Up in his suite, Martin wasted no time in turning on the shower, setting the spray to a comforting massage and locking the temperature so that it would not rise too high. The room had been made up and the towels where thick and fresh. There was a clean, soft white robe hanging on the hook too. Morgan didn't resist as he drew her into the tiled refuge and helped her off with the ruined coat. "You'll feel better once you've cleaned up" he promised. "I'll arrange some fresh clothes while you're showering. So just... you know... call if you need something". He offered the younger woman a kindly smile, hoping to reassure her and slipped out.

Almost without conscious thought, Morgan kicked off her boots and peeled off her Jeans, frowning slightly as she saw the dried blood on them. She stripped off her sweater and shirt and hung them up, scratching fussedly under her hairline as she did so. Her eyes widened in fear and confusion when she lowered her palm to find it sticky with congealing blood. There was a hole in her favourite shirt, she realised... the rich royal blue turned black around it... and there was another hole with more black staining...and another! She dropped it and grabbed something else. The cardigan she had worn last night also looked like it had been dipped in blood. Morgan looked down at herself. Her undergarments were soaked in dried blood. She removed them and tried to rub the stains off her skin to see the wounds. So much blood, it wouldn't wipe off. She lunged into the shower. Instantly, the water ran red and frantically she scrubbed at her chest and belly. There was more blood than she had ever seen, but there was no trace of a wound. The shock and horror of the last night's events began to sink in and Morgan fell to her knees. She curled into a foetal position under the hot spray and began to sob so hard that her body shook.

Martin could only hope that the cries would not attract the attention of the hotel's staff and other guests. He muttered a fervent prayer that Morgan's weeping would not develop into full on screams and picked up the phone, pressing 0 for the concierge. A few moments of conversation and the man on the other end of the line had promised to arrange for some ladies gym clothing to be sent up to the suite Penwarden occupied. He thanked him and put the phone down. The next problem was food. He knew from experience that Morgan must be ravenous by now. It had to have been at least a day since she had eaten. Take that together with the shock and trauma of the onset of her Immortality, she was in need of a damn good meal. It was at this point that Martin fell afoul of his own good intentions. He would have liked to have clothes and food both waiting when she was ready for them, but since he had no idea what she ate, the best he could offer for now was the room service menu. After a bellhop brought a pile of polythene wrapped clothing to the room, Martin laid it down on the dresser with the menu on top. There was nothing else he could do. He turned the kettle on and settled down to wait with his cup of Earl Grey.

Over an hour passed whilst Penwarden pondered the day's events over his teacup. He could not in good conscience leave the city and the young Immortal. It was at this time that she would be most vulnerable to the ruthlessness of a head hunter. However, something of a dilemma had presented itself and he was unsure which course of action would be the most prudent. He had had students before of course... she was not the first whom he had taken under his wing, however he had never had to break the news before and he had certainly NEVER had a female protégé. The Cornishman did not know what to do. Morgan Doyle was in shock. She had died violently, that much was obvious. Could the police gossip be accurate? Did she know the face of her murderer? He sighed heavily. There was nothing for it. He had to earn her trust, summon up the courage somehow and try to explain what had happened.

Martin glanced at his watch. Almost two hours now. The shower was still running but the heart rending sobs had stopped. The Immortal man listened carefully. Apart from the steadily running water there was no sound at all, no disruption to the flow as of somebody washing. He tapped lightly on the closed door. "Morgan?" he called softly. "Morgan, it's Martin. Is there anything I can get for you?" No sound came from the room beyond; no answer at all. Penwarden frowned. Strictly speaking there was nothing in that bathroom that could hurt her, but she did not know that. She was alone and afraid and the Gentleman in him balked at leaving her that way as much as it balked at what he was about to do. He tried the bathroom door. The handle turned and opened easily allowing a great billowing cloud of steam to flood into the main rooms. He peered through the haze, prepared to cover his eyes in a heartbeat as he walked into the bathroom. The shower cubicle, when he found it, was empty. He reached in and stopped the water. Gradually the steam began to dissipate and Martin was reassured by the close presence of the young, strong Quickening. He reached out and grabbed one of the big fluffy bath sheets, holding it out clumsily with closed eyes towards the shadowy form huddled in the corner and thanked God in His Mercy that Morgan's body was already clothed in a plush hotel bathrobe as he blindly wrapped the towel about her. Cautiously he opened his eyes and found her oddly mismatched irises gazing at him from under sodden, matted hair. Carefully Martin picked up another towel and did his best to blot away the moisture from that magnificent raven mane. Morgan shuddered at the contact and he hesitated. "I apologise... I shouldn't have..." he whispered.

