DISCLAIMER: Gambit, Candra, the Externals, and all related characters, concepts and events belong to Marvel Comics. I'm not really certain where this fits into Marvel continuity, but its before Gambit joined the X-MEN. None of the above belongs to me. I am only borrowing them for the purposes of the story.

NOTE: ~Indicates thoughts~ Whether Gambit was aware of Candra's connection to the Thieves Guild is not something I included in the story. Some references to X-Men #8.

DISCLAIMER 2: Highlander, the Watchers, Immortals, Amanda, Joe Dawson, Jack Shapiro, and all related or mentioned characters belong to Rysher, Panzer/Davis Productions. I am only borrowing them for the purposes of the story. Takes near the end of the third season two-part episode "Finale". The title is inspired by the movie, which I've never seen. It just seemed to fit.

Candra stood on her balcony surveying the City of Lights, her chin resting on one hand, with the other curling around the delicate stem of a wineglass. She sipped the pale white liquid then inhaled the smooth bouquet of the expensive wine. ~Just like drinking pure silver or perhaps ivory,~ she reflected. She could afford any luxury and the wine. The fortune she'd amassed over the centuries, had more quadrupled. It was a fortune that only a few of the wealthiest billionaires around the world could boast. Candra blew away a blond curl of hair from her eyes, then sang out.

"Are you coming out here. It's an especially fine day. They say, on a clear day you can see forever." Candra smiled inwardly at her own turn of phrase. After all she was an External, granted an extremely long life, and she'd seen her share of history roll by. Although she'd never chosen to join her fellow Externals in their machinations, she'd had preferred to play the power broker alone. The one thing that she had never deviated from was that everything must be conducted under her rules. With that in mind Candra pivoted on her heels, to face the man emerging from the eighth floor apartment suite.

"Oui, Mademoiselle," Remy LeBeau replied, sauntering out onto the balcony to stand next to her.

"So formal, Remy," Candra lightly teased, ruffling his auburn hair.

"Candra, cherie, you've been kinda distant de last couple of weeks," Remy observed, reaching for the wine bottle half hidden by her pleated skirts. He tried to ignore the unsettling feeling he every time Candra began treating him like a queen's pampered lapdog.

"Care to tell this homme why? Just wonderin’ what be up wi’ you, is all."

"Remy, I need a favor. I need you to do something for me," Candra began, a sweet, alluring smile on her lips. She let her head droop from its normal regal tilt she adopted, allowing her blond locks to cover her face. It was a girlish habit, one she'd never quite grown out of. Setting the wineglass on the balcony ledge, she turned around again.

"Oh," Remy replied, his interest peaked in spite of himself.

"I wish to discuss a matter of some urgency. Have you ever seen this symbol before?" Candra removed a faded sheet of paper from her pocket, smoothing down the edges to display the image printed there: a teardrop shape, pointed downwards inside a circle of twelve stones. One of the many symbols of eternity.

"Can't say that I have. What is it?" Remy asked, tracing the image with a fingertip. "Looks important."

"It is, to me. It belongs to an organization called the Watchers. They have something of mine, and I want it back," Candra insisted, tapping his shoulder. She took the bottle and drank some, swirling the liquid on her tongue, savoring the taste. The she held the bottle behind her back.

"Watching whom?" Remy asked, sensing Candra's urgency, not caring for if she was withholding the wine bottle from him or not.

"Immortals. I need you to retrieve a book for me."

"Why not just go to a used bookstore?" Remy said reasonably.

"Not just any book, my handsome one. My book. Specifically my chronicle. I don't like just anyone knowing more about me than I know about myself. These Watchers have to pay for their impertinence for prying into my affairs. Go to their headquarters in France and retrieve it."

S'ure thing," Remy replied agreeably. "Be in an' out, with no one the wiser."

"Excellent, Remy. Wonderful, Remy. Care for some more wine?" Candra cooed in sleepy, syrupy tones.

