When she returned to her hotel in the late afternoon, she was equipped with not only his phone number, but also with his email address as well. Unfortunately her holiday was coming to an end, there was no other way to keep in touch. Spending her last day at the Louvre with him had been a nice ending to her stay. She would have to leave early tomorrow morning to catch her flight to Heathrow, so they had ended the day with a friendly handshake in front of the metro station before they both went their separate ways.

Thinking back on their day together made her smile, but she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit uncomfortable as well. The thought that he was now at ease to explore every tiny bit of information the Internet held about her chequered past was not a pleasant one. What bothered her most about it was the fact that she couldn't even begin to predict how he would react to all the things that he would read about her there - a mixture of the truth, vivid speculation and outright lies.

Almost out of her own accord her feet stopped walking. She was standing right in the middle of the hotel lobby. It was a posh hotel, polished marble floors, its furniture consisted mostly out of expensive looking antiques. As if slowly coming out of a trance she looked down at the tip of her leather brogues, then up again. She dimly noticed that the reception desk was only a few meters away, so she forced her thoughts back to the present.

"Bonsoir," the receptionist greeted her brightly.

"Bonsoir," she answered in accent-free French. "La clé de la chambre 254, s'il vous plait?"

"Bien sûr, Madame Gilbert," the receptionist replied and produced her room key in no time. "Un moment s'il vous plaint. Il y a un message pour vous," he said and handed her an envelope with only her name and the address of the hotel written on it. No sender, nothing. She eyed it suspiciously, but tried to give the man a friendly smile nevertheless before she got into the lift.

The doors closed behind her and she pressed the button for her floor. She inspected the mysterious envelop more closely. It had a stamp on it. It was British and so was the postmark. A cold chill ran down her spine. She already had a suspicion who the letter could be from, but she suppressed the impulse to open it for the time being. The 'ding' of the lift announced that she had reached her destination, so she got out and walked down the corridor to her room.

Once inside, she switched on the light, quickly took off her blazer and threw it on the bed. She gave the letter one more look before she carefully placed it on the shiny lacquered surface of the bureau standing opposite the bed. Her fingers briefly hovered over the envelope before she flinched back and quickly spun around on her heels. She frantically dug around in the pockets of her blazer, first the right, then the left, then finally produced her cellphone. She dialled Amanda's number with shaking fingers. One ring, two rings, then her friend finally picked up.

There was no need for a big explanation. Only a few words were enough to have Amanda agree to come over and see her immediately. She already felt calmer once she had talked to her. After they had finished the brief conversation all that was left to do for her was wait. But waiting was going to drive her batty. Now the letter was beckoning to her, taunting her. She wouldn't be able to resist its lure until Amanda was here. So she would open it. First, however, she needed liquid courage, so she walked over to the mini-bar and reached inside it aimlessly without looking. Ironically her fingers closed around two tiny bottles of Jack Daniels. She grinned despite the impending doom that reading the letter would surely bring upon her. Leave it to an Irish lass to go straight to the Whiskey in a mini-bar. She unscrewed the first bottle and let the strong liquor run down her throat. Disappointing. It wasn't much more than a mouthful of whiskey. She almost had forgotten its taste and how strong it was. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before she threw the empty bottle over her shoulder onto her bed. It landed there with a satisfying thud. Her eyes settled on the envelope once again. That second bottle was starting to look very tempting.

No, she shook herself and walked up to the bureau. She placed the tiny bottle on it and took the letter in her hands instead. For a moment all she did was look down on it and hold it in her hands, then she ripped it open quickly. There was only one white sheet in it with only a couple of lines scribbled in black ink. "No more stalling. Let's finally settle this. Waterlow Park, Wednesday morning at 4.00." She didn't need to look at the signature underneath the message to know who had sent it, but she did anyway. "Friedrich," it read. She let out a resigned sigh. This wasn't unexpected. In fact it had been coming for a long time now. Now it was time for that second bottle.

She started sipping at the tiny bottle, willing to make it last a little longer. A sense of grim determination had taken ahold of her and she stepped up to the window, pulling back the curtain with her free hand. Thanks to the artificial light inside her room, instead of seeing Paris by night, all she could see was the reflection of herself inside the window pane. Her eyes had a slightly haunted look, but before she could descend into more brooding and introspective thoughts her breath mercifully fogged up the glass.

