It was even colder above ground than it had been below, but MacLeod barely noticed as he hauled himself through the manhole and walked directly over to the woman watching the street. "You just let him go?"

Greta turned, her expression was apologetic but she frowned slightly after a second. "Sorry, but I was supposed to stop him how? I'm pretty sure he's a little old for safety reins and I forgot to bring a machine gun."

Given she had a point and they were running out of time - if they hadn't run out already - he didn't pursue the issue. Prioritise. Focus. He pushed the little bracelet into her hand and wrapped her fingers around it to make sure it wouldn't be dropped.

"This is what we found. Please, see if you can get anything from it. I'm going to find Adam. Don't move. Do not move." A beat and he looked at the young man who'd drawn to a halt beside him. "What are you not going to do?"

Richie flushed with equal parts embarrassment and anger. "Geez, Mac, c'mon."

Greta's voice was distracted, her concentration taken by the find. "We understand, just go."

He went.

The presence of another Immortal slid across his mind after just a few seconds of a flat out run onto the main street and was more welcome than his survival instinct would have liked. His hand found the hilt of his katana anyway, staying there until his eyes picked the familiar dark shape out of the shadows on the corner of the junction ahead.

At a jog he made his way over, wondering what had Adam's attention so caught he didn't even look around. Then he registered it too: the street was nearly clear of people or traffic, an unheard of sight in the middle of the city. The few people remaining were almost running, faces pale and set with shock and panic, going to extreme lengths to avoid touching anyone or anything. Some held tissues or handkerchiefs over their mouths.

"They're a posy short of the thirteen-forties." Methos' tone was observational, as if he were making a report.

It was probably the safest way to work together without accidentally making attempts on one another's life, so he followed suit. "Doyle."

"I'd swear he was in the river."

"Did you see his face?"

"I couldn't see a bloody thing. A body under tarpaulin with a knife in its heart was the best I could manage. Who do you think it was?"

Some of the level tone cracked to show the anger underneath and unthinkingly he let himself snap back. "Well, it wasn't him, was it?"

"Wonderful. I suppose this will be my fault as well?"

Taking a breath and then another, MacLeod bought his composure back under control and tried to think his way through the problem. There were questions at the core that needed answers. "We're missing something. You said he 'routinely' gets dealt with by the Xerxesi - how does he keep getting away from them at all? A partner?"

"He didn't have one on the occasions I've crossed his path. If he does they'd have to be an Immortal or wearing a hazmat suit twenty-four seven, both of which would be problematical."

"All right, how is he spreading the contagion? If he's bringing it in from somewhere, he should be infecting everyone on route but he isn't."

"I always assumed … I suppose you're right. There's nothing in his Chronicle about a germ factory, though, and that's the only other way he could be timing his infection."

"Unless he's creating the virus himself … His Chronicle, is there anything helpful in there?"

"Only long list of the people who've died Watching him."

"And … what is he doing here? Now?"

"It's possible some group or other hired him for some biological terrorism, I suppose"

"Come on Methos, you have to know something!"

Adam's mouth opened and shut before finally ducked his head and replied. "I do, butnot the answer to any of those questions. I … I know the Xerxesi are keeping him alive because Darius created them to. I know that an Immortal taking his head runs an incredible risk of taking a Dark Quickening at the very least and I know there's a possibility he can cure as well as infect. The rest I have no more idea of than you do."

MacLeod nodded, adding the new threads to the tapestry. Scientifically it was still making no sense and his thoughts skittered into other explanations. "Okay … so … so maybe Doyle can control this. Maybe he's the germ factory and the antiviral. Maybe that's why Darius wanted him alive and maybe there's some way he can stop all this getting any worse."

"Do you want to know how many times you just said 'maybe'?"

He shook his head, he really didn't. "No. We found what Darius left; come and see if it means anything to you."

They walked back at a fast pace, making no further attempt to talk to each other. MacLeod was aware of the tension in the man at his side, but he had become attuned to the body language a long time ago. There was understanding with the silence; it was when Methos opened his mouth all objective interpretation went out the window.

Finding Greta and Richie were still where he'd left them was enough of a surprise he had the feeling that he was becoming more of a pessimist than he'd realised. Or, possibly, it had just been a really bad week.

Richie glanced at Greta, took in her unfocussed gaze, and reported in her stead. "We've gotten most of the mud off, there's writing all over it. I think it's Latin" He turned Greta's unresisting hand slightly so he could see the writing on the bracelet, squinted, and read out slowly "'Crucks santa sits me he lucks?'"

While MacLeod moved his lips around the phonetics of the mutilated language, trying to work out the real words, he felt Methos shudder beside him. "Are you trying to cause me pain? 'Crux sancta sit mihi lux'i"

Greta blinked and looked at Adam for a long moment. When MacLeod saw her focus was actually on, rather than through, the man and that there was a hint of actual recognition in her eyes, he spoke to her as gently as he could. "What about any, you know …"

"I see … lights" Her empty hand raised, fingers splayed, then moved as if she could trace their patterns in the air before her. "Colours everywhere, like a kaleidoscope. And shadows … everything is red." Her other hand tightened around the bracelet "And I see the Princes, falling in the dark." He could almost see her drawing the scattered pieces of her mind together. Her voice was stronger as she handed the bracelet to Methos. "That's it."