Accepting the bottle, Remy downed a healthy swallow, thinking as he did so, ~What is so damn important about some moldy old chronicle?~

Interlude

Joe Dawson perched on a stool in the dimly lit bar, singing the blues. His eyes closed, he let the melody and the words pour out of him. He didn't want to force it, as he'd tried in the past. The best part of blues music was the emotional release it gave him, soothing away the tension of the past several days. ~Never shoulda let Methos talk me into putting all the Watcher Chronicles into one easy-to-access CDROM.~

"Technological progress, yeah right. We were just begging someone like Kalas to waltz right in and grab it," Joe muttered under his breath. "Come on, baby, do something for me," he whispered to his guitar, fingers rapidly running over the strings.

"If Amanda hadn't helped Kalas escape from prison, if Christine Selzer hadn't gone to that reporter, if Macleod hadn't. If only ... if only ... A wise man once said that our lives are made up of a hell of a lot of 'if only's,'" Joe finally concluded in disgust, lowering the guitar to the floor.

As the Watcher assigned to Duncan Macleod, the Highlander, he'd been forced to relocate when the Scottish Immortal had returned to Paris and set up shop in a river barge, of all things. True to his commitment to the Watchers, he'd packed up his bags and hopped on the next plane to Paris.

Just then the door banged open, too tired and not caring to find who'd come to the bar after closing hours, Dawson didn't bother to glance up.

"Joe, I need a favor," Amanda murmured in her silky, wheedling voice. The one that she knew how to use so effectively.

"Amanda," Dawson greeted.

She pulled a chair from a nearby table, where it had been stacked, and dragged it over to sit beside him.

"I'd like to help, but I can't," Joe stated grumpily. He was well aware that he'd been through this same scenario with Duncan Macleod, his student, Richie Ryan, and the woman across from him, more times than he wished to remember. Every time it had come down to an identical song and dance number. He arguing that for the sake of friendship he wanted to help in any way that he could. On the flip side of the coin, due to his sworn oath as a Watcher, he couldn’t interfere. Immortals and Watchers were like oil and vinegar. They didn’t mix.

"Come on, Joe," Amanda coaxed. "You always say that ..."

"What are you doing back here, Amanda? After the incident with Kalas, when Christine threatened to reveal the existence of Immortals to that newspaper, I would've thought you wouldn't dare show your face in Paris for at least a decade."

"How long can Macloed stay mad at me? Besides, he's already forgiven me for breaking Kalas out of jail. Besides, it will all blow over. It was an honest mistake," Amanda rattled off all in one breath.

"You seem to make a lot of those," Joe growled irritably, shifting for a more comfortable position on his stool.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm a Watcher. I took an oath not to interfere."

"Well, the word on the street is ..." Amanda interrupted.

"Don't keep me in suspense, Amanda. I know you and your tricks too well."

"Okay, okay. Here's what I've got, Joe. A few days ago, I get this call from Methos, just like that ... He said he’d been digging documents dating back to the Byzantine Empire. Turns out there’s a splinter group of Immortals called the Externals. There actually may be more than one. However, the only one I’m interested in is a woman named Candra," Amanda blurted somewhat incoherently.

"Methos finally surfaced?" Joe muttered sarcastically.

"Yeah." Amanda nodded. "Big surprise?" she added. "But we're getting off the track."

"Externals," Joe echoed, feeling dread roil in his gut.

"Are they like us? Do the same rules apply?" Amanda queried.

"The best I can do is, say, yes and no. Externals were never an issue that the Watchers concerned themselves with. They may be a completely different race. Or something completely unknown."

"Do you have a chronicle on Candra?" Amanda pressed.

"Actually, Yes. Unfortunately it’s locked up tighter than gold in Fort Knox at Watcher HQ in France. Even I don't have access to that kind of information," Joe replied.

"Who does?" Amanda asked eagerly.

"Jack Shapiro. He's my counterpart in the Watchers organization here in Europe. What’s my track record? How many times have I crossed that invisible line: Joe Dawson, Watcher, friend, confidant. Sometimes even I wonder," Joe muttered, shaking his head in mock chagrin.

