Date:         Mon, 28 Feb 1994 17:59:40 -0600
From:         "Janet(te) Dornhoff"
Subject:      A Quickie
 
 
 
 
 
 
                               ******
 
     Duncan gasped, shaken by the sheer force of the Quickening he
had just received.  He slowly came back to awareness of himself and
his surroundings.  Grit beneath his hands.  Pavement.  He was
kneeling on the deserted street, his head to the ground.  Toronto.
He was in Toronto.  He'd come to visit Laura, but someone else had
paid her a visit first.  The immortal whose last sparks were even now
flickering into his mind.
 
     He raised his head, looking around automatically for any
witnesses.  The street was clear for at least a block in each
direction.  No windows or doorways faces could be peering from.
Duncan hoisted himself to his feet, wincing as the slash in his side
pulled open a little.  It had almost healed, but a trickle of blood
was spreading across his shirt.  Glancing about him, he spotted his
katana a few yards away.  He staggered over and bent down.
     "Freeze!"  The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked
accompanied the command.
     Duncan froze, his mind racing.  Who was it, and how much had he
seen?  The command was delivered with the authority of a cop.  With
the slash in his side, and his opponent's headless corpse still
clutching its own sword, it would be easy to claim self-defense, but
if the officer had seen the Quickening, it would be a hell of a lot
harder to come up with a reasonable story.
 
     Duncan slowly turned.  The man was standing only a few yards
away, face hidden in shadow.  His stance, the way he held the gun,
his voice, everything about him identified him as a cop.  His street
clothes could mean off-duty or higher ranking.  The air of authority
indicated the latter, probably a detective or higher. Duncan raised
his hands as he turned, trying to seem as innocent and frightened as
possible.  How the hell had he gotten so close so quickly, without
Duncan seeing or hearing him approach?
     "Move away from the sword," the cop ordered him.  Duncan stepped
to the side, sorting through potential cover stories.  The sword was
certainly valuable enough for the antique-sale-gone-wrong, and Duncan
suspected his opponent's sword might be stolen.  That would explain
the odd meeting-place.
     "Are you a cop?  Am I ever glad to see you!  That nut was trying
to kill me!"
     The cop's stance relaxed slightly.  He manuvered between Duncan
and his katana, then lowered his gun, slipping on the safety.  Duncan
hated the thought of his katana being held as evidence, with dozens
of cops getting fingerprints all over the blade, but since the cop
had gotten a good look at him, he would have to play this out.
     As the cop stepped out of the shadows, Duncan's careful
composure crumbled.  The face looking back at him simply couldn't be
there.  He cried out in surprise and shock.
     "Michael?  No, you're dead!  I felt your Quickening, you're
dead!"
     Duncan immediately regretted the words.  It was just
coincidence.  His friend couldn't still be alive.  He'd taken
Michael's head himself.  The look of confusion on the cop's face
confirmed his fears that he'd just blown his chances of talking his
way out of this.
     Stepping forward, slowly and deliberately, the cop's eyes met
Duncan's.  He could feel himself being pulled into those eyes, like
being pulled under the ice by a freezing current.  They were
changing, from light blue to a glowing yellow.  Duncan tried to turn
away, to run, to get away, but he was frozen where he stood.
     When the cop spoke, it was a voice halfway between Michael's and
Quentin's.  For one desperate moment, Duncan remembered tales from
his childhood, of demons and devils bringing the dead back to life as
soulless monsters.  Then the words sank in, and Duncan found himself
answering in spite of himself, all pretense forgotten.
 
     "What do you know about my brother?"
 
 
                             *********