UNIMAGINABLE FORCES #4:
THE PROMISED ONE
BY DANIELLE FRANCES DUCREST

Disclaimers: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, Twentieth Century Fox Productions, Warner Brothers Studios, America Online, and UPN. Angel belongs to all of these, David Greenwalt, and Greenwolf Corp. The Buffy books belong to the corporations already mentioned and to Warner Books. Highlander: The Series and Highlander: End Game belong to Davis/Panzer Productions, Rysher Entertainment, and Gaumont Television. The Tomorrow People: The New Series belongs to Roger Price, Nickelodeon, and Thames/Tetra Television. Star Trek: Deep Space Nine belongs to Paramount and the Roddenberry family. No copyright infringement was intended. This story was written for entertainment and no money was exchanged.

Spoilers and Timing: In Highlander, this story takes place after Highlander: End Game, with spoilers for that and for Highlander: The Series episodes "To Be," "Not to Be," "Archangel," "The Hunters," and the episodes where Charlie DeSalvo, Hugh Fitzcairn, and Tessa Noel died. In Buffy and Angel, this takes place before "Wild at Heart" and "Sense and Sensitivity." This story contains LOTS of spoilers for BtVS: The Gatekeeper Trilogy: Out of the Madhouse, Ghost Roads, and Sons of Entropy by Nancy Holder and Christopher Golden, BtVS: Return to Chaos by Craig Shaw Gardner, and BtVS: Paleo by Yvonne Navaro. As for the Tomorrow People, this story takes place five years after the New Series' ending.

Summary: Methos travels to Sunnydale to train the Promised One, an all-powerful psychic who hasn't come into full power yet. Meanwhile, Buffy and the gang travel to the Gatehouse via the Ghost Roads to assist Jacques in fighting Pretar, a demon of unknown powers or limits who has targeted Jacques and the Promised One, whoever he is. Meanwhile in Sunnydale, Methos has trouble locating the Promised One. In a race against time, he must find the Promised One before Pretar, or the entire world is at stake.

*****

PROLOGUE

Angel and Alex walked aimlessly down a corridor on the trading station. Lost in old memories and feelings, neither spoke for a long time.

Angel asked, "It's certainly been a while, hasn't it?"

Alex smiled and nodded. "It certainly has. At least four hundred years, right?"

"I think it's more like three hundred and fifty."

Alex gave Angel a look and then shrugged. "I never tried to keep track of it. I mean, all those years…I'd rather write about it in my diary, forget about it, and then let some archeologist in another thousand years find it and puzzle over translating the English language so he can read it."

Angel smirked. "Well, not all of us share your philosophy."

"Yeah, Xander always said you were into brooding. I shouldn't be the one to talk, though. I've done my share of brooding at times."

Mention of Xander's name brought more memories back to Angel's mind. Alexander LaVelle Harris had never been one of the people Angel liked being around. They had never gotten along very well, but the young human boy had gone through a lot in his short life, and Angel had to respect him for that.

When Buffy had called him in L. A. all those years ago and told him that Xander was a Tomorrow Person, Angel had been surprised. To know that Xander had any psychic powers at all had been unsettling, but to discover not long afterwards that the young Californian's power was greater than anyone imagined, that had made his insides turn in fear.

He still remembered it after all these years, in perfect detail. Alex certainly was correct when he said Angel dwelt in the past, but the vampire doubted Alex had forgotten much of what happened either. It had been a remarkable time in both of their lives.

*****

PART ONE

The Gatehouse sat on a hill in Boston, hidden from passersby by a glamour placed on the perimeter of the grounds. Unless one knew what one was looking for, the glamour would make anyone see right through the house without knowing it was there.

But for those who knew what they were looking for, they would see it. Sitting on the very hill that housed the most expensive homes in the city, anyone who knew the Gatehouse was there couldn't miss it. It rose several feet above its' stone walls and gate. The construction was a mix of architectural periods starting in the seventeenth century onward. The entire structure was square and had an open, although overgrown, courtyard at its center.