"Joe," Amanda said soothingly, lightly kissing him on the cheek. "Despite everything's that's happened between us, and everything ... I’d like to think we're still friends."

"I wouldn't want to lose that friendship," Dawson replied, using his cane to help him stand as the door began to swing shut behind her. "Amanda, one more thing ..."

Amanda, half turned, one hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

"According to the records we have on Macloed, he encountered another External named Crule circa 1800’s on the Barbary Coast. There’s a rule you probably haven't heard before: The Other Rule, for lack of a better term. It may prohibit you from directly challenging Candra," Joe warned.

"I can handle anything she throws at me," Amanda boasted.

"Just keep your head, Amanda," Joe cautioned.

"Thank you, Joe. We'll celebrate when I return." Amanda exited the bar, confidence growing with every step. ~Just get in, get out, steal the book and get out. What could be simpler? I probably won't even encounter Candra. If the Watchers do have her Chronicle, it’s always a wise tactic to find out as much as I can about a potential challenger, if I ever do fight her. As they say forewarned is forearmed,~ Amanda thought, as her slim form was swallowed up by the crowds and the night shadows.

That same evening Remy LeBeau straddled the trestle near the bridge that spanned the Seine. He removed his black boots and set them aside, pausing to reflect on his relationship with Candra. Candra had never before been this agitated over some unknown party probing into her business affairs. Sure, he knew there were things she kept from him. She had her secrets, but then again, so did he. Candra had been pestering to steal some book for her. She claimed that some clandestine organization several centuries back had gotten hold of details of her past lives and compiled it into an chronicle, and now she wanted it back.

He pulled out the slip of paper with the Watcher symbol on it; it looked a watermark for a company. Flipping it over, Remy noted there was an address on the back for a chateau in Lyons. He could case the joint, find an entry point, and still have time to explore the city all by the following evening. There was still plenty of time to go for the book.

Remy Lebeau climbed the conveniently placed ivy clinging to the chateau's walls, finding hand and footholds with ease. Years of experience as a member of the New Orleans Thieves Guild made him constantly aware of his surroundings. His uncanny red on black eyes gave him perfect night vision without need for equipment other than the 'tools of his trade' -- and the bo-staff he carried. He'd spent the last few hours checking the layout of the building, searching for sentries or other alarm systems.

"Mebbe when I get de book, I not give it to her," Remy muttered, vaulting from the chateau's balcony to a window ledge, and then prying it open enough to allow him to slip inside. Remy landed on both feet, as silently as a cat. He narrowly avoided stepping on a motion-sensitive detector as his feet made contact with the floor. He pivoted on his feels and sped in the direction of the vault containing the Watchers archive. Ordinarily he'd be rather intrigued in staying and browsing the collection for a while, but he was only here for one volume: Candra's chronicle.

~"A thief who can read, go figure,"~ he absently thought.

"Wonder how Candra knew where dis place was? Could she have someone working inside der organization. It wouldn't surprise this homme one bit," Remy muttered under his breath.

A chateau built around the turn of the 18th century at the confluence of the Rhone and the Seine rivers. Amanda wasn't there to admire architecture, or reflect on the history, but she couldn't help but admire the extravagance that had gone into its construction during the Renaissance period. ~The last time I was here, I'd been invited by a French marquis, I wore the most expensive silks and jewelry, instead of basic black~ Amanda absently thought.

She knelt at the base of the hedgerow along the driveway leading towards the Watchers HQ. She lifted a pair of night-vision goggles and peered through them. The scope intensified the existing light instead of relying on a light source of its own. The sensitive device immediately allowed her to see any would-be security devices, motion-detectors, or additional measures. It illuminated her immediate surrounding in a green haze. Like a camera, the device had various magnifications. Amanda had chosen to set it at 100 feet. Conditions for viewing were optimum -- moon and starlight with no haze or fog.

The place didn’t appear as heavily guarded as she’d been led to believe. In fact, it looked almost deserted.

"Maybe the real goods, security systems are all inside," she muttered.

