You Forgot to Mention Hell, Horatio

E-mail:  jrr42@yahoo.com

Parts: 11-13    

 Adam Pierson was pissed.

 When he first burst into the library and saw the way Willow’s boyfriend was clutching his head, it reminded Adam of the reaction of newly made members of his own race. Acting on gut-instinct, the Immortal had approached Angel, in part to confirm whether or not his theory was correct, but mostly to put an end to that God-awful screaming.   When direct eye contact proved to be the solution to the problem, Adam was certain he was about to face a round of interrogating questions or, if he was lucky, a simple thank you.

 The last thing the Immortal expected was to end up flat on his back with 180 pounds of insanely jealous boyfriend pinning him down.

 Deciding that he’d had enough, Adam pooled his strength even as his vision began to dim from lack of oxygen.   In the blink of an eye, one of the Immortal’s hands shot out to capture Angel’s throat while the other slipped under his coat to withdraw the long knife secured at his back.   Locking his legs around the other man’s waist, Adam managed to flip them completely over, bringing the dagger up to his opponent’s neck at the same time.

 “I wouldn’t suggest that,” the Immortal advised the prone figure beneath him.  The once-dead man’s arms were free, and he’d been about to use them to attack Adam when the combination of the warning and the knife at his neck convinced him not to move.

 “Let him go.”  The calmly spoken order came from Oz as he aimed his crossbow directly at Adam.

 The Immortal ignored the blond kid as a sickening sense of realization swept over him.   He could feel tremors racing through the body beneath him, but not like those caused by fear.   An image came to Adam’s mind as he attempted to categorize what he was feeling.  It reminded him of the way a horse could involuntarily twitch independent muscle groups.   The sensation was unsettling, especially since the Immortal knew that it should not have been possible for a human being.

 That was when the next revelation struck him, and he found it to be more disturbing than the last.   The skin he was grasping so tightly was still cool and, more importantly, Adam swore he could not feeling the telltale pulse of blood moving through Angel’s veins.

 “What the hell?”  he whispered as an expression of shock graced his angular features.  Using the knife to keep his opponent from moving, the Immortal loosened his grip, extending two outstretched fingers in search of Angel’s jugular.   Finding nothing in the proper spot, Adam moved his hand all around the other man’s throat.   Sensing the futility of his actions, the Immortal slowly trailed a hand down Angel’s chest, pressing his hand down flat over the exact place a human heart should have been.

 “You’re...not...what...what are you?” Adam asked in a tone that was a confused mix of fear and astonishment.

 ‘Oh shit.  I’ve finally lost it!  I’m as bloody insane as MacLeod...’   As soon as he completed the thought, Adam cursed himself for a fool once again.  Ahriman.  Of course, it had to be one of the demon’s tricks.   Ahriman had been tormenting his dreams for weeks, but Adam had yet to experience the waking hallucinations that plagued both MacLeod and Joe Dawson.

 The Immortal’s first impulse was to press the knife forward, to end this twisted vision with a single thrust of the blade.   Before he could act, another more disturbing thought forced Adam to stop.   What if he actually was pinning someone to the ground -- was Ahriman concealing an actual heartbeat?  Was that what the demon had done in order to trick the Highlander into killing Richie Ryan?  ‘I won’t do it, Ahriman.  Your visions aren’t going to trick me,’ he thought to himself fiercely.

 “Dr. Pierson?  Dr. Pierson!”  Willow’s tone rose in volume as she struggled to gain his attention.  As her voice penetrated into the morass of Adam’s mind, he twisted around to meet her eyes.  The girl’s expression spoke volumes of compassion for him, and the slightest bit of fear over the knife Adam still held to her boyfriend’s throat. “You aren’t seeing things.  This is all real.   Ahriman isn’t doing this, I promise.”

 “How...oh.”  Adam stopped in mid-sentence, wondering if he had spoken his thoughts aloud moments earlier.   Or was it just another trick of the demon? “Who...who is this?”  He gestured with the knife for clarification.

 “It’s Angel.  My friend from the park, remember?”

 “He was dead!  He didn’t have a pulse!” Adam insisted, his eyes narrowing over what he thought to be another trick.  Tired of the games, the Immortal pressed the blade forward.

 “No, wait!”  Willow cried out in alarm.  “He is! Angel *is* dead.”

 “Then...” The Immoral stopped, confused as to what was happening.

 “He doesn’t have a pulse.”   Willow took a moment to look at her friend.  Adam felt the prone man’s almost imperceptible nod as he gave the redhead permission to continue.  “Angel doesn’t have a pulse because he’s a vampire.”

 There was a pregnant pause as the Immortal absorbed the information he had just been given.   If the teenagers words hadn’t still echoing in his ears, he would have doubted that he had heard her correctly.  He could see that all the other occupants of the library were awaiting his reaction with bated breath, so Adam did the first thing that came to mind:  he burst out laughing.  Really.  The Immortal made a mental note to compliment Ahriman on his creativity.  After all, it had been years since Adam’s own imagination created something as outrageous as this scenario.

 “A witch and a vampire?” Adam asked cynically. “What’s next?  Mummies?  Werewolves?  Little trolls on the wings of airplanes?”

 “Two outta three ain’t bad,” Xander mumbled to Oz, who simply shrugged in response.

 Adam’s eyes traveled from person to person, studying the reaction of each one to weigh the veracity of Willow’s claim.  They all seemed so serious that the Immortal was half-tempted to give them the benefit of the doubt -- for all of a half second.  It was just a little too preposterous for him to swallow, though.

 “Now may be a good time to put all these weapons away,” Giles prompted.  “Perhaps we can talk this out.”

 Adam and Oz eyed each other warily before slowly lowering the knife and crossbow.  The Immortal, however, remained where he was, still chuckling over the earlier revelations.

 “Do you mind?” Angel asked sardonically.  “If you sit on me much longer, we’re going to have to pick out a china pattern.”  Only then did Adam realize that he was still straddling the supposed-vampire’s waist.

 “But we hardly know each other,” Adam purred, meeting Angel’s sarcasm with his own.  As he raised himself up to a standing position, he threw one last barb at the other man.  “So is it going to be a white wedding?”

 “Euw!  Visual bad!  Visual very bad!” Xander protested with a pronounced grimace.  Cordelia, however, appeared to give the image more than a passing thought as she quirked an eyebrow of interest.

 As soon as Adam’s weight was removed from his body, Angel shot off the ground to pace like a drug addict awaiting his next score.  Giles attempted to shepherd everybody to the large table, cleaning up the candles, sand and miscellaneous jars leftover from the spell along the way. Shoving the items in the cardboard box, the librarian hefted it out of the way before sitting down across from Adam at the head of the table.

 “Angel?”  Giles inquired to the still-pacing vampire. Realizing that something was still amiss with the other man, the Watcher called his name again.  “Won’t you join us?”

 “I...you...don’t you see?  I *can’t*,” he insisted emphatically, prompting Willow to jump up and move to his side.

 “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

 “It’s the demon,” he explained.  “It’s agitated...it’s like...it wants to...run.  It wants *me* to run.”

 “Is it afraid?  Of Dr. Pierson?” Giles asked, obviously fascinated by the information.

 “No.  It’s not afraid...exactly.  I don’t...know how else to put it.   It’s more than the normal impulses it has, those I can deal with, but this...this feels like it’s practically crawling around under my skin trying to find some way to get out.”

 “But it *is* Dr. Pierson’s presence causing this, is it not?”

 “Yes...no, wait,” Angel hesitated, thinking back as to when he first felt the sensation.  When the brown eyes narrowed in hostile suspicion, Adam knew instantly what the other man’s next words were going to be.   “You followed us from my apartment.”

 “Not exactly,” Adam deferred.  A past master at deception, the Immortal was well aware that it was in his best interest to reveal as little about himself as possible. Besides, he still doubted the claims that this group had made.  At that moment, however, he had a few more pressing questions of his own.  “What do you feel when I get near you?  Is it like a buzzing sensation in your head?”

 “Not exactly.”  From the expression on Angel’s face, Adam knew that he was not going to be able to get away with as much as he’d originally thought.  “Is that what your spell is supposed to do?”

 “Spell?” Adam echoed in obvious confusion.  “I don’t know anything about spells.”

 “Then what are doing to me?”

 “It’s not just you, Angel,” Willow interrupted, her voice distant as she thought back to earlier in the evening. Turning back to the Immortal, Willow said her conclusion aloud.  “You made those other vamps in the park run away, too.”

 “Look!  Can we stop with the vampire nonsense?” The Immortal’s tone was sharp as his patience began to wear thin.

 “It’s not nonsense,”  Willow insisted when she saw the doubt on Adam’s face.   “Show him, Angel.  You know, go ‘grrrr’.”

 “I can’t,” the vampire growled in frustration. “Believe me, I’ve been trying since he pinned me down.”

 The five Sunnydale natives exchanged glances, each considering this new bit of information with varying levels of interest.  Not surprisingly, Willow appeared to be the most concerned while the librarian looked fascinated by the turn of events.   Adam, however, was still attempting to reconcile all the facts, his mind seeking a rational explanation -- one that did not involve supernatural creatures of the night.

