Insanity And Weirdness In The City
"Even if I am invited to give all the lectures instead of just being the keynote speaker, I am never going to another anthropology conference. Ever," Blair decided. It was bad enough that he faced death regularly in his home city – he'd only ranged fifty miles away from his home territory – well, Jim's home territory, but same difference, natch – and practically had his head chopped off!
"Sanity begins at home, but should not end there," he mumbled, deliberately mangling Thomas Fuller. At times the nuts fell far from the