There was the buzz of another immortal's presence, then a knock at the door. She turned around. Amanda. A quick gaze through the peep-hole verified her suspicion. She unlocked the door and let her friend in.

"So is the letter really from him?" Amanda asked after she had breezed in, hugged her and slouched down on the corner of her bed, all in a matter of seconds. She noticed the two empty bottles of whiskey, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Yup," Liz answered her with a grim look on her face. "It's from him alright. I'm supposed to meet him at Waterlow Park in two days so we can finally have it out."

"What are you going to do?" Amanda motioned at the mini-bar with a nudge of her head.

Liz kneeled down in front of the mini-bar to have a proper look inside, it also bought her some time to contemplate her answer. She knew in her hearts of hearts there was only one solution to the problem. She would finally have to face the music. As the letter had said, no more stalling. Her eyes finally settled on a bottle of champagne. She reached for it and got up to face her friend again.

"I'm going to fight him, of course. What else is there to do?" she finally said. "He won't suddenly change his mind and decide to forgive me for what I've done to him. And I don't fancy having him following me about for all eternity."

"What are your chances?" Amanda asked taking the bottle of champagne out of Liz's hands. She had much more experience opening those. Nowadays Liz usually preferred her beverage to come from the tap or a bottle with a crown cap.

"My chances?" Liz repeated thoughtfully. "I don't know. You've taught me pretty well and I've been keeping my skills honed... I train every week, I exercise and don't allow myself to get rusty, if that's what you're asking."

"You know what I'm asking," Amanda looked at her friend pointedly. As if on cue the cork of the popped out of the bottle right that very moment. Amazingly enough not a drop of champagne was spilled. Amanda really did have some experience in opening champagne bottles.

"Yeah, you want to know whether I can beat him...," Liz supplied.

"Well, can you?" Amanda didn't bother with glasses. She took a generous swig from the bottle and passed it to Liz.

She took the proffered champagne and followed Amanda's example. "I don't know," she finally said. "I think there was always something about me that sort of rubbed him the wrong way right from the start."

"Remind me again why exactly he's after you? This whole revenge scheme of his has been going on for quite so long I keep forgetting what started it..."

"Come on, Amanda! Do we really have to dig up that old story again?" Liz rolled her eyes. "Pass me the bottle again, will you?" she grumbled. "I'll need more of that bubbly water if you want a proper answer." Amanda did as she was told. Liz let herself slump down next to her on the bed ungracefully. She didn't like talking about her past. It was in the past, history, over. To her it was something akin to an embarrassing adolescent phase. She had done so many stupid things. Well, admittedly her behaviour was always a little bit over the top, even now. But back then it had been way, way over the top. But she had changed. She had discarded most of her old habits, for example drinking champagne. She briefly regarded the bottle of champagne with somewhat akin to scepticism. Why and how she once had liked that particular beverage so much was beyond her comprehension. Now all it did was make her head sort of foggy and her body go numb, but she was aiming for fogginess and numbness presently, so she took another generous swig from the bottle.

Champagne. It was quite possibly her favourite beverage in the world. For one it was expensive and she did like all things expensive. Then of course there was the fact that it was consumed mostly on special occasions. It was either that or you were simply too rich to be bothered by the expensive price of a couple champagne bottles, so you could practically turn every day into a special occasion. Also it was rather helpful. It intoxicated people rather quickly. Like that young, handsome lieutenant currently sitting in front of her.

He was oh-so-deliciously up-tight. She couldn't decide what she liked better about this evening. The champagne or his up-tightness. The way his uniform was buttoned up so correctly, so very strictly made her daydream about sitting in his lap, slowly peeling him out of it. Certainly that would make him blush. Actually it was quite easy to make a man blush. Traditional, however, it was supposed to be the other way around of course. The strapping young officer was supposed to make the shy virgin blush. Only that she was no virgin and mostly she was the one who made people blush.

What made him even more attractive to her, however, was the fact that he was part of the king's personal guard. The king whose courtesan she had every intention of becoming since it was rather lucrative. And who knew? Maybe even nobility was within her grasp...

Now this young man, this Friedrich was loyal and trustworthy and belonged to his inner circle. He could either be her ally or her worst enemy. She was a young woman with an agenda and pretty high up on it was the wish to secure herself a position in that inner circle, so she was determined to turn Friedrich into her ally.