 “Do you still have your strength?”  Giles asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the group.

 Without sparing so much as a glance at the table, Angel strode over to the weapons locker.  Once there, he picked up the crow-bar that the librarian had used to open the wooden crate his books had been delivered in earlier that morning.  There was a small smile of satisfaction on his face as Angel bent the solid metal bar as easily as a child would fold a soft stick of gum.   Listless and bored by his display, Angel threw the crowbar aside.  He was already back to pacing by the time the clang of the metal’s impact with the ground rang out through the room.

 “The next time I make a testosterone-driven, I’m-more-of-a-man-than-you-are challenge to Angel, remind me *not* to pick arm-wrestling,” Xander asked of no one in particular.

 Now the Immortal wasn’t sure what to think.  Even Silas at his peak could never have bent a bar that easily, and Adam’s former compatriot was one of the strongest people he’d ever seen.  Intrigued, he decided to give a little ground.

 “This...sensation that you’re feeling, does it get more intense the closer I am?”

 Angel’s pacing halted as he considered the question. With an obvious grimace of distaste, the dark-haired man pivoted and slowly stalked closer to the Immortal.  At the half-way point, Angel suddenly stopped and returned to his original place, throwing a positive response over his shoulder as he retreated.

 “And you knew that because...” Xander prompted.

 Turning to face the others at the table, Adam offered an explanation.   “When two Immortals get near each other, they both experience that ‘buzz’.   It’s how they identify each other.   Once eye contact is made, the feeling stops.”

 “That’s why you made Angel look at you,” Oz observed, waiting for Adam’s nod of confirmation before continuing.  “And all Immortals have this?  All the time or just when you get near each other?”

 “All the time, I would imagine,”  Adam speculated, his wise hazel eyes following Angel as he moved purposely up the staircase leading to the stacks.  “But the range varies from Immortal to Immortal.”

 “Why?” Oz asked, as simple and direct as always.

 “There are a lot of factors -- age, strength, power...”

 “How old *are* you?” Willow eyes, her green eyes alight with interest.

 “Older than some...,” Adam began, but the rest of his vague answer was replaced by a sharp hiss of in-drawn breath.

 At the top the stairs stood a fully vamped-out Angel.

 Even in the muted fluorescent lighting of library, the Immortal could clearly see the yellow eyes, ridged forehead and, above all else, the prerequisite elongated fangs of the vampire’s true face.  So rattled was Adam by this unexpected revelation, he was uncharacteristically shocked into utter silence, simply staring at the...thing in front of him.

 Angel appeared to be conducting an experiment of sorts.    Retracing his steps, the vampire made it to the third from the top when his face smoothly shifted back to it’s more handsome visage.  Each time the vampire moved back and forth between the second and third step, his face changed.

 “How far do think this is?” he asked nobody in particular.

 For the first time since witnessing Angel’s metamorphosis, Adam looked at the other people gathered around the table.   The Immortal was more than a little surprised that each and every one of the group from Sunnydale radiated tension when Angel spoke in his vampiric face.   He would have thought that the group, Willow in particular, would have been more comfortable at seeing their friend like this.  Then again, perhaps this was a side of Angel they were unused to witnessing.

 “Giles?” the vampire questioned impatiently.

 “Huh?...Oh...yes...uh, perhaps 10 meters or so,” the librarian stammered absently.

 “Meters?”

 “About 30 feet, Angel,” Willow replied helpfully.

 Both vampire and Immortal stored the knowledge away carefully as Angel made one final shift to his human face and proceeded back down the stairway.   Approaching the table, the vampire’s rich, brown eyes caught Adam’s. There, in those deep, chocolate depths, the Immortal saw the warning that Angel still had the ability to kill Adam were he to endanger any the group gathered around the table. Rolling his eyes at the implied threat, the Immortal decided he’d had about enough of this little freak show.  Time to get things back on track.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Poised to speak, Adam was annoyed when Giles beat him to the punch.

 “Are you the one from the computer...um...what was it again?” the librarian fumbled for the proper word.

 “Chat room,” chorused Willow, Xander, and Cordelia. Angel and Oz both remained silent, the former distracted by the Immortal’s presence and the latter, well, just because he didn’t have anything cool or deep to say.

 “Are you ROGue?” Willow asked curiously.

 “I guess that would depend, Sabrina,” Adam replied cautiously.  When he saw the redhead start ever so slightly, he knew beyond any doubt that he’d correctly guessed her identity earlier that morning.

 Unfortunately, Adam was not the only Immortal aware of Willow’s sudden nervousness.

 “Hurt her and I’ll kill you...permanently,” Angel growled.

 No longer amused by the vampire’s posturing, Adam rolled his eyes.  “Why would I want to hurt her?  I’ve traveled a long way just to *find* her.”

 “Are you really immortal?” Willow questioned shyly.

 “Yes.”

 “So you can’t die.”

 “Not permanently, well...”

 “...unless you were to be decapitated,” Giles supplied helpfully.

 “But you can actually *die*,” Oz gleaned from Adam’s previous statement, drawing a reluctantly given nod from the Immortal.

 “So, are we talking Superman-type invulnerability or a Wolverine-type healing factor?” Xander quipped.

 The reference was lost on Adam, as pop-culture had never been one of his strong suits.  “Run that by me one more time...preferably in something that resembles a language other than ‘Clueless’?”

 “He’s asking if you can’t be hurt at all or, if you can be hurt, do you just heal really fast?” Willow translated.

 “Yes,” Adam replied simply, trying his best not to give all of his secrets away to a group of strangers.  Too bad his efforts were in vain.

 “Immortals appear to possess the ability to heal at quite a remarkable rate.  Depending on the gravity of the wound, reparation can take place within minutes,” Giles supplied to his amazed audience, looking to Adam for confirmation.

 “You seem to be rather well informed,” Adam noted as he nodded at the accurate assessment.

 “Yes, well, after your...conversation with Willow, I began some research on the subject.  I haven’t yet had the opportunity to read all the materials, but I did look a few of them over this afternoon,” Giles admitted cheerfully.

 “And what else have you learned about us?”  Adam’s mind was already calculating odds like a Vegas bookie. Half-truths and lies of omissions were being prepared contingent upon just how much the librarian had uncovered in his preliminary investigation.

 “Well, your ages vary, for one thing.  Apparently, the members of your race live...for want of better word...normal lives, including typical recovery time for injuries and illnesses up until the point, when you experience your first ‘death.’ After that point, it becomes kill or be killed by others of your kind.   The decapitation of an Immortal seems to trigger a large, disruptive electrical storm of some kind.  There were also several veiled references to ‘the rules’ and something called ‘the game,’ yet it was mostly speculation and supposition on behalf of the diarists involved.”

 As Giles wound down, all eyes focused on the Immortal.  To Adam, the ultimate Master of Strategy, the situation was like a game of bridge, one where truths were trump cards.  Use them unwisely and the hand would be lost. Played with finesse and skill, the victory would be his.  It was time to play one now, but only a low number.

 “Our Immortality comes with a price.  The ‘Game,’ as it’s called, is where we fight each other.  There are only a few specific restrictions -- all fights must only be one-on-one, and we do not fight on holy ground.”

 “What, crosses get you guys, too?”

Adam puzzled momentarily over Willow’s question, until he realized that she was referring to vampires.  So the old wives’ tales were true.  He filed that information away to be examined at a later time.

 “No.  Immortals existed long before the Carpenter from Nazareth put in his appearance.  All holy ground is off limits, no matter what the religion.”

 “What happens if you fight there anyway?” Xander wondered aloud.

 “Well, since no Immortal foolish enough to try has lived to tell the tale, I would venture to guess that the results can’t be overly beneficial at any rate.”

“I don’t get it,” Cordy declared to her not that all surprised audience.  “What’s the deal, anyway?  You just keep on fighting each other for no reason?  Talk about American Gladiators, the deadly version.”

 “We fight because in the end, there can be only one,” Adam stated somewhat dramatically.

 “One?  One what?” Cordelia demanded.

 “One Immortal left at the end of the Game.”

 “Oookay, well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but personally, that cleared it all *right* up for me,” Xander quipped.

   “From the time most of us learn who and what we really our, we learn that we are all expected to play in the Game.  There are those who choose not to fight, either living on holy ground or doing their best to hide from other Immortals.  But those who hide are often thought of as ‘easy victories’ by those among us who are headhunters.   One way or another, we all realize that we will eventually have to either fight or die until only one of us remains.  The last one left will win the ultimate victory, the Prize.”

 “I’m guessing we’re not talking about a Lone Ranger decoder ring here,” Xander surmised.

 “So, what is this prize you all fight for?” Oz asked quietly.

 “We don’t know...”

 “Oh, that makes a lot of sense,” Cordelia commented snidely.

 “You’ll have to forgive Cordelia.  See, she and the other prom queens of her race only fight to the death over important stuff...like designer originals,” Xander explained.

