Santa Fe, Rosario. Argentina.
Four days later.
In a calm warm morning, Clarice was silently sitting in the cafe of a hotel. She had finally had a smoke, and looked soothed by it. An ashtray contained four beige butts and half a cigarette, which was lit and waiting for her next kiss. She felt an immortal and noticed the slim shape of Methos passing by her and sitting in front of her. In his right hand, he held a small teapot. In the other, he had a small wooden cup filled with some sort of herb, out of which extended a small metallic thin tube. He poured some hot water on it and offered it to her.
"What is this?" she asked unkindly.
"Mate. It's popular stuff round here. Try it."
She reluctantly took the strange cup and sipped from the tube. It tasted like grass, but for some reason, she liked it.
"It's not bad." she grunted.
"I know. I wouldn't be drinking it otherwise. Any news?"
The question wasn't aimed at her, but at Marc and Joe, who appeared behind her. They sat down and passed from the mate when offered.
"Our buddy has gone south. That has given us some time. However..." Joe halted. "They know you're immortal, Adam."
Methos didn't seem affected. "It was prone to happen. Anything else?"
"Laszlo Kovac is dead. They blame you... and there's a small group that wants retaliation." Marc added. "Kovac was a friend of mine..."
"I'm sorry, Marcus." Methos uttered. "But I didn't have anything to do with his death."
Clarice hardly believed him, and she was certain that neither did Marc.
"Marc and I should get some coffee... otherwise they might kick us out of here." Joe suggested. They rose and headed to the bar, which was far from the table. Clarice and Methos remained in a tense silence.
"He won't stop, will he?" she finally broke.
"Not till he sees us dead."
"You still have a way out." she hissed.
"I won't do it."
"Why not?" Methos poured some water and sipped from the mate.
"You still feel Greg within you?" Methos asked rethorically. "I still feel Samir... and Charon... and every single head I've taken, and those taken by them, in the last five thousand years." Methos notched down his voice. "Especially the ones whose lives I could have spared... I don't want to feel you within me as well."
Marc and Joe returned and Methos put on his usual face.
"What do we do now?" she queried.
"Knowing Logozz, he will take Charon's burden... my burden as his. And I can't let that happen."
"Knowing him? Were there other heretics you two hunted?"
"After Samir, there were some cases. One was in Pompeii, another in Jerusalem, around the time of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. And of course, we had Jacob Kell."
"Who?"
"Jacob Kell was a Highlander." Joe explained, embittered for some reason. "He was a friend of Connor MacLeod."
"Another MacLeod?"
"You need a lesson of history, Clarice." Joe grunted. "Connor MacLeod was the second MacLeod known to become immortal. He defeated the Kurgan – said to be the greatest warrior of all time - in what he believed to be the Gathering in 1986. Anyway, Kell held big grudges against Connor, so he made his life a living hell for a couple of centuries till Connor hid in holy ground to sleep along with other immortals."
"So?"
"Kell entered holy ground, beheaded all the immortals and release Connor. The bottom line is: Connor surrendered his head to Duncan so that Duncan could defeat Kell."
"Why you can't let Logozz kill her?" Marc intervened.
"Only few special immortals can contain the quickening of an heretic. I am one of them, otherwise Samir and Charon wouldn't have chosen me. Logozz isn't..."
"And what if Logozz takes her head?" Joe hissed.
"The consequences..." Methos mused and silenced. He sipped more mate as the other awaited for the rest of the phrase... which never came.
"We can't stay here." Marc whispered.
"We must leave." Methos spoke again. "And I know the exact place."
-----
New York City.
A day later.
Methos turned the key of his loft and opened the door. He showed her in and locked the door. He started to remove some sheets from the furniture as she looked around.
"You're not making a pass at me, are you? Why did you leave Joe and Marc in Argentina? And why did we come here?"
Methos smiled. "No, I'm not making a pass at you. I left Marc and Joe there because I thought they would be safe. However, knowing them as I do, they might be on their way here. We came here because..."
He moved towards a door not far from there. He inserted a key in it and the door opened. Clarice followed him and found a room which contained nothing but wardrobes.
"What's this?"
"My basement." Methos commented as he unlocked one of the wardrobes. He opened the door and she stared mesmerized. There was an array of antiques that stunned her. Ancient items, swords of all kinds, strange clothes and other stuff which was amazing.
He took a ring from inside. "It belonged to Alexandra Johnson, Connor MacLeod's last wife. I personally took it from her dead body." He left it there and took a necklace made of human teeth. "Samir wore it the day he died."
"Wow." she mumbled. "And how's this gonna help us?"
"It won't. But this will."
Methos returned the necklace and produced a large broadsword. Its blade shone magnificently despite the dust. Its hilt was pure silver, and a skull with two wings was sculpted in it. She gaped in bafflement.
"What will you do with it?" she stammered.
"Nothing. You will."
(AUTHOR's NOTE: "Mate" is a popular drink in Argentina, Uruguay and other countries of the region.)