"Billy? What do you keep in the shed by the woods?" Machiavelli asked. He was milling around the cabin. Life seemed somewhat duller without the Germains there to introduce something new every day. But then he supposed that every day couldn't be extraordinary otherwise they'd run out of things to do incredibly quickly.

Billy half turned from where he was standing at the sink doing the dishes. "It's just my workroom." After a moment, he added, "I put together the Thunderbird in there."

Machiavelli continued to gaze out of the back door. The shed was set a ways back, almost into the woods, though the Italian supposed it had probably jutted out further when it was first built. With its aluminum frame, it looked like it had been added some time ago, but not nearly as long ago as the cabin.

"Could we put together a car?" Machiavelli asked suddenly. He leaned against the counter, looking at Billy's face so that he could gauge the outlaw's reaction.

Billy, for his part, didn't have much of a reaction. He pulled the plug to the sink, letting the water drain away. "Huh," he said. The American turned around. "Yeah, I suppose we could. Maybe in a couple of weeks so that then you can drive your car when it's done."

"Me, drive the car?" Machiavelli frowned. "I'm no good at driving."

"That's true, he isn't," Nicholas confirmed. The Italian tossed a sponge at the older Alchemyst. Nicholas ducked the sponge rather easily. It hit the wall with a wet squelch and slid down to the ground.

"How bad could he possibly be?" Billy wondered out loud, rather naively, even Machiavelli had to admit. He moved some of the dishes onto the drying rack. All the same, behind the American immortal's back, Machiavelli gave Nicholas a death glare, willing the man not to say anything. Thankfully, the Frenchman decided to keep mum. Billy continued on, wholly unaware that anything was going on behind him. "Anyways, Mac, I just keep it locked so that kids don't get into it. If you want to explore in there, take my keys." He pulled out his key ring and held them out.

Machiavelli hesitated only a moment before he snagged the keys from him. "Are you going to come with me?"

Billy shook his head. "In a little while, but I want to get some chores done. Things here have been piling up the past week or so. The laundry, for instance." He gestured in the direction of the washing machine. Clothing was literally piled up, obstructing most of the machine from view.

"Maybe Scatty will look with you," Nicholas suggested.

"Where is our resident vampire?" Billy asked from the hallway.

Nicholas coughed. "She's upstairs with Perenelle, packing up our things."

Machiavelli dropped the keys. They fell to the ground with a loud clatter. "You're leaving too?" He crowded the Frenchman. "Don't go."

"We're not leaving, mon ami," Nicholas said, surprise coloring his accent. "I didn't mean to give you that impression. We're just moving into the cabin with Scathach now that the others have left her alone out there."

"Oh, good." Machiavelli was relieved. As much as he loved the alone time he got with the American, he adored the feeling of having a large family again. "I'm going to see if Scatty will come out with me," he told them, heading for the stairs.

"Tie up the Pup if you go in there!" Billy called after him. "I don't want him getting into everything." But he couldn't be sure that the Italian had heard him because they could hear his soft footfalls already padding around in the bedroom above them. Billy had to repeat the instructions as the boy came back into view on the stairs.

"Okay," Machiavelli said, coming back down. He was lugging a suitcase behind him. "Scatty and Perenelle are going to come out with me as soon as we got all the stuff moved."

"Is there a lot more?"

"This is the last of it," Scatty said. She was toting three suitcases in one hand in the way that some people might carry three pieces of paper. Carelessly with her other hand, she pushed Machiavelli out the back door and followed him down the flagstone pathway leading to the guest cabin.

Perenelle had followed the procession down, empty handed. Her husband looked at her questioningly. "I offered to carry something," she defended herself. "They wouldn't let me."

"Scatty likes doing that kind of thing," Nicholas said, shrugging and going back to his crossword. "She's my tough girl," he said absently. Perenelle rubbed her husband's shoulder and left them, a smile on her face.

"You really love Scatty, don't you?" Billy observed. He began sorting the laundry into piles of colored and whites. Absently, he picked up the pile of colored clothes from where it teetered on the counter and moved it to the kitchen table.

Nicholas looked up and after a moment, nodded. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Strange, isn't it? She's older than all of us combined, but I think of her as a daughter."

Billy began tossing the white clothing in the washing machine. 'She needs some parents looking out for her. Her own failed her."

Nicholas nodded. "I think so too. Perenelle always liked Joan best, but Scatty was my favorite." He glanced at his crossword. "Hey, do you know the answer to this one? Richard Widmark stars in Two Rode-"

"Alone," Billy said immediately. "Two Rode Alone. An okay movie, not great. Black Hawk never liked the way they portrayed the Indians." He closed up the machine and pressed start. A soft humming noise filled the room.