 “Surely there must be some kind of indication – legends of some kind, records that have been lost,” Giles theorized out loud.

 “Immortals have existed for thousands of years, perhaps even before the advent of writing.  If the origins of the Game were known at one time, even the oldest among us that still live either don’t know or aren’t talking.”

 “The oldest among you?”  Willow asked, curiosity burning in her bright green eyes.  “How old do you guys get?”

 “It depends,” the Immortal answered cagily, but Willow was not to be denied.

 “And you never told us how old *you* are, either,” the redhead pointed out, remembering when she asked the Immortal the same question earlier.  Once again, Adam deflected the topic.

 “There are a handful of old Immortals, a few who have lived for two or three thousand years, but they are rare. Attrition and natural selection are harsh realities in the Game. As for the rest, they vary in age.   Each year, a few new Immortals are added to the ranks.  Some are lucky enough to find a teacher, a mentor who will train them in what they need to know to have any hope of survival.  But some won’t be so lucky.  Some of the...less savory... of our kind are more than happy to take an easy head.”

 “So there are actually ‘good’ Immortals?” Willow seemed amazed by this revelation.

 Adam couldn’t help but smile as he thought about a certain infuriating Scot.  “Oh yes, every now and then you’ll run into a boy scout.”

 “Oh please.”   The sudden growl from the still-pacing vampire startled all of them.   “Last time I heard, the Boy Scouts weren’t giving out merit badges for beheadings.”

 Suddenly, Adam grew tired of Angel’s attitude.  “Just *what* is your problem?  Last time I checked the scorecard, not only had I just saved your girlfriend’s life back in the park, but I also hauled your heavy arse back here as well.”

 “Girlfriend?  What does Buffy have to do with this?” Xander’s question was echoed in the expressions of those seated around the table.

 “Buffy?  Who in the hell is Buffy?” The Immortal demanded to the confused sea of faces before him.

 “I think he means Willow, guys,” Oz stated patiently.

 “Oh,” Willow said calmly, until the words registered in her mind.  Then she blushed deeply.  “Ooooh!  No!  Angel’s not...I mean...we...we...we’re not...”

 “Willow?  With Deadboy?” Xander jerked a thumb in the vampire’s direction.  “Yeah, right.  Not in this lifetime.”

 “And just why would that be so hard to believe?” Cordelia demanded.

 “Because Willow’s too smart to do something so stupid...”

 “Gee, Dad, overprotective much?”  Cordelia challenged.

 As the couple began one of their all-too-common spats, neither of them noticed the discomfort of the others in the assembled group.  Although he was used to Xander’s petty jealousy, Angel was nevertheless seething over the implications of the teenager’s words.  Willow was growing redder by the minute and, despite their amicable break-up, it still pained Oz to think of his former girlfriend with *anyone* else.   Hoping to distract Xander and Cordelia, Willow chose to answer the question that had sparked the lover’s quarrel.

 “The reason Angel is...wary of you is that he met one of your kind once.”

 “Really,” Adam remarked drolly, wondering if it was anybody he knew.   “When was this?”

 “It was about 120 years ago in Eastern Europe. Bulgaria, I think.  He was a really sick bastard, psychotic, a real sociopath,” Angel remembered aloud.  Even Xander and Cordelia stopped arguing long enough to listen to his recollections.

 “A vampire calling an Immortal psychotic?  Well if that isn’t the pot and the bloody kettle,” Adam noted with an ironic chuckle.  “I don’t suppose you happened to catch a name?”

 “Cas...something.  Umm, Casper...Casp...Caspari. Yes, Ivan Caspari.  He used to play this game of capturing small children and skinning them alive.”

 “Oh God!”  Willow blanched.

 “That’s not the worst of it.   Rumor had it that he would only do it in small sections at a time.  The stories said that he was such an expert at it, he used to try and break his own record of how long he could keep his victims alive,” Angel recalled with a grimace.

 “I think I’m going to be sick,” Cordelia said, her complexion taking on a green hue as a hand flew up to her mouth.

 “I think I’ll be in the stall next to you,” Xander promised.

 “Well, you don’t have to worry about Caspari anymore,” Adam stated, his mind traveling back a year in the past to the Immortal he’d long known as Caspian.

 “One of yours finally put him out of his misery?” Angel asked, his eyes filled with malice as he hoped for some kind of vengeance in the name of those children killed for sport so long ago.

 “Yes.  About a year ago in France.  And for the record, the person who put a stop to him was one of the ‘Boy Scouts’,” the Immortal answered with no small amount of satisfaction.  He’d never really cared for Caspian anyway. “And speaking of Boy Scouts, now that we have the Immortal 101 lecture behind us, perhaps we can go on to the issue that brought me to your...interesting...little town...”

 “Ah, yes.  The demon Ahriman, wasn’t it?” Giles recalled.

 “Yes.  I’ve been researching Ahriman for a few months now, and to be truthful, the information that you provided was the first solid lead that I’ve come across.  Everything else has been scattered bits and pieces of ancient legend.”  Adam’s tone was a subtle mix of frustration and desperation.

 “Aren’t they always,” Xander joked weakly.

 “Sorry?” the Immortal queried, unpleased with the teenager’s interruption.

 “I believe what Xander is implying is that a great deal of our time is spent piecing those fragments of myth and legend together.  Even then, we are not always able to construct a clear picture...” Giles explained.

 “Do this kind of thing often, do you?” Adam asked the librarian wryly.

 “Unfortunately, yes.”

 “Oh, the joys of living on the Hellmouth,” Xander sighed mockingly.

 “Hellmouth?  Do I want to know what he means by that?” Adam asked.

 Giles launched into his usual speech on mystical convergences and ‘Boca del Infierno’ to the skeptical Immortal.  Glancing at the teenagers, Adam noted the glazed looks on their faces and wondered if they were caused by hearing this particular tale too many times or, more likely, from the dry, boring, professor-like manner with which the librarian delivered the lecture.  Yet, despite the large amount of information he was receiving, Adam sensed that there was more to the tale that he was *not* being told.

 But it wasn’t really his concern, either.

 “That’s...quite a story,” he commented.  “But I’m really only here because of one specific demon.  I am in desperate need of information, and the speed with which you came up with something that night on the computer led me to believe that you could help me.  Can you?  Will you?”

 “I’m sure we can...” Giles began, only to be interrupted by a harsh growl.

 “No!  We’ve got enough problems on our hands as it is,” the vampire snarled.   “Prophecy of Legion?  Large numbers of vampires?  Stop me if this rings familiar.”

 While such sarcasm may have been the norm for Angelus, hearing the sharp, bitter tone flowing from Angel’s lips was unsettling to the others.   They looked from the vampire to each other with expressions ranging from guilt to confusion.  As was his way, Xander finally spoke first.

 “I don’t know...let’s see here,” he said, holding up both hands in imitation of a hanging scale.  “Face hoards of hungry vampires or stay here and do research....ahhh, I think I’m gonna have to go with door number two, Monty.  That would be the ‘has-a-lesser-chance-of-bodily-harm’ option for those of you playing the home game.”

 “No, Xander,” Giles’ voice spoke volumes of his genuine disappointment.  Removing his glasses, he reached into a pocket to withdraw a handkerchief with which to absently clean the lenses.   “Unfortunately, Angel is correct.   We must do what we can to curb the vampire population until we can find a way to stop the prophecy.   And since we effectively...had a night off yesterday, we now must face the consequences.  If you’d care to come back here tomorrow, perhaps we might have some time then to research a bit further into Ahriman.”

 “Oh great, now we’re setting appointments,” Cordelia groaned.

 “Hey,” Willow said cheerfully.  “Wouldn’t Dr. Pierson be a great help?   Kind of like a Pied Piper, but in reverse.”

 Adam, however, had already anticipated this request and had the appropriate objections prepared.  Yet, he refrain from voicing them aloud.  Had any of the group from Sunnydale known Adam better, they would have been surprised by his uncharacteristic silence.   His lack of protest, however, was simply part of his game plan.   He wanted to see how well-versed this group was in strategy, to see if they could find the flaw in Willow’s suggestion.

 Well, that, and the fact that he had absolutely no intentions of risking his own neck for a group of strangers.   It wasn’t that he was cowardly, far from it, in fact.  For underneath the Adam Pierson persona that he was currently wearing resided the world’s greatest survivor.   It was the man under the mask that carefully weighed his options before choosing his battles.

 And this was not his fight.

 Apparently Giles reached the same conclusion by different means.

 “I don’t believe that it would be wise, Willow.”

 “Why not?” Cordelia protested.  “It’s not like he can actually be killed or anything.”

 “Well, actually, he can,” the librarian reminded.  “That, however, isn’t my primary concern.”

 “Okay, Mr. Stratego, then what is?” she pouted.

 “His presence would only drive away the vampires,” Angel stated flatly.

 “But, if he came from the opposite direction, he could drive them right towards us,” Willow insisted.

 “Great.  Then we get mowed over by an enraged stampede of wild vamps,” Xander pointed out.

 “Oh.  Okay.  That *would* be bad,” the redhead conceded.

