"Amanda! You're burning the pancakes!"

Hastily Amanda turned her attention back to the frying pan and attempted to flip the pancakes she was making without folding them in half or breaking them apart or dumping them over the side.  Duncan's always turned out so perfect and golden.  It wasn't fair.

Duncan leaned over her shoulder. "You're making them too big.  That's why they keep breaking up like that."

She managed to flip the half-torn pancake and mush the torn part back together.  She pushed Duncan away with a hip. "I like them big.  They'll still taste good even if they aren't as perfect as yours."

Duncan went back to stirring the orange juice.  Amanda scowled for a moment, then mentally kicked herself.  She had to get him in just the right mood -

"Amanda."  He had moved around the counter and was ducking his head to look into her eyes.  "What is it?  You've been distracted all afternoon, and you keep snapping at me like you're afraid I'm going to bite your head off."

So much for just the right mood.  No use trying to put him off, if he'd picked up the scent.  "Well, there's this, little  . . . "

"Little what?"

It came out more rushed than she would have liked. "A little gem show that I really want to see, but I'm afraid you won't go with me because - "

"Because I'm afraid you'll want to beef up your stash of rainy-day jewels."

The marvel was that this time she really did just want to look - though of course it was hard to rule out last minute temptations.  Unfortunately she had so much practice trying to look innocent when she wasn't that she had no idea how to do it any differently when she was.

"Are you telling me you don't?" he asked.  He was looking terribly skeptical, though more tolerant than angry.

But then his look grew distracted and Amanda's head filled with the rushing sense of another immortal, close by.

Duncan's sword was already in his hand.  "Not again," he muttered, and hurried to the back door.  He threw it open to the night - but no one was there.  Stalking like a tiger, sword at the ready, he disappeared into the semi-darkness beyond.

Amanda hurried to draw her own sword but knew better than to follow him.  She moved away from the window and kept a keen eye on every possible entrance to the loft.  After ten anxious minutes Duncan reappeared in the freight elevator, his sword at his side.

"Nobody."

He deliberately locked all the doors and checked the windows, and then suddenly dashed to the kitchen, where darkish smoke was beginning to curl off the edges of Amanda's pancakes.

"Oh, now they really are burned," she lamented, hurrying over to turn on the water while Duncan thrust the pan in the sink.  Steam hissed loudly over the pan and its blackened contents.  It did not give off a very appetizing smell.

"That's the third time today," he said, angling the pan to wash the mess down the drain.

For a second she thought he was referring to the pancakes and drew breath to protest, but then she realized what he meant.

"I know," she said.  "You don't think it's . . . "

"Kenny?  No.  He's gone up to Canada.  Trust me, I've been keeping tabs on him."

"Then who?"

"I don't know."  He sighed.  "I'm sure you remember the last time this happened . . . "

She did.

Henry County fair grounds, Missouri, 1926

"And now, ladies and gentlemen! The moment you've all been waiting for!  Direct your eyes to the fine wire stretched high above your heads, and prepare to be amazed and bedazzled.  Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you - the Amazing Amanda!"

Amanda stood at the foot of the ladder, one arm gracefully outstretched as she waited for the spot light.  For a moment, standing here alone as it were in the darkness, there was a fluttering deep in her stomach, and tiny shiver passed through her slender, rhinestone-bedecked body.  But then, as always, the spot came on the music started, and the enthusiastic applause that followed the announcer's spiel buoyed her up like a warm cloud as she sprang lightly up the ladder.

When she reached the top, the audience became still, and all emotion dropped away as she centered her mind and body for the act.  When she stepped out onto the wire, the faceless crowd and the slender black line were the only things that existed.

Her first steps were tentative, as if she was actually having difficulty keeping her balance, and the crowd gasped several times as she swayed and then regained her center.  She carried a parasol, but it was as much for show as for balance - she could easily have done without it.  Indeed, part way across the wire she let it fall, and looked with feigned dismay as it tumbled into the sawdust of the ring below.  The crowd let out a collective "Oh!" and began whispering to themselves in dismay.

At this point Duncan was to come to her rescue, dashing from the shadows as she stood paralyzed in the middle of the wire, scooping up the parasol, and climbing up the ladder and out onto the wire to return it to her outstretched hands.  But as he was gallantly hurrying up the ladder, his steps faltered and she swayed unintentionally as both of them felt the approach of another immortal.

