Inside, the church was dimly lit, cool and quiet. The air still bore the residual odour of incense from the last service. Most importantly, there was hardly anyone there. They sat about half way down the aisle, well away from listening ears, but Martin made sure that they were enough in the line of sight of onlookers that Morgan did not feel too uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to spring this on you" he told her sincerely. "But your life depends on it now. We can't put this off any longer".
Morgan nodded, her eyes on the stained glass window over the altar. Not for the first time, Martin wondered what could have happened just before she had died to make her so nervous. "There's no easy way to tell you how your life is going to change Miss Doyle. Nobody knows how or why Immortals are born, but they are and, unfortunately each with a measure of strength that others of their kind find worthy of killing for". As he had half expected, she stiffened at his words and flinched away. Penwarden caught her sleeve, just momentarily enough to stay her from fleeing. "It's alright… you're safe here, besides, I have no intention of laying so much as a hand on you, I swear".
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"If I meant to hurt you, I could have done so a dozen times before now. I would most likely simply have taken your head while you lay in the Coroner's care".
She flushed a little "I suppose so…"
Martin nodded approvingly. "I want to help you Miss Doyle. Is that so hard for you to believe?"
Her head dropped a little and she regarded her hands pensively.
"I see. Now… as soon as possible you must learn to fight so that you can defend yourself. As I said earlier, you are Immortal; but only so long as your head stays on your shoulders. If you lose your head, it's over and all your strength and knowledge passes to your opponent. We call it the Quickening".
"And if I… cut off their head?"
"Then their strength passes to you, of course… but that will not happen unless you learn to defend yourself. If you'll agree to trust me, I can teach you what you need to know to survive".
"What about... an accident... or suicide... If the Immortal, say, wanted to end it and lay down on the railroad tracks".
"I suppose if no other Immortal is near at the moment of the beheading, the Quickening would just... dissipate" Martin allowed himself a faint thrill of hope. It was an intelligent question. It showed she was paying attention, taking him seriously.
Morgan was silent for several long moments as she pondered the situation. When she lifted her head it was to gaze upon the statue of the Holy Mother at her side altar in the Lady Chapel, rather than the great wooden crucifix suspended behind the main altar. Whether she was praying, meditating or just thinking, the feminine image seemed to offer some kind of prompt for an answer. "What other choice do I have?" she asked eventually.
Martin nodded to himself. "It's getting late" he had noticed that the sky outside had darkened and night was falling fast. "Let me take you back to the hotel".
The street outside was quiet, the lamps just starting to cast a silver glimmer over the damp concrete pavement. The air was icy and fresh and smelt faintly of the evening snow shower that threatened. Morgan and Martin walked in silence past the warmly lit bars, restaurants and darkened shops until Penwarden hesitated, glancing around them. Morgan looked at him in alarm as a chill went down her back. Martin was standing at the entrance to a dimly lit alleyway. "There's another Immortal near" he hissed. "Get as close to the wall as you can, stay in the shadows and keep perfectly still!"
"What's happening?" she asked as she shrank back against the wall and huddled down as small as she could make herself in the dark, cold gap behind the dumpsters.
"Don't worry. Just stay where you are until I find out who's out there and whether or not it's safe" he flashed her a reassuring smile as he drew a very old and (to Morgan's alarmed eyes) terrifyingly, unmistakeably real sword from beneath his coat.
Penwarden moved swiftly and quietly along the alleyway, keeping eyes and ears alert to any sign of the nearby Immortal. Morgan watched him go with a shiver that had little to do with the temperature. Suddenly there came a roar of a battle cry and a shadowy figure leapt to the ground behind Penwarden, his sword raised in an attack. The hidden woman gasped in fear and immediately covered her mouth with her hands, lest she give away her presence to the stranger. There was a silver arc as Martin spun on one heel, bringing his 17th century mortuary sword up to parry the attack. Clashing metal echoed up and down the alley for what seemed like an eternity, but by some miracle, the noise did not attract any attention from the main street. After several long minutes that seemed torturous to Morgan, she heard Penwarden laugh. The combatants separated and lowered their weapons. To Morgan's surprise, they clasped hands and hugged one another like long lost brothers. She couldn't hear the verbal exchange between them and she did not dare move until Martin turned and crept back in her direction. He was grinning and moving carefully so as not to startle his young student. "It's alright" he called. "Come out, I'd like you to meet a very old friend of mine".
