All Souls Night.

Disclaimers in Chapter One.

It was, Hope had to admit, a terribly elegant little plan they'd played.

The house stank, positively reeked of the Circle's creatures. This in itself was nothing exceptional, as the lower ranks forever tried to raise their status by braving the Ancient's house. More often than not, Gabrielle's presence proved sufficient to terrify them from doing more than simply lurk in the corners for a moment or two. But that night...

Hope looked down on the sleeping Xena, marveling at the seeming innocence there. She'd squinted and scowled a moment back, but was now the picture of calm and repose.

Gabrielle was nowhere to be seen.

The indentation and creases in the bed sheets spoke of her being there earlier, though Hope herself needed no such evidence. She had seen and heard all that had passed between them that day, from their argument in the morning to the scene over dinner to Gabrielle tickling her partner into utter submission in this same bedroom. She'd left them to their sleep for only a short moment, returning to her own home to double-check on a few more esoteric facts concerning stellar alignments and the like, returning not even five minutes later.

She returned to a half-empty bedroom and a haze of Bacchae scent.

Only two thousand years worth of self-control kept her from tearing the room apart. Even her grip on the handle of Caliburn looked relaxed.

Her jaw tightened reflexively as she glided towards the sleeper, her hand reaching out and brushing the side of her pristine neck. Hope relaxed as she felt the strong beat of a pulse. They had, at least physically, left *her* alone.

Mentally? Spiritually? Hope wasn't sure on either score, her vision of the insubstantial vague in this muddy atmosphere. If harm was there, Hope recognized there was little she could do just now. Yet another casualty who's only crime was proximity to her.

The knight. The old centaur. The boy. The monks who had taken her in. The settlers of Roanoke. Those archaeologists only a few decades ago.

Each one more reason to struggle against her dead sire and grand-sire. Each one more reason to loath herself all the more.

Hope sat on the edge of the bed, Caliburn now a weight hanging limping in her hand. Hard set as her features were, her eyes now spoke of despair.

How arrogant she had been. Running all about, melting into and out of the shadows, all mouth and trousers. So bloody sure she could out-think those degenerates, beat them at *their* game, but playing by *her* rules...

She could only shake her head at this. You'd think after two millennia on *both* sides of the veil...two millennia of plots and plans and conspiracies, complex and simple-minded...you'd think she'd have learned not to underestimate *any* opponent. You'd think she would...

Of all the ways to be proven wrong.

It was just past ten, All Soul's Night nearly over. They had Gabrielle and she had close to *nothing*! No location, no trustworthy contacts, and only the vaguest inclining of their plans.

Oh, and an ex-prostitute lying beside her, asleep and looking utterly innocent.

Hope had no idea what to do now. Everything she'd planned had revolved around keeping Gabrielle *out* of their hands until All Soul's was finished, which had entailed keeping her (and Xena, of course) in sight and under guard. So what does she do? She abandons her self-appointed post and runs off to read up on some pointless piece of astronomy. And of course the Circle must have chosen that moment to do their business. What's new?

Hope brushed a tuft of dark hair from Xena's forehead, marveling at the perfect similarity between her and the warrior.

Her earliest memories were the arguments between Gabrielle and Xena over her, calls for her death and naÔve declarations of love and trust. Hope had understood each word, though she'd been incapable of expressing herself. Dahmok had held her tightly in its sway back then, and too many had died for it. Gabrielle's poisoning her had been the first step in her redemption, and if acceptance had proved impossible for the warrior, and trust equally so for both herself and the warrior, they had at least gained a careful respect for each other.

But the warrior was gone now, and this mortal child had never given reason to distrust her. In fact she'd done everything to convince Hope of her sincerity where Gabrielle was concerned. She'd touched none of her fortune, done nothing to hurt Gabrielle, and in fact had gone out of her way to avoid either such difficulties. The only reason Xena had ever given Gabrielle to scream was with pleasure the likes of which Hope had never before seen or encountered...which, to be frank, was saying something.

Hope knew her mum too well, and knew that if it came to a choice, Gabrielle would insist Xena be protected over herself. Xena herself would doubtlessly demand the same, all of which left Hope with a proverbial Sword of Damocles hanging over her head.

To leave Xena now might well have been tantamount to signing a death warrant. There could be a dozen minions hiding in this bile fog of Bacchae-stink and Hope could be none the wiser. And, by the same token, *not* leaving Xena might well result in fulfillment of the Circle's designs: the final death of Gabrielle. There was always a chance Gabrielle could turn the tables on them, as she had so often in the past. It was possible...and unlikely.

Who to risk and who to save. Either prospect left her cold and indecisive. Hope looked once more on the sleeper beside her, as though the sight alone would give her the answer.

The entire debate was rendered moot when one of Xena's arm snapped out, the two extended fingers connected with the base of throat. Hope crashed to the floor, her limbs suddenly so much dead-weight, her ever muscle stiff and unflexing.

She heard the bedsprings move as the mattress' former occupant rose and moved away. Rather than try to divine what Xena was about, Hope instead concentrated on moving her wrists, willing them past all weakness and paralysis to bend back inch by inch...ignoring the approaching, consuming darkness which covered her sight...bending the wrists millimeter by millimeter...ignoring the screaming pain of her empty lungs...fighting for the fading clarity of her thoughts...

...and snapped the wrists forward, fingers likewise striking her neck in the exact same places as Xena's strike.

Air rushed into both her lungs and brain, leaving her gasping and dizzy. Still, she heard the remark spoken above her. "Thought you'd get out of that."

Hope only had time to snap her head to the side, her eyes coming to rest on a pair of hiking boots and denim-clad legs there. Xena's presence was akin to a bonfire right then, emotion and energy fairly rolling off her. Before Hope could offer any word of question or defense, a solid blow to the base of her neck knocked her flat once more. She instinctively recognized the weapon used, her last conscious breath giggle at the irony: the pommel of Caliburn.

Still, Hope heard the comment that followed, the words striking an ancient cord of memory within her. "Hm...nice blade."

And then the burning presence of Xena was gone, taking with her all consciousness.

******

When she came too only minutes later, it was as she expected: there was no sign to be seen of Xena or Caliburn.