 “And on that note,” Giles concluded as he stood up from his chair.  The others followed his lead, breaking off to gather various pieces of equipment for their nightly patrol. The Watcher gave them a few last minute orders before turning to face the Immortal again.  “I will be here at seven, so whatever time is convenient for you, Dr. Pierson.”

 “Seven AM isn’t convenient, it’s torturous,” the Immortal noted before his eyes flitted over to the assembling group of teenagers.   Psyched for the upcoming fights, the kids were talking loudly, warming up with a good round of shadow boxing.  With the noise they were generating, Adam wouldn’t have been surprised if Joe heard their discussion all the way up in Seacouver.   “Little savages, all of them,” he muttered under his breath.

 Giles stared at the Immortal for long minutes, until finally the intense scrutiny grated on Adam’s nerves.

 “What’s the problem?” he demanded of the librarian.

 “Do you actually teach...children...I mean?”  Giles asked quietly.

 “Yes, I do actually teach,” Adam insisted with a puzzled glance.  “Why do you seem so surprised?”

 “It’s just...you...you just seem to have an abidingly low tolerance of children, especially for a teacher,” the Watcher observed.

 “On the contrary,” Adam insisted as a smirk appeared on his mouth.  “I love children.  I’ve just never been able to finish a whole one before.”

 Meant as a joke, the way the librarian winced left the Immortal grimacing at his own poor attempt at humour.  The comment just didn’t seem as funny in a town crawling with vampires.  But then, prompted by Xander’s tickling hands, Cordy let out a exceedingly annoying, eardrum-shattering screech that caused everyone in the room to jump.

 “You know, if we were anywhere other than on a Hellmouth, I might be inclined to agree with you,” Giles confided.  From the expression on his face, the librarian often sought divine patience when dealing with his charges’ more exasperating behavior.

 With that said, the librarian herded all of them out of the library.   Adam exchanged goodnights with group as they piled into a beat-up looking van.   A calculating expression marred his angular features as he watched them drive off into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 It was almost two in the morning by the time Adam broke back into the Sunnydale High School library.   The deadbolt that protected the door was simple to pick -- even for someone who hadn’t recently brushed up on his skills with the world’s oldest living thief.  Taking one last look up and down the deserted hallway, Adam entered the cavernous room and locked the door behind himself.

 ‘Right,’ the Immortal thought silently, attempting to regain his bearings after all he’d seen that evening.

 He was searching for the books on Immortals that had been delivered to the library earlier in the day, interested in finding out if there were any other lost Watcher texts among the contents.  At least, that was the excuse he was telling himself.

 If he cared to examine it on a deeper level, the ultimate truth was simply that Adam was satisfying his curiosity about the group he had encountered earlier.

 Not surprisingly, he’d followed them after they all left the library, carefully keeping well out of the sensory range that Angel had established earlier.  In his estimation, there was no need for the locals to be aware of his presence.

 Using his binoculars, Adam watched as they took on a large pack of vampires in the very same park he’d rescued Angel and Willow in earlier.   From his vantage point, the Immortal could see that the fight was intense.   Outnumbered more than two to one, the group from Sunnydale emerged victorious, albeit bruised and battered.

 As a well trained outsider, Adam was surprised by their lack of actual combat skills.  With the exception of the vampire and, to a lesser degree, the librarian, it appeared that the students had yet to receive much in the way of formal hand-to-hand training.   If all their fights were like the one he watched that evening, Adam was surprised that they were still alive and kicking.

 Until he realized just what made them so effective.

 Even from a distance, he could sense the absolute cohesion among them as they fought for their common goal. As if of one mind, they not only battled their individual opponents, but were also instinctively aware of their companions.   Time and again he witnessed one come to the aid of another when needed.  It was a sense of cohesion that would have put even some of the most elite fighting units in history to shame.  And, having been there, Adam would know.

 They were certainly an odd little group -- unusual enough to intrigue even the most jaded of immortals.  That being the case, Adam patiently followed the van back to the high school parking lot.  Mr. Giles had returned to the library, most likely to drop off the nylon duffel bag of weapons he carried.   After he drove away in an ancient Citroen, Adam waited twenty minutes before his successful attempt to pick the lock on the heavy wooden doors.

 At first Adam simply wandered around the ground floor.  There were a few shelves of books scattered around, but the titles were simply what one would expect to find in a typical high school library -- sets of encyclopedias, almanacs, and other references materials, books considered classic literature (though, at his age, Adam scoffed at the term), and the normal assortment of current periodicals.  The placement of these items, the Immortal correctly guessed, was simply protective camouflage for the more ‘sensitive’ materials hidden deep within the lesser-visited stacks upstairs.

 Rather than delve into the upper floor, Adam turned his eye towards the other unexplored areas of the room:  the storage locker and the librarian’s office.   The caged door was secured by a rather sound-looking lock, so the Immortal moved to the glass and wood door on his left.

 To his surprise, the knob turned easily, granting him access to Giles’ private sanctuary.  Given the ease of his entry, Adam bit back a sense of disappointment.   It had been his considerable experience that someone as uptight as the librarian would never leave sensitive materials unprotected.  Therefore, he doubted that he would find anything useful.  Nevertheless, it was worth a look.

 The desk held nothing of interest -- just the usual collection of pens and other office paraphernalia.  Even the books on the shelves were ordinary enough.  Along the back wall was one of those rolling door storage shelves, though.   It took the Immortal about ten seconds with a paperclip to jimmy the flimsy lock.

 “Voile” he muttered at the sight of the titles secreted within the cabinet.   “Witchcraft, demonology, The Codex? Whatever that is...and what’s this?”

 At the end of the middle shelf, there were eight newer-looking journals.  Choosing one at random, the Immortal flipped open to the middle of the leather-bound book.

//24 March I fear that the events of last night may be a harbinger of difficult times ahead for Buffy.  It seems that the man she has regrettably taken such an interest in, Angel, revealed himself to be a vampire.    She is, expectedly, utterly devastated by this turn of events -- both as a young woman with a crush, and more importantly, as the Chosen Slayer.

Once again, I find myself at a loss as to how I should react.  As her Watcher...//

 ‘Watcher!?!  Slayer?’  Adam pondered, remembering that her named had been mentioned earlier in the evening. ‘Who *is* this girl?  Is she an Immortal?  Why does she have a Watcher?  And why didn’t I come across her name when I checked for other Immortals in the area of Sunnydale?’ Hoping to find some kind of explanation, Adam turned back to an earlier page.

//26 February The Hellmouth has offered some variety this week in the form of a She-mantis taking on the guise of a substitute teacher...//

 ‘Really,’ Adam thought.  ‘Now this should be interesting.’

 Pulling down the preceding journal off the shelf, the Immortal sat down to read at the librarian’s desk.   Making himself as comfortable as he could get in the unforgiving office chair, Adam started reading from the beginning of the first book.   After a moment, he absent-mindedly reached behind himself and withdrew the long dagger from its sheath in his belt.  He absently toyed with the knife, digging the point of the blade into the desk blotter while spinning the handle, keeping the weapon ready for any unannounced intruders.

 After all, he hadn’t survived for so long by being careless, especially in a town as bizarre as this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The journals were an invaluable source of information to Adam, although he had a difficult time regarding them as fact rather than the latest John Carpenter movie.  Slayers, Watchers, vampires, witches and, remarkably enough, a werewolf thrown in for good measure.   It was unbelievable.

 Adam tore through the first three volumes at a break-neck pace.   At one point the librarian wrote that he suspected at least one of the students of ‘borrowing’ his journals without consent, so he began recording his entries in Latin.  Eventually, that, too, changed as Willow became more fluent in the dead language.  Giles then switched to an older Germanic derivative for his more private thoughts. Fortunately for the Immortal, this particular version was somewhat familiar, as it had been used when Adam studied medicine at Heidleburg centuries ago.  Still, it required a great deal of concentration to translate such technical terms.

 So lost was Adam in what he was reading, he practically jumped out of his chair when the sound of an unexpected growl came from just over his shoulder.   Surprised beyond measure, the Immortal clumsily fumbled the knife, mistakenly grabbing the blade instead of the ornate metal handle.  A hiss of pain escaped his lips as his fingers slipped down the razor-sharp edge of the blade.  Ignoring the icy-hot agony of the cut, Adam held the knife at the ready as he whirled around and came face to face with Angel.

 The vampire’s face was contorted in pain as a result of his stealthy approach.  Only when Adam’s eyes met Angel’s did the vampire’s features begin to relax as the intensity of the buzz abated.

 “Christ,” Adam swore as he pulled a wad of tissues from the box on Giles’ desk.   The flimsy pseudo-paper did little to staunch the blood pouring from the deep cut to his fingers.  “Don’t *do* that!  I may be Immortal, but I can still have a bloody heart attack!”  The quip, however, was lost on Angel.

 “Wanted...to see...if...I could.”  The vampire’s speech was broken by the tremors racing through his body.   Even his shoulders slumped forward from the sheer exertion it had required to get as close to Adam as he had.