Morgan swallowed and licked her dry lips before moving timidly forward into the pool of light cast from the street lamp.
"Penwarden! You sly old Royalist dog! Where did you find this flame haired beauty?" The newcomer gawped shamelessly at the fire-like highlights that the old orange sulphur lights cast into Morgan's hair.
Martin snorted "You make it sound like an insult. The situation is not like that".
"Really, now? That's what you said the last time". He nodded towards Morgan.
Martin rolled his eyes. "You truly are a shallow man. Typical Parliamentarian! Anyway, William Farrell, may I present Miss Morgan Doyle".
Farrell grasped Morgan's hand, conveniently ignoring the soft squeak of protest at the contact as he gave a courtly bow and raised it towards his lips. "Madam, it is an honour to make the acquaintance of such an exquisite jewel as yourself". She flinched and wrenched her hand away as though his touch burned, retreating to a position slightly behind Penwarden. Farrell frowned and raised a surprised eyebrow towards Martin, who shook his head slightly. Farrell cleared his throat. "My dear Lady, I must apologise, I meant no offence".
"Miss Doyle is somewhat selective of her acquaintances" Martin explained to him quietly. "And clearly, her tastes do not extend as low as a Roundhead".
"Penwarden, you wound me. Your wit is as sharp as your blade, dull and unkempt".
"Ah, but a dull blade is a cruel device to prolong your enemy's suffering".
"As I said, like your wit".
Despite herself, Morgan felt a flicker of amusement at the exchange. However, it did not reach her face; she would not permit herself the weakness of vulnerability that it would bring, not even for a moment.
As Penwarden and Farrell conversed, her attention wandered and her eyes scanned the growing crowds of weekend evening revellers out on the main street. A faint, but vaguely familiar shiver ran down the back of her neck and suddenly she froze as a disturbing sight flit across her field of vision. Cruel blue eyes pierced her very heart with knives of ice. Crowds of women of all ages hung on him, literally, listening with puppy-like adoration to his every word, his every command and proclamation.
His breath smelt fresh and insanely normal. His eyes were flashing with sadistic delight as he watched her struggle. She gasped, desperate to breathe, but no air entered her lungs. His hands were like an iron bar crushing down on her throat. She clawed at them with what little strength she had, but it was no use. Her vision narrowed as though she were looking through a tunnel, resistance was impossible as the weight of his body pinned her to the floor. "I am your GOD! Your existence is an affront to ME! How dare you presume to place yourself on a level with My Holiness, Witch!"
"Morgan! Morgan!"
A hand on hers, the sound of her name and the snapping of fingers close to her face brought her attention back to the present and out of the grip of the terrible memory.
"Are you alright? You look spooked!" Martin had good reason to sound concerned. The woman's face had turned grey as ash and she was trembling. In her trance-like state she had pressed herself hard against the wet brick wall that bordered the alley, squeezing almost completely into the tight gap between it and the dumpster.
"I…. I….. saw…." She licked her dry lips and gasped, drawing a hoarse breath as the light of the Quickening danced over her skin, closing the scrapes and bruises from her hiding place. "It was... Him".
"Who? Who did you see?"
She shook her head despairingly, unable to vocalise her thoughts. "Him…" she whispered. "The one who….
"Someone who hurt you, child?" Farrell took a step closer but Penwarden raised his hand to stay him, prevent him from inadvertently crowding the girl.
"No... someone who killed her..." Martin did not know where the flash of insight came from, but judging by the haunted look in his student's eyes he was willing to bet that it was probably fairly accurate.
