DEFILER!"
Her features again went slack and her eyes closed. She seemed finally in restful sleep.
"Why is she saying those things! I do not have a sister!"
"I don't know. I hope I can get some answers where I am going today. I would take you with me, but someone needs to watch her."
"I understand. I will be all right." She still was by Amanda's bedside when he left. Before he did so, he retrieved a grisly package from his freezer.
This time, he did not head to the Bistro. He knew Dawson and company would be at another, much less public place. He pulled up next to the building and got out of his car. Things had changed a lot. There were three men at the door, very noticeably armed. When he attempted to enter, his path was blocked.
"What's in the parcel, MacLeod?" The guard made Duncan's name sound like an epithet.
"Nothing that would interest you. I am here to see Dawson." Once again, Duncan attempted to enter but was blocked a second time. "If you want to dance, sorry to say this, but you aren't my type. Get the hell out of my way, now, or you just might get hurt. You really do not want to know what is inside this. "
"I think we do. We have no reason to trust you or any bastard like you." For added emphasis, the third guard released the safety on his Uzi.
"Very well, if you insist. I really hope you haven't eaten yet." It turned out two of them had done so. The one who hadn't quickly let Duncan inside; his face was drained of all color.
Inside the building, all was chaos. Duncan had never seen so many Watchers in one spot before. Also, never this many guards. Dawson was surrounded by three of them, all looking tough as nails.
"What is all of this, Dawson? It looks like a war room."
"That is about what it is, Duncan. Have you any idea what has been going on the last two days?" Dawson hurriedly introduced Duncan to several others clustered in a group.
"I only know what you told me and what I told you. I don't know anything about any pending war between us, though. You need to tell your friends that as well. "He placed his parcel on Dawson's desk. "You might want to get that into a freezer. It's the head of the alleged tenth immortal you found. At least I think it is."
"And how would you have come by such?" The woman asking the question did not have a pleasant expression on her face. Several of her colleagues cringed away from the parcel, but two people in lab coats carried it off without a twinge of revulsion.
"Dawson, Amanda showed up at my door two days ago drenched in blood. She had some items in a satchel and her sword in hand. This was stuck to her by its hair." Several people grew pale at the statement; others shot dirty looks at Duncan. Maybe it was his tone. Death did not really shock him much anymore.
"Amanda is involved in that quickening? That is not good, MacLeod."
"I don't KNOW if she is or not: I am telling you all I know. She has not been able to tell anyone anything yet. She is as ill as could possibly be. I can tell you what I need, though. Those items I have are staying with me; I need someone who can read Latin and tell me about a cross. Also, someone who might be able to open a tome or two with deliberate poison on it and read whatever is inside. Lastly, I need the whereabouts of a certain bastard in a monk's habit. You know the one, Dawson. "
"We are working on it. Amanda's database has been of some use already. All things considered, if this son of a bitch is responsible for only half the things we have possibly discovered, he might not want to be someone you meet." Dawson excused himself to take a call. He returned in a moment shaking his head. "Another cell has been attacked. Three Watchers are dead and two are wounded." He looked at MacLeod. "Sorry to have to say this, MacLeod, but an immortal was despatched." Despatched in Watcher terminology meant that an immortal had been killed by a mortal. Duncan shrugged. He trusted Dawson at least. If an immortal had decided to kill Watchers, they got what they deserved.
"That does not bother me. Do you have a record of the immortal?"
"No we don't. That figures, though. And guess what? We have no idea whose head you brought in, but there are some interesting things about it." Dawson motioned Duncan to follow him to a lab area. The head was submerged in a liquid of some sort while technicians were probing it. Duncan started. That looks exactly like Gwyneth! He knew it wasn't but the resemblance was eerie. "This one's teeth were filed down. All the front incisors are pointed, just like a cannibal. The DNA also suggests a rather odd phenotype; no actual matches to current human strains. She also was immortal."
Amanda's wound looked like something bit her. Or did someone bite her? "Amanda's wound looks like a bite of some sort. Don't you suppose whoever this is bit her? How could that make her sick?"
Dawson shrugged. "I wish I knew. All that I know now is that several Watcher cells are going to ground until this is over. If it is ever over." One of Dawson's colleagues approached him and said something in a whisper to him. Dawson turned to Duncan. "Thank you for touching base with us and giving my colleagues assurances. I will keep in touch if anything changes." Without an afterthought, Dawson disappeared. Duncan shrugged and left the building.
"Is he gone?"
"Yes, sir. He just left."
Dawson sighed, and then cast a look around the area. "Okay. I will contact Wales and see what is going on. Make arrangements in case I have to travel."
"Already in progress, sir. We are going to have to insist on an escort wherever you travel until further notice. Also, what about that immortals requests regarding these items?"
"Find someone as soon as you can." His attention was taken up by the display on the Watcher net, though. The watcher logos were various shades around the globe; from green which meant all normal, to yellow, which meant trouble. Many of the logos had turned yellow in the past few days. Wales' logo had never even been anything but green until now; as a matter of fact, the reports from there for the last six years were rather banal. Too banal, a closer inspection had revealed. Now the logo was on the net, flashing a bright, angry red. Red meant way the hell beyond trouble. Watcher's held no concrete rank, but many deferred to Dawson by default for good reason. He reached for a telephone and dialed the profile number listed.
