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Vanquishing	By : pittwitch Category: G through L > Highlander Views: 2225 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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This is a little flashback to the HP story, Ancient Magick. I had intended to include it in the original, but then decided not to do that, that it might confuse everyone. If you don't really want to know what Mikayla got up to when she was traveling, and would prefer to use your imagination, READ NO FURTHER. This will piss off Snape, if anyone ever tells him that is. This takes place when Mikayla and Snape were once again on the outs. She has been sent to hunt a demon in Paris; a demon who has been trying to steal someone else's immortality to empower himself enough to make a play for power in the 9^th level of Hell. So, this is portion is a crossover with another of my favorites, Highlander. I'm tapping this out more for myself because I need a little threesome and these three characters begged to be let out to play.

Vanquishing

Dust motes swirled in the late afternoon light filtering into the small bar. The silver-haired barkeep busied himself restocking coolers. He looked up when the door opened, allowing more light into the darkened interior. An ebony haired woman smiled at him with a question in her eyes and on her lips.

"Are you open?" she asked hopefully.
"Sure," the man answered. "What will you have?"
"Scotch, neat," she replied, walking around the length of the bar to sit in the corner facing the door. Opening a brown leather attaché case, the woman dug around inside, removing a red pen and a stack of handwritten papers while the barkeep poured her a generous portion. He lurched to the end of the bar to set the glass next to her stacked papers.
"Mercí," she automatically answered in French.
"You're welcome," he countered in English, offering her his hand. "Joe Dawson."
The woman raised her eyes to meet his, extending her hand to clasp his.
"Mikayla MacLaren."
"MacLaren? A Scot in Paris?" He observed drily.
"Visiting professor," Mikayla answered waving her hand over the papers with a graceful flourish. She sipped her scotch, set the glass down and slipped on small half-moon reading glasses.
"Ah, I'll leave you to your work then."  Joe grinned before leaving her to finish his own chores.
"Thank you, Joe Dawson." She smiled warmly at him.
Mikayla chewed her lip thoughtfully as she began to read the first exam paper, her brown leather clad foot swinging as she dangled it from the bar stool. She grimaced, crossing out an entire line in the exam book and began scribbling hurriedly, the red ink rapidly filling the margin of the blue book. When she finished writing, she reached for her glass to take a wee bit larger sip. She continued through the rather large stack of papers, making meticulous notes to the students in blood red ink. She didn't even glance up when Joe refilled her glass quietly, or when a dark-haired man entered to sit at the far end away from her. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a heavy pewter ornament. Sad brown eyes glanced at the woman, whose curls fell way past her shoulder, partially shielding her face as she scrawled almost angrily across yet another book.
Taking a break, she looked up, rolling her neck to get rid of a crick, and heaved a deep sigh. She smiled at Joe, pushed her empty glass closer to the edge of the bar, and removed a few bills from the back pocket of her jeans. She laid the money on the bar, then glanced at the newcomer. She graced him with a small nod and a smile before picking up the red pen once more. Another man slunk in, more patrician in appearance, fair-skinned, close-cropped dark hair, with suspicious eyes immediately studying the woman. The three men carried on a hushed conversation while Mikayla ignored them to continue grading exams. Every once in while, she actually cursed out loud at the errant student before attacking their words with her pen.
"A new friend, Joe?" The short-haired man asked.
"More like one of Mac's kinsmen," Dawson bantered.
"Eh?" Mac furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Says her name is Mikayla MacLaren, a visiting professor."
"MacLaren?" Mac asked as he turned his head slightly to try to get a better look at the woman without her noticing.
"Yep."
"From Loch Laren?"
"Didn't ask. Why?"
"Probably nothing. I don't think there are many MacLaren left."
"MacLeod?"
"It's nothing." He turned his attention back to the man at his side, sullenly drawing from his draft
They were interrupted by a low growl coming from the now agitated woman, ranting softly under her breath at the paper. The newest man glowered at her in consternation.
"What?" Joe asked wiping the bar down in front of them.
"She's rambling in Spanish. I thought you said she was a Scot."
"Leave it to Methos to find some deep dark conspiracy in a woman grading papers.: Macleod jibed at his friend.
"A woman grading papers, drinking, in a bar, in the middle of the day," Methos countered, subtly trying to get a better look at her. Mikayla secretly obliged his curiosity, brushing her hair back over her shoulder and cocking her head to one side, tapping the pen on the bar as she continued reading, seemingly oblivious to the three men obviously talking about her.
"What is she saying, Adam?" Joe asked curiously himself, leaning his elbows on the bar.
"She's ranting about idiotic dunderheads and no wonder someone named Snape is such a cranky bastard."
"Sounds really menacing to me." Mac rolled his eyes, chuckling softly.
The light dimmed as the sun slowly sank. The evening's entertainment and other patrons began to straggle in. Mikayla still paid no heed to the activity around her, grading papers furiously until the sun sank so low she no longer had enough light to read.
"Well, I give her this ... "  MacLeod spoke to his two companions, "She drinks like a Scotsman."
Joe chuckled, moving to snatch the now nearly half empty bottle of scotch from the speed rail to refill her glass once more. She looked up and smiled at the barkeep as she slipped the exam books back into her attaché.
"Thank you, Joe Dawson."
"You are most welcome, Mikayla MacLaren." He grinned back at her.
The noise level in the bar had grown exponentially. Mikayla motioned him closer in order to ask him unheard, "Your two friends are most curious." She winked at him. "Buy them a round on me?"
Joe chuckled. He sensed no threat from the woman. She reached over the gleaming wooden counter of the bar to pat his hand, adding more money to her dwindling pile.
"Sure enough."
Her fingers closed around his gently, not letting them leave. "Their names? If I may ask ..."
"Duncan MacLeod and Adam Pierson," Joe answered with a glint in his eye.
"MacLeod -- that one I believe. I am not buying Pierson. He needs a better alias."   Mikayla graced Joe with a bemused little smile and another sly wink.
"Why on earth would you say that?" Joe leaned in closer, now quite curious about the strange woman.
"You've just confirmed my suspicions, Joe Dawson."
He cocked his head at her in surprise.