Morgan sighed heavily and nodded. Suddenly, she was exhausted as she had ever been as she watched Martin scan the street around them. There was a temporary lull in the crowd and there were relatively few people within sight, none of whom paid the trio any mind.
"There's no one around Miss Doyle" Farrell frowned. "Are you certain that you did not imagine him to be here?"
"Of course I'm certain!" she snapped defensively. "Right there!" she gestured across the street to the door of a nightclub, which was guarded by three heavy set men wearing suits and the ID arm bands of a private security company.
"Hey, hey. Calm down. It's ok, there's no one there. You probably just imagined..." Penwarden could have kicked Farrell at that point.
"No! He's real and he was right there!" She turned and pointed towards the night club again. "He thinks he's some kind of god and... said something about not allowing me to steal his powers... I..." she staggered against the wall. "Sulis... Great Lady, Holy Queen, oh Sulis Minerva, help me!" she whimpered softly.
Penwarden and Farrell exchanged glances before either could speak Morgan had darted between them and fled. "Hell, here we go! Look, next time you take the hard ones." Penwarden sighed.
"No way, old friend. You're the expert. Besides shouldn't you go after her?"
Penwarden rolled his eyes, stowed his sword and did so.
"Ok lady just give me your money and jewellery and no one gets hurt!"
Morgan turned. How long had she been walking? How long since she had stopped running? She had no idea, but one thing she did know was that she was angry and afraid. She didn't even look at her would be mugger as she spun round lashing out with the heel of her hand. The startled thug was knocked off his feet onto his back, the wind escaping his lungs with an explosive 'oof'.
"Boy! Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you!" She turned again. Her fist shot out and stopped mere inches from the new intruder's face. "I think you've broken his ribs."
"You're lucky your nose is in one piece. Were you going to just let him mug me? Very magnanimous of you!" She spat.
Martin gazed at her steadily. "You don't need any help from me or anyone else defending yourself from the mortal thuggish scum of this world" he retorted calmly, gesturing at the doubled over would-be mugger and then at Morgan's clenched fist. "This is part and parcel of your new 'gig'. Some of it you must learn but much of it is instinctual... almost like some kind of race memory. You know..." he chuckled "the bizarre thing is that almost none of us truly knows where we came from. We are foundlings or adoptions or some such. Male or Female we all carry the knowledge and the strength within us to fight... and to win. The power is not in your muscles, Morgan. It comes from your soul. You must use it wisely".
Doyle quirked a lopsided shaky grin. "Luminous Beings are we, not this crude Matter" she quoted.
"Don't you dare call me Master Yoda" Penwarden threatened. "Besides I see myself as Qui Gon Jinn".
Morgan snickered nervously and then began to giggle. Martin joined her and the pair laughed for almost a minute before Martin sobered. "We really should get back to the hotel" he suggested. "You've had a trying day and you should attempt to get some sleep". He also wanted to scan the news channels for any local programming that might mention the attack on Morgan's shop. If it was newsworthy then he would probably have to think about getting her out of the city soon before she was recognized… if not, well then they might have a little time to attempt to recover something of her personal life.
The next morning, Penwarden awoke early, very early. So early in fact that it was still the middle of the night. He lay on his back with his hands folded beneath his head, briefly wondering what had roused him at this hour. He stared at the ceiling, which was invisible in the pitch blackness and listened. The only thing he could see was the steadily flashing red LED that indicated the fire alarm was active. Faintly, through the adjoining wall with Morgan's bedroom he heard the sounds of restless movement and laboured gasps and moans. These soon died away, melting into heart-rending, stifled sobs. Martin slid out of his makeshift bed on the sofa and pulled his trousers on. Barefoot, he padded across the room and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.
"Morgan?" he called softly. "Morgan, it's Martin. Are you alright?"
