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She could not continue this way much longer, with her memories and her dreams. Even with Duncan there to comfort her afterwards, she could not stand many more dreams.
She ran faster, the damp leaves swirled by autumn breezes into brief flurries, her footsteps firm upon the ground. When the Horsemen were dead, the dreams would stop. When they were dead, she could sleep. When they were dead, she would be free. When they were dead, it would all be over.
Outside the hotel, Cassandra finally stopped running, then bent slightly at the knees, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself before she went to their room. Maybe Dawson was back, maybe now they could find the Horsemen. She stretched again, then climbed the stairs to Duncan.
Dawson had returned from his weekly meeting with his beer supplier, and with his help Duncan and she did indeed find the Horsemen, or at least one of them. Cassandra recognized Caspian’s photo in the Watcher database. He was using the name Evan Caspari, and he was in an asylum for the criminally insane near the city of Bucharest. An asylum was a good place for him, for all of the Horsemen. A cemetery would be even better.
Cassandra and Duncan left immediately on a flight for Bucharest, only to find that Kronos and Methos had already been there. Caspian was gone. But the cell was not completely empty. Duncan found a matchbook on the floor, imprinted with the name of a hotel in Bordeaux. “Methos must have left it for us,” he said, over Cassandra’s protests. “Come on.”
She was still protesting after they boarded the airplane on their way to Bordeaux. “Why do you think Methos wants us to follow him, Duncan?”
“Maybe he needs our help,” Duncan said, trying to find room for his long legs in the small space between the seats.
“Help? Against his brothers?” Cassandra shook her head. “He’d never do that.”
“Cassandra, you told me what he was,” Duncan replied. “Even he told me what he was. But he’s changed. He’s been a good friend, to me and to others. And he was more than a friend to Alexa.”
“Who?” Cassandra asked.
“Alexa. She worked in Joe’s bar, and she was dying of cancer. Methos took her on a tour of the world, took her places she’d always wanted to see.” Duncan said softly, “He loved her, Cassandra, and he made her last months happy ones.”
Cassandra tossed her hair back from her face, then stared out the small window at the sea of white clouds below. Pretending to care was something else Methos was good at. It was part of the way he tamed women.
“He’s not a Horseman anymore,” Duncan insisted.
“You’d stake your life on that?” she asked, turning back to him. “Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Trusting him with your life.”
“I’ve trusted him with my life before.”
Duncan fiddled with his seat belt, then said quietly, “And he’s saved my life, too. I wouldn’t have come out of the Dark Quickening if it hadn’t been for Methos.”
Cassandra waited, knowing he would talk more if she simply listened.
Duncan did not look at her. “He helped me . find myself again. He brought me my father’s sword, took me to a sacred spring in a cave. It was like fighting myself, another half of myself.” Duncan closed his eyes briefly at the memory, then admitted, “But when Methos first came to help me, I almost took his head.” His voice became quieter still, barely audible over the drone of the engines. “Like I took Sean’s.”
Cassandra reached over and took Duncan’s hand in her own. Sean Burns had been an psychologist, a kind, good, caring man. And a very, very rare kind of Immortal. He and Duncan had been friends for centuries. “It was the Darkness in you, Duncan,” she tried to reassure him. “Not you.”
“It’s still there,” he said, holding tight to her hand. “Still part of me. And I can still hear their voices. Even now.”
“Don’t you always?” Cassandra asked in surprise.
“No,” Duncan answered, surprised himself, looking at her. “Not after a day or two. You do?”
“Always,” she said, then whispered, “Even now.”
“How long has it been?” he asked, curiosity and concern overcoming Immortal rules of politeness.
“Since I took a head?” Cassandra forced her voice to lighten. “About fifteen hundred years.”
Duncan could only blink.
Cassandra added casually, “After a while, I hear them only at night, or when I’m tired. The last one was less than a hundred years old, and she took about twenty years to be quiet.”
There was silence, until Duncan asked her the question she did not want to hear. “How long do you think it’s going to take for Kronos to be quiet?”
It was her turn to look away, and she pulled her hand from his.
“Cassandra,” Duncan said, clearly worried for her, “he’s older than you are, maybe almost four thousand years old. If you take his head, you’ll go insane.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, wondering if she would be able to tell the difference. Kronos was already in her dreams. Would it matter if she heard his voice when she was awake, too? But it would. If she did go insane, if she became like Kronos, or like Roland. She could not let that happen. “Duncan, if . I do go insane, would you take my head?”
“Cassandra!” Duncan protested.

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