Fairhill Academy, Ohio River Valley, 1 November 2050

The day after Halloween, Tomas didn't show up for lunch. "Probably too busy playing," Gregor said.

But after the tables were cleared and Tomas still hadn't arrived, Ceirdwyn sighed and closed her eyes briefly in what Connor recognized as a parental plea for patience before she said, "The first time Tomas disappeared, it took half the staff and all the students five hours of searching before we found him."

"The attic door locked behind him, and he couldn't get out," Connor said, sharing what Tomas had told him of the adventure.

Ceirdwyn didn't seem interested in the explanation. "If he's gone 'exploring' again, we should start looking now. "

"Or," Chelle put in quietly, "we could find him with Cerebro‑Q." She caught Connor's eye, and he nodded.

Ceirdwyn was nodding too. "That you could."

"Easier with fewer people about," Connor said. The school was awash in quickenings.

"We could do a field trip," Gregor suggested. "We've been talking about hiking to Bald Eagle Crest for weeks, and the weather's good today. Far enough?"

"Fine," Connor agreed, but when Gregor announced the trip and all the students lined up, they found that Terah was missing, too. Ceirdwyn swore softly, and Connor saw concern replace exasperation in her eyes. Terah had been given more leeway in her movements than the pre-immortals, but they didn't leave her alone with the other students.

"Find her," Ceirdwyn ordered.

After everyone else had left the grounds, Connor and Chelle sat back to back but not quite touching in the center of the courtyard formed by the four halls. They carefully aligned their quickenings then reached out to find the youngsters. At first, Connor just drifted in the tremendous choir of babbling voices. He found squirrels frantically busy with nuts, a sleepy box turtle with sunshine warm on her shell, and in the woods outside the walls, a stag with antler-heavy head, catching the luscious scent of a doe.

Gradually, the din of animal life receded, and Connor focused on Terah's quickening. She and Tomas were likely together, and an immortal was stronger than a preimmortal. It didn't take long; the area wasn't that large. "They're to the south," he reported to Chelle, twisting to look at the southernmost building, which held the dining hall, the kitchen, the preparation rooms, an attic full of odds and ends, and a basement full of food.

"South," she agreed as they rose to their feet. "But not close. Probably off school grounds."

That meant off holy ground. And there were other dangers, too. Connor started off at a quick trot, with Chelle at his side. At the south gate, they paused to triangulate then Connor let Chelle lead the way. She was better at honing in on quickenings than he was.

But he was better at woodcraft. A half-mile from the gate he spotted tracks: a broken twig, a heel print, a thread on a thorn bush … a man. There were older tracks, too; the man had been walking here for at least four days. Connor signaled to Chelle, and she followed him between the scraggly pines to the man's camp. It wasn't much, just the remains of a campfire and a pile of brush over a hollow for sleeping, and another for some supplies. There was a good stack of firewood; the man knew how to use an axe. A tiny creek flowed nearby, nearly hidden under fallen leaves.

"A vagrant?" Chelle suggested.

Connor twitched back a pine bough and found a sack stamped with the logo of the school and stuffed with food. "A thief."

"But he's not getting in," Chelle pointed out. "So someone's bringing it out. Terah or Tomas? Or both?"

Probably Terah, but it didn't matter. The kids were missing, and a stranger was in their woods. Possibly a a dangerous stranger, possibly even deadly. That immortal they'd sensed didn't have to be Terah.

From the grim look on Chelle's face, she'd figured that out, too. "Keep watch and I'll search again."

"Won't need to," Connor said, turning to the sound of distant voices carried by the brisk wind: a man and a girl, heading their way.

"Stealth's out," Chelle observed, shifting into tactical mode

There was no sneaking up on immortals. "Deception isn't," Connor replied. "I'll take cover, and keep you covered."

She nodded. "And I'll say hi and be sweet and charming to get him to talk."

Connor looked around for options, and didn't find much. He needed to hurry, and he needed to stay close enough to Chelle that their quickenings would be indistinguishable. He crouched behind a pile of fallen branches that still had dead leaves attached. Their brown matched his clothes. It wasn't great cover, but Chelle would keep the stranger's attention on her. Connor took his stunner out and waited; Chelle sat on a large stump near the ashes of the fire, right out in the open.