 “Are all vampires as masochistic as you, or are you the exception to the rule?”

 “Huh?”   Angel replied absently, trying his best to focus beyond the lingering discomfort he was experiencing.

 “You seem to have a high threshold for pain,” Adam rephrased the question.  “Is that normal for vampires?”

 “Guess I’m stronger than some,” Angel retorted cryptically.

 “From the look on your face, getting that near to me must have hurt like hell.”

 “Not even close,” Angel mumbled.

 “Beg your pardon?” the Immortal queried.

 “I’ve been to Hell.  Believe me, this is nothing in comparison.”

 At first the Immortal thought the vampire was either joking or speaking metaphorically, but then he looked carefully at the other man, peering deeply into the tormented brown eyes.  There was something there...something disturbing.  It was a haunted expression, one that Adam had seen on too many terrified faces in his long life...one he had caused too many times.

 “You...you’re serious...aren’t you?”  Adam asked shakily.

 Spying Giles’ diary open on the desk, Angel couldn’t prevent the self-depreciating smirk that appeared on his face any more than he could stop the quip that escaped his lips.

 “I guess you haven’t gotten to the good parts yet.”

 “Actually, I’m still not completely convinced that this,” Adam gestured to the journal, “isn’t the librarian’s attempt at becoming the next Stephen King.  Well, either that, or I took some LSD I don’t remember.”

 But Angel missed Adam’s sarcasm.  The vampire’s attention was focused solely on the tiny blue bands of energy randomly weaving through the nasty cuts on the Immortal’s fingers.  Within seconds, the gash that would have required at least two dozen stitches on a normal human was completely healed.

 Awestruck, Angel blindly reached out, intent upon having a closer examination.  At the last moment, he froze, as if suddenly realizing what he was about to do.  Brown eyes flew up to meet amused hazel.  Smirking at the unspoken question on the vampire’s face, Adam couldn’t resist the soft, breathy snort of laughter that escaped him.

 “Go ahead,” he offered as he held up his hand to the vampire.  It was obvious that he was offering much more than a simple visual inspection.

 “No...I...I...,” Angel stuttered.

 “Oh,” Adam exclaimed, recalling something he’d read earlier in the Watcher’s journal.  “That’s right -- you don’t drink human blood anymore, do you?   Well, you can assuage your conscience.  I’m not exactly a ‘normal’ person now, am I?”

 The Immortal waited, patiently watching the battle waging behind the vampire’s eyes.  He had to admit that he was curious himself.  Would his blood taste differently than a regular mortal’s?   After all, no one knew for certain what it was that made Immortals what they were.

 As long moments passed, Adam’s patience began to wear thin.  Using what he knew of vampire lore, the Immortal took a chance.   Before Angel could protest, Adam brought the knife back to the flat of his own hand and sliced open his palm.

 “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Angel cried out.

 “Don’t worry, it will heal,” the Immortal sniped, waiting to see if his gambit would work.

 It didn’t take long for the method in his madness to reveal itself.  When the heavy, coppery scent of fresh blood wafted through the air, Adam bit back a smile as Angel’s nose twitched.  It was like waving a bottle of whisky under the nose of an alcoholic, the Immortal reckoned.  Despicable, he knew, but Adam hadn’t allowed himself to feel guilt in centuries, and he wasn’t about to change that now.

 “I...I...” Angel hesitated.

 “Come now,” Adam tempted.  When he realized that his words were having no effect, he ran a finger from his other hand through the thick layer of blood welling up in his palm. Gathering a heavy, dripping load of the red liquid, Adam raised the finger up to Angel’s mouth.

 The vampire, however, remained unpersuaded, even as a long, lazy drop of the coppery substance ran down the length of the extended digit.

 Adam felt the familiar tingling that signaled the healing of his cut palm and knew that he needed to act.   A catty smile appeared on Immortal’s lips as he slowly traced the edge of the vampire’s cool bottom lip, leaving a glistening trail of moisture in its path like some kind of satanic lipstick.

 Finally, the temptation proved to be too much for Angel.   Without meaning to, his tongue instinctively snaked out to lick at the still-warm fluid.

 A heavy silence filled the room as time itself seemed to grind to a sudden halt.   Angel had a deep expression on his face, one that reminded Adam of a wine taster experimenting with an unknown vintage.   Was there something odd about Immortal blood, he wondered?  Would it taste differently to the sensitive palate of a vampire?   Would it harm Angel?  Adam had wondered about that fact when the idea first came to him minutes earlier, but surely Angel would have experienced *some* kind of adverse reaction by now.  Why wasn’t he saying anything?

 “Well?” Adam queried his patience at an end.  And yet, Angel did little more than cast a quick glance in the Immortal’s direction before once again focusing on the taste in his mouth.

 “Well, what?”

 “How does it taste?” Adam elucidated.

 “It’s a little different, but it’s still blood,” Angel answered coyly, obviously toying with the impatient Immortal.

 “What the hell is that supposed to mean?   The vampire version of ‘tastes like chicken?’”  Adam questioned testily, his annoyance flashing hotly in his mercurial hazel eyes.

 “It’s richer than a human’s,” Angel explained, sensing that the time for teasing had come to a close.   Yet, he couldn’t resist one last barb.  “It tastes...old…” he paused for effect, enjoying the insulted expression on the Immortal’s face before going on with his comment.   “… better aged -- like Napoleon Brandy compared to a bottle of ripple.”

 “You got all that from such a little taste?   Not bad.” The wound on Adam’s hand had completely healed by that point, but his palm was still coated with blood.   The Immortal sighed deeply as he weighed his options.   Angel was still eyeing Adam’s dripping hand.  ‘Oh well, might as well not let it go to waste,’ Adam thought to himself.  Besides, a little olive branch between the two of them might not be a bad idea. Adam still needed Willow’s help, and he had a feeling that the redhead would tend to lean towards the vampire’s judgement.

 Decision made, he once again coated his finger in the remaining blood of the now-healed palm wound.   This time, the vampire leaned forward eagerly to accept the outstretched offering.   Once the second taste of the rich, copper-heavy flavour hit Angel’s taste buds, a deep pleasure-filled growl rumbled through his chest.

 As the sound echoed in the stillness of the cavernous room, Adam was startled when Angel stealthily grabbed the Immortal’s wrist in a vise-like grip.   For the duration of a single heartbeat, Adam was afraid that he had pushed the vampire too far.  It was enough to cause an adrenaline surge, considering that this...thing had the knowledge to permanently end his life.

 But it soon became clear that Angel wasn’t interested in killing the Immortal at that particular moment in time.

 Instead, the vampire drew the blood-covered palm up to his mouth.   Like a child with an ice cream cone, he placed a long, sweeping lick against the dampened flesh.   Those deep, brown eyes closed sensuously even as Angel released the other man’s arm.

 “Ah, the joys of forbidden fruit,” Adam quipped, hoping that the humour would help to dispel the intensity of what they’d just experienced.   Instead of the desired effect Adam had been hoping for, the words made Angel flinch in reaction.  Seeing the vampire’s angst-filled expression reminded him more than a little of MacLeod.   ‘Oh great. Another guilt-ridden, broody one.  Just what I need,’ Adam silently bemoaned.  He would never understand them.

 “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”  the Immortal asked.

 “Of course it does,” Angel glared indignantly as his head shot upwards.

 “Why?”   The question was meant sincerely.  “Is it because it’s blood, or is it because it reminds you of what you really are?”

 “What difference does it make?”  the vampire answered hotly, angered that a stranger would dare to pose such an indelicate question.

 “My point exactly,” Adam said slyly.  Seeing that Angel was not following his logic, the Immortal continued.  “You *are* a vampire.  For you, drinking blood is no different than a mortal eating meat, or lettuce for that matter.   Food is food.”

 “Don’t you get it?” Angel snarled.  “For me to keep on existing, I have to drink something’s *blood*.”

 “So?  According to these journals, you don’t hunt humans anymore.  You get your blood from the butcher shop, right?”

 “It’s still blood!”  the vampire cried, clearly agitated by the current topic.  “Every time I feed, something dies...”

 “A vegan vampire, how ironic.”

 “...I’m a killer,” Angel continued, ignoring the Immortal’s stray comment.

 “Well, join the club,” Adam remarked, his dry comment stopping the vampire’s words in mid-stream.  Angel was clearly considering the veracity of the Immortal’s words.

 Deciding that it would be better to drop this landmine-loaded track of conversation, Adam swiftly changed the subject.

 “Shouldn’t you be going?  It’s almost dawn,” he said, sparing a glance at the dim light beginning to pour through the skylight in the library’s ceiling.

 “I’ll be fine,” Angel insisted.

 “But...sunlight...” Adam began, wondering if the old legends were really true.

 “...is definitely on my list of things to avoid,”  Angel finished for the uncertain Immortal.  “There are enough recesses in here for me to keep out of the direct light.”

 “So, no ‘death sleep’ or anything like that?”

 “Really,” Angel said as he rolled his eyes, “a big Anne Rice fan, are you?”  Hearing Adam’s airy snort of guilty laughter, the vampire continued.  “Do you go to bed as soon as the sun sets?  It’s not all that different for us.”

