October 31, 2005, 1045 PM, 20 miles outside of London

When Asher and Richie finally stumbled from the woods, she had buttoned her sweater-coat to hide the healed wounds, and had cleaned and rehid her sword. She still held Richie's hand. Having seen them reappear, Mike trotted over (still cake-covered), and blinked. "Hell, Asher, you look like you've come back from the dead."

"You have no idea." She allowed a small smile to quirk at the edges of her mouth.

"Probably a good thing, I'm guessing. But Darcy is readying Colin for bed, and requested your company. In the upstairs bedroom, third door on the left."

She nodded, kissing Richie's cheek. "I won't be long," she whispered. Her steps seemed to drag.

"What is this about, Mike?" asked Richie, once they were alone. "It's your wedding night. You should only have eyes for your blushing bride."

"I doubt Darcy is capable of blushing. Why did Asher take that Quickening?"

Richie blinked, but in hindsight, he was barely surprised at the question. "She needed to," he sighed. "She needed to die to prove to herself she was still alive, to still know she could play the Game to our Rules."

"So, this wasn't another inane loving attempt to protect you?"

"Definitely, no. Between Mac, Adam, Tessa, Joe and Amanda, I've had enough protection in the last dozen years to more than make-up for a rotten childhood. I wanted to fight the Immortal myself, but Asher left before I could. I suppose I could have followed her sooner, but she still would have been the one who needed to fight. Maybe her reasons are selfish, but," his voice trailed.

Mike raked a hand through his hair. "But you didn't know another one would be here, right? I mean I never mentioned anything about my aunt, did I?"

"No, you didn't, nor did we know. But we must always be prepared. And had she not fought today, she would have fought tomorrow, or the next, or the next. She needed to do this. For a long time, more so, since she had her sword returned to her."

"I've seen many strange things, Richie, working first for Dawson, and then for Mac. More than once, Joe tried to recruit me, but I never took him up on the offer. I care too much. Obviously, you do too."

"Both my blessing and my curse," shrugged Richie.

Mike smiled despite (or maybe, in spite) himself. "How old is she, anyway?"

"Asher? Twenty-three last month. Two days before mine. I have eight years on her."

"Amazing," mumbled Mike. Out loud, he added: "You protect her."

"Always," Richie agreed.

The Halloween night was fading fast. Some unsuspecting soul would find the headless body in the woods come daylight. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not before it began to decompose, but someone would find it. Richie hoped it would be Mike, who understood more than he should, and who would do the decency of a funeral. But he had told the truth. This was something, as much as it had hurt, it was something Asher had needed to know she could do. She had spent too long hiding behind her Immortality, pretending it was not there. But she was capable. She was alive. And, a person could only expect protection for so long.