~MB~

Meanwhile, the Italian immortal had long since cajoled the two women into joining him in the old storage area. He had ventured in quite far, but the two female immortals had hung back by the door.

"This is a great place," Machiavelli said, looking around. His eyes glowed with excitement. He looked around the room, noting antique bottles and rusted nails on the shelves, a jar of marbles pushed in the back. A rusted knife stuck into the workbench. Billy must have stuck it in and forgot about it, he thought. The Italian sincerely doubted that any of them would be able to pull the knife out, just short of burning the bench down.

Scathach ran her finger along a shelf. She examined the dust. "A great place. Sure. I just wonder when he last cleaned it?" She mumbled the last part to Perenelle under her breath. She clapped her hands together, beating the dust off. "Oh, look, here's a picture of Billy and Black Hawk."

Machiavelli leaned in to read the text on the sign behind the two immortals. "World's Trade Fair, 1903," he read. "That's weird."

"Why's that surprising?" Perenelle asked, brushing the dust off of a stool and sitting down. She looked at the dirt on her hands and grimaced. "Billy probably went to a bunch of those fairs. From what I've heard him say, his master didn't seem to make much use of him."

"But I was there," Machiavelli mumbled. He leaned in close to see the details of the picture. There was a car behind the pair. A 1903 Lohner-Porsche, he thought decisively. "I don't remember seeing him."

"Did you know him back then?" Scathach asked in surprise. Machiavelli shook his head. "Oh. Then why would you remember him?" she asked in confusion. The Italian looked up at her, then back down at the picture.

"Billy's special," he mumbled. His ears tinged red and he ducked his head. "He seems like the type you'd notice. And remember, is all." He touched the frame of the picture before setting it back down. He noticed the women exchanging a smile and rapidly backpedaled. "I should have noticed their auras anyways."

"Or at least Billy's handsome face," Scatty teased. Machiavelli blushed slightly. He was suddenly very happy that it was so dark in the shed.

"Is that blood on the ground there?" Perenelle asked suddenly, pointing to some dark red droplets on the ground. Machiavelli looked over, grateful for the distraction.

The Italian stooped low to the ground and inspected the drops. "No, I think it's paint. Probably from when he painted the Thunderbird. He said he worked on it in here." He nodded to himself. "Most likely paint."

"Well, let's hope," Scatty said lightly. She toed Machiavelli lightly with her foot when he didn't get to his feet again. Something had caught his attention. The Italian pressed down closer to the ground. "What's the matter, kid, need help up?"

"No," Machiavelli mumbled. He pressed himself into the space in between the work bench and the floor and reached underneath. "There's something under here," he grunted. "But I can't get to it."

"It's probably nothing," Perenelle said. Machiavelli reluctantly got to his feet. He gave up for the moment, but promised himself he was going to go back sometime. "Look, Niccolò, Billy has some more model cars."

"Where?" Machiavelli came to stand beside the tall woman. Scatty began to beat the dust off of his back. "Ah. A 1910 Ford Model T." He fingered the front bumper and looked up at the women. "Look at the detailing." He smiled.

"I got that at a general store in town, the last year I stayed here," Billy said from the doorway. Machiavelli jumped. He hadn't expected the outlaw to have appeared as suddenly as he had. Billy moved in, ducking under some rope hanging from the ceiling. "Dinner is almost ready. We should pack up for the night." The two women headed for the back door, but Machiavelli was still wandering around. "Mac? Are you coming in?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Machiavelli agreed, already distracted again.

Billy cleared his throat and pulled a wheelbarrow from the back corner, wiped it down with the sheet covering it. "Would you like a ride, sir?" He smiled cheekily at the Italian.

Machiavelli approached the wheelbarrow. "In there?" he asked.

"Mmm," Billy hemmed. He waggled his eyebrows and lifted the tactician into the wagon of the wheelbarrow. "Hang on to the edges," he warned. "I'm going to go fast."

The Italian grabbed onto the sides as Billy pushed him out of the shed. The American hadn't been kidding. As soon as they had left the shed, the Kid broke into a run. Machiavelli felt his stomach drop a couple of notches the first time Billy made a turn. When the ride ended, it ended too soon. "Could you do that again sometime?" he asked, breathless.

Billy nodded. He smiled, but wheezed slightly. "Sure."

"Are you all right?"

The American rubbed his chest. "Just get a bit winded sometimes. I think it's just remnants of the wound." He smiled. "Could be a lot worse. I could be dead."

"Don't say that," Machiavelli begged.

Billy leaned the wheelbarrow up against the side of the shed. "Sorry," he apologized carelessly. "I didn't mean to upset you." He pulled the Italian close to his side. "So did you find anything interesting in my old shed?"