The sobs were instantly muffled even further and the suite was uncomfortably quiet for several seconds. "I'm fine!" Her voice was trembling and she sounded anything but. "I'm fine… just... go…"
"Alright… You know where I am if you need me. Goodnight". Morgan did not reply and Martin turned and went back to his sofa. As he lay down, he was filled with unease. In the bedroom, the crying was muffled but still audible and it continued unabated. As the grey light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Penwarden fell into a light doze. He awoke sometime later to the soft murmur of the television in the bedroom. He had keen hearing and it didn't take a moment for him to detect that Morgan had turned it to one of the local radio stations. The current selection was a lively piece of Swing music. He groaned. Of all the dire tastes in music! Shaking his head, he slipped into the bathroom and stepped under the shower.
By the time he had finished and returned to the lounge in fresh clothes, Morgan had emerged from the bedroom and was standing near the window gazing out over the city, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. Martin coughed, announcing his presence. "Good morning" he smiled as he tested the temperature of the kettle with the back of his hand. It was still hot and he started to prepare a drink for himself. After a moment's thought, he decided to cut straight to the chase. "Do you always sleep so badly?" he enquired gently.
"It was... just a dream... no big deal".
"I see. Have you been up long?"
She shrugged noncommittally
"Insomnia is nothing to be ashamed of Morgan".
"Look... I don't want to talk about it... Not now, not yet..."
"Morgan..."
"Please, just... let it go"
Martin's gaze was implacable and, unable to hold it, Morgan sank into the nearest armchair.
"I am not the only one who has things they don't want to talk about" the younger woman remarked with incredible insight.
She was so close to the mark that Martin almost flinched. He remembered that horrible afternoon twenty years ago. The first time since he had died that he had felt helpless. A flash of white hot anger jolted through him. "You have no idea! You couldn't possibly understand, so leave it! Leave it. My problems are my own!" She's right he acknowledged reluctantly. I am guilty... guilty of allowing my student to get into a battle he could never win. I am as guilty of murder as if I'd taken his head myself.
"So take your own advice and leave mine to me! Why do you keep pushing me to talk? Last night I tried to confide my fear in you but you and your friend didn't believe me. You treated me like... like a... hysterical female!"
" Can't you accept that I just want to help you?"
"You really want to know what my problem is… You want to hear my life story! Ok…" Her voice was filled with emotions, conflicting anger, hurt and bitterness.
Penwarden felt his chest grow tight as he realised that his words had cut her deeply, even though it had not been his intention.
"I grew up in a Commune" she began, her mismatched eyes seeming to turn inwards in memory. "Yeah... a Hippy Commune where they shared everything, food, chores, partners... children" she shrugged. It was really messed up. Of course I didn't realise just how messed up until a long time later. Like you said, I don't know exactly who my parents are. The names on the birth certificate where the leader of the Commune and his sister". She paused and pulled a face. "They weren't taking any chances... it was right after Waco. The Earth was shaking and these... black monsters with no faces were everywhere... People were screaming and running away from the monsters... They smashed in the doors and threw gas in through the windows. I remember my eyes burning so that I couldn't see and I tried to scream but the grown ups were screaming louder when they grabbed them and dragged them away."
SWAT Martin realised. The Police in their black uniforms and masks must have been terrifying to a small child.
"I don't think I saw any of them again, none of the other kids and certainly none of the adults. There were more monsters with white coats – they had eyes, but no mouths... no noses - and they kept sticking sharp things in my arms and hands. Couple of times they took my blood out. I was so scared. I thought they were going to do bad things to me. They never told me it was medicine. None of them... ever even took their surgical masks off... I didn't find out about childhood vaccinations until I turned 21 and got access to my own records.
It turned out that after they'd busted the Commune, the authorities tried to reunite blood families. Out of all the children in that house, I was the only one they couldn't pin down to parents. Guess Mom and Dad skipped out". Morgan shrugged casually, as if the abandonment meant nothing. "After that it was Foster Homes for a few years then I was on my own. I stopped using my awful hippy name and started calling myself by my middle name instead. Guess I've always been on my own in a way".