The deluge of information was both energising and discouraging. He'd been hoping for something that would make instant sense and this was a foolish, maddening, riddle. Swallowing his resentment against the Fates, he looked between the two most likely to solve the puzzle. "What does it mean?"

Methos looked thoughtfully at Greta, then down at the bracelet in his hand. "The latest episode of Bewitched, I have no idea. But the Latin is 'May the Holy Cross be my light'."

Richie spoke quietly and without apparent sarcasm. "Nice idea."

"Yes, except for the fact it's part of a larger verse which was very fashionable with exorcists."

"O-kay, less nice. What does it say on the other side?"

After turning the object in his hand, Methos read out the second inscription without hesitation, a dry amusement in his tone. "'Et saeculum per ignem', translation: 'And the world on fire' – it's from another exorcism rite."

"So we officially hit unsubtle. This is not a happy bangle. There's one more, all around the inside." Richie came forward and turned the bracelet so Adam could see it, using his finger to trace out the letters within. "Veeares-enesemvee-esemquel-eyeveebee.ii The what now?"

The invasion of his personal space was allowed by Methos about as long as MacLeod expected it would be, which was to say not a second longer than necessary. The man stepped back and held the 'unhappy bangle' up to the light, studying every part of it. "That sound you hear is Tyndale on spin-dry in his grave. It's shorthand for saying 'Vade retro me, Satana'. 'Get thee behind me, Satan.'"

Richie returned to Greta's side, giving up any proprietary interest in the find. "You're pretty useful to have around."

Trying to keep his impatience out of his voice, MacLeod spoke quickly in an effort to keep them on topic. He let his inner antiquarian out to play. "That kind of bracelet isn't unusual, they've been made since the twelfth century. It's not rare for them to have religious inscriptions either."

Methos nodded slightly. "I'm not an expert, I do know the inside part was a popular protection against evil. But the other two? 'Let the Holy Cross be my light'? That's as good as saying 'turn left at the old oak tree, pardner', in context."

Richie winced. "Never try that accent again. You mean it's a code?"

Rolling his eyes, Methos finally broke off his study of the writing to look at the younger man sardonically. "Codes are traditionally harder to break than just reading directions. I mean it's a map."

Another bickering match was brewing, MacLeod stepped in again, turning his attention fully on Adam. "Then where's he saying to go?"

After a second, there was a light groan as his answer. "He's pointing to Sainte Chapelle."

"Isn't that the chapel on Cité with Notre Dame?Next to …"

"… Pont Neuf bridge." Methos finished for Richie and MacLeod understood the old man's disgust. They had been so close.

"That was on our list of places to visit; only then Greta had that 'river of bodies' moment. Why there?" Richie's interest in the conversation was minimal, tone subdued. A glance showed the boy, man, was watching his woman and failing to keep the worry from his expression.

It caught him for a moment but Methos spoke again and he sent the resolve to speak to Richie to the back of his mind as he knew he did too often.

"Because its windows were a wonder to make you think you saw heaven when the sun was behind them. They made patterns over the floor and touched you with a thousand colours. Come for the crown of thorns, stay for the lightshow."

MacLeod had been there, he knew very well the spectacle being described. It was impressive even now. When he'd first seen it he'd been struck speechless, open mouthed like the barbarian he was. Connor had laughed at him for a week.

"We came too late. To see it at dawn, kinsman, is … are ye trying to catch flies?"

The click in his mind almost made him grin with success as he turned to Methos, but he remembered his previous anger and returned to the unsmiling expression he had been wearing. "The world being on fire … Sunrise?"

A short nod and a decisive answer. "It would have to be."

Richie looked between them, even more at a loss. "What? Why?"

"Because the cross is on the altar and the altar is on the east side."

"Did you two just read for a solid decade or something?"

"It doesn't matter. Adam, Richie, go to Ile de la Cité, see where the bracelet takes you. Greta and I will go to the Quarter. It will be sunrise soon, so move fast."

There were no mocking replies, for which he was grateful, just two identically timed nods and Richie and Adam were jogging away. He looked to Greta who stared back at him with the absence of sight he was starting to regret even as he appreciated its value.

"Shush, Amanda's sleeping."

i Crux sancta sit mihi lux / Non draco sit mihi dux / Vade retro satana / Nunquam suade mihi vana / Sunt mala quae libas / Ipse venena bibas

May the Holy Cross be my light / Let not the dragon lead me / Step back Satan / Never tempt me with vain things / What you offer me is evil / Drink the poison yourself. - originating from a 1415 manuscript found in the Abbey of Metten in Bavaria

ii VRS:NSMV:SMQL:IVB