She stuffed the goggles back into her backpack and slung it around her left shoulder. From the pack lying at her feet, Amanda hefted her sword, prepared to expect the worst. She stealthily crept along the edge of the driveway towards a low level window and pried it open, her heart pounding for a few seconds as the hilt of her sword caught on metal rod holding the curtains. She tugged it free and clambered through the window to emerge in a foyer. Her feet landed on the plush Oriental rug wit the silence of a cat. Then she gave her surroundings a 360-degree inspection.

Half expecting some sort of armed resistance. She took up a battle ready stance. Seeing not a soul around, Amanda's shoulders slumped in disappointment. Choosing a direction at random, Amanda ran down the hallway. "This had better be worth it," she muttered angrily, randomly throwing open heavy, wood doors and finding only empty rooms.

Meanwhile, Remy, with his back to the wall, cautiously poked his head around the corner of the fourth floor landing. He glanced in the direction he'd just come from. The telltale sound of booted foot faded, leaving him alone.

"Beautiful," he muttered, "'dey gonna play hide and seek wi' ol' Remy, now."

Just then he smelled smoke and gunpowder as one of his unseen pursuers fired off a round from a .38 caliber pistol that left a hole in the wall where his head had been. "Good shooting, if you'd been aiming at the wall. I'm getting a bit tired of this hommes," Remy warned.

Whoever had fired the last shot must have heard him, because three men in dark clothing emerged from one of the rooms along the landing, guns in hand.

"You've certainly led us a merry chase, but there's nowhere to run now," the man threatened.

"Non. I beg to differ, mes braves," Remy replied, pulling the folds of his duster around himself and unobtrusively removed a handful of playing cards. He charged them up with kinetic energy, and then let them fly into the group scattering them like so many dust motes in a windstorm. Noting that they were down for the count, Remy clambered up onto the banister and slid all the way down. He landed with a thud and an irritated growl as his duster snagged on the end. It ripped when he tore it free. He consulted his mental map he'd built while running around the place. Orienting his present position with that of the archives, he set off once again.

Inside a soundproof, secured room where they stored all the Chronicles the Watchers had compiled over the centuries, Amanda knelt at the base of the glass-enclosed display case. Inside was a single volume bound in brown leather with the Watcher logo. Her sources said it was the Chronicle on Candra. Her experienced eye could tell her that much just by looking that it was a old text, remarkably preserved and very valuable.

"Whoever these Watchers are, they sure went to a lot of trouble to maintaining this thing."

She removed a laser-cutter from her bag, one of her many tools as a professional jewel thief's trade. She pressed a button to activate it, and began cutting into the glass case. "Just hope my luck holds out, and this doesn't set off any alarms. If I was the paranoid type, I'd say that this has been way too easy," Amanda whispered as she lifted the book from the case, then smoothed the cover with her fingers.

"Put the book down and step away from the case," an authoritative male voice ordered. He snapped his fingers and a half dozen men arrived, all armed, except for one who carried a length of rope. "Tie her up, and make sure you take away her sword."

"Who are you?" Amanda demanded breathlessly.

"The name's Shapiro, Jack Shapiro," he responded, pointing a gun at her.

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Amanda wheedled, stalling for time. ~Okay Amanda, there's one of two ways to play this: risk losing your sword, and maybe your head in the process, or go along with it. Okay, Plan B. Improvise,~ she thought.

"I may not be able to kill you, but I can slow you down. Now do as you're told, and no one will get hurt," Shapiro said, watching as his men shoved her towards a metal folding chair resting near the far wall of the room.

"Sit down, we're going to have a little talk," Shapiro invited, gesturing to a metal folding chair that was resting in near the far wall of the room. He made it sound more like a demand. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It's up to you, Amanda," Shapiro added, giving her a little push to prod her in the direction he wanted her to go in.

"Oh, boys? Don't you know this is bad for my circulation," Amanda wheedled as Shapiro's henchmen roughly grabbed and shoved. The next she knew they'd tied her arms behind her back, and the rest of the rope was wound as far as it would go around her legs and torso. She languidly extended one leg in a calculated move to distract them.