….she had become numb to the sea of blood trying to drown her. There is only so much horror a mind can register before a capacity is reached. Amanda had tried to extract herself for the sea a number of times but had failed. The red-haired bitch was taunting her. When she wasn't, she was screaming obscenities at her. What was worst was when she tore off pieces of Amanda and consumed them before her eyes. .Look! The woman screeched. My sister has come to visit you! More for the feast! Sure enough, a near exact copy of the woman was at her side, rubbing something on her head. Amanda looked at this person. Gwyneth? Is that you? You can not be like the one here tormenting me! She looked again. The woman was stroking her head almost obscenely now. Her teeth were all canines. Amanda twisted away from her and screamed out a string of curses, but it did no good. She remembered rising out of the sea of blood and saying something else, but too quickly, she was pulled back down into its depths, falling: fading away it seems to a base thought process. Also, she burned with the fires of a multitude of infected bites on her body. Despite her seeming lifelong id-driven ways, there still was a spark of fortitude in her psyche. No matter how the fire and blood assailed her, it would not be extinguished…..
Duncan walked around for a while, digesting what he had learned and mixing it with what he knew. Despite his best effort, all that he had was an incomplete puzzle with some deadly implications. We do not need another war! Too late, MacLeod, it has already started! Oh, he would love to get a hold of Methos and beat some answers out of him, but that option was not available to him. His phone chirped. With a sigh, he answered it. Well, even if he had been abrupt with him earlier, Dawson had made good on one promise. An expert of the sort he had requested would be by in the morning. That meant he had some time to kill. He thought about showing Gwyneth the basics of sword usage, but then he had an inspiration. Why not find out some information about a Monastery that might harbor a homicidal maniac? Amanda was not going anywhere, and Gwyneth would watch her. He knew of a very good library in town with all sorts of information on places of that sort. He brightened somewhat now that he felt he had a constructive goal.
Edmund Laskey woke with the most horrible of hangovers, but it was the phone that had awoken him. Shrugging off the discomfort, he quickly answered it.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Laskey, this is Jim Dawson. I am calling from Paris."
"Regarding what? I don't know anyone from Paris. Especially any Americans." He was about to hang up the phone when Dawson repeated to him information only a Watcher would know. "What is going on up there? Why was your sigil flashing red?"
"I am not able to converse of that matter on the phone. You will have to come here." He quickly gave his address where he was. "Can you at least—"
The line went dead. Edmund had expected that. He also knew that he would soon be a dead man. Despite the hangover he suffered, he moved like a man possessed. You unlucky bastard! He shook his head at the thought, though. He had done all that he could to hopefully succeed in his endeavor, but now time was of the essence. It would be up to that Watcher to set things to right, and be blown to hell in the process too. He found that Watchers name in a secure database, along with his contact information. Paris would simply not do; he chose the New York address and scribbled it on his parcel. He did not bother with a return address or a postage calculator. After rubbing some water into his hair, he quickly donned a coat and hat. He then placed a medium-sized bolt cutter under his jacket. He had planned this all out, but he needed to be quick. He made no effort to hide as he let himself out the front door of his dwelling and locked it. He ambled up to the corner as if out for a stroll. As soon as he reached the corner, though, he rapidly picked up his pace until he was almost at a run. He went down an alley and emerged in the opposite direction in which he had originally headed. There it was at the end of the street: A parcel pick-up box. He had slapped enough postage on his box to get it to its destination, but the problem was if they did not see him with a package later, they would search and possibly find this one. Where else to trade packages but here? As soon as he could visibly see no one, he cut the padlock on the box with the bolt cutters. He quickly opened the box, pulled out a suitable substitute for his package, and then put his own inside. He pocketed the ruined lock then replaced it with an exact replica. Then he just as quickly headed away from the area.
Once he was around the corner, he slowed to his ambling pace again. He listened to the birds chirping in the air, felt the wind on his face, felt the warm sun. He laughed aloud. For the first time in over six years, he really felt alive! He headed home to his virtual prison for the last six years. There was one more thing to do. He cleaned out his hiding place of any such items that would compromise what he had done. They were burned in his fireplace. He was not worried about his computer. That had already been taken care of. All he would have to do now is wait for the retribution. It really did not take long before he heard his front door burst in and heavy footsteps to make their way towards him.
Dougal was livid. Whoever would have thought he would have the nerve to do something like this! He had received the information only moments after his helpers had cut Laskey's phone line. It took nearly an hour to corral enough people to investigate. He giggled a little as he heard the sounds of that Laskey fool being slapped around, but he realized he would need another Watcher as well.
They beat him unmercifully, but he had fortified himself with more liquor before they arrived. One had torn open his parcel to only find foodstuffs. When they realized the package was not from or to him, though, they began to get vicious. He lay in a crumpled heap. His arm and possibly his hip were broken. His face was a smashed ruin as well as his right hand. He was in pain, but lady alcohol had lived up to her promise.
"We asked you, where is your package!"
