The Sanctuary
Cassandra stepped on the gas of the rental as she wound through the streets of Paris with a bleeding girl in the seat next to her. Genevieve shouldn't still be bleeding--she was Immortal--but she was, and she had gone pale, and seemed in shock.
"Genevieve!" she called, employing the Voice. "Say something."
"Don't do that," the girl responded, querulously. "I know when you're doing it, and when you aren't."
"You're...awake?"
"Nothing but. I'm still, jumping bleeding Jesus Christ almighty--bleeding--heh heh, weird. Turn left."
"What?"
"Left. Rue de St. Michel. Two blocks, and a right. We're going to Sanctuary...it's cool. I know the proprietor."
"You're..."
"I can't engage in, like, detailed conversation, right now--but I'm glad to see you know where the gas pedal is. You drive alright."
"Thanks?" Cassandra said, more of a question than an honest response to her comment. She glanced over, briefly, and watched as the young woman's features composed themselves into a blank mask of equanimity--she seemed to see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, at that moment, and even if she tried, she could sense nothing from the woman, not fear--not even pain. It was as if the girl had gone into the trance of a shaman.
She didn't know where the girl would have learned that. No more than she knew where she had picked up her manner of fighting--perhaps she had come up with her methods through nothing more than experimentation. She knew Duncan had tried to show her something, and was rewarded with disappointment. She wondered if Methos had shown her how to fight, but doubted it--she fought in a way women, eventually, must learn.
She would do anything. Anything.
The opponent had been a woman, and Genevieve tried to talk her out of the fight with the usual ruse--she was Anath-Sin--a ridiculous lie, but curiously effective amongst these creatures. And when it hadn't worked, Genevieve simply engaged, face--perhaps face as blank as it was, now. And she was losing, right up until she dropped her sword.
No, that hadn't been it. She threw it away. She threw it, and beckoned.
"This is how an old woman dies!" she had screamed. "I am yesterday, today, and tomorrow."
Cassandra wondered where those words had come from--they were familiar, as if taken from some old book. She was not old, at all--but a child--and yet, she stepped aside as the woman lunged, just at the moment she should have been run through. She grabbed the woman by the hair, wrapping it in her hand, and yanked her. The woman tried to lift the sword to such a point as she would touch it to Genevieve, but the girl put her hand on the very blade, and held it to the woman's shoulder. Genevieve was physically stronger--that much was clear.
"How old are you?" she had asked, with something in her voice--it was a lump in her throat--Cassandra knew why she was asking. And when the woman answered--"Why? I'm...I've lived...seventy-eight..." she understood. All of the Gauntlet was older than she. And yet they wanted her--*vintage* Quickening. She took the woman with her own sword, and simply dropped when the Quickening hit, exhausted.
But then the shots rang out--one hitting her. Cassandra rushed forward, not even thinking, only knowing that she wanted to protect the younger woman while she was incapacitated. Whoever the assailant was, he ran once he knew they were two--the team of Genevieve and Cassandra--so far--was an effective one for that.
"One more person, off the social security rolls." Her words came out slurred, her eyes were glassy and wandered, as if she wasn't able to focus them.
"I doubt she was an American." Cassandra tried to keep from sounding concerned, knowing that it would be good to keep the girl talking.
"Really?"
"You were speaking Italian."
"Oh." She then laughed. "Italian in France? It felt like home."
"How did you end up with a French name then?" Cassandra asked, as she helped Genevieve to her feet--and saw she wasn't healing. She still bled.
"My mom thought it was pretty. My dad didn't care. And...I'm messed up?"
It was plain to see that she was, and from there, in the short drag to the car, the girl had become the pale wreck she saw now. The wreck that now was trying to peer out the window so hard that her face was pressed against it. "I think we're close."
Cassandra stopped ruminating over the fight she'd seen. "What am I looking for?"
"Sanctuary--there isn't really a sign--this neighborhood--not so much for signs--but it's...I'll try and stay conscious...we're...like, a block away. Shit...that guy didn't see you, did he? Eh....