"He said he'd come back" she whimpered. "He said he'd find me again... this is crazy... I... I felt it burning... heard the shot..." she touched her forehead where one of the bullets had struck. Gunshot wounds burned like the Devil, Martin remembered; and the last thing one heard was usually the shot.

"I thought... I was going to die... all that blood... am I dead? Are you an Angel?"

Martin blinked. Of all the questions, he had never been asked that one before. It should have been easy to answer, but no words came to his lips at first. "No", he replied eventually. "No I'm not an Angel. I'm just someone who knows what you're going through... and that you need a friend".

There was a faint flicker of something in the younger woman's face. Taking it as acceptance of that simple fact, that he was a friend and not an enemy, Penwarden lifted her to her feet. "Come. There's some fresh clothing in the other room and we'll order something. You must be ravenous".

"Not... really hungry..."

"Nonsense. Besides, the best conversations are over dinner" he grinned and handed Morgan the pile of gym clothes, nudging her towards the privacy of the bedroom. "It's hardly haute couture I'm afraid but it's all I could get hold of without knowing your size"

"Thanks" she murmured with a slight nod, not looking him in the eye.

The bedroom door closed behind her. By now the steam had dissipated from the bathroom. Martin's next job was the disposal of the bloody clothes. As quickly as possible, he rooted through Morgan's pockets and retrieved her personal effects as well as his own from his coat. Of course he did not forget to transfer his sword from the hidden folds of the coat lining and into the padded box under the couch. By the time he was done, Morgan had reappeared.

"So" Martin began conversationally. "Food then. I'm Vegetarian myself, but take a look... pick anything you want".

An hour later, the hotel kitchen had delivered a burger and fries for Morgan and a mushroom stroganoff for her host. He could not talk her into anything more elaborate or expensive and in any case, she was only picking at it. He couldn't say for certain that she had actually eaten more than a mouthful or two. Carefully he laid his fork down and dabbed his lips with his napkin. "There must be a lot on your mind" he suggested. After a sympathetic look in her direction, he felt he could proceed. "Do you feel up to... maybe talking about it?" Again he made eye contact trying to read her, hoping that the answer would be in the affirmative sooner rather than later. "I'll do what I can to answer your questions". He waited; waited for what felt like a mortal's life time.

"Kay..." Morgan took a swallow of her cola. "Am I dead? Because I feel like I should be..."

"No" Penwarden shook his head firmly. "Technically you did die, but some people... people like us are different... we don't stay dead. For all intents and purposes, Morgan, you are Immortal. You will no longer age, almost any injury you sustain, will heal in a fraction of the time". He paused to let it sink in, feeling Morgan's odd eyes boring into him as though she sought to divine the truth for herself. He felt the confusion in her, the turmoil, the fear and the curiosity. "When the police found you this morning, I think you had most of the clip of a small calibre handgun in your head and chest" he continued. "And now there isn't a mark on you. Apart from the tingling in your neck and the pain in your head you are in the best health you have ever been in".

Her gaze sharpened.

"I feel it too" Martin confirmed. "It's how we know when another like us is nearby. You'll become accustomed to it in time and it won't usually be so painful. It's not all good news though, I'm afraid. You are in a great deal of danger".

Morgan tensed abruptly. That was to be expected of course. Martin held up his hands placatingly and shook his head. "Not from me" he swore. "That I promise you, I will never harm you. I am not a threat to you Morgan Doyle" he locked his gaze on hers, maintaining eye contact and praying for the bewildered woman to believe him. "Your life has been changed forever" he continued. "It happened to me too".