Martin heard the unspoken words. You're the first person who's offered their hand to me.
"And I was happy" Morgan continued. "I had my livelihood, and my health. You might even say life was perfect... But it all changed. It just transformed overnight like someone snapped their fingers".
"That suddenly?" Penwarden frowned, certain there must have been more to it than that.
"This... Church... moved in a few blocks down from my store. They couldn't have finished unpacking their bibles when they were giving me hassle. Graffiti on the windows, dog mess sent in packages, vigils outside on a Saturday afternoon. I think there was even a couple of attacks on my website. I called the police every time but by the time a constable showed up they were always long gone. One cop even told me they had a right to express their religious views and I needed to stop harrassing them!" she snorted in derision; clearly expressing her thoughts on THAT suggestion. "Then this guy showed up and basically told me to leave town or God would rip me a new one... I laughed at him and he started screaming about how HE was God and he would not tolerate me soiling His Holy presence. It was so weird. And... a couple of nights ago..." She trailed off.
"The Church is responsible for turning your store over?"
"Yeah... and the God guy... They called him The Leader... he was the one... he was crushing so tight... I can't remember anything else except..."
"Except?" Penwarden prompted gently
"He kissed me... promised he'd find me again" Morgan shivered. "I saw him on the street yesterday... and last night I'd swear I heard his voice in the hallway..." Martin was silent as she sank back into her chair, empty and hollow; drained of spirit. "You didn't believe me... I figured there was no point in telling you"
On one level Martin's thoughts were professional and corresponded completely with what he had earlier said about wanting to help. However, he was also a compassionate man and Morgan's sad story had grieved him greatly, whether she knew it or not. The guilt about his outburst earlier remained and ruthlessly he pushed it back, out of his conscious thoughts. Methodically he refreshed the water in the tiny hotel kettle, waited for the coffee to brew and refilled both mugs before topping them off with milk and sugar. Penwarden did not doubt that revealing her private fear was a positive step forward for Morgan, yet he knew that it was only the first step on what was likely to be a very long road. Before long, old wounds would be reopened before they could begin to heal cleanly.
She needs help Penwarden said to himself. Perhaps it was Providence that brought me to Vancouver, but the onset of Immortality is traumatic enough without it coming as a consequence of prolonged torture and psychological torment at the hands of such a brute.
Morgan looked up slowly as Martin approached. He was observant and caught the wariness in her eyes. What had seemed like eccentricity now made perfect sense. Her hatred of physical contact, her distrust, her insomnia; it was obvious that Morgan Doyle lived in the shadow of perpetual fear and Martin could have kicked himself for not putting the pieces together sooner. However, the incident outside the nightclub on the previous evening was still somewhat of a mystery. Had she really seen her killer last night? Heard him early this morning? Or was his appearance simply a figment of a paranoid imagination?
She took the coffee mug from him with a murmur of thanks and sniffed it cautiously as Martin now realised was her habit. "You can trust me Morgan" he smiled.
Morgan looked slightly sheepish and hurriedly took a swallow of coffee "I'm sorry" she whispered.
"Don't be" replied Martin. "Caution can be healthy. It can be the difference between life and death. The problem comes when it stops you living. I know it won't be easy for you, but in the meantime you have nothing to apologise for".
One Week Later
"Well Penwarden? Aren't you going to tell me how you and your Ember Haired Beauty are getting along?" grinned Farrell over the rim of his beer bottle.
Martin rolled his eyes. "Two thousand years and your mind is still in the gutter".
"Quite, but droll as your observation may be, it doesn't answer my question".
"Firstly, she is not mine. Secondly, 'the Ember Haired Beauty' is giving me heartburn".
Farrell chuckled at Penwarden's response. "Loosely translated, she is difficult?" he suggested.
"She is not so much difficult as she is complicated".
"So what's the problem? Get a sword in her hand and teach her to put it to good use".