"Ignore her," Shapiro ordered. "It's up to you, Amanda. Surprised I know who you are? Don't be. As you're probably aware the Watchers do their homework. Why did you want that particular volume?"

"Oh come on, what's the big deal? It's only an old book," Amanda coaxed. "Would you believe I'm into collecting old manuscripts and restoring them for posterity?" She squirmed in the chair, hoping for a more comfortable position.

"Where's your accomplice?" Shapiro demanded, not even deigning to reply to her glib explanation.

"What accomplice?" Amanda asked, puzzled.

"Oh don't give me that," Shapiro snapped, annoyed. "You know who I'm referring to. I can say one thing about you, Amanda: you certainly have a talent for selecting accomplices for your crime sprees. Or is it a talent for making enemies?" Shapiro intently stared at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Amanda replied, puzzled. "I came alone."

"Oh, really? If it's any consolation, we're having the devil's own luck pinning the young man down. He's currently running around the halls like some ghost. What is he to you? A lover? A friend? A partner?"

"I don't care if you believe me or not. I'm only here for the Chronicle. It's pretty hot property on the black market for rare antiquities," Amanda tried again.

Encounter

Meanwhile, having evaded his pursuers, Remy peered through the eyehole and listened to the conversation taking place in the archives before deciding on his next move.

"A damsel in distress. How could I pass this up?" Remy grinned.

With shocking speed Remy pulled a handful of cards from his coat pocket, then used his mutant power to tap into the potential energy and transmute into kinetic energy. The effect of the charged up card was explosive as the wooden barricade was reduced to smithereens.

"What the hell?" Shapiro growled, bending down to pick up the glowing object that caused the door to explode. "The ace of clubs? Those guards are useless, playing poker while on duty." Shapiro dropped the card seconds later since he'd burned his fingers as the card burst apart.

"What's going on here?" Shapiro whirled around to confront Amanda with an accusatory glare.

"Like I should know?" Amanda innocently replied, not wanting to let on that she was just as confused about the identity of her mysterious benefactor, but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. She thought ~Maybe I do have a guardian angel. At least he's not an Immortal, which is a good thing. If he was I'd have felt the 'Buzz' by now. "So, is this my competition Shapiro was so hot and bothered about? And what's with the exploding playing cards?"

"Bonjour mes braves. You've been looking for me? Non? I guess you found me," Remy casually remarked, striding into the archives his boots crunching on what was left of the door.

"Take him!" Shapiro ordered, training his gun and his attention away from Amanda.

The henchmen, who'd been lounging against the far wall at the start of the interrogation, purposefully moved into the center of the spacious room, adopting battle ready stances. They pulled guns from their coat pockets and began firing off shots. Remy figured he'd save time by going over them instead of through them. He leapt into the air and flipped over their heads to land directly behind the chair where Amanda was tied. He knelt and whispered into her ear. "Hold still, dis won't hurt a bit." With that, he inched his finger around the knots in the rope and blew them apart, concentrating so he wouldn't accidentally singe her.

Amanda wriggled out of the remaining ropes and dove in, targeting Shapiro, but the coward had already taken his cue and left the room. "Typical," she angrily muttered. "Look out!" she shouted, as a bullet grazed her left cheek. It didn't draw blood, but it stung like hell.

Remy dodged the bullet, and its companions, even though a few managed to rip the duster. He picked up the rope and charged it up, whirling it around his head, then released it towards the opposition. It landed near their feet. The resulting explosion caused them to drop their guns and fall to the floor.

Remy walked over to them and placed his booted feet on top of the leader's outstretched hand as he went for his weapon. "No more of that."

"Who are you?" one man gasped, staring up at the man with the red eyes and torn trenchcoat.

"Le Diable Blanc, but you can call me Gambit," he replied. ~Been a long time I hear anybody call by that name. Wonder why I remember it now. Least not since leaving the Guild,~" Remy absently thought.