"The Sanctuary. Was this a church?"
"Maybe. I think. One of the former proprietors had a sense of humor. The current proprietor--is Immortal. Amanda--she's a friend of Duncan's, too. Help me out of the car, would you?"
"Sanctuary--a bar on Holy Ground, run by..."
"Yeah...got the joke. It's only funny to us."
Cassandra smiled. "I like it."
****
Genevieve staggered, dropped to her knees, and then put her hand to the wound, clawing at it. In horror, she pulled her fingers back from the blood. "It burns. It shouldn't do that. It shouldn't do that!"
A firm hand pulled her to her feet. "Don't touch it-are you healing?"
"Yes, but I wish I wasn't," she answered, and then, without thinking, put her hand back to the wound. Her fingers pulled at it. "I have to get it out of me. I have to get it out." Cassandra yanked her hand away, and twisted her arm so as to brace her up against the doorway, where she leaned as Cassandra then buzzed. She felt a moment's hesitation-she knew Amanda by name only, and wondered if there was any good way to request entrance when one's passport is one bleeding, delirious child. When Amanda came to the door, however, no explanation was needed.
"Genevieve!"
"Can I crash here? I'm having a bad…uh, life. This is Cassandra. Cassandra, Amanda, Amanda…eh, talk amongst yourselves." She appeared to black out, and fell up the stairs.
"What happened to her?" Amanda demanded.
"She's been shot with-something. I think there's some kind of poison involved."
The two women worked to manage the unconscious Genevieve up the stairs, Amanda pulling, Cassandra taking her by the legs. The girl came back to consciousness just before being pulled onto the rug, and squirmed.
"I'm not bleeding on a Persian rug. Towel…and alcohol."
"We need to wash off the blood, let me…" Cassandra offered, but the now-conscious woman broke free from her attempts at further assistance, feeling and stumbling her way into the bathroom, reaching for something down by her boot. At first, the movement puzzled her, but then she saw what the woman had reached for-her knife.
"Genevieve, don't…" Amanda cautioned, standing by the door, and then her eyes widened in horror. Genevieve sliced into her own shoulder, drawing a good quantity of blood that she mostly directed towards the sink, with general success. She put down the knife, where it clattered into the sink, and then, with the one useful hand, began rifling through the medicine cabinet.
"Let me help you.." Amanda then said. She reached for the knob to turn on the faucet, but her hand was stopped. Genevieve glared at her, sternly.
"No…water. I…have a good idea what this is. No water. You have rubbing alcohol?"
"No, I never…would vodka do?"
"In a pinch…or a shot glass," the girl said, her voice strained. She reached for the knife again…and pushed it in deeper, as if searching for something. "I wish it would stop doing that."
"Doing what?'
"The healing…burns…" And then, evidently, the tip of the blade found what it was looking for-she dislodged a ball from the wound, and it clattered into the sink. Her head tilted upwards, and Amanda managed to catch her as she fell. Cassandra reached in an arm, and twisted the knob. The contents of the sink steamed on contact with the water. She quickly shut it off.
"Where do you keep the vodka?"
"I'll…you stay with her, I'll get it." Amanda lowered the girl to the floor, rose and brushed past Cassandra, who then knelt. Strangely, a half-remembered magical phrase drifted through her mind-something taught her by Hijad. She found herself speaking it aloud, and was caught off-guard when Genevieve chose that moment to let her eyes roll back to gaze at her directly.
"I don't know what it means, but it sounds good," she muttered, and then tried to rise. Cassandra restrained her.
"No, it isn't good for you to try to stand. Let us help you." Amanda then came in with the bottle and a hand towel. She wet the towel with the liquor, and then stooped to tear Genevieve's shirt, which was already in shreds due to her use of the knife. The girl struggled.
"Calm down, I've washed out wounds before," Amanda said. "I worked with Florence Nightengale in the Crimea, after all."
The girl, nonetheless, reached for the towel, and attempted to pull herself up. Amanda's eyes met Cassandra's, who tried again to restrain her. "I've acted as a healer, off and on, for three thousand years, personally."