For a moment the instinct to stop and look around was overpowering, but then their eyes met and they both recovered quickly.  This was not holy ground, but it was a public place.  And the act must go on.  Duncan returned the parasol, and they pantomimed an exchange in which her gratitude turned to outrage when he demanded a kiss for his services.  In a fit of pique she threw the parasol to the ground and turned her back on him.  The crowd always roared at how he hung his head and slunk like a scolded puppy back down the ladder.

Now Amanda unleashed her real talents, though slowly, so that the crowd would not be insulted by the earlier show of ineptitude.  Somersaults, handstands, cartwheels - she made a show of doing them slowly, hesitantly at first, then faster, until finally she moving with ease, as if this were something she did every day, which was, of course, the truth.  She was always amazed that the audience bought so easily into the illusion that such tricks could be learned on the spot, just by attempting them a few times.

Just as the crowd started taking her ability to do all these impossible things on a wire for granted, the music changed and she began using props.  A spotter on the platform began tossing her brightly colored balls, and she juggled while walking back and forth, first three, then four, then five.  Then five balls plus a ring.  The crowd clapped appreciatively.  The temptation to look down, to scan the sea of faces for the unknown immortal was almost irresistable, but when she almost dropped one of the balls, she put it firmly from her mind.

After a few more juggling combinations, she was ready for the finale.  She threw the objects back to the spotter and ran lightly to the other platform, bringing out a red velvet padded wooden chair.  The crowd murmured wonderingly.  She carried it over her head to the center of the wire and then balanced it there.  The crowd waited with a collectively held breath.  Slowly, regally, she sat down in it and waved to the crowd like a queen greeting her subjects.

Somewhere it started: "Amanda! Amanda! Amanda!" And then the music reached a triumphant climax as she stood up and climbed on top of the chair, arms outstretched.  The chant dissolved into wild cheering, people everywhere jumping to their feet.  Amanda grinned from ear to ear, letting the sound seep into her soul, wishing for the thousanth time that she could bottle this moment in a jar and keep it with her forever.

And then suddenly through the lights her eyes caught the face of a little girl standing beside the seats, not cheering or clapping but staring wide-eyed up at her as if she really were a queen, or a goddess high above the earth.  For a moment their eyes met.

And then the spot light cut, and the girl ducked and ran.  The cheering died as the announcer began his next spiel, and the fickle crowd turned their attention to the lion-tamer's ring.  The sudden abandonment in the darkness always shook her a little, and Amanda climbed down very slowly from the chair and carried it back to the platform.  Duncan was waiting for her.

It always lifted her spirits to find him there, his strong, sweaty arms helping to compensate for the momentary loss of the crowd's adulation.  Now he held her for a moment but then pulled back, his face somber and intense in the reflected light.

"Someone is here.  Again." His voice was pitched low so as not to carry.

"Do you think it's the same one?" she whispered, gathering up her props from the platform.  He picked up the chair.

"Unless there are three immortals in three different towns who like the circus."

"It's possible," she whispered back as they started down the ladder.

"But not likely.  I don't like it.  At just the wrong moment it could lead to disaster."

She nodded.  She didn't like to imagine him throwing knives when the mysterious immortal showed up.  They had to figure out who it was.

But now the frantic pace of a circus performance tugged at both of them, and there were twenty things to be done at once.  They reached the bottom of the ladder, and Duncan took her hand and kissed her briefly.  "You be careful. I'll see you in a minute."

Mysterious immortals notwithstanding, the show must go on.

And now, though there was no performance to call them, there was still dinner to make.  Duncan busied himself frying up the bacon.  There was still batter left, so Amanda washed out the other pan and made a short but respectable stack of pancakes.  She discretely made them a little smaller, and noted grudgingly that they did in fact flip more easily.  They were still a little too brown, though.
 
At the table, Duncan picked at them, still fretting over the faceless immortal.  Amanda thought about it for a minute and gathered her courage to try to talk some sense into him.

"You know if you sit here and worry about it you're just making it easier for him."

Duncan looked up with an incredulous expression.  "Somebody's hunting me, and you just want me to ignore it?"

"No, I'm just saying that he's probably trying to make you nervous and jumpy, and look how well he's succeeding."

Duncan didn't answer.  "Besides," she continued, seeing it was working, "maybe it's not you he's after.  You're not the only one with old grudges and old enemies."

She'd said it to distract him, but once it was out of her mouth it bothered her that she didn't have any good arguments against it.

"Ah, has it happened at all when I wasn't here?" she asked, trying to keep the concern from her voice.

He thought about it. "Once." Ah, well then, probably no connection to her.  "But you showed up right afterwards."  Oh.

Suddenly she didn't feel much like eating either.  "What should we do?"