Liz took one more generous sip of the champagne, effectively stuffing old memories back to where they belonged. The past. Shortly after she had reached the right level of intoxication and was ready to start talking. "Back in good old Bavaria Friedrich was offended by my style of living." She air-quoted the next words. "'You know 'my frivolous and most scandalous behaviour that was most unseemly for a woman.' In short the cigars, the dog, the male company I kept..."

"But that wasn't all, right? I thought I remember you saying you and him had a thing," Amanda new her well enough.

"No, of course that wasn't all. A thing?" she scoffed. "More like I slept with him and then stepped on his back on the way up. Repeatedly."

"Ouch!" Amanda threw her a look that was somewhere between impressed and amused. "Did he know about your affair with..."

Liz interrupted her impatiently before she could finish the sentence. "Please, who didn't know? After all it wasn't like I kept my mouth shut about it. And why do you think I died my first death by the hands of an angry mob in the first place?"

"Okay, so telling him you're sorry won't probably do the trick...," Amanda summed up the dire situation.

"Not bloody likely."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Liz gave her a long look. Her offer was tempting. Being with Amanda gave her sense of security, like a safety net. But she couldn't hide behind her now. She had to fight her own battles. She couldn't endanger her too. "I don't think that would be a good idea," Liz finally said. "But thanks for offering though, sweetheart." She gave into the impulse and gave the other woman a brief hug. "I guess I'll have to figure that out on my own."

Wednesday morning had come much faster than she had anticipated. It was cold out. She wrapped her long, black trench coat a bit tighter around herself and automatically felt the rapier she had hidden underneath it press up against her thigh.

The park looked slightly creepy in the early morning hours. Usually it was filled with life. Saying that it was bursting with life would have been exaggerated. But there would be the occasional dog accompanied by his owner, some children chasing each other on the grass or even just a courageous squirrel flitting over one the paths. Now the park was deserted.

The sun wasn't up yet, but it wasn't completely dark any more either. There was a name for that kind of greyish, blue light – twilight. And as if that wasn't enough to dramatise the atmosphere there were clouds of mist rising from the grass, gliding over it with the grace of a sailing boat. It was ghostly, other-worldly. Especially when one took into consideration that there was one of London's largest cemeteries near by.

She kicked up some autumn leaves that covered the path. In the back of her mind a tiny voice kept asking her the same question over and over. "Are you going to survive this?" She didn't want to answer that question because it greatly unsettled her. What if it all was over here? She thought of what she would leave behind. Mundane things like the pages of some aspiring young author that were piling up on her desk, but also the people she would leave behind – her colleagues, her friends here in London, Amanda... Methos.

Her life was far from the point where everything had been said or done. She was not ready to say goodbye. She would never be ready to say goodbye because living was her talent, that was her thing. To her life was an adventure, albeit one with downfalls and unpleasant moments strewn in between, but an adventure nevertheless. One she enjoyed and she sometimes lost herself in. It was simply too much fun, too interesting, too complex to give up.

And is if on cue there was the buzz. It ripped her out of her reverie. She looked around and soon spotted him. A bit down the path he was calmly leaning against the trunk of a willow tree, waiting for her with a grim expression on his face.

Friedrich was a handsome man. Symmetrical, well-proportioned features, blue eyes, sandy-brown hair. He once had been part the royal guard, a strapping officer in a fancy uniform and it wasn't hard imaging him like that even when he was dressed in modern clothes.

"Hello, Lola," he greeted her. There was an innate dryness to his voice which was strangely befitting for his rigid character. Back then the thought of getting under his skin and peeling away all those layers of self-control and austerity had been challenging and appealing, but now she knew that underneath these layers there was nothing for her. He wasn't more than met the eye. He was just that: a severe and joyless man who knew only duty and propriety and that was that.

"Hello, Friedrich," she finally said.

Without further ado he drew his sword. She followed his example and produced her rapier from underneath her coat with one swift and fluid motion.

Their blades clashed for the first time. She parried his blow. The force of it vibrated through her wrist and all the way down her arm. He was stronger than her. That much she had already been able to anticipate. So she had to be faster on her feet, dodge some of his attacks, try to wear him out. If she was lucky he would maybe even make some mistakes...