 It made sense to Adam.  So did Angel’s reason for staying:  he didn’t want to leave the Immortal in the library unchaperoned.   It was a fact that brought another question to Adam’s mind.

 “Do you often come to the library to hang around alone in the middle of the night?”

 “I knew you would be here,” Angel answered simply. Seeing the look of disbelief on the Immortal’s face, the vampire filled in the blanks.  “It’s where I would be if I wanted to know more about the people that I followed around all night.”

 Schooling his expression to perfect blankness, Adam neither confirmed nor denied Angel’s accusation.  Still, the Immortal was puzzled.  He thought he had been exceedingly careful to stay far enough away so as not to alert Angel of his presence.  Whatever.  At any rate, he would have to be more careful in the future.

 “So here I am, the Immortal in the library with the books.   Are you going to report me to the librarian, Colonel Mustard?”

 “Not exactly.”

 “And what exactly brought about this little change of heart?”  Adam asked suspiciously.

 “Look, I don’t know you, and from what I’ve seen of your kind, I’m not exactly inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt, either.  You so much as hurt any of those kids’ feelings and I won’t need a sword to rip your head off,” Angel insisted, emphasizing his words with a menacing growl.   “But you did save Willow’s life tonight, so I guess you’re entitled to a little leeway...a very little leeway,” the vampire added.

 “Ah, she came down hard on you, did she?”  Adam chuckled knowingly, almost laughing outright when Angel stiffened visibly at being found out.

 “Cordelia said something about a...Pamprin?  Whatever that is,” the vampire all-but-mumbled before going on in a louder tone of voice.   “Besides, Willow said that you were a expert at languages or something.”

 “Oh?  And that would matter because...” he prompted.

 “I have a book of prophecies here,” Angel explained, pulling the aforementioned volume out of the pocket of his leather duster.   “You don’t happen to read ancient Greek, do you?”

 “Like a native,” Adam bit back a smile at his little private joke while Angel pulled a chair over to the desk and sat.

 “Good, because I think this particular passage mentions the Legion...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 It was 9:14 in the morning when Xander and Willow entered the library together.   At 9:15, the dark-haired teenager turned on his heel and exited the room as quickly as he’d entered.

 His abrupt departure interrupted the chortling coming from the hastily arranged folding table set up near the top of the stairway.  The sounds of chuckling ceased as Xander reentered the room after a single moment’s pause outside the door.   He looked up towards the two much older men staring back down at him in puzzlement.

 “It’s a dimension where time and space have no meaning....for Xander Harris has just entered the Twilight Zone,” the teen mumbled before turning to the surprised redhead at his side.  “Okay, did we like...miss something here? Like the part where those two were, uh, no pun intended, at each other’s throats last night?”

 “Xander...,” Willow cautioned, as surprised as her oldest friend, but nonetheless pleased by the current situation.

 “Actually,” Giles began, emerging from the weapons locker with an armload of books,  “Dr. Pierson has been a great deal of help to us this morning.”

 “Oh?” Willow inquired, tossing a casual greeting to Oz and Cordelia as they made their way through the library doors.

 “Ah, good,” Giles noted at the sight of the other two Slayerettes.  “We seem to have made a breakthrough in researching the Legion prophecy which, of course, will require, ahem, more research.”   A collective groan resounded from all four of the teenagers.

 “How long again until graduation?” Xander asked futilely as the teenagers followed the librarian up the stairs.

 “...in woolen hose and hessian pants, wearing enough powder on our faces to rival a kabuki troop...” Adam was saying, continuing his interrupted conversation with the vampire, “...and then he had the nerve to say, ‘In that spirit, dear sir, I do believe that there can be only one.  Would you be so kind as to defend yourself?’.   Can you even imagine? Draped out in all that finery, in front of the Duke and Duchess, no less?”

 “You have to admit that there was a certain elegance to the times back then, though,” Angel insisted, still smiling over the Immortal’s recollection.

 “Oh please.  I don’t know about you, but the eighteenth century wasn’t over fast enough for me,” Adam admonished.

 As the Immortal made the time reference, all four of teenagers' jaws dropped to various degrees.   Although each of them was cognizant of Angel’s advanced age, it was another thing to actually ‘comprehend’ just how long the vampire had been in existence.   Most of the time, Angel’s deceptively youthful appearance made him seem younger than Giles in their estimation.

 “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘seems like old times,’ doesn’t it?” Xander observed.

 “It’s been quite fascinating, actually,” Giles commented to the students before turning his gaze to the two oldest beings in the room.   “To think about all of the things you must have seen and encountered first-hand...for...for example...”

 “No offense here,” Xander quickly jumped in, heading off the Watcher before he could lose himself in a tangent,  “but you’ve already defied the laws of God and man by making us get up this early on a Saturday.  Can we move on to the present now?”

 “What?” Giles verbally stumbled before remembering the real reason the group was gathered.  “Oh, yes, right.  The prophecy of Legion.  Perhaps you would all, ah, care to take a seat.”

 Prompted by the librarian, the four teenagers broke apart to meet Giles’ request.  Oz assisted Cordelia in dragging over a long, cushioned library bench while Willow took the space Angel subtly offered her on the couch next to him.  Not one for expending more energy than was necessary, Xander flopped himself on the floor near Cordelia’s Ferrgamo- covered feet.  Once they were settled, Giles handed each of the students one of the books he’d been carrying.

 “So, are we still uselessly trolling for info on the whole Legion thing?” Cordelia asked with a roll of her eyes.

 “As a matter of fact, Angel and Dr. Pierson may have uncovered a new angle to look into,” Giles replied somewhat cheerfully.

 The teens waited a moment for the Watcher to elaborate, but he seemed to be unaware of the unnatural pause.

 “Feel free to jump in anytime here, G-man,” Xander hinted.

 “We are looking for references on masks.”

 “Masks?  What kind of masks?” Willow asked. Prompted by her question, Angel began reading from a hastily written translation.

 “’Only when the two merge into one shall the power of the masks increase a hundred-fold, seducing the masses into unknowing servitude.  Then, and only then, shall they swear their fealty to the greater evil.’”

 “It’s kind of generic, isn’t it?  How do we know it has anything to do with the Legion?” Oz wondered aloud.

 “Whistler sent it to me when he heard about what’s been going on,” Angel supplied.

 “Nice of you to hold out on us,” Xander accused.

 “Hold up a minute,” the vampire retorted defensively. “I just got this a couple of days ago.  Besides, unless you’ve been brushing up on Greek in your spare time, I still needed Pierson to translate parts of it.”

 “Perhaps we should return to the prophecy?” Giles interjected smoothly.

 “So we have masks, two merging into one...,” Oz recapped.

 “What about this ‘greater evil’ thing?” Cordelia questioned.  “What’s actually greater than the entire world getting sucked into the mouth of Hell?”

 They spent the next hour discussing possible meanings of the passage Angel had discovered, gradually pursuing various theories.  Xander and Cordelia, after disappearing to a closet somewhere for a half hour, were sitting side-by-side at the folding table, going through books with references to masks.  Oz was busy pulling books from the stacks that Giles suspected might contain additional information.   As for the librarian, he was retrieving some of the books the Watcher’s council had sent over on Ahrimin and Immortals for Adam.  Willow was in her usual place at the computer, running searches on various key words.  That left the two immortals upstairs, each reading volumes pertaining to their own respective prophecies.

 Well, actually Angel had stopped reading, Adam noted. Following the vampire’s gaze, the Immortal was not the least bit surprised to find that Angel’s line of sight ended directly on Willow.  Even with the distance between himself and the girl he was effectively spying upon, Adam had believed there to be *some* form of interest between the two from the first moment he’d seen the pair together.   In fact, the Immortal privately thought the others were in denial of what was so painfully obvious to an objective outsider.   The hints were all there -- Angel’s sheer protectiveness over Willow’s safety, while she risked stealing away Adam’s gun to prevent the vampire from being left behind in the park.   It was ‘Gift of the Magi’-type devotion and yet, neither one seemed to be aware of the other’s interest.  

 As luck would have it, the sky was overcast that particular day, enabling the vampire to venture further into the room than normal.   Erring on the side of caution, Angel was no more than three feet away from the safety of the shadows that the towering bookcases provided when the sun occasionally managed to break through the heavy cloud coverage.

 It was one of those rays of sunshine that so entranced the vampire at that moment.

 Given the time of day, the brightness illuminated the room from an acute angle.   Where he was, Angel was safe from harm as the sun's rays poured in through the glass portion of the ceiling.   Like a gift from the heavens, the strongest beam fell directly on Willow like a spotlight on a stage actor.

 The effect was magnificent.   The brightness reflected off her irises, making her green eyes incandescent.   Her skin took on a healthy glow as well, but it was her hair that caught the attention of  both of the Immortals in the room.

 Angel was staring at the shoulder-length strands.   A look of child-like wonder settled over his features as he watched the sun-kissed red locks dance and shimmer from the slightest move on Willow’s part.   Even Adam found himself intrigued, silently comparing the girl’s hair to flames burning brightly in a fireplace.