Terah's voice, high and lilting, grew louder, and the stranger laughed aloud. Shoes crunched on fallen leaves. Then came abrupt silence.

Connor peered through the leaves and saw Terah in her bright purple coat standing next to a man in red plaid. There was no sign of Tomas. Connor couldn't see the man's face, but his dark blond hair was shoulder-length, and he looked to be about six feet tall. His hand was on Terah's shoulder, and the two of them were watching Chelle.

She stood up and waved. The man and Terah stopped five paces away from Chelle, and about eight from Connor, with their backs to him. Chelle commented mildly, "We missed you at lunch today, Terah. Did you eat with your friend?"

Terah nodded, and Chelle, smiling now, introduced herself to the stranger. "I'm Chelle. I work at the school where Terah lives."

"I'm David," he said, taking the hint to introduce himself. "I used to be a teacher, too, but I've been traveling lately." His manner was open, his voice sounded cheerful and friendly.

Connor didn't trust him.

"I met this charming young lady a few days ago," David continued, and Terah looked up at him with hopeful eyes, "and she said I could camp out here. And she brought me food."

"Why didn't you just come to the school?" Chelle asked.

David laughed, a great ringing peal of good humor, as if delighted by the silliness of the idea. "I like my head?" he asked rhetorically then added: "Would you walk into a nest of unknown immortals?"

"No," Chelle agreed.

Connor wouldn't, either.

"I wouldn't hang about in the woods with a young one, either," Chelle added.

"But Terah is not young." His hand tightened briefly on her shoulder, and she moved closer to him, brushing against his thigh.

Connor cursed silently, though he couldn't say he was surprised. Terah had been looking for a new "daddy" ever since she'd arrived.

"She's fifteen," Chelle said flatly.

"Old enough to marry," David said. "At least when I was born."

Not in Connor's time and clan. Rich people might marry young, and a girl "in trouble" would try, but mostly people waited until they could support a family before getting married. Still, they'd all definitely been interested in sex at fifteen.

"When were you born, Chelle?" David asked, the easy segue not hiding his keen interest.

Chelle didn't answer that, but Terah did: "She's not even a hundred."

"Terah," Chelle began, now focusing on the girl, "you should have told us about David."

"So you could tell me no?" Terah said. "Like you always do? I'm not a little girl, and all of you treat me like one, except for Zachary." She was looking up at David again. "And now David."

"I see," Chelle said slowly. "And are you two planning marriage?"

"No," David answered promptly.

"David promised to take care of me," Terah said.

Connor grimaced at her naïveté. Eventually, David would get bored, then either sell her to a pedophile for the money or take her head for the quickening. Maybe both.

"That's very generous of you," Chelle told David.

"Terah's a very special girl."

"Yes, she is," Chelle agreed, but her smile didn't hide her sharpness. "Terah," Chelle asked next, seemingly casual, "have you seen Tomas since breakfast?"

"No."

That was a lie. Connor had heard enough of them to know. Was Tomas still in the woods or back on school grounds? Had Terah left him somewhere safe, or was he dead?

"Who's Tomas?" David asked, and the keen interest was back in his voice.

Connor relaxed, a little. David wouldn't have asked if he'd already taken Tomas's head.

"He's my friend," Terah said.

"And is Chelle your friend?" he asked.

Terah said nothing.

"Terah," Chelle said, reaching out a hand to the girl. "I am your friend. You know—"

"Did you kill my daddy?" Terah demanded.

Chelle froze. Her hand slowly dropped back to her side. "He wasn't your father."

"He was my daddy, and he loved me," Terah insisted. "David says that you probably killed him," Terah went on. "That you cut off my daddy's head."

"Terah." Chelle's voice was steady, calming, even as her gaze flickered between the man and the girl. "I didn't…"

Don't, Connor thought fiercely. Don't tell Terah the truth. Not now.

"I didn't know," Chelle continued, "who he was. I didn't know about you."

"So it is true," Terah said with venomous disgust. "You did kill him."

"He tried to kill me," Chelle explained.

"You killed him, and you never told me," Terah protested, working herself up from petulant whine to self-righteous rage. "You killed him, and you took me away from my house and my dolls, and you brought me here, to this school where kids are stupid and the classes are boring and the food is awful, and you've lied to me, all this time. All of you lied! Even Zachary. I hate you!" she spat out. "And we are not friends."