"William, you have a reputation as a good teacher. Let me finish speaking before you start looking too pleased with yourself. It's easy to be a good teacher when all you have to do is guide and polish visible talent. Just as there are talented students, there are students who find it difficult. Morgan is one of these. Of course she will take more time to learn, but learn she will; I guarantee it".
"I still don't see why it matters that she is 'complicated'".
Martin sighed as he tried to figure out how to explain the situation to his former mentor without revealing what his student had confided in him. "Like exacting doctors who only treat the condition, not the patient; you taught the practicalities of Immortal life but did little to guide your students into their new world. This 'Ember Haired Beauty' as you call her, is a human being. She needs to be treated as human, not as hysterical chattel and not as a dull witted student".
1649, Texel, The Netherlands
You really know how to pick 'em, don't you Farrell! The fifteen hundred year old Parliamentarian groaned into his ale as his new student dropped his blade again. He had saved the new Immortal from the traitor's fate of being hung, drawn and quartered but he was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of his action. "Penwarden! You have got to do better than this! Improve fast before you lose your head!"
"I cannot! The move is impossible!"
Farrell rolled his eyes and moved in to correct the younger man's stance. "Here; like this. That's better. Now try again"
On the next attempt, Martin got a better handle on the manoeuvre, but it was still not good enough for his exacting teacher. Farrell was determined that the 'boy' was going to learn to fight and learn very quickly. He picked up his sword and advanced in long swift strides, swinging hard as Penwarden attempted to counter. The older Immortal let out a snarl of rage; knocking his student backwards with each blow until he was backed against the edge of the dyke with only the sea behind him. "What are you doing man!" he yelled, his voice wavering in fear. "The water...!"
"It's quite simple. Fight me off or you drown!" Another barely blocked blow struck his blade and the stonework crumbled slightly under Martin's foot.
"I cannot!"
"Drown then!" By now, William had lost his temper completely and railed on the younger man. Penwarden's terror was the only thing that kept him on his feet and moving on the precipitous edge of the dyke. Clenching his fists tighter about the grip of his sword, he saw the slightest gap and took it; so desperate to get away from the water that he sent Farrell flying to land hard in the mud, his blade skittering away from him to stick upright in the bank of a drainage canal. With a scream of primal fury, Penwarden attacked again; not giving Farrell the chance to regain his footing or his weapon. "Cease!" Farrell's yell, so reminiscent of the army commands he was trained to obey, stopped him in his tracks. He realised with some shock that he was mere inches from beheading the man who had taken it upon himself to teach him this new life.
Vancouver, 21st Century
William Farrell was silent and thoughtful for several long moments. "You may have a point, Royalist" he admitted finally. "But seriously, you mustn't delay much longer before you teach her to fight. More of us arrive in this stinking city every day and I fear that many of them will seek out and devour such fresh, innocent Immortal blood as hers".
"I intend to protect her from those animals Farrell. Mark my words, she will survive this Game".
Farrell leaned close and spoke softly. "Don't get too close Martin, you know how slim the chances are of newborn Immortals surviving the first ten years".
He sighed before answering. "I know you're right... and those that do survive are not those that fear the shadows in the night".
"This... 'person' that she says is following her?"
"Logic tells me that she's seeing things because she's expecting them. After all, neither of us saw this fellow the other night and she hasn't said anything about seeing him since. On the other hand I've spent time with her and I don't think she's given to random imaginings".
"But we can't be certain of that... of anything about the woman. Not even her name." Farrell drained his beer and stretched his legs under the table before digging in his pocket and shoving a printout of a registrar search at his friend.
"Many mortals don't use their legal names. It's not against the law, William. I already know Morgan is not the given name on her Birth Certificate".
"So what is her legal name? You've only known her a week or so. Are you sure it's wise to give her the benefit of the doubt at this stage?"
"For all we know she is being followed and the Leader bastard is sneakier than we are"
"Or you're getting softer in your advancing years. The child isn't going to survive without a whole lot of help. Are you prepared to keep her with you that long? We could be talking decades or even centuries!"