 The sound of footsteps on the stairs brought the Immortal back from his mental wanderings.

 “By the way,” Giles commented as he walked, reading from an indexing card in the hand not filled with leather-bound books.  “I believe you might find this of some interest.”

 “Oh?” Adam responded hopefully.

 “According to this,” the librarian nodded at the card he held, “one of these books is believed to have been written in the 17th century by a four-and-a-half-millennia-old Immortal named Methos.”

 “Four-and-a-half-*thousand*-years-old?” Angel reiterated.

 “Whoa,” Oz commented from the stacks behind them, having overheard the comment.   All of the Sunnydale group seemed stunned at the thought of *anything* existing that long. Their surprise, however, was quickly replaced by the confusion raised when Adam chuckled softly.

 “Oh please!  I hate to burst your bubble, but Methos is nothing more than an Immortal old wives’ tale.   It’s a legend that we tell our students to motivate them.   ‘Train really hard and you might actually live to be as old as Methos.’”  Seeing the skepticism of those assembled, Adam continued.   “Just look at the name itself.”

 “Methos...mythos,” Angel whispered his train of thought aloud.

 “Mythos?” Xander parroted.  “It sounds like a Greek candy.  I can see the cheesy commercials now.  A guy...a goat... and at the end he’s there...’Mythos...the baaaaa maker.’” Xander embellished his comment with a  classic ‘thumbs up’ and an exaggerated wink.

 “Mythos,” Angel repeated, used to ignoring Xander’s comedic interruptions.  “It’s the Greek word for ‘myth’.”

 A disappointed expression emerged on Giles’ face as he digested the probable truth of Adam’s explanation.

 “So what else do you have there?”  Adam inquired, anxious to press onwards in the hunt for information.

 “Hmm?  Oh, right.   These two cover various legends of Immortals, but you might have more luck with this one,” Giles said as he handed it to the Immortal.   “According to the accompanying card, it was recovered from the house of a suspected witch in 1749 Northern Scotland.”

 “May I see that?”  Adam asked, his manners belaying the hint of suspicion in his eyes.  As soon as he held the book, the Immortal began skimming through it.

 “A witch?  That’s so neat,” Willow enthused, her voice growing louder as she climbed up the steps.

 “Unfortunately, not for this particular woman,” Giles commented, looking more carefully at the cataloguing card that arrived with the book.  “It seems she was burned at the stake by the local townspeople.”

 ‘It couldn’t have happened to a better person,’ Adam thought silently.  His suspicion were proven correct when he found the author’s name delicately scripted on the inside cover.

 Absorbing the information with distasteful looks on their faces, the teenagers one-by-one turned back to their appointed tasks.    Another hour passed before the silence was broken, this time by an infuriated Immortal.

 “You flea-bitten, louse-ridden, rag-wearing, dung-smelling, lazy desert rat, traitorous, murdering, sloe-eyed daughter of a whore!”

 “You know, with a mouth like that, I’ll bet he could charm the frosting right off a Pop-Tart,” Xander quipped, his eyebrows arched in puzzlement over the long-winded curse.

 “But you have to award him high marks, though -- not just for the seamless continuity, but also for sheer creativity,” Oz noted with no small amount of admiration.

 The commentary, however, was lost on the Immortal, who was busy digging his cell phone out of the leather attache resting on the table.   Still mumbling under his breath, Adam used his thumb to viciously enter a short-dial number.   In a rare, outward show of temper, he stood and strode away angrily, seeking a little privacy for the call.  It never occured to him that with their supernatural status, both Angel and Oz would clearly hear every word he said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Adam Pierson slowly descended the stairs as he listened to the annoying electronic dial tone coming from his cellular phone.   Finally, on the seventh ring, a familiar gravelly voice rumbled through the ear-piece.

 “Hello.”

 “Where is she, Joe?” Adam demanded without any preamble.

 “Adam?  Is that you?”

 “I should have killed her when I had the chance! Twice!  Twice I’ve had the opportunity...” the enraged Immortal ranted.

 “Slow down, old man.  Just who in the hell are we talking about here?”  the mortal asked with a hint of impatience.

 “Cassandra.”  Adam hissed, the reviled name flowing off his lips like venom.

 “Wait a minute,” Joe insisted, trying to catch up on current events.   “What does she have to do with this?”

 “She knew, Joe.”

 “Whaddya mean, ‘she knew’?”

 “She knew all of it -- Ahriman, MacLeod, the visions -- the goddamned bitch even knew *when* it would happen...”

 “Slow down a second!” Joe ordered, determined to figure out what had his normally unflappable friend so riled. “What exactly have you found out?”

 “It’s a long story, Joe, but the short version is that I’ve uncovered an old diary of Cassandra’s.  Almost all she talks about in it is the coming of Ahriman and the Immortal Champion who will fight the demon.”

 “Does it say anything about how Mac is supposed to beat this son of a bitch?”

 “At first glance?  No.  In fact, she doesn’t even name MacLeod as the Champion until almost the end.”

 “Oh that’s just terrific.”

 “Look, Joe, I’ve only had time to skim over this so far. Maybe there’s something more in here, but mostly it’s just pages upon pages of how and when Ahriman will appear and what will happen if the Champion *can’t* defeat it,” Adam growled, obviously frustrated at the lack of useful information the diary contained.

 “Did you ever think that maybe that’s the reason Cassandra never said anything to Mac?   I mean, maybe this wasn’t deliberate.   Maybe she didn’t say anything because she didn’t know anything truly useful.”

 “No, Joe.   She did this deliberately,” Adam insisted. “I mean if she had told Duncan even a portion of what’s in here...”

 “Forgive me for saying this, but are you sure?  You aren’t exactly the most objective person when it comes to Cassandra, after all.”

  “I just need to know where she is, Joe,” Adam changed the subject.

 “I can’t help you there.  She up and disappeared right after her little run-in with you last year.”

 “Oh for Christ’s sake,” the Immortal cursed.  “First MacLeod and now Cassandra?   Are there any Immortals that the Watchers are actually *watching*?”

 “Hey!” Joe protested hotly.  “Look, pal.  You, of *all* people, should know better than most how easy it is to stay lost when you don’t want to be found.”

 There was a pause in the conversation as the Immortal conceded the point.  “Joe...”

 “Besides, even if we knew where she was,” the Watcher interjected, “what makes you think that she would actually do *anything* to help either you or MacLeod?   I’ve seen it up close and first hand, my friend.  She *hates* you, and not without some damn good reasons.   And after the mess the three of you got into last year, MacLeod’s name is right under yours on her fecal roster.”

 “Just find her, Joe,” the Immortal sighed, his heart and head heavy with exhaustion.  As tired as he was, however, Adam still had one more card to play.  “Not for me, but for MacLeod...,” he paused for effect, “...and for Richie.”

 “Richie?  What does he have to do with this?” the mortal whispered sadly, remembering the Highlander’s ill-fated student.  The Watcher and the young Immortal had long shared a close friendship.   Joe had taken the death hard, breaking down sobbing in Adam’s arms as they stood together over Richie’s headless corpse.

 Hefting the diary still in his hand, Adam began to read from a passage that he had marked with an index card.   “In 1723, Cassandra wrote:  ‘In the days that mark the end of the millennia, the demon will roam once more.   He shall appear, cloaking himself under the faces of opponents past.   And with this guise, the demon shall deceive the shepherd into slaughtering the lamb.’”

 It was a shameless manipulation, one totally unworthy of someone as adept at it as Adam was.  What made it worse was the fact that both men knew it.  Nevertheless, it still had the desired effect for which the Immortal had been hoping.

 “I’ll get everyone I can spare on it,” Joe promised solemnly.

 “Let me know if you find anything, and I do mean *anything.*”

 “Don’t forget to stay in touch,” Joe reminded.

 “Yes, Dad,” the Immortal teased.

 “Smartass,”  Adam heard as the mortal severed his end of the phone line.   With a long sigh, the Immortal followed suit.  He was exhausted -- not physically, his Immortal healing factor took care of that, but mentally.   In addition to the emotional roller coaster of dealing with Cassandra’s journal, Adam had been awake for over thirty hours by that point. While Immortality may have kept his body from feeling the effects, it did nothing to appease his mental weariness.   What he really needed was food, a couple of hours of sleep and meditation -- not necessarily in that order.

 Turning around to face the group from Sunnydale, he wasn’t surprised to find all eyes trained on himself -- all eyes, that is, except for Angel and the boy called Oz.   The two of them were looking hard at each other with matching expressions of confusion.   The oddity of it attracted Adam’s attention, and though it took him a moment, its meaning soon dawned on him.   Giles had noted in his diary that Oz retained extremely powerful senses the twenty-eight days of the month he was not a full-fledged werewolf.   As for Angel, Adam suspected that the vampire’s hearing would also be augmented like any other creature that hunted for its food.