Amanda's mouth dropped open. "You're that Cassandra-Duncan's friend?"
"Hello-great you're making each other's acquaintance. And I have a masters in Biochemistry and a pretty nasty bit of acid still turning my innards into oatmeal, so if you don't…" Genevieve dragged herself to her feet, and reached once again for the knife. She pulled her skin back open, and held out her hand. "The bottle?" It was handed over, and she spilled a good quantity on the wound and then a good quantity in her mouth. She gasped. "There." The wound began closing, and she staggered, before collapsing again, this time, for good.
"Very Rambo," Amanda commented. "Take the feet?"
"I had the feet on the stairs," Cassandra responded, reaching under Genevieve's arms.
"Who did this?"
"Have you ever heard of the Gauntlet?"
Amanda nodded, slowly. She'd heard of them. She wished she never had. If it seemed bad enough calling the Game just that-the Game called the Gauntlet was even more inaptly called. She could still recall the humid night air and the hurried knock on the door some five hundred years before. The sound of the voice, and the coppery lock of hair that stole out beneath the cloak were unmistakably Rebecca's-but the note of fear in her voice almost made her look twice.
****
"Rebecca! What's happened to you?"
"Just let me in, Amanda, there's no time for explanation, here. Now." She entered, and there was something missing from her step. She turned before the door was closed behind her, as if looking for something she suspected was following her, and walked backwards, staring at the door even as Amanda shut it.
"You are being pursued?" Amanda asked, heart pounding at the sight of her teacher in this state. She could recall that night we she had come to Rebecca, and received the counsel that she could no longer run-that the time had come to stand and fight, and could not imagine something terrible enough that it had put Rebecca to flight. From that much, she could imagine it to be terrible.
Rebecca took of the long, woolen cloak, that was gray with dust from hard travel, and Amanda could see the streaks of dirt on her gown, as well and the tears in the skirt of it. She ran her hands over her face, sweat having coated her, plastering her hair in places to her forehead, and there were spots of color on her porcelain skin. She glanced at Amanda, a touch of something unrecognizable crossing her face, before she shook her head.
"Perhaps not. Perhaps by now, I've escaped them. The jackals!" she exclaimed, with unusual force.
"There…just sit. I will fetch some wine. It's hot, and you've come…"
Amanda considered the distance-Lyon to Nice? She looked on Rebecca, and saw that she hadn't yet found a seat, but instead, paced, wringing her hands. "I'm not staying. I only needed to rest. I won't have you involved."
"Rest! At least sit." She went to her, and tried to make her be still. Her hand was brushed away, and she became frightened. "Tell me what has you this way!" she cried. She grabbed Rebecca by the shoulders, trying to force eye contact, feeling strange about it-student leading the teacher, although they had long ago abandoned that relationship for one of friendship. "Please?" she pleaded.
"Thomas is dead," Rebecca answered, an answer that was not an answer. But Amanda knew the name-Thomas of Thebes was simply one of a number of names Thuity had gone under-he had served under Hatchepsut, and was a very old friend of Rebecca's. She considered the information.
"What happened?"
"I was sent his head. They think this is…sport. Amanda," Rebecca went on, caressing a chestnut strand with trembling fingers. "Have you ever wondered what would become of you if…"
"I wouldn't have lived!" Amanda exclaimed, shaking her head.
"Or you would have been found by another…and you know by now, not all of our kind is honorable. And perhaps, you would not have learned the things that have made me so proud of you."
"Rebecca?"
"There are a group of Immortals, Amanda, younger, undisciplined, and they live for the Game. They are after me, simply because I am older, and that was why they killed Thomas. I do not know how many they number, and so...I can not fight, not knowing...I wanted you to know that you may not be hearing from me for some time."
"This is insanity!"
"No, I only mean to disappear, to throw them off my track. And also, there is someone I wish to warn…I will be going to Heidelberg. But don't try to follow me. And if I should not return…"
"Don't say that," Amanda replied, with tears. "But tell me…who are they?"