Connor shook his head with a silent "I told you so" sigh.

"So, Terah," David was saying, "Chelle killed your father."

"In self-defense!" Chelle said hotly. "You know it's what we—"

"—what we do," David broke in. "Exactly." He drew his sword, a two-handed behemoth of a weapon.

Chelle immediately backed away and pulled hers, a much lighter saber. Damn! Connor couldn't interfere, but he sure as hell didn't want to watch Chelle die.

"Would you like to see a quickening, Terah?" David asked, as casually as if asking her if she wanted to see a movie or go to the zoo. He was already stalking Chelle, circling to the right and unwittingly coming closer to Connor.

"Yes," Terah said then climbed up and sat on a fallen log, swinging her feet back and forth. "I would. Kill her."

David grinned as he glanced over at her. "That's my girl!" Then he looked back at Chelle and said thoughtfully, "Although…" Abruptly, he pulled a gun from his pocket and shot Chelle through the heart. Terah shrieked and Connor jerked, both of them caught by surprise. Chelle had been knocked onto her back, her legs slightly crooked, her sword next to her outstretched hand. Blood was oozing from her mouth and nose, and behind her, spatters of blood showed bright red on brown leaves.

Connor wondered how many heads David had taken this way. Perhaps he was the shooter who'd been breaking the rules.

David bowed to Terah with an extravagant sweep of his hand. "You should be the one to avenge your father."

Terah hopped down from the log, her lower lip caught between small white teeth, staring at Chelle's body. "You mean…"

"Kill her," David said. "It's your right. It's your duty. Your daddy taught you that."

"Yes," Terah said, taking one step forward, then another, as delicate and cautious as a hunting cat. She looked back over her shoulder to ask, "How do I…?"

"Use her sword."

Connor had heard enough from the smarmy bastard and the ungrateful little bitch. He stood and shot David in the back of the neck from only ten feet away, with the stunner set on high. David spasmed, arms and legs flung wide, dropping his sword. Terah turned, her eyes wide in confusion, and Connor shot her, too, but in the small of the back through several layers of clothes. She crumpled, almost gracefully, dropping unconscious to the ground. David had gone down in a twitching, drooling heap and now was lying very still.

Connor urgently wanted to find Tomas, but he couldn't leave Chelle, and he couldn't simply behead the other two as they lay helpless on the ground, sensible though that might be. He walked over to David for a better look. The man seemed to be in his mid twenties, about Connor's height but a bit more in weight. He'd be fairly attractive, when he wasn't slack-jawed and drooling and dead. Connor checked for dental work, then for childhood scars. In the process, he relieved David of the gun, two knives, a wallet, and a few other odds and ends. Then he used David's belt to lash his ankle to his wrist. Damned uncomfortable, and Connor would hear if David moved. The sword stayed where it was. David was going to need it very soon.

Next, Connor checked Terah for weapons, but found only a bag of dried fruit in one pocket and a small glass pumpkin with a broken green leaf in the other. He picked her up, an easy burden, and placed her in a sitting position against the trunk of a narrow pine. He used the purple sash from her coat to tie her hands together then used his belt to tie the sash to the tree, looping it over a branch to keep her hands above her head. Not tight, not painful, but enough to keep her still. He needed answers about Tomas, and he wasn't in the mood for chasing her if she ran. Her head rolled limply to one side, her dark hair covering her cheek and her right eye.

Connor sat on the log that Terah had recently vacated, waiting for someone to revive. He passed the time by imagining different ways for David to die. The scents of excrement and urine wafted through the brisk fall air.

Finally, Chelle rolled over on her side and began hacking up blood and phlegm. "Damn," she swore once she'd caught her breath. When she sat up, she saw Terah, still unconscious and neatly tied to the tree. Chelle's mouth twisted, but she didn't protest. She looked next at David, still sprawled ingloriously on the ground, and stated, "He needs to die."

"Yes," Connor agreed.

Chelle looked back to Connor, her eyes narrowing as she searched his face. "I just want him dead." Her smile was thin. "You want to kill him."