 Unnerved by the revelation, the Immortal ran back over the conversation with Joe, reviewing the contents to insure that nothing too incriminating had been revealed.  At the same time, he was also simultaneously creating a plausible cover story for the barrage of questions he knew would be coming.

 “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that there was no joy for the Hoos in Hooville,” Xander blurted in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the room.

 Xander’s humor faded under Adam’s icy stare, one so cold it could have frozen vodka.  “Has anybody ever told you that you have an absolutely astounding grasp of the obvious?”

 “As a matter of fact, but hey, it’s a gift,” Xander shot back.

 Ignoring the irritating teen, Adam tossed the book onto the folding table.   The loud ‘thud’ the volume made when it landed made both Cordelia and Willow jump, but Giles simply picked up the leather-bound journal and calmly began flipping through the pages.  It was a moment before the librarian finally voiced the questions on his mind.

 “Is this Cassandra truly a witch?” he inquired, dragging a sigh from the Immortal.

 “If you had asked me that before this whole mess with Ahriman started, I would have said no.”   Seeing that they were all waiting for a more detailed explanation, the Immortal continued with carefully chosen words.   “She does this thing she calls ‘the Voice,’  but it’s mostly a light form of hypnosis blended with the power of suggestion.”

 Angel nodded at Adam before facing the others.  “I’ve seen Drusilla do that before.”

 Giles blanched at the vampire’s unintentional reminder. It had not been that long ago that Drusilla had used that very same mental trick on him.   With a glare at the vampire for bringing up the subject, Giles swallowed his anger and continued onward with the topic of discussion.

 “Most of the reference material we have on Drusilla indicates that her ‘visions’ are quite often accurate.  In her insanity, however, she seems to lack the logic and deductive reasoning skills necessary to interpret what she sees accurately.”

 After making the statement, the Watcher turned to Angel, who reluctantly nodded in agreement.  The vampire’s face was full of guilt, not only from Angelus’ torture of Giles, but also from the knowledge that it was the demon-controlled version of himself who had driven the beautiful vampiress into insanity.   However, Giles inadvertently pressed onward before Angel could slip into full-blown ‘brood mode’.

 “This Cassandra,” the librarian asked Adam, “are her prophecies generally accurate?”

 Concealing a secret grin, the Immortal shrugged casually, greatly anticipating the reaction he knew his next comment would receive.

 “King Priamos used to think so.”

 It took a moment for both Giles and Angel to make the connection, but the looks on their respective faces were well worth it in Adam’s opinion.

 “Are you saying that the Cassandra who wrote this book is actually Cassandra of Troy?”  Giles asked in disbelief.

  Once the Watcher vocalized the connection, it was Willow’s and Oz’s turn to gasp in surprise.  Not surprisingly, Xander and Cordelia both required a little more information.

 “Okay, how about an explanation for those of us who got the nice parting gifts *before* the final Jeopardy round?” Xander groused.

 “It..it’s from Homer’s I..Iliad,” Giles stammered, more than a little unnerved by Adam’s revelation.

 “Oh!  I saw that!” Cordelia chimed.  “I liked the sequel with Armand Assante better, though.  What?” the May Queen protested when six pairs of eyes began glaring at her.

 “Okay, aside from the whole ‘part of ancient history thing’, why is this such a major deal?”  Xander questioned.

 “In the story, Cassandra received the Gift of Prophecy from the gods, but she kinda pissed them off,” Oz began.  “The gods couldn’t indian-give, so they worked some godly mojo and cursed her so that nobody would ever *believe* any of the things she said.”

 “Most likely, Cassandra was already more than a little off her rocker, which is why nobody believed her until it was too late,” Adam surmised.   “Of course, Homer had to make it more interesting by making it seem like there was a divine intervention.  It has a much nicer ring to it than ‘she was as nutty as a fruitcake’.”

 “You...,” Willow began, her eyes wide with shock. “...that was...like 3000 years ago.   You...sound....like you ...were... you weren’t actually *there*, were you?”

 “Who, me?” Adam responded, his expression dripping with astonishment.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  I’m nowhere near Cassandra’s age.”

 “I do apologize, but h...how can you b...be c..certain that the Cassandra who wrote this...” Giles gestured at the diary, “is the same one in Homer’s writings?”

 “Throughout most of history, there has been a secret society that keeps records on Immortals.  We aren’t supposed to know about them, but I do.   I’ve gained access to their records a time or two,” Adam explained calmly, then waited for the others to absorb the magnitude of what he had just revealed.

 “This is...truly astounding.   I mean, historians b...believe that the events described in the Iliad date b...back to 1200 BC.   That someone from that time period still exists...well, surely you can see just how amazing that is,” Giles flushed as the other six people in the room stared at him as he rambled.

 “So,” Oz began, changing the subject before the librarian could continue.  “Cassandra is an Immortal.  You guys got any other names we might recognize?”

 Adam smiled at the teen’s blatant curiosity.   Deciding to show off a little, he reviewed his mental roster, careful to name only those Immortals that were *really* deceased.

 “Let’s see now...there was Nefertiri and Marcus Constantine...”

 “...*Cleopatra’s* Nefertiri?” Willow interrupted.

 “Yes, that’s the one.  Who else?   Darius.  Copernicus. Rembrandt.  Byron...”

 “The poet?”

 “The musician?”  Giles’ and Oz’s voices overlapped each other.

 “Yes and yes.  One and the same,” Adam supplied.

 “Cool.   He really had the whole lyrics thing down,” Oz enthused, then paused to consider the concept.  “Then again, he had a lot of time to practice.  But didn’t Byron...die...a couple of months ago?  Or was that just an Eddie and the Cruisers re-enactment?”

 “No,” Adam replied, hiding his grief under a clinical mask of indifference.  “That was definitely for real.”

 “That sucks,” the teen said sadly.

 “You knew him, didn’t you?”  Adam was surprised at Willow’s insight, not to mention the comfort she extended by placing her hand gently on his arm.   When he brought his eyes up to meet hers, he found himself drowning in a sea of sympathetic green.  “I’m sorry.”

 “I think,” Adam paused, trying to vocalize both his sorrow and acceptance over the death of his one-time student, “I think that underneath it all, it was what he wanted.  I will miss his genius, though.”

 With the remembrance came a wave of exhaustion. Adam looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it was well-past noon.   He was tired, hungry, and needed to take a break from the Sunnydale natives.

 “Look, I don’t know about you all, but I would like to suggest we break for the afternoon,” he suggested.

 Seeing the teenagers’ faces light up at the prospect of some downtime, Giles had no choice but to acquiesce to the Immortal’s suggestion.   For his part, Angel was greatly relieved.   Even after establishing eye contact with the Immortal, Angel still needed to expend a great deal of energy to keep his demon under control.   Since he’d begun spending such long hours at the library, the vampire had been keeping a small quantity of blood in the back of the little refrigerator in Giles’ office.  He had finished the last of his supply earlier that morning, though.

 “Please attempt to be back here about a half an hour before sunset,” the Watcher instructed.

 They were gathering up their various belongings when Adam asked if he could hold on to Cassandra’s journal, which Giles rather reluctantly permitted.   Willow was whispering something quietly to Angel as she accompanied the vampire over to the hidden entrance of the underground tunnels. Adam was almost to the door with the remaining members of the Slayerettes when Angel’s voice called out across the expanse of the room.

 “Pierson?”  Adam stopped at the sound of the name, but did not bother to turn around.   Seeing that he had the Immortal’s attention, Angel continued.  “Why does Cassandra hate you so much?”

 All motion in the room stopped as they waited to hear Adam’s response.   The stillness was uncomfortable, as was the could-hear-a-pin-drop-type silence.   There was an almost imperceptible drop of the Immortal’s shoulders before he wearily pivoted and captured Angel’s eye in a searing glance.

 “Tell me, in the past two-and-a-half centuries, surely you’ve had regrets about the some of the things you’ve done.” Not bothering to wait for Angel’s obvious reply, Adam turned back to face the heavy double doors as he spoke.

 “Well, Cassandra is one of mine.”

 That said, Adam Pierson left the room, leaving behind six very puzzled Slayerettes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Almost immediately after Adam’s departure, the group from Sunnydale took their leave from the library.   Angel was the first, slipping through the obscured hole in the wall that led directly into the vast network of tunnels that ran under almost the entire city.   These underground passageways allowed not only Angel, but every vampire in Sunnydale, to move about freely during the daylight hours while avoiding the hazard of direct sunlight.

 Moving silently as he made his way back to his warehouse apartment, Angel frowned as he shifted the book that Whistler had sent to him back and forth between his hands. Prophecies -- too damned many of them for his liking.  Of course, what else should he have expected, living on the Hellmouth and all?    And then there was the unexpected arrival of the Immortal.   As if they didn’t have enough to worry about...

 Before he could finish the thought, Angel sensed another presence in the tunnel with him.   Instinctively sliding into his game face, the vampire stopped suddenly, whirling around to look for the implied threat.

 He never even saw the lead pipe that impacted with the back of his neck, sending him to the ground unconscious.

 It definitely wasn’t the vampire’s week as far as head injuries were concerned.

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