It may have seemed big on the outside, but on the inside, it was massive. There never seemed to be an end to the long halls, although the windows at either end were visible to the naked eye. Closed doors on both sides of the halls led to rooms filled with demons and other mystical creatures that had been bound into the house. Some of them had been there since sixteen sixty-six, when Richard Regnier, the first Gatekeeper, built the Gatehouse and took up residence there.

The Gatekeepers were the owners of the large and magickal house. After Richard had died in the eighteenth century, there had been three other Gatekeepers, including the current one. The Regniers have long lifelines because they use magick their entire lives.

The current Gatekeeper, Jacques Regnier, was only fourteen years of age. He had become the Gatekeeper three years ago. Although, at first it hadn't seemed like he would take up the mantle. When his father, Jean-Marc, was on his deathbed, Jacques was captured by two vampires named Drusilla and Spike. He was held in captivity in Italy until the Slayer found him and took him back across the Atlantic; not to Boston, but, incidentally, to Sunnydale. While he was on the Hellmouth, Jean-Marc died. Jacques had known it from the moment his father took his last breath; he had felt it deep within the very marrow of his bones.

It was only because of Xander Harris, one of the Slayer's friends, that the Gatekeeper's power was not lost. The Slayer and Jacques returned to the Gatehouse as quickly as possible and Jacques had taken up the burden of being Gatekeeper from Xander.

Now, Jacques sat in his bedroom at his desk, reading one of his father's books on demon lore, while his favorite rock station played softly on his radio. He had a lot of responsibilities as Gatekeeper, but it could be very lonely in his enormous house without anyone to talk to, so he allowed some small comforts. Of course, with more demons and Otherworldly beings appearing in this dimension almost daily, he had plenty to keep him busy. If he came across them, Jacques bound them all into his enormous house, along with the thousands of demons his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had bound during their time.

Jacques thought about how he had become a Gatekeeper. While he was growing up, he'd always thought that his grandmother, Antoinette, would stay with him after his father died. He'd heard about the spell that bound Antoinette to the house as long as her son, not her grandson, was alive, but Jacques had read his grandfather's journals about how lonely it had been before he had met Antoinette, and had feared the same fate. Now, he was living that fear. At least there were plenty of things to distract him. Some day soon, he hoped, he would go out and look around Boston, possibly make some friends or get a girlfriend. He may even tell them about the house and his real role. He hoped none of his plans would turn out to be pure fantasies.

From down the hall came a crash, followed by a roar. It broke him away from his thoughts quickly.

Jacques jumped out of his chair and ran out of his room. He was on the second story, but he didn't see anything out of order on this hall.

He heard another crash. Jacques ran down the hall. When he got to the end, he passed the stairwell door and turned down the hall that ran down the middle of the house's west wing.

Several doors down, floating in the middle of the hallway, was a large purple and black circle.

This was a portal. On the other side were the Ghost Roads, the void that the dead traveled on their way to their final destination without knowing where they'd end up. Only beings touched with the supernatural could use it to travel from portal-to-portal around the world. They could also go to hell or the Otherworld via the Ghost Roads.

In front of the portal was a demon with wild red hair that hung in a mop just above his shoulders. His skin was almost white, and his clothes were old and rags. His tongue slicked out of his mouth every few seconds. When Jacques saw the scar crossing the demon's eye, a long, vertical line that shined like lava, he recognized the demon as Tekkor, a warrior in the Pahra Demon Clan. Jacques had bound a few of the Pahra into the house last year.

"Where is the Promised One, Gatekeeper?" Tekkor demanded in a booming voice.

"Sorry," Jacques said. "But you are not in any position to make demands."

He raised his hand and said, "By the Gods of old, I bind thee! I call upon-"

Suddenly, the demon disappeared. He simply blinked out of existence. It wasn't Jacques' doing, because he hadn't completed the binding spell.

Surprised, Jacques lowered his hand. Cautious, Jacques placed a magickal shield around himself.

He put the shield up just in time, because an ax appeared out of nowhere and slammed into the shield's left side.