"What?" hung in the air like a sodden raincloud about to unleash gallons of water on them.

Amanda watched him for a moment, wondering why he had red eyes, as she scrambled for the chronicle that had been left unheeded by the door. She also fretted a bit on the whereabouts of her sword, but first things first. She gritted her teeth, and inched her way along the wall. Locating the chronicle, she snatched it up. She'd been through far too much this evening to let what she'd come for slip through her fingers.

"Looking for dis?" her mysterious benefactor suddenly asked, holding her sword out to her.

"Yeah, thanks," Amanda gasped. "Gambit? What kind of name is that?"

"Go with what works. By now it's time to go," Remy laughed.

"Do you make a habit of this?" Amanda returned the laughter.

"It's becoming something of a habit."

Later

"Thanks for the save. Nice accent by the way. Cajun?" Amanda remarked before she began to jump off the rooftop where they'd taken refuge in the event any of their pursuers decided to come after them.

"You have a name? You're welcome. But mebbe de damsel didn't really need my help, non?" He glanced askance at the sword swinging from her right hand. "Do you always go around with that sword like it was a fashion accessory?"

"To answer your question, it's Amanda. And do you always go around dressed like the lead in a Wagnerian 'Ride of the Valkyries' meets 'Space Odyssey'?" Amanda fired back, gesturing to Remy's Kelvar body armor. She couldn't be sure, but in the moonlight his eyes seemed a little eerie, almost red. She'd noticed it below during the fight, but hadn't had time to or the inclination to bring it up.

"Dat really isn't de point. Where's de book?" Remy demanded suddenly.

"That's what you came here for. Well, I have it and I'm keeping it." Amanda defensively replied, folding her arms across her chest. "Besides what do you want with a moldy old chronicle anyways? You couldn't possibly want it for its historical value."

"Actually, no. You see, the reason I want it is because I be known' de person it belongs to," Remy whispered.

"You know Candra!" Amanda started at this revelation.

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"If you know her, then you won't need the book. I, however, do," Amanda said, cradling the book under one arm and holding her sword in one hand. She stuffed the book into her jacket pocket and sat down on the sloped roof.

"What do you need it for?" Remy asked, finding a comfortable spot as well.

"Have you ever heard of something called the Externals?" Amanda wondered as she did so if his knowing Candra was just a ploy to stall for time she he could steal the book for himself.

"Yeah. So? It don't make no difference to me if she be an External. Dey just got longer lifelines and strange agendas," Remy shrugged. "But how's dat explain you, mademoiselle?"

"Okay, granted you know about then, but can you tell me if they really are immortal?"

"Immortal? Don't know anything about dat, but dey could be."

"You've never heard her mention anything about the Gathering? Or the Game? Amanda pressed, wondering why she was opening up this much to a total stranger who had saved her. But he seemed like a nice enough sort, and he was undeniably charming and seemed to know at least a little about the knowledge she sought.

"Game? Gathering? When Candra sent me to retrieve her book from the Watchers she did mention that dey were a secret society that's been around for years. Dey be committed to chronicling dey lives of Immortals. Don't know if that's true or not. But it could be. I've been around long enough to realize that just about anything is possible. And I've seen some strange things in my time. Why not Immortals?" Remy shrugged.

"Well, I'm not sure if you'll believe this or not, but I'm an Immortal," Amanda whispered.

"Do tell." Remy nodded. "Then what's with the sword?"

"You're not gonna protest, or stammer in perplexed denial? I know it sounds pretty crazy. From what I can tell, this Candra is an Immortal, just not the same kind as me, and others."

"Cherie, if I told you what Candra really be aside from de External thing you'd be the one to protest in denial." Remy smirked.

"What do you mean by that?" Amanda demanded.

"She be a mutant, with a very long life-line," Remy replied.

"Oh. What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we got a few extra things thrown into the mix. We still be human, just got de extra powers, which is where I get de red eyes," Remy said.