She smiled softly, sipping from her scotch. "Your musicians seem interesting." Mikayla tossed out the compliment, clearly ending their previous discussion.
"So do you," Joe added before limping off to refill his friends" glasses at Mikayla"s expense. When Joe explained the woman was buying the round, both MacLeod and Pierson raised their glasses in a silent toast to Mikayla, who raised hers in turn, downing the nearly full glass in one go. All three men"s eyes grew wide and she merely smiled, slipping the strap of her attaché over her shoulder, preparing to leave.
As she walked nearer, Adam lifted his head in surprise, sensing someone on the very edge of his awareness; there but not quite. Mikayla stopped short as well, locking eyes with him She stepped closer, slipping her attaché on to the back of MacLeod"s stool. Sliding quickly to Adam"s opposite side, she ran her fingers around his neck, pulling his ear close to her lips, one hand hidden from MacLeod"s view; in its grip, a gleaming dagger pressed against Adam's side just where his kidney would be.
"Viejo, (old one) hold your steel. This is my fight, and no concern of yours," she whispered sultrily into his ear, pausing to nibble lightly on the delicious flesh of his earlobe. "I know I cannot mortally wound you, but ...” she licked the edge of his cartilage. Adam involuntarily shivered at the touch of her tongue. "I can make you hurt like hell itself," she concluded by pressing a bit more firmly with her blade.
"Hold on to my attaché?” She peered past the stunned immortal to his friend. "I will be back." She grinned widely at the two. "Wait here?" She asked ever so politely, as if she hadn't just threatened a man"s life.
"Sure," MacLeod answered for them both, much to Adam"s dismay. Mikayla slipped around to peck his cheek gratefully.
"Thanks." Then, she quickly slipped from the now noisy club into the cool night air, disappearing from view.
"She had a knife to my side!" Adam hissed at Duncan angrily.
"What?" MacLeod asked in total disbelief.
"Let"s go before we lose her," Adam grumped.
Mikayla stepped lightly and quickly along the sidewalk, dodging an amorous couple, until she approached a nice, dark, secluded alley. With a satisfied smirk, she slipped into the shadows, blade once again ready in her hand.
Behind her, two men watched as she slipped into the alleyway. Carefully, they snuck closer, only to hear her shout,
"ANDRAS!" Her voice echoed off the brick walls surrounding her.
A tall form stepped from behind a trash bin, hissing angrily back at her, "SHIOVA!"
Across from the alley, a dark-haired, dark-skinned man leaned against the building, well-hidden in the darkness, simply observing all of the activities going on in the next alley.
MacLeod glanced at his friend, mouthing the word, "Shiova?"
Methos whispered back, "Gypsy -- a Scottish gypsy? I told you she was suspicious," Adam answered snappishly.
His rant was interrupted when Andras lunged for Mikayla, who dodged his advance, but managed to draw her blade across his forearm. With blood now dripping down his arm, Andras cackled,
"Your Council sends a woman to do a man's job."
Mikayla bent her knees, shifting her gleaming blade into her right hand. "No Andras, my council sent the MacLaren to do her job."
"THE MacLaren!" The demon laughed maniacally. "This will indeed be enjoyable."
"Enjoy your last moments then, Andras." Mikayla smiled wanly before adding, "Painful and short may they be."
MacLeod and Methos maneuvered silently to take up watch posts, one on each side of the alley, prepared to watch the ensuing battle. The two seemed equally matched, but Mikayla drew first, and more often blood. Andras staggered back away from her after a particularly vicious strike across his abdomen. Mikayla panted heavily, her face shining in the pale light, eyes wild. Blood dripped from a wound across her cheek, running down her neck to disappear between her breasts. She mocked her opponent mercilessly, drawing him in closer once more. With a quick duck, spin and then lunging from a lower position, Mikayla wedged her athelme hilt deep underneath where Andras would have had a heart. She stepped back as the dirty blond clasped both hands around the hilt of her sanctified blade, knowing full well she had dealt him a death blow. He fell to his knees stunned, still holding the ebony handle in shock.