"They are called the Gauntlet. It's not always the same Immortals, but it's always the same game-they come after those few of us who lived long enough to make our names known. Take care, Amanda."
"You take care."
She stood, watching her teacher pick up her cloak. She wrapped herself back in it, and was gone.
****
Amanda pulled herself from the memory, and shuddered. "I'll do whatever I can to help you."
"I'm afraid there isn't much that you can do-we are only here to make certain that Me…" Cassandra paused. It was uncomfortable enough speaking that name, and it occurred to her that she perhaps should not mention it
"Methos? Of course…" Amanda looked down at the nearly corpse-like person they were dragging to a sofa. "But what about Genevieve? How did she end up in this?"
"I think I'll let her explain that one for herself."
The young woman stirred, and immediately reached for her shoulder. "Christ. Brilliant."
"Brilliant?" Cassandra snorted. "Exactly what has your admiration?"
"The weapon-brilliant. It must have been designed just for the purpose of hunting Immortals," Genevieve responded, sitting up, still rubbing her shoulder as if she couldn't believe that it had healed. "I don't know what they used-but it was a bitch!"
"I'm thrilled for them," Cassandra commented, but then looked away, raising a hand to her forehead. She shook her head then, as if trying to clear it.
"What is it?" Amanda inquired, concerned.
"It's a vision-Cassandra, what did you see?" Genevieve demanded. The answer she received was a startled look, followed by an agitated one.
"It wasn't…" she began, and then, her eyes glazed. "He's being followed."
"Anything else?" the girl asked, rising to her feet, but just as quickly, she sat back down, hard, on the sofa. "No. I gave you his address, and it makes more sense for you to go finding him. You're the one with the instincts, after all. And I'm still…" Her voice trailed off. "Just…find him before they, you know."
"No, I'll follow her!" Amanda exclaimed.
"No, stay with me, just for a moment," Genevieve asked, a touch of something pleading in her tone.
Cassandra stared at the girl, wondering what her game was. She didn't appear to still be wounded, and yet she suddenly shows this apparent weakness. It made no sense-but then, little that the girl did made sense, and then her arm was grabbed.
"I want to see what that was-about the bullet that kept me from healing properly. And I know I can trust you to find him. And I…if you sensed he was being followed, I have to suppose that they might be…right now…" Cassandra could see the trace of wetness in Genevieve's pale blue eyes, and nodded. Of course, the girl was merely concerned about him-not that at his age, he shouldn't be able to take care of himself, and not that the girl's affection for him probably wasn't based largely on a lie. She gave a nod in Amanda's direction, and left.
Amanda looked at the girl then, whose appearance suddenly became a bit more relaxed one Cassandra had gone.
"What was that all about?" she demanded.
Genevieve smiled. "What?"
"Come on, I know you. You know what 'that' I'm referring to."
Her response was a casual stretch. "I wanted Cassandra to go after him on her own-they have a history, those two. I'm not willing to go into it, I'll just say this-I don't believe in coincidences. She's been thinking about him lately-I have to go with my gut. And also-I do want to find out what was in that bullet. Do you have a pair of rubber gloves-like for washing dishes?"
"Gloves? I'm sure I do but…"
"Call me a kitchen scientist. I'm…curious."
"Very. How did you end up involved in this?"
Genevieve smiled. "Mistaken identity."
"You mistook yourself for someone who needed to be involved, didn't you?"
She got a peal of laughter, only slightly tense, in answer to that. "You do know me, don't you? I don't get a lot of that, lately. I guess that's why I came here…hope it isn't an…inconvenience."
Amanda waved a hand. "Darling, you usually are."
But Genevieve knew she meant it in a nice way, and let it go. She considered Sanctuary to be just that. "We will follow her, I only need a few minutes to satisfy my curiosity. And I don't want them alone for…too, too long."
"And you have some explaining to do," Amanda added.
"Darling, I usually do," she replied, mirroring Amanda's former tone. "Do I ever."