This was accentuated with a brutal kick. Edmund gasped but remained silent. All I have to do is buy time. He had planned well.
A postmaster had come by to empty the parcel box. When none of his keys fit, he contacted the local office. They had sent a locksmith rather than simply break the lock. Damaged property created much more paperwork. Within moments, the lock was open and the parcels were transferred. The postmaster shrugged at the delay; he was paid hourly, thus he was more than happy to sit on his ass and eat doughnuts while the work was performed.
One of them dragged Edmund over to his computer and made him boot it. They cast him aside and then started exploring its contents. They had retrieved a name Dawson from the phone conversation, but the computer had its own sort of protections. A shrill alarm sounded from the computer when the thugs tried to access the browser cache. The Virus was deadly and it was unstoppable. In moments, any data on the device was a digital ruin, forever gone from its storage device. Well, I did what I could. It is now up to the others. Edmund Laskey laughed as best he could through the ruin of his face.
"Tell that red-haired bastard I win! Every one of you will die, and I will be laughing at you from above while you burn in hell!"
He was laughing until the last. Four bullets into his ruined body finally set him free.
Dougal was livid. That bastard had pulled a fast one on him. There was no way to scour the area to find what he had mailed; the postmasters made their rounds early. Laskey had duped them but well. Dougal had no doubt what Laskey had sent somewhere. If that data was entered into the Watcher database, there would be hell to pay. Not only would head-seeking younglings come a-calling, but there would be some very pissed off Watchers as well. They would assuredly retaliate. He wondered when Dhurgal would be back, but he could only hope they did what they were instructed to do. He himself feared no youngling or mortal, but for the sake of the others, he had to find out what Laskey had mailed and where. One thing about mortals, though, they could be so easily manipulated with currency. Soon, he had some possible destinations for what Laskey had sent. It also was nice to know that this very same Dawson was coming for a visit. One I think he will not live to regret. He would wait for Dhurgal to return. Meanwhile, he would need some assistance for what he had planned…for both things…..
….do you think to hide from me there, youngling? The woman had bitten off another piece of Amanda, chewed as well she could, then swallowed. Amanda only watched her in silence. If she looked at the missing pieces of flesh on her frame, she would only start screaming again. There is so much you do not know about even what you know you are. The woman wiped a runnel of blood from her chin. See what you now can do? She raised her right hand. Blue tinged lightning crackled from it.
Like the monk?
He is no monk, fool! He destroyed us and he had no right to do so! He is full of power as I am; probably even more. Even immortals can hold only so much; past a certain point, a quickening does not even affect us. We can even hide our immortality if we choose.
Why did the monk have no right to judge you, you filthy bitch? I can see why he would have wanted you dead. Amanda screamed as a burst of lightning from the woman crackled into her body
You may have killed me, but I am alive and well in your mind. I really think we should go meet my sister, now. I will not only consume you, I will become you. She laughed. No fool youngling can stand against us….shall we go now? Bolt after bolt of quickening fire jolted Amanda….screaming did no good…no good at all….
Gwyneth was combing through her notes trying to find out what the strange runes meant. But she knew she would have no luck. She heard a noise behind her. She jumped when she saw Amanda there, peering at the runes as well.
"Amanda, you are awake? Are you feeling all right?"
Amanda did not answer. She looked somewhat flushed versus the pale color she had before. The bandage she wore over her wound had fallen away, revealing the chunk of her that was missing. It had not even scabbed over; it suppurated and reeked of something vile. Amanda herself was filthy. Her eyes had a feverish light and she was smirking. She walked up to Gwyneth and started stroking her hair, mumbling something in that strange language. It sounded soothing, almost gentle. Gwyneth tentatively smiled at Amanda's attention, but she was also nervous. Amanda abruptly quit stroking Gwyneth's hair. Her smirk fell off her face like water. She looked as if she was struggling with something inside her. She jerked convulsively once then again. She then steadied herself on a chair. Her look was now baleful.
"I know why you can't read those runes. I know; I definitely do. No human from the modern day could read them. It is your name. Your real name, BITCH! She says I should greet you as a sister!" Amanda jerked again but steadied herself again. She picked up her sword. "I think I will simply kill you; then she may leave me alone." As fast as Amanda could strike, her weakened and fevered state slowed her down.
Gwyneth still only narrowly avoided the blow which destroyed the chair where she had been sitting. Gwyneth ran as fast as she could, but Amanda painfully jerked her to a halt with her hair. Gwyneth tripped Amanda as she came close, and soon they fought on the floor.
"Why are you doing this Amanda?!"
Gwyneth got no answer, but Amanda's expression was venomous. Amanda convulsed again and staggered up from the floor, no longer concentrating on Gwyneth.
She turned her back on Gwyneth. "She is not my sister! You are dead!" Amanda held her head and screamed. "It is all right, sister. I will not let this puerile youngling harm you."
"Don't count on it, BITCH!" The paperweight Amanda hurled fractured Gwyneth's skull. Amanda sniggered then slowly dragged the body to her room. She would have her sister with her now. She didn't pay attention to the trail of blood on the floor or the blood soaking Gwyneth. Amanda only paused in her efforts to get her sword.