"I was wondering about that," Amanda sighed. "As I was saying there are others ... some good, some evil, but there are many shades of gray in between. In any case, Immortals have been around for several thousand years. The forces of good always squaring off against the forces of darkness."

"And where do you fall in all this, somewhere in the gray?" Remy guessed.

"The Gathering is here, where we're supposed to fight to the death, until eventually there will be only one left," Amanda concluded, ignoring his previous comment.

"One left? Doesn't sound like immortality is all that fun," Remy said. "Which brings us back to the book. I'm supposed to give it back to Candra."

"Why bother?" Amanda suddenly shouted. "What is she holding over you? What kind of loyalty do you owe here? If she is an Immortal, I need to know everything about her, and you certainly don't have obey her every little whim."

"Amanda, you're a thief, like me. Sometimes loyalty is where you find it."

"You're doing this out of some sense of a guilty conscience," Amanda thought, remembering her first mentor on the eve of her first death all those centuries ago, when Rebecca had taken the beggar girl and taught everything she knew, and Amanda had repaid her old teacher by half-heartedly rejecting her teachings and striking out on her own to forge her own career as a thief.

"What happened?" Amanda whispered, not even certain why she asked Remy why he felt he owed a witch like Candra any sort of loyalty at all.

"I used be to in a Guild in New Orleans. My clan, just de Big Easy way of saying families, was always feuding with another clan, the Assassins. The way it's been for centuries, anyway, the higher-ups from both clans decided to bring peace by marrying off the oldest son of the Thieves with dey oldest daughter of the Assassins."

"You, right?" Amanda guessed.

"Yeah. Quelle chance. Some, my brother-in-law being one, were less than thrilled by the prospect. He was a better political activist than he was a swordsman. While everyone agreed it was self-defense, it was also agreed I should leave in a feeble attempt to maintain the pact."

"Officially exiled. Must've royally sucked," Amanda whispered in commiseration. ~An actual duel? With swords? Who is this guy?~ she thought. ~And why am I actually beginning to like him?~

"Look, I have an idea. I have a friend I know I can trust. We'll give the book to him," Amanda suddenly announced.

"That we both win, right?" Remy replied.

"Agreed." Amanda said, shaking his hand. "Agreed, "Remy replied, lightly kissing her palm.

"We'll go together. I think Joe would love to meet you," Amanda laughed.

"And here I thought dis evening would be boring," Remy joked as they both jumped off the roof and disappeared into the night.

Conclusion

"Did you retrieve the book, my love?" Candra eagerly asked as her hair whipped around her in the rush to answer the door.

"Non," Remy replied, knowing Candra was liable to have a temper tantrum when she found out he'd had the book in his hot little hands and had allowed it to slip away. ~Might as well as stick with the truth, as much as I can anyway~

"What?! I thought you were a consummate thief! How could you do such a thing?! You certainly should never have returned without my book, thief! Candra hysterically shrieked, her brow wrinkled in frustrated anger. Then she let loose with a hot pink bolt of psionic energy.

"Ah, cherie, you haven't changed a bit. So quick to use your telekinetic powers. Still as temperamental as ever, and even more beautiful," Remy said in flattering, mollifying tones.

"Do not try your Cajun charm, mutant! It does nothing for me!" Candra shrieked, but relented a little.

"Maybe not, but there was a time."

"That time is long past, thief! You never were very good at commitments, were you, Remy? No loyalty to anyone but yourself," Candra chided, having calmed down over the loss of the Chronicle. "Not so fast, my handsome one. Perhaps in exchange for services rendered an arrangement could be made. I supposed you left the book right where you found it?"

"Got no interest in any of your propositions, cherie ... " Remy trailed off, ignoring her remark about the chronicle since Amanda and Dawson had persuaded him that it would be safer in the hands of some one she could trust. "I've finished my work for you, Cherie," Remy retorted defensively.

"We'll meet again. In the meantime, I want you to live with the consequences of your actions," Candra warned. "Leave now, before I come to my senses and have you killed," she said as she watched him walk out the door, and perhaps out of her life.