"I can't abandon her now. She's starting to trust me... God knows I think I'm the first person she's opened up to in years. I can't just turn my back on her".
Farrell nodded and smiled at his friend. "You won't be dissuaded, will you? Alright, I guess I'm aboard for the ride too. I always was a sucker for a beautiful face.
Penwarden rolled his eyes and chose to diplomatically ignore the last sentence. "Well, as wonderful as it has been chatting with you today, I have to get going. Things to do, people to see et cetera".
His friend chuckled. "If the heartburn becomes too much too bear, I will happily take your place Royalist".
Martin glanced at his watch as he boarded the tram and sighed to himself. He had stayed out longer than he had meant to. He thanked his lucky stars he was not married and would not suffer a tongue lashing for staying out. With his help, Morgan had managed to rescue some of her savings and transfer them into a new account under a pseudonym. Her next priority had been more clothes, leaving the Immortal man wondering just how many clothes a female required. He had decided to consider himself lucky when they left the Mall with less than 100 packages each. At that point, his student had professed an urge to get some exercise and made for the hotel pool and fitness suite. Martin gauged that she was safe enough in that environment and after taking precautions to ensure she could contact him if need be, he had gone in search of William Farrell.
Upon entering the hotel, the Receptionist called out to get his attention. She carried a room key card. "Compliments of the Sheraton Hotel, Mr Penwarden. You've been upgraded to a two bedroom suite on a complimentary basis for the duration of your stay".
He frowned, immediately suspicious. "That's very generous" he replied. "May I ask why?"
The woman looked awkward.
"Well?" Martin demanded.
"Your… Companion paid for the larger room and requested that we tell you it was complimentary" she confessed finally.
"Why on earth would she…" Martin wondered, mostly to himself.
"I'm sorry sir… I don't know" she proffered the key card again, the room number printed neatly on the cardboard sleeve.
"Thank you" Penwarden finally accepted it. "What about our personal effects?"
"The concierge arranged for them to be moved an hour ago sir. Your room is ready for occupation.
The immortal man nodded and headed for the lift. The room was on one of the highest floors of the hotel, key swipe access only and commanded a view of half of Vancouver. As soon as the doors opened on the right floor, Penwarden felt a distant Quickening. It was very young and held little real strength compared to that of an older immortal, but there was a power and a wisdom to it that few possessed. Over the last couple of days of close proximity, it was a presence that had started to become very familiar to him. He drew out the key card again and inserted it into the slot in the faceplate of the door. The light turned green and the lock clicked. Martin turned the handle and pushed the door open a fraction. "Morgan?" he called in warning. "Morgan, it's Martin. Are you here?" No gun fired and there was no violent reaction, he opened the door a little wider. His luggage and Morgan's shopping bags from earlier stood behind one of the sofas.
"Martin!" His student slid out from the shadowy gap behind the chair in the corner of the room.
"Morgan" he strode forward in concern. "What on Earth's going on?" he knelt beside her, coming to eye level.
"It was… good of them, wasn't it?" she whispered plaintively.
"Good of whom?" Penwarden frowned.
"The hotel… to offer the upgrade…" she wouldn't look at him.
"Child…" Martin laid a tentative hand over hers, which were clasped tightly in her lap. "Pull the other one. What's going on?"
"One of those church members was down in the reception… taking afternoon tea in the lounge or something I guess. She heard me give the room number when I asked for a fitness suite locker key. They can't find me… please don't let them find me!" Her voice rose in panic as she begged
"Anyone coming for you will have to go through me" Martin promised recklessly. "Are you sure this woman overheard you? Why the hell didn't you call straight away?"
Morgan nodded. "She looked right at me and just… smiled… this weird, nasty smile".
"I don't think we should wait much longer" Martin remarked. "It's time you learned to defend yourself. I know a place. We'll start tomorrow". He patted her hand gently and stood up. "Dibs on the master bedroom by the way".