Connor nodded. He hadn't taken a head in years, and this would be one righteous kill. But he shouldn't be greedy. "If you want to finish your fight—"

"Finish?" she broke in. "It never even started." She plucked at her bloody shirt where the bullet had gone in. "Bastard," she muttered, giving David a dirty look, but that soon morphed into a tactical evaluation and ended with a shake of the head. "I don't like my odds. He's bigger, stronger, older…"

"Not as old as he makes out. His scars are too clean."

She shrugged. "Still bad odds."

Connor approved of her realism. Bravado got you killed.

Chelle said, "If you really want him—"

"I do."

"—then he's yours."

"Good." Connor went back to thinking about sword moves, rehearsing instead of merely imaging. A slash to the tendon, just behind the knee. The stab to the heart, dark blood spurting. The twist of the blade, grating on bone and spreading the rib cage, ripping into the lung, pink foam erupting from mouth and nose.…

"You're smiling," Chelle said. She sounded sad.

But when Connor looked at her, she'd gotten to her feet and was plucking at her shirt again. "Shit," she muttered.

Connor politely averted his eyes. Dying was a messy business. "Creek?" Connor suggested, and Chelle headed for the water.

Soon after, Terah began to stir. Connor checked on David, who was still out cold, then looked over to the girl. She was alert, her eyes darting from David to Connor and all around, but when she saw Connor watching, she instantly became a bewildered little girl. "Please," she begged. "Please let me go."

Connor went back and squatted near her, but far enough away so she couldn't kick him, and asked, "Where's Tomas?"

She shook her head, eyes wide and face earnest, all innocent confusion. "I don't know."

Connor had zero patience with lies, and even less with liars. He shot her, just the barest grazing on her thigh, with the stunner set to low. Her scream was theatrical in its exuberance, and full of "ow, ow, ows." Connor gave her another chance. "Where's Tomas, Terah?"

She was glaring at him now. "I won't tell you, and you can't make me."

"No?" Connor questioned, aiming the gun at her bare hand. She flinched but didn't answer, so Connor shot her again. This time, her scream wasn't faked.

A stunner through clothes hurt; a stunner on bare skin burned. It left no mark, though, and didn't damage tissue or skin. Originally developed for therapy on damaged limbs, the nerve stimulator had been, like so many other things through the ages, adapted for other uses. At high power, it could disable a limb. At close range and maximum power (highly illegal), with enough duration and in a vulnerable spot (say, the back of the neck or the heart), it could even kill. Connor glanced at David, but the man was still trussed tight, so he turned back to the girl to ask: "Where … is … Tomas?"

She'd gone stubborn and defiant, lips pressed tight and eyes narrowed with hate, but when he raised the gun she squirmed and twisted, pulling at the bonds around her wrists and trying frantically to get away. Connor was deciding between targeting the fingers or the inside of the wrist when Chelle came charging up the hill, sword in hand.

"What the hell is happening?" she demanded.

"I'm getting answers."

"Really?" Chelle said, her voice dripping disbelief. She was dripping too, still damp from the creek, with bare legs, untied shoes, and her coat wrapped hastily around her waist. Terah started crying with theatrical tears and ostentatious sobs, until Chelle told her bluntly, "Shut it. I'm not buying." Chelle asked Connor, "What's she told you so far?"

Connor shrugged. They weren't done yet.

Chelle turned her back to Terah and said quietly, "We don't need to do this, Connor. I can 'search' for Tomas while you keep guard." Then she added, "Or you can search."

Instead of stun-gunning a bound and helpless girl who looked to be nine years old. Chelle didn't say that, but she didn't have to. Connor knew it, and he didn't much care. He wasn't hurting Terah, not permanently, and Tomas was out there, somewhere, maybe hurt, probably scared, and Terah was lying about what she knew. She had no honor at all. "After David shot you, Terah was going to take your head," he informed Chelle. "With your own sword."

"I see," Chelle said slowly, turning to look at the slim young girl whose pretty face was twisted into a scowl. "Do you really want to kill me, Terah?"

"I have to avenge my father," Terah explained. "And anyway, immortals don't need a reason to kill."

"Yes, they do," Chelle corrected.

True. Though sometimes, Connor had to admit, the reasons were pretty flimsy.

"David said—"

"David's wrong," Chelle told her.

Terah went silent, her brow furrowed in confusion. Connor tamped down sudden sick dread and asked, "Did you take Tomas's head, Terah?"

"What?" She seemed honestly shocked. "No!"

"Did David?"