The next blow came. His technique was impeccable from years of training. There was no way in hell she was going to come out of this alive, unless she got under his skin and ruffled his feathers a bit.

"Are you really still holding a grudge after all these years?" she asked breathlessly and retreated a few steps from him. Now they were circling. He was trying to find the hole in her defence. He was so deep in concentration that for a few moments it seemed like he had not heard her question, but then his answer finally came.

"You think it's a grudge?" He raised his sword and looked at her over the tip of it. "It's not so much of a grudge, Lola. It's only that I feel a moral obligation to mankind. You should not be allowed to prey on it any more. Who knows what damage you can do?" He attacked again, this time more viciously than before. She evaded one of his blows and whirled around. He stumbled forward, but quickly turned again to face her.

"Always with those tricks... Those filthy little tricks befitting for a wanton whore," he spat at her launching one more blow. She was only able to parry it partially. His blade slid along hers and grazed her right shoulder as he withdrew it. She let out an agonised scream and drew back. Her hand almost immediately came up to her shoulder. When she looked at her fingertips, they shone wetly in the twilight.

She raised her head and looked at him. He grinned. "Are you afraid yet? You know you cannot win this." He had just voiced her inner fears. There was one thought she could no longer lock away in the farthest recesses of her mind. Denial didn't work any longer. She had to face up to the truth. It wasn't like she had not realised it before. She had already known when she had got up this morning, when she had dressed herself, when she had driven here in her car. But that knowledge, that almost certainty had almost always been overruled by one strong desire that drowned out the voice of reason in her.

"But I want to live," she said defiantly and her fingers closed a little tighter around the hilt of her sword.

"That's a pity because you're going to die," he said without any emotion in his voice. "Depravity like yours cannot be allowed to live. All those lies you tell, all those lives you destroy..."

She launched herself into the fight again with a scream. It felt like from that point on they fought for an eternity. Her joints were aching, in fact her whole body was aching. Sweat ran down her spine, her hair was plastered to her face. She wouldn't give up, she just wouldn't. She would live. She had so many reasons to live. It wasn't going to end like this. She wouldn't be defeated by some maniac who thought it was upon him to turn the world into a dull and joyless place where nobody was allowed to have fun any more.

With a groan she launched one more attack. It was sloppy, but she was proud she still had it in her. He mostly managed to evade it, but she still grazed his cheek with her blade and left a nasty gash there. Blood was now dripping down the right side of his face. But the wound was already closing. Just like the wound on her shoulder had healed minutes ago. They were both panting now. Both equally exhausted. Apparently defeating her wasn't as easy as he had initially bragged it would be. She felt some sort of grim satisfaction knowing that.

His sword hand shot forward, he was trying to stab her in the side, but she anticipated his move and sidestepped him. Just by a fraction, but it was enough. He stumbled forward his sword hitting no resistance but thin air. And suddenly they were face to face. They both looked at each other in surprise, but out of completely different reasons. He was defeated. Her sword was piercing his stomach. She hadn't expected to come out of this alive, much less the winner.

"Helen... She's going to come for you," he pressed out. Probably the last words he was ever going to say in this life. And they weren't a message of forgiveness, but a threat. They shocked her.

She staggered a step back, weary and unsettled by his final words. He collapsed in front of her. His head lolling forward. She raised her blade over her head and struck down. At first it seemed like nothing would happen, but then it slowly started, ever so harmlessly.

There were soft voices in the air. They were taunting her. It was like somebody was leaning over her shoulder and whispering in her ear. Those voices, they got louder. A strange bluish fog lifted from Friedrich's body and swept over her. It was charged with electricity and let the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. Something grazed her fingertips. Touch, the sensory information travelled up her arm. But it didn't feel right. It felt like pricking needles. It was painful. Pictures were starting to rush into her head. She saw faces of people she had never met, saw the streets of cities she had never been to. Her senses felt as if they were the most keen they had ever been, the most undiluted. A strong charge of sizzling electricity hit her. The pressure built up in her head, stronger and stronger, more and more faces, more and more pictures, the voices grew louder, her head was pounding. She fell to her knees. Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream! Another bolt of electricity shot through her and let her body spasm. She screamed. She screamed so loud a flock of black birds shot up from a nearby tree.