"You have interfered where you had no rightful business, demonio. Although, I concede that your use of the succubus was an ingenious move."
Andras smiled wanly at her praise. "You know you will have to behead me."
"I don't think so, demonio." She moved closer to grab a handful of his greasy hair, whispering softly, "Conjuro el ampolleta consegrada." I conjure the sacred phial.
A dark amber glass phial, intricately decorated with strange metal figures instantly appeared in her hand, so small that neither of the men watching really saw from where she took it; never realized she used magic to summon the container for the demon"s immortality. Using her teeth, Mikayla uncorked the vial, watching as the sickly green mist seeped from around Andras" wound and settled into the vial much as one would imagine a genie would settle into a lamp. When Andras became nothing more than dead weight in her hand, she released his body, snatching her blade from his chest before allowing him to fall face forward onto the cobble stoned alley. She shoved the cork back into the vial, trapping the demon"s essence.
"Alphonse!" She shouted. "I know you"re watching. Get over here now!"
The dark man sprang from his lounging position to sprint across the street. Mikayla carelessly tossed him the vial, stepping away from the dark black hole opening under Andras" body. It slipped into the darkness, disappearing as the hole closed in on itself.
"Do you know what to do with that?" She barked at the man called Alphonse.
"Yes," he spat angrily, insulted.
"Good." Mikayla wiped her blade clean, using the tail of Alphonse shirt in yet another insult, then hid it away under her blouse in the waistband of her denims. "Dispose of it. Then go tell the Council to forget my name," she shouted. "How dare they send you to watch over me like some nueva ... novice como una idiota." She sputtered, enraged with him now.
"'Kay, calmate. They did not send me. Matteo and I have been worried about you." Alphonse kept a safe distance from his cousin, warily watching the flames of fury dancing behind her eyes. "You have been temeraria - reckless. We worry."
"Reckless," she snorted, shaking her head.
Methos and MacLeod stood watching, listening more closely. Alphonse had sprinted right between them without looking at either of them.
"Reckless," Alphonse repeated. "Going into a blind alley, only one way out. So not like you, prima, con un audiencia también."
He jerked his head towards the end of the alley where MacLeod and Methos were trying to sneak away. Mikayla rolled her eyes in disgust and frustration.
"I only needed one way out." Mikayla sneered at him, shoving him to one side to pass him. "I grew tired of the mariposón." flirt
"Estacas." You"re wounded Alphonse seemed generally concerned over her injury.
"It"s nothing," she grumbled. Alphonse gallantly pressed his handkerchief into her hand. The two immortals stopped together to watch as she spit on the white linen, then wiped the slash mark on her face. The blood and the wound both disappeared. Two immortals stared at each other, stunned.
"See. I told you," she griped. "Nothing."
"Alright. Nothing. But, what are you going to do about the succubus?"
"I"ll handle it more easily than I handled Andras," she bragged, drawing herself up to her full height, pride and fury coloring her eyes in the dark of the night.
"Cualquier." Alphonse gave a dismissive little wave of his hand. "But, what about el audiencia por ahí " the audience over there.
"My problem, not yours."
Mikayla whirled, leaving her cousin standing in the dark alley, holding eau de demon in a bottle, jaw gaping. The two men of her audience sprinted to get ahead of her and return to their places in the bar.

Andras: the demon of discord
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Vanquishing