"No! He's never even met—" She shook her head impatiently. "Tomas is my friend."

Connor was very glad to hear that. "He's my friend, too," he reminded her. "It's getting late, and it's going to be dark in a few hours, and cold. We need to bring him home. Where is he?"

Terah just looked at him, mutely infuriating, and Connor was reaching for the stunner again when Chelle said, "Connor, give me a minute."

Connor impatiently stood guard while Chelle closed her eyes and searched. As soon as she blinked, Connor demanded, "Well?"

"Tomas is in the tree fort," she reported.

That wasn't that far away, but she didn't sound happy. Her coat rustled as she knelt on the ground to look the girl in the eye and ask: "Terah, why?"

"He's my friend," Terah repeated. "Mine, not yours," she said to Connor. "And now Tomas and I will be friends forever, and for always."

Connor had taught Tomas that phrase, and he in turn had shared it with Terah. But some things weren't meant to be forever. "God, no," Connor breathed. Please no.

But Chelle looked up at him, her eyes stricken, her mouth a thin tight line, while Terah said, "We'll be like the Lost Boys from Never Land. We'll never grow up, and we'll always be friends. He'll never leave me."

Because she'd killed him. Like her "daddy" had killed her. And now Tomas would be seven years old for the rest of his life. Connor sank to the ground, hammered to his knees by helpless despair, that earlier dread spreading like poison and lying bitter on his tongue. It hurt to breathe. No. No. Goddamn it, no!

But there was nothing he could do.

"Not like Sandra left," Terah was saying. "Not like Zachary. Never. Never. Never." She was rocking back and forth, almost crooning the word. "And Mikal can join us. And Sally. But not Isdra. I hate Isdra. Not Jero, either. She's snobby. Maybe Hiro. He's nice."

Chelle met Connor's eyes then shook her head.

And so the judge and jury had again decided. All they needed now was the executioner. "I'll do it," Connor offered as they got to their feet.

"No," Chelle said firmly. "This is on me."

"What is?" Terah asked, looking up at them from the ground. "Can I go now? Please? You were right; Tomas is in the tree fort. We were there at lunchtime. So can I go?"

"I'm sorry, Terah," Chelle said.

"You should be," Terah said. "So untie me!"

But Connor didn't look at her, and Chelle only murmured, "If it were done when 'tis done…"

Connor silently finished the line from the Scottish play: Then 'twere well it were done quickly.

"Let me go!" Terah was yelling now, tugging on her bonds, still more angry than frightened. "Let me go, let me go, let me go!"

He lifted the stunner and shot Terah in the heart.

The girl slumped, her head falling forward on her chest, her dark hair falling in a curtain across her dark eyes. Connor moved back as Chelle stepped forward, lifting her blade, then bringing it down. Terah's neckbones splintered, the skin of her throat parted with a bloody, tearing whisper, and her head bounced soddenly upon the ground.

Chelle was on her knees already, her head bowed, her face streaked with tears. Connor couldn't help her, either. He retreated up the hill, away from the lightning about to come.

But he didn't get to watch Chelle take the quickening, because David was alive again, screaming frantic curses as he got loose of his belt then picked up his sword.

Good. This, Connor could do. He drew his katana and waited, and David came at him with a mighty two-handed swing and a shriek of pure rage. Connor evaded the attack easily, for David was still unsteady on his feet and not thinking very well. But Connor didn't go after the easy kill, not yet. He wanted this fight. He wanted to make David pay. They faced each other, circling, ignoring the lighting only ten paces away.

"You sick, cold-blooded bastards," David snarled. "Is that how you get off? Tying up a little girl so you can stun her and then take her head?"

"You shot Chelle," Connor pointed out, circling left, getting a feel for David's gait, watching the way he held his sword.

"Yes, so Terah could avenge her father," David said. "She doesn't have a chance in a fight."

That almost made sense, in a twisted sort of way. Connor didn't care. David was a jerk and a pervert, and Connor wanted him dead.

On the other side of the clearing, a final splinter of lightning ripped through a pine tree and set it ablaze like a torch. Chelle was a dark silhouette in front of the golden flames, her head hanging and her hands by her sides, standing over the small bundle wrapped in a purple coat.

David cursed again, calling Chelle foul names. Then he turned to Connor. "Why did you two kill Terah?" he asked, sounding close to tears. "She was just a girl."