1646, Pendennis Castle, Falmouth, Cornwall

The summer of 1646 was intensely hot. The garrison of Pendennis Castle had never known a season like it. The fields were baked and cracked and even the shallower wells had dried up. The castle was situated high on a hill, overlooking the surrounding area and the town and harbour of Falmouth. Across the bay stood St Mawes Castle; both had been built along with the harbour to defend the Cornish coast from the Spanish Armada. Pendennis' vantage point gave the defenders a great advantage when it came to holding out against a beseiging force. In March of that year, the mighty defences were put to the test when the Parliamentarian Army arrived to try to capture the last Royalist stronghold in the South West.

Martin Penwarden was a member of the garrison on that Spring day when the Roundhead's arrived, attacking the fortress from both land and sea. They quickly cut the castle's lines of supply and communication with trenches and gun positions. Spies reported that these ran all the way from Gyllyngvase on the west down to the harbour. He was worried, rumour had spread that St Mawes had fallen immediately and the garrison commander, Sir John Arundel had passed his eightieth year. He needn't have been concerned, however; Arundel was a prominent loyalist who was determined to support his King, come what may against Parliament's unholy revolution. When Fairfax demanded that the garrison surrender, a messenger was sent out with a firm refusal.

Courageous as the garrison and commander of Pendennis Castle were, they could not hold out forever in the face of dwindling supplies and ammunition. As the siege wore on, the 900 defenders, their women and children were reduced to eating horse and even dog meat. The news of other Parliament victories only added to the problems of desertion of the troops. Four months passed and finally Arundel called on his men to attempt to break out. Martin was one of these who had laboured in the tin mines before the war. He and his colleagues where called upon to tunnel out beneath the enemy trenches. It was back breaking labour made no easier by thirst and hunger. Their lives were in constant danger from tunnel collapses and indeed, this happened more than once.

The men (in centuries to come they would be nicknamed 'Clay Kickers') had been underground for several days and were well outside the castle walls, under the moat when they first heard the sound that they all knew very well indeed. The enemy was tunnelling towards them! Swiftly the Royalists changed direction, digging towards the noise of the Roundheads, realising that they had to prevent them from breaking through into the castle. In the tight space there was little room to move and absolutely no way to draw even the smallest blade. They were reduced to using pistols and a fierce fight ensued. When the ammunition ran out, the combatants resorted to their fists. When the struggle was finally over, all the men on both sides had been killed. Those that had survived the fighting were drowned moments later as the roof of the tunnel collapsed, allowing the water of the moat to come flooding in. However, the Royalists' had succeeded in stopping the Parliamentarians getting into their stronghold.

The surge of water washed the corpses back up the tunnel towards the castle, stopping just a few feet inside the entrance. Martin gasped for breath and clawed for purchase on the wet earth. His throat felt like it was on fire. He remembered the pistol, just inches in front of him and thanked God that the bullet must have missed. Little did he know that it had, in fact passed straight through his throat and killed him instantly. He knew something was different as he finally managed to crawl out of the tunnel, but all that mattered was that none of his comrades followed him. A month later, the garrison was finally starved into honourable submission. John Arundel surrendered on August 17th 1646.

Sheraton Hotel, Vancouver, 21st Century

"Immortal..." Morgan's voice was a harsh whisper, her body shaking with fear as adrenaline fuelled instincts peaked. "Mister I have heard some bullshit in my time, I have been accused of many things but you really take the biscuit and top it with icing sugar!"

Martin nodded wordlessly and strode from the lounge into the bedroom. A moment later, he returned, carrying a small dagger. He stopped in front of the terrified woman and pushed the handle into her grip. As soon as she had hold of it he opened his fist and placed his palm against the point of the blade. "If you won't believe your ears, will you believe your eyes?" he asked her, seriously. Then he pushed the open palm forward and the end of the knife disappeared into his hand. A slow trickle of blood ran down the white flesh from the wound and soaked into the cuff of his shirt, but he continued until the point of the dagger split through the skin on the back of his hand, having gone all the way through. "Hurts like hell, but it saves a fortune on private medical insurance" he grinned. Morgan's gaze was fixed on the knife and his bleeding palm as he took a deep breath and wrenched the hand free. She was left with the bloodstained knife held in her left hand. After a moment it tipped clumsily and fell from her stiff, grey fingers. Penwarden pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his palm as best he could, before holding the hand up in front of her. "See?"

