England, Mercia, 1166.

Joseph investigated the noise outside his dwelling. He found the lady Mary on the leafy ground outside his door. She had fallen from her horse. He bent to pick her up and carried her into his home. Her beauty struck him dumb, he feared to look upon her too closely, lest she wake and question his motives.

He bathed her ankle in witch hazel and bound it with dock leaves, which should reduce the swelling. He glanced all the time at the clay pot on the hearth. He heard the familiar ringing in his ears as his masters called to him. He nodded absently, the voices becoming insistent. He winced in pain shaking his head at the same time as bathing the head of the Lady on his bed. He stood up suddenly with a growl and fetched a mallet from a chest in the corner. He chose two thorns from the clay pot on the hearth and bathed the Lady Mary’s feet. If he was quick enough, she wouldn’t wake and she would be changed without the agony of dying.

He held the thorn steady, it’s sharp evil point rooted into her skin and he struck the head home. Her scream pierced the surrounding forest, Joseph swallowed his anguish and held the second thorn, it rooted and he struck that one home too. Her screams carried on and on, he cast aside the mallet and wept sliding down the wall of his home with his hands covering his ears.

London, 1666

"Joseph?" Mary called. He strode through the wreckage of the Watchers settlement with a broad smile on his face. His love had not aged; indeed, she had grown more beautiful with the passing centuries. Their task here was complete. It was time to return to their masters.

"Mary, come beloved…" Joseph smiled then scowled as a loan figure with a loaded crossbow let fly the quiver into his lover’s flesh. He shouted a warning but too late, the deed was done. His love lay mortally wounded on the smouldering ruins of the town house. He held Mary’s hand and held out his right hand toward the young girl who had killed his life partner. The Slayer evaporated into a bright white cinder and vanished on a gust of wind.

"My love…?" He knelt amongst the rubble and tenderly cradled Mary’s head. She was gone. She had given him the last of her power to slay the Slayer. He was alone once more.

The darkness gathered at the edges of his consciousness and he retreated into the shadows staring back at his love, memorising her face so that he would recognise her in the centuries to come. His tears dried on his cheeks as he faded from the scene.

"Goodbye, my lady."

Present Day.

I walked alongside Cathy. She was tall and confident, disciplined and dangerous the first of a new breed. She was also deeply troubled by nightmares and it was these that we discussed as we walked along.

"Joseph, I saw him again last night. The Watcher… He’s strong; he has helpers all round him. I sensed no Slayer, but more of a group of Slayers… There is only one Slayer in every generation, that’s right isn’t it?"

"Yes, Cathy, that’s right, but there is a prophecy…" I lowered my voice on the word prophecy and drew her back into the shadows of the grey corridor we traversed. I looked right and left. "A Watcher without a Slayer will bring about the fall of our masters, the Grey’s." My eyes locked onto her brown eyes, her eyes the reflection of Mary’s.

"Joseph, do you think I’m the one?" Cathy whispered. "I saw another man, a powerful young man." She smiled as she remembered. "With green eyes and dark hair…"

I gazed at her longingly. She had that look that Mary and I shared after slaughtering a few hundred Watchers. I smiled along with her and made my decision.

"Cathy, I think he’s your partner. I will make some colours for you both…" I knew it was death to manufacture coloured thorns, I paused and studied the grey floor; I had been too long here. I needed the fresh green of the forest and Mary in my arms. I wanted Cathy to be happy, and if she turned out to be a part of the prophecy, then so be it!

End.

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