Jacques spun around and saw the demon reappear behind him. Without thinking, Jacques sent a lightning bolt down on the demon. The demon jumped back out of the way.

He knew what had happened now. Tekkor had accomplished teleportation. He could step between time and into a pocket dimension at will and stay there for several seconds while he moved to a different point in space before he returned to normal time. Thankfully, this demon did not have enough power to stay there for longer than around ten seconds, nor could he stop time while he was in the pocket dimension, which made it easier to determine where he was going to be next, although not much easier.

Before the demon could attempt such a trick again, Jacques struck the demon's axe with a lightning bolt. The energy traveled up Tekkor's arm, and a pained expression appeared on the demons' face. Smoke curled up from his body. He wobbled for several minutes before he fell to the ground.

The demon would not stay there for long and Jacques knew it. The Pahra had amazing healing abilities if the wound was not fatal. He raised his arm again and repeated the binding spell, "By the Gods of old, I bind thee! I call upon Pan, my protector, to subdue thee!"

The demon screamed before it disappeared, only this time it would be sent to one of the infinite rooms in the Gatehouse.

Jacques crouched, panting. What the demon said puzzled him. Who was the Promised One?

There was only one way to find out. Jacques stood up straight and walked toward the library.

Methos walked along the wall bordering the Seine. Below, barges and other water vessels were tethered along the river. MacLeod's barge was a ways behind Methos.

MacLeod, Joe, and Amanda had just returned from a funeral in Scotland. Methos had greeted them at the barge, and that's when he found out Duncan MacLeod's kinsman, Connor MacLeod, was dead.

Duncan seemed to be so distraught. Methos could see why. Connor's death had just added to the number of people MacLeod had lost in the past decade.

He remembered another sad time that they had gathered in that barge. It was after MacLeod defeated Liam O'Rourke. O'Rourke had kidnapped Amanda and Joe, and the only way MacLeod was getting them back was if he came alone. He'd followed O'Rourke's rules, too, and would have lost his head if Methos hadn't followed MacLeod.

Methos let out a breath. He had been sure MacLeod had lost it. The Scotsman actually wanted to die. He didn't want anyone else to die because of him.

But something had happened that night. Methos wasn't sure what, but MacLeod wasn't as suicidal anymore. However, Methos had a feeling that Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod would be staying out of the Game as much as possible for the next few years.

Thinking of MacLeod's wish for no one else to die at his hands, Methos remembered Richie Ryan, MacLeod's young protégé. A demon named Ahriman had convinced MacLeod that Richie was Ahriman in disguise. Fooled by the ruse, MacLeod had taken Richie's head. After that, MacLeod had gone into seclusion for a year. No one knew where he was until he showed up in Paris to defeat Ahriman.

Richie had been a young, arrogant kid, but Methos had sort-of become fond of him. Then Richie was dead, killed by the last person everyone expected. Duncan hadn't known it was Richie at the time, but it still stung.

Duncan also killed Connor, but this time, the elder Scotsman had forced Duncan to do it.

Methos stepped onto a bridge that ran over the Seine and looked in the direction that MacLeod's barge was in. Methos had been rather reluctant to leave the Scot. He, Joe, and Amanda weren't quite sure if MacLeod wasn’t going to kill himself. He'd been pretty close two years ago after Riche's death, and they didn't want to take any chances this time. Amanda was staying with him for the rest of the week, but Methos still worried.

He stopped at the middle of the bridge. He felt something tugging at him, at the 'locating device' Immortals referred to as the Buzz. Only, it wasn't a buzz inside his brain, like usual. It felt like the Quickening inside him, composed of so many Quickenings he'd gained over millennia, was being attracted to something just as powerful as his Quickening. It was a pull as strong as a compass's arrow's attraction to the North.

Methos looked around at his surroundings. In the faint glow of a street light several yards away, Methos spotted a dark figure at the other end of the bridge. The figure waited in the shadows, but Methos had the distinct impression he or she was staring right at his eyes.

