An abandoned house on the edge of town
Seacouver

“This is it,” Richie informed them grimly, pointing to the empty building on their left. It was a large Victorian manor and run down enough to bear a striking resemblance to the stereotypical Hollywood haunted house. His conviction was almost immediately confirmed by the warning buzz. There was definitely an Immortal somewhere in that house–somewhere close.

Methos nodded and pulled the Thunderbird up before the house, his lips twisting in irony. “How appropriate,” he murmured.

“For a house of horrors, you mean?” the younger Immortal quipped. “No kidding.” He shivered.

“Remember, you keep out of this,” the ancient one warned him as he turned off the engine and opened the car door, followed by LaCroix and Janette.

Richie raised his hands in willing surrender. “No problem. Like I said, I have no interest in ever seeing the inside of this place again.”

“If for any reason we don’t come out,” the older Immortal continued, “You get your ass out of here. Out of the country, preferably. And take MacLeod with you.”

“Yeah, well you’ll forgive me if I pray it doesn’t come to that.”

“Please do–I’ll take all the gods I can get on our side right now,” was the sardonic reply.

Janette smiled, squeezing Methos’ arm. Then, as planned, she hung back a moment while her former master and the ancient Immortal crossed the yard to the house.

Both of the men still remembered a time when twelve or thirteen was a perfectly reasonable time for a young girl to get married and a boy would almost certainly have taken his first lover. Both knew the statistics for teenage and pre-teenage sexuality in the twentieth century as well. But even so, the image presented before them when they opened the door had an aura of the unnatural about it.

This was not the fumbling of two children trying to grow up too fast. Nor was it the frightened eagerness of a child bride to please her older, more experienced bedmate. It was a dark, perverse satire of an adult relationship, passionate but not with love, violent, hungry, and shameless to the point of exhibitionism.

“Divia!” LaCroix exclaimed in horror.

The two eternal children broke apart, turning to look at the newcomers.

“What’s wrong, Father?” Divia taunted. “Don’t you want to meet your new son-in-law?” She nipped savagely at Kenny’s ear, drawing blood and sucking hungrily on it. Eyes gleaming with delight at her father’s revulsion drifted to rest on Methos and her face twisted with scorn.

“Well, my Khnum, it seems you were wrong,” she taunted. “Duncan MacLeod has apparently refused our little invitation.”

Kenny had already made this observation and he pulled away from her, eying the other Immortal with open hostility. “Where’s MacLeod?” he demanded.

“We didn’t have room for him in the car.”

“You think I went to all this trouble for some nobody?” the boy retorted.

“Oh, I’d hardly call myself a nobody,” the older Immortal smirked.

“I want MacLeod,” Kenny insisted childishly.

Methos shrugged and turned as if to leave. “Very well. If you’d rather have MacLeod than Methos, I suppose I can go fetch him for you.”

That casual statement riveted the eyes of both Divia and her companion to him.

“Methos?” Kenny asked almost breathlessly.

“You, of all people, ought to know that appearances can be deceiving,” the ancient Immortal replied softly.

“Divia!” the boy exclaimed.

She flew at him, only to find her way blocked by her father. “Get out of my way,” she spat. “You can’t hold me!”

“Perhaps not,” Janette’s voice came out of nowhere and Divia spun to face her. “But you cannot fight us both, ma petite souer.”

The child vampire shrieked, her eyes gleaming gold. With a strength that surprised even the other two of her kind, she grabbed Janette by the throat.

“I am no one’s little sister!” she spat, and hurled the other woman across the room.

Suddenly furious, LaCroix seized his child-master by one arm and pulled her roughly towards him. He pinched her face tightly in one hand. “Don’t ever do that again!” he growled.

Divia struggled, her eyes almost blood red with rage. “Careful, father,” she hissed. “You wouldn’t want to be accused of child abuse.”

“As you’ve been so careful to demonstrate, Divia,” he replied coldly. “You are no longer a child.” With that, he threw her against the door, which splintered under the impact. Outside, Richie fell back with a loud curse as the battle exploded into view. Instinct made him clutch the sword Mac had given him. Thankfully, Divia was too absorbed with her father and Janette to notice.

While the three vampires struggled, Kenny faced the older Immortal, his sword held unsteadily before him and his face white.

“Surprise,” Methos taunted. “Guess you should have listened to all those people who tried to teach you to fight fair.”

Knowing he was outmatched but driven by anger, the child Immortal lunged. “Why you?” he demanded. “Why you and not MacLeod?”

The ancient Immortal easily parried his weak blow. “I don’t have MacLeod’s moral aversion to killing demons in the guise of children.”

Now even angrier, Kenny attacked again, his futile rage fueled even more by every blow the older man blocked. “Damn you!” he swore. “Damn you to hell, Methos!”

Driving his sword through the boy Immortal’s defenses and into his stomach, Methos grimaced. “Not tonight,” he vowed.

Across the room, LaCroix and Janette were both weakening. Divia struck at them with every weapon she had, from her claw-like nails to her fangs. There seemed to be a poison in her touch that even Methos’ blood couldn’t counteract.

Kenny fell to his knees and Richie drifted towards the spectacle, his heart pounding with fear. If the two vampires failed, Divia could easily tear Methos’ head from his body while he was still weak from the Quickening. The younger Immortal knew if that happened, his own demise wouldn’t be far behind. Neither of which he wanted to see.

Then Methos struck and the deceptively youthful blond head fell to the floor.

Divia spun away from her two opponents. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!” she wailed.

Janette took advantage of the elder vampire’s distraction to seize up a splintered piece of wood from the door and drive it into her back.

It was a gruesome spectacle–the scarlet-eyed child staring incredulously into nothing, blood gurgling over her lips and a wooden stake protruding from the center of her chest as the Quickening exploded behind her.

The storm wrapped itself around the ancient Immortal, tearing his voice out of his body in a strangled but triumphant cry. It ripped through the house, shattering windows, setting the electrical wires alive and igniting the silent fireplace in the center of the barren room. Then it ended and Methos doubled over in exhaustion, burying his head in his hands.

Divia looked up at her father, her eyes still wide with shock. “Father,” she gasped weakly. “Help…me…”

Incredibly, he started towards her but was stopped by Janette’s firm hand on his arm. “LaCroix, no,” she insisted with more strength than she felt.

Unnerved, Richie stepped forward, just as Divia stumbled backwards toward the door. He raised his sword and swung.

LaCroix turned away, unable to watch as his daughter’s head rolled from her shoulders and across the room, coming to rest against that of her lover. The woman who had called him master for a thousand years wrapped her arms around him, murmuring words of comfort.

Methos struggled to his feet, crossed the room, and leaned against the door frame to glare at Richie. “I thought I told you to stay out of this.”

The younger Immortal smiled meekly and shrugged. “Yeah, well. Like Mac said, I’ve never been very good at taking orders.”

With a curt laugh, Methos reached out a fatherly hand to scramble the younger man’s hair. “Thank god for that!”