Morgan swallowed and moaned, unable to vocalise whatever was going through her mind. Cautiously she reached out and brushed the place where the wound had been with the tips of her fingers. It was gone, without even leaving a scar. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in a dead faint. Penwarden sighed. "Women!" he muttered.

Shortly, Morgan awoke on the sofa, to find a blanket pulled over her and a cushion placed under her head. She pushed herself gingerly into a sitting position, glancing around her for any sign of Penwarden. He was seated across the room, in an armchair beside the window and drinking a mug of herbal tea. He looked across at her and smiled kindly. "Feeling better?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, but for some reason the words died in her throat and, instead, she simply nodded.

One of Penwarden's eyebrows arched ever so slightly, it was the only outward reaction he gave and he remained silent, as though he had not noticed the nod and was still waiting for her answer.

Morgan's head dropped, as though in exhaustion and she rubbed her temples for a moment before gradually becoming aware of an object on the arm of the sofa beside her. Moving her hand to pick it up, the object slid down onto the cushions. It was the telephone. The receiver had come away from the cradle and the burr of the dialling tone could clearly be heard coming from the earpiece. Her mind raced with thoughts and questions. Was he toying with her? Had he deliberately left the phone within her reach to lull her into a false sense of security? Was he waiting for her to try and call for help before attacking and then… an image flashed into her mind, breaking the rapid train of thoughts and she struggled to drive the memory away and bury it again. All this time, Martin remained where he was, sipping his tea and watching her closely. Was there malevolence in his silence? Morgan wondered. Or was he merely waiting for something? Waiting for someone to knock at the door? Was he part of that 'church' that had been pestering her for months? She didn't know who they were but she was certain a truly Christian organisation would not behave like that. A man they called The Leader had preached against her, there had been posters, graffiti, a leaflet campaign, criminal damage and then last night... the memory was hazy and painful... the kiss... the broad iron vicelike grip on her windpipe... and the gunshot... She shuddered and whimpered.

There goes the last brick, the wall is back up Penwarden told himself regretfully. Is there no helping this kid? He looked across at her and held up his mug. "Interesting blend… I'm rather partial to Earl Grey myself. Want to try some?"

Morgan drew her legs up so that her knees were bent in front of her chest. "If you're waiting for me to say that I'm afraid of you… I'm not!" she told him, fiercely.

Penwarden placed the mug down on a side table and steepled his fingers, staring at her over the top of them. "I wasn't waiting for that... but you should be" he replied. "You should be afraid of me, of people like me…like you… like us." Her face started to flush and Penwarden knew she was going to have a panic attack. Why was it always like this? Just once he wished it could be just a simple "Hi I'm Immortal, so are you. Now let me teach you how to use a sword so you can stop your head being cut off". No this was just going to be another disbeliever. Now if he was the other type of immortal ignorance in a victim would be a blessing. Hell, being Martin Penwarden was never easy. "No good deed goes unpunished." He reminded himself.

Finally she looked up at him. "It's true… isn't it" she whispered.

Martin nodded. At last! "It's true" he replied.

Morgan's expression was attentive, but at the same time, distant. A deep silence hung between them for several seconds before she spoke again. The words were whispered and, perhaps more to herself than to Martin, but he heard them clearly enough all the same. "I'd... like to go home now please..."

"That may not be possible" he answered regretfully. "The authorities know you died last night. By now detectives will be swarming all over your shop and your home. Your bank accounts may even be frozen... It's possible to get around some of that and retrieve some of your assets, but I'm afraid that right now, going home isn't an option".

"What am I going to do? Where do I go?" Morgan looked justifiably alarmed.