And that was exactly why she had to die: she would always be a girl. "You said it," Connor reminded him. "She wasn't young." Time to take control of the conversation. "Is that how you get off?" Connor asked. "Young ones?"

"What? No!"

He sounded just as shocked as Terah had earlier. Maybe he wasn't a pervert after all. He still needed to die.

"Who the hell are you, anyway?" David demanded.

Connor had been answering that question for hundreds of years. "I'm Connor MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod."

David shrugged. "Well, 'Connor MacLeod' of the whatever, beheader and torturer of little girls, I want your head ."

Connor smiled, his sword a sweet and familiar whisper of vicious steel in his hand. "And I want yours." Then he attacked, giving no quarter, finding no contest. David knew the basics plus a few tricks, but his sword was too big for him ,and thus too heavy, and his body was still quivering from the stun.

But Connor stepped back to give the boy some breathing room, to let him think he had a chance. As they circled, catching their breath, Connor twirled his katana from hand to hand, a show of expert control. David's eyes tracked every move, and when he looked up Connor saw the nervous swallow.

Connor smiled.

He was rewarded by the delicious sight of the flash of fear in his opponent's eyes. Good. Connor simply waited for the next attack, clumsily inevitable, and then Connor took his enemy down. A quick cut across the tendons to drive David to one knee. A slashing downward stroke from bicep to elbow, slicing through cloth and skin and muscle to leave a hunk of bloody flesh steaming on the leaves. David shrieked in horrified pain, and his eyes were full of fear now. The shrill screams soon shriveled to hoarseness, and then to wordless, gibbering moans.

Connor could have taken David apart bit by quivering but, but Tomas needed to be found, and besides, the noise was annoying. Connor grabbed a handful of hair and lifted, holding the head still. From across the dead campfire, Chelle was watching, her face as pale and lifeless as the moon.

"Murderer," David gasped, just before Connor swung his sword, and Connor didn't care.

He stood there, with a bloody sword in one hand and a severed head dangling by the hair in the other, with a body at his feet. Spilled blood flowed warm down Connor's thighs, more blood pounded fiercely in his veins. And it was good.

The world was shimmering blue and white and black, splintered into fire and blood, and Connor closed his eyes and let the quickening take him, stripping him down to the bone. For this was no gentle communing with birds and ants or rocks and trees. This was power, raw and primal, the power of an Immortal screaming in rage and pain as Connor devoured his soul. Every nerve hummed and every fiber burned, as if his skin had been scoured away, shaking him open and leaving him empty, while the quickening ate him alive.

The last bolt of lightning left him gasping for air and trembling. His fingers, still wrapped through dirty-blond hair, were cold and stiff, and the blood on the front of his pants had dried. The scents of scorched meat and burned hair crawled down his nose and burrowed into his tongue like limpets on a ship's hull. Connor dropped the head and stumbled away from the body, wincing with every crackle of leaves, every movement of air, every touch of cloth. He was still too open, too raw, and each sensation was exquisite, quivering pain. The sun was too bright. The sky was too blue. His own pulse sounded as rapid and loud as a jackhammer, and the rushing of the blood through his veins seemed like the roar of the ocean tide. His sword felt as heavy as a blacksmith hammer, and the weight of it dragged him down to the forest floor.

A mushroom was growing, creamy brown and spotted with red, right in front of his nose. An acorn lay atop a broken twig, and he marveled at the tiny hole bored into the acorn's side and at the precision of the knurling on its cap. He pushed aside dead leaves and spread his hands directly on the cool damp earth, spreading his fingers, getting grounded once again. He reached out and in, finding the tendrils of the oak's root system, following them to the core of the tree then spreading out to the branches, and resting there among the sky.

After a time, he pulled back into his own body, stretched fingers and toes, then sat up and looked around. Chelle had gotten dressed and carried Terah—body and head—over to the fire circle and arranged both neatly. The girl might have been sleeping.

David still lay where he had fallen, a crumpled heap. The head had rolled a bit down the hill, gathering leaves and dirt on the way. Connor picked up his sword, sticky with blood and festooned with a few strands of blondish hair, like tinsel on a Christmas tree. He wiped the blade with handful of leaves and then with the cloth from his back pocket. He got to his feet, a bit shaky, and nodded to Chelle, who was watching him from a safe distance. After a quickening, immortals could be… volatile. "Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey," she replied. She nodded at David's body and suggested, "Move that?" She took the feet and he took the arms, and they lugged David into the fire circle. Connor went back and fetched the head.