Methos walked toward him, on his guard. Whoever this person was, he was powerful, and he wasn't human. His presence was rather familiar, but so did every demon that had that particular aura, and Methos knew quite a few. It was always better to take precautions.

His right hand went inside his trenchcoat, searching for his sword. But his left arm twitched, and small bolts of blue lightening twined around it like a miniature Quickening. In a way, it was a Quickening. All Immortals possessed so much power in their bodies. Most were unaware of this power except right after the Immortal killed one of the Immortal's own, or when the Immortal's wounds healed. But Methos knew how to tap into this power and use it for…magickal means.

Methos smiled grimly. Joe and MacLeod had discovered his evil side, but they didn't know everything. They especially didn't know he was a sorcerer, and that he was a lot older than five thousand years. Which was basically the point. He wondered if they'd believe all of it. Methos supposed they'd be more open about it, especially after that whole mess with Ahriman.

As Methos walked closer, he could see the figure in much better detail in the glow of distant streetlights. The figure was short and wore very unfashionable clothes. A round hat covered his probably thinning hair. He looked to be in his late forties, but Methos knew better. He knew that figure very well.

When he was a few feet away, Methos stopped. "Whistler," he greeted the demon. He hadn't seen the short yet powerful demon for at least nine hundred years, the bastard, but there was no mistaking him. He'd been right about the demon's aura. Only Whistler's kind could pull on Methos' Quickening like that. Of course, nothing compared to the feeling he got from the lords of hell, but that was another story. At the moment, Whistler's presence made Methos remember why Richie was dead, and MacLeod wasn't the only reason.

"Hey, old man," Whistler said casually.

Methos strode up to the demon and punched him.

Whistler's body rocked but he kept his balance. His hat, however, slipped off his head, revealing two short but pointy horns sticking out of the demon's forehead.

When Whistler could stand straight again, there was no bruise or broken bones in his face. Methos' fist, however, hurt like hell, but he gave it little thought. It would heal. Instead, he let his anger really surface for the first time in four years.

"A**hole," Methos sneered. He raised his left arm threateningly. Along with the blue bolts running up and down it, a sphere of blue light surrounded his fist. He knew Whistler understood the implications of that.

Unsurprisingly, but to Methos' satisfaction, Whistler held up his hands. "Woah, take it easy, Methos."

"Take it easy?" Methos said, deadly soft. "Because of the powers you work for and believe in so strongly, I couldn't interfere with MacLeod's and Ahriman's fight four years ago! Because of them, Richie is dead! Because of them, I couldn't help MacLeod in any way or reveal I knew about the supernatural!"

"You did the right thing, Methos," Whistler said.

Methos laughed. "The right thing I could have done was disobey the Powers That Be. Then MacLeod wouldn't have almost lost his head two years ago. Richie was like a son to him, and your boss decided to give him more pain. Hell, he might be a headless corpse right now, for all I know."

"He's not going to kill himself," Whistler said. "Another agent made sure of that." He was, of course, referring to what Hugh Fitzcairn did when Duncan went up against Liam O'Rourke, but Methos didn't know about that.

"Great," Methos said. "You're trying to help MacLeod after you let Darius, Hugh Fitzcairn, Tessa Noel, Connor MacLeod, and Richie Ryan die. You're really good at being SOB's, you know that?"

"What's done is done, Methos," the demon said. "You of all people should know that. We can't change the past."

That made Methos pause. The demon's comment made Methos think of a long time ago, when he and the other Horsemen had raided a third of the known world. Whistler was right, but he was still too angry to want to admit it. "What about the Oracles?" he asked. "They have the power to change this."

Whistler shook his head. "You can't just go back and change history to your benefit. Good and evil must stay balanced."

"That may be," Methos said, "but if you're looking for another field agent, forget about it. I am not going to follow their rules anymore." He turned on his heel and started the trek back across the bridge.

Whistler did not follow. He just watched the Immortal's retreating back, worried.

"Then the world is doomed," he said, but Methos was too far away to hear him.

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