"You don't know me from Adam, so I don't expect you to accept, but I have already offered to protect and teach you. That offer includes supporting you, whatever you need until we can re-establish you with a new identity".

"Support me... But..."

"You can stay here tonight and I will take the couch. I'll order whatever you need from the concierge in the line of clothing and toiletries. It will take at least until tomorrow to find out what has become of your estate anyway".

There was a moment's silence as Morgan mulled the offer over. "Thank you... I... you're ... you're very kind..." her voice was sincere but her face and her eyes were utterly miserable. Martin felt for her. In one fell swoop, the young woman had lost everything including her home and her livelihood as well as her literal life. He felt a surge of anger at the man who had committed the deed.

"Why…"

"… you?" Penwarden cut her off. "Why did it happen to you? No one knows. I'll do what I can, but I'm afraid there are some questions that simply have no answers. You'll just have to try to find your own in the years to come". If you survive that long he sighed. So many young Immortals did not survive their first encounter with another of their kind. "There is a lot I can teach you, however".

"Such as?" Doyle looked slightly wary.

"The Rules… for a start".

"Rules?" Now there was nothing 'slightly' about it. The woman's body tensed like a coiled spring.

"Yes, the Rules of Immortal existence. I'm afraid there are rather a lot of them. The rules that people like us must live by. You'll learn in time. Most of us abide by them; it's the ones that don't that you have to worry about". Martin leaned over to the mini bar, plucked out a couple of bottles of mineral water and cracked one open as Morgan took in what he was saying. "Are you a religious person?" he asked, finally.

"Why do you ask?"

Martin shrugged. "Let's just say that the odd trip to a church or temple could save your life".

"Meaning?"

"That headache you have, which is caused by the nearby presence of others like us will feel slightly different with each one you meet. Eventually you will be able to differentiate between friends, enemies and strangers. For now though, whenever you feel such a sensation, the wisest course of action for you to take would be a trip to the nearest piece of holy ground. You'll be safe there".

Morgan took a long swallow of the glass of cola that was still left over from dinner, wrinkling her nose as the carbonate bubbles tickled her nostrils.

"Do you understand Miss Doyle? Your life may depend on it! If you can't find Holy Ground, then go somewhere with a lot of people. Our kind does not conduct their business in public".

"I understand… it just sounds so…"

"Absurd? I know it does. My reaction was just the same when I first learned what I was. But you must believe what I tell you and follow my advice if you want your head to stay on your shoulders".

Every drop of blood suddenly drained from Morgan Doyle's face and she turned as white as a sheet. "I… I don't like the turn this conversation is taking" she whispered.

Martin shook his head. "I'm sorry, but there's no other way I can break it to you. Let your guard down… lose concentration for a moment in the vicinity of Another and it's Endgame. You can run from danger, but sometimes that won't be possible. You must learn to defend yourself…"

The Immortal man was interrupted by a knock at the door. Morgan flinched at the sudden noise. Martin smiled reassuringly and shook his head. "You'd have sensed a presence long before now" he promised. "I expect it's just the concierge with the things we ordered". So saying, he moved to the door, being careful to block the view into the room with his body as he opened it. Has he had suggested, it was indeed the concierge, laden down with bags and boxes from several ladies' clothing concerns as well as a suit bag from a gentleman's tailors. Penwarden thanked him and signed the receipt before relieving the man of his burdens.

Half an hour later, the two Immortals walked side by side down the street from the hotel. For some distance not a word was exchanged between them. Morgan had simply protested of needing some air and Martin acquiesced. Finally they came to an intersection. "We need to continue our conversation" he told the younger woman softly. "But the street is far too public a place to discuss such matters… I have to defer to your local expertise. Is there somewhere we can go? A Park or a public building for example?"

Morgan pursed her lips in thought and Martin fancied that he could almost see the steampunk cogs of her mind turning as she considered the problem. "You said… Churches are safe, right?" He nodded, pleased that she had taken that information on board. "Then how about there?" She pointed into the distance where the gothic spires of an imposing spiritual edifice fought for attention with the glass and steel of more modern structures.

"Perfect".