He drew in a long breath and let it out.  "Nothing, except to be careful.  Nobody's shot through the window or anything, yet.  He'll show his face soon enough."  Duncan speared a forkfull of pancake and soaked up some extra syrup with it.  "You know, these are pretty good.  I'll make a cook out of you yet."

For that, she seized a handy biscuit and pelted him in the nose.   He retaliated with a strip of bacon, and after that, all any skulking immortal would have seen was a lot of yelping and dodging and devouring of enemy ammunition, followed by helpless giggling on the part of the warring parties.

When they ran out of breath, they looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then Duncan brushed the bacon bits from his lap and came and sat beside her.  He picked a bit of pancake out of her hair and kissed the syrup off her forehead.  "You'd think we'd be old enough to know better than this by now," he said.

"You're lucky I didn't stoop to dumping the orange juice over you're head," she replied.

He sat back and looked into her eyes.  "It'll be OK.  One day at a time.  All right?"

She nodded, but didn't feel very reassured.

Amanda awoke cold.  Sleepily she reached for the sheets and blankets, but they were gone.  Odd, Duncan usually didn't steal the covers.

She scooted across the bed toward his warm, comforting bulk, but as soon as she touched him she drew in a breath and opened her eyes.  His shoulders were tense and hard, almost shaking.  He had wound all the blankets around him into a tight cocoon, and was breathing in odd, labored gasps.

She sat up, fully awake now, and turned on the light beside the bed.  She studied him for a long minute, then reached over and  cautiously shook him by the shoulder.  "Duncan.  Wake up.  It's just a dream."

Nothing.  She shoved him harder and raised her voice.  "Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod.  Wake up!  It's me, Amanda.  And you've got all the covers," she added.

This time he did wake up, explosively, fighting his way out of the blankets in a panic and scrambling to his feet beside the bed, ready to fight ten armed immortals at once.  She sat back, holding the hand she had snatched away against her chest, and waited.  After a moment, his eyes saw her, and the wild look faded.  His shoulders slumped, and he sat back down on the bed with a sigh, rubbing his chest with the heal of one hand as if to erase a memory.

"Sorry."

She started straightening out the sheets and blankets.  "I swear you have the worst nightmares of anyone I know."  He didn't answer.  "You want to tell me about it?"

His face reflected a kalidescope of images as he tried to remember and sort it out. "Rome," he said finally.

"What, when you were with me?  I don't remember anything bad happening there."

"Just escaping that bishop you robbed.  What was his name, Vincenzo something or other?"

"Oh, poo, he was hardly worth the effort.  Just a few paltry emeralds and sapphires."

"That you had your eye on since you saw them.  I should never have taken you to that ." He sighed. "I guess deep down I'm afraid that one of these days you're going to get me into some mess I can't get out of."

Amanda was silent.  The remark stung, but to be fair, she had gotten him into a lot of nasty scrapes over the centuries.  And while it wasn't really her fault, he'd almost lost his head to Kincaid and then to Kenny only two days ago.

Suddenly she knew what to say. "You know I wonder if I'll ever live those times down with you."

It was just the right tone - he reached out to where she was fluffing pillows and pulled her into an embrace. "You know I wouldn't have missed it."

"Good."  She slid a hand silkily down his chest.  "You know you should never go right back to sleep after a nightmare.  I'm sure I can think of something to keep you awake for a while."

"I'm sure you can," he said into her hair, "but lingering nightmares don't mix well with foreplay.  How about if we just go down and make some hot chocolate, OK?"

She nodded, disappointed but understanding.  "All right."

She was rummaging in the cupboards for mugs and he was filling the kettle when both of them stopped, sensing the presence of another immortal.  Duncan's face turned instantly hard and dangerous, looking just like it had when he'd woken up from the nightmare, but she only saw a glimpse of it before he was out the back door.

There was a stray piece of paper on the mat outside the door.  Amanda saw it in the porch light and cautiously picked it up.  As she looked at it, a cold knot of fear formed in middle of her chest.

Duncan didn't look any less dangerous when he returned.  He sat deliberately on the couch with his sword across his knees and said, "I'm not going to live like this.  Whoever it is had better come out and fight, or I'm going headhunting."

Amanda held out the piece of paper reluctantly.  "This was on the mat."

He scanned it.  "It's an advertisement for a gem show.  Is this the one you wanted to go to?"

She nodded tightly.

"Vincenzo XXX, proprietor."  Their eyes met.  "I think we'll be paying that show a little visit after all."

This one is such fun I really must get back to it. JR