Paris, May 1st - 10:30pm

He was bored and nervous. Richie had been riding aimlessly around the city for about an hour, thinking about the past few days. The woman looking for the sword seemed the most immediate threat. She tracked him down once. He was sure she could do it again. Would do it again. She'd probably be less verbal at their next encounter. His fighting skills had improved over the years. Swordsmanship, martial arts and good old fashioned street brawling were all things an Immortal relies on to stay alive. Richie knew that. He was pretty sure that if it came to blows, he would come out on top. He was trained, and an Immortal. What did he have to worry from one mortal woman? Well, she could shoot me first. There's that. Or she could be one of those creepy rich people who knows every style of martial arts on the planet. That guy that shot me the other night could very well been one of her thugs. She probably had a vest or something and told the guy to just start blasting if things weren't going her way.

And what about the "shadow", as he had labeled it in his own mind? He shook his head, laughing. Don't be stupid Richie. There is a perfectly good explanation for...

"Holy shit!" Richie swirved the bike, barely able to keep it balanced. In the middle of the street, just ten feet or so in front of him was a man, ragged faded black clothes, his face withered and sunken. But those eyes. Two burning coals mounted in deep sunken eye sockets. Their shoulders brushed as he skid past him. Fear welled up in Richie's chest, his heart raced and he broke into a cold sweat. He slid the bike sideways and stopped. The man had turned and was walking toward him. His glowing eyes never moved from Richie's face. Under his helmet, his mouth gaped open, eyes wide as saucers.

"Fuck this!" he cursed, turning his bike and pulling the throttle back until it vibrated in protest. Parked cars blurred together as he passed. In his rear view he watched the man grow smaller as he gained more distance. He had gone less than three blocks when the space between them stopped growing apart and the man, no...not a man...the "shadow", was after him and gaining fast. The bike whipped around the corner of the next street, tires squealed leaving long black marks on the asphalt. Richie looked over his shoulder. It was catching up...reaching out for him. The monster's emaciated fingers just barely missed the back of his seat.

"Almost home, almost home, almost home," Richie chanted. Somehow he thought if he could make it home he would be safe. If he could get onto the barge, he could lock himself in. Maybe pull the boat out from the dock. He would have a phone...he could call for help. He had to get home. He was staying ahead of it, just barely. City lights reflected off of the river. He could see the silhouette of the barge a couple of hundred yards away. Even though he would probably end up breaking his leg, he jumped from the bike halfway up the ramp. The bike hit the wall and sputtered to a stop. Richie lunged for the door handle, the door swung open without even having to twist the knob. It didn't register in his mind. His only concern was escaping the shadow thing. Panicked, he spun and slammed the door shut, barricaded it with his body. The creature beat and scratched at the metal door.

Miranda rose from the sofa and walked toward the terrified young man.

"What...what the fuck are you...AAH!", he yelled. The door began to buckle and creak. The hinges were breaking apart.

"Well, I was going to ambush you and get what I came for by hook or by crook..." she came to the door and helped him hold it shut. "I think that plan just got flushed."

"You don't seem too concerned...OOMPH...that there is an insane flying demon guy trying to get in here and kill me...UGH!"

"Grace under fire?" she replied sheepishly.

"UNH...somehow I think there's more to it than that....ACK!"

"Yeah...well I don't think right now is a good time...we both need to get out of here or we're dog meat, ok kid?" she snapped.

They both look up at the last remaining hinge just as it burst apart. They both fell backward and hit the ground hard, the heavy metal door followed and landed on top of them. Miranda pushed the door off of them and launched it at the creature, knocking him down.

"Jesus!" Richie yelled.

"Come on!" she grabbed Richie's arms and pulled him up with her. By the time they were standing, so was the shadow man. A low growl rumbled from his chest. Clawed hands held out to his sides, purposeful, menacing. He leapt for them. Miranda half pushed, half threw Richie across the room toward the only full size windows on the boat. He tumbled over the coffee table and rolled onto the floor.

"GO!" she ordered. Her meaning was clear. Richie pulled his arms in front of his face and jumped through the windows and landed on the deck of the barge. Looking back, he saw the monster jump at her, enraged. Grappling each other, each slung the other into walls, furniture, book cases. He caught a final glimpse at her face before he jumped off the edge of the boat onto the pier. Her eyes, once pale blue had become the same fire red as the shadow's.

He ran backwards a few seconds, still watching the creature and the strange woman fighting. Brakes chirped, an engine revved. Richie spun on his heels. A deep blue BMW had stopped just inches behind him. The car doors swung open. Two men rushed out of the back seat and grabbed Richie.

"Hey! Get off me!" he kicked and twisted.

"Shut up!" one spat at him. Quite unceremoniously, he was shoved into the back seat. The car pulled slowly away toward the city.

Paris, May 3rd 2,000 - 10:45 am

Light glinted off the tip of Duncan's hand forged Japanese Katana. It lead him through the doorway, cautiously. Outside, Richie's riding helmet floated in the water, current passing it back and forth between the hull of the boat and the stonework that supported the edge of the dock.

"Richie?" he called. Duncan was supposed to meet his friend, the man who he had cared for like his own family, and they were going to fly back to Washington together. Anyone could see something was wrong. Missing door, broken windows. Pretty obvious. The boat was trashed. Broken glass and wood littered the floor. On the wall and sofa, smears of blood. Drops of it dried on the floor.

"No...can't be..." he whispered, fearing the worst. But there was no body...his bike wasn't there...not as much blood as he would expect if someone had been beheaded...he couldn't be sure

All he could be sure of was that there was one hell of a fight. Involving whom, and the outcome of the battle...he only hoped whatever had happened, Richie had managed to keep his head.

Nothing had been taken, it wasn't a robbery. There were a few of what looked to be slash marks on the sofa and the wall. Too jagged to be from a sword. They almost looked like...claw marks. How could that be? No animal large or strong enough to do this kind of damage existed in Paris outside of a zoo. Deeply unsettled, Duncan called Amanda. Maybe she had seen him. Maybe she knew what was going on. No answer. There were no other mutual friends in France he could call on.

"Joe," he said. Richie's Watcher must have seen what happened, and Joe could find out exactly what that was. He dialed his number, forgetting about the time difference between France and the West Coast of the US. A very tired, very put out Joe Dawson answered the phone.

"Hey Joe, it's Duncan."

"This had better be very, VERY important."

"It is. I'm at my barge. There was a fight here and I can't find Richie. We were supposed to meet here this morning and catch a flight back to the US."

"And you want me to ask if Richie's Watcher knows what's up, right?"

"I'm sorry to do this to you Joe. I know things have been strained since...well..."Duncan said, apologetically.

"Yeah yeah...it's ok. I care about Richie too. I'll see what I can find out." Joe told him, sleepily.

"Thank you Joe."