Chelle had started laying a fire, a classic log-cabin style with tinder neatly arranged around the kindling. That pyramid shape helped to funnel the heat. A big one would help the bodies burn, but it would take time to build. And even if they did... "Burning bodies takes a while," he warned.

"I know." She set the last stick on the structure then sat back on her heels and sighed. "But digging's no good with all these trees, and we don't have a shovel anyway."

If it had been only David, Connor would have left him for the scavengers. But it wasn't only David.

Chelle started the fire with a match and got it going. They stood together in silence and watched the golden flames climb. "He's still at the tree fort," Chelle said finally. "Sleeping, I think. I can go—"

"I'll go," Connor broke in.

"Connor—"

"This is on me," he said, and Chelle didn't argue, just hugged him fiercely and kissed his cheek before he left. As Connor headed into the woods, wood smoke rose among the trees, and then came the acrid scent of burning hair.

By the time he reached the tree fort, the sun had dropped to the top branches of the trees. Darkness would fall in a few hours. He stopped, just out of range, then gritted his teeth and walked on. Nine paces later, a head with curly brown hair poked up over the tree fort wall and the sensation of another immortal crawled up Connor's spine.

Damn, damn, damn, damn.

God damn it all.

"Hey, Connor!" Tomas called, waving a hand.

Connor made himself smile. "Hey, scamp." He climbed up the ladder made of sticks lashed to the tree then clambered onto the small platform.

Tomas was sitting in the corner, blinking hard. "I feel funny," he said. "And there's a weird noise."

"Close your eyes," Connor suggested, and after a moment, the quickening sense faded for both of them.

But now Tomas was looking at the sun in alarm. "Is it afternoon?"

"Yes."

"But … Terah said we'd be back in time for lunch. When I drank the potion, she said I'd sleep for a while, but she promised she'd wake me up. Honest!"

"It's all right, Tomas."

"No, it isn't. Ceirdwyn told me not to make people look for me again." He hunched down, his arms wrapped about his knees, and said in a small voice, "She is going to be so mad at me."

"She's a little worried," Connor agreed. "But she's not mad. She knows I'm looking for you."

"Oh." Tomas grinned in happy relief. "Great! What about Terah? Is she all right? Did you find her?"

"We found her," Connor answered then added, "She's with Chelle."

"And I'm with you," Tomas said with satisfaction.

He swallowed hard, forced a smile, and managed to say, "Yeah. You're with me."

"Your clothes are dirty," Tomas noticed.

Connor glanced down at the blood on his trousers, dried to brown. "I slipped in the mud."

"We jumped over two creeks on the way here, and I didn't get wet at all," the boy said proudly.

"Good for you!" Connor looked about the makeshift platform with its crooked walls, a child's fragile fortress against the world. The wind was getting colder. They couldn't stay here. "What do you say, kiddo? Ready to go?"

"Sure!" Tomas agreed. "I'm hungry. Like always, right?"

"Right," Connor agreed. Like always. "I'll go down first," Connor said, and he made his way down the ladder, pushing off and jumping away from the last few rungs. Tomas followed, first his feet sticking out from the platform, then his skinny backside appeared, and then he started climbing down.

When Tomas was halfway down the ladder, Connor shot him in the back. He caught the light body as it fell. The short legs dangled awkwardly over his arm; the brown eyes were closed. Connor carried him to a fallen tree and propped him up there. "I am so sorry, Tomas," Connor told him, talking to the unconscious boy. "I wanted…"

Ah, damn.

He couldn't do this.

He had to do this. And he had to do it quickly, or he couldn't do it at all. He kissed Tomas on the forehead and whispered ancient Gaelic words of farewell. Then he stood and drew his sword, holding the head up, the brown curls soft about his left hand. "Forgive me," he whispered, and then he swung his blade.

Before the lightning came Connor dropped to his knees, cradling Tomas's head in his arms. "You'll be with me," he promised. "Forever."

And for always.

Continued in "Mortal Sins" - in which Connor and Chelle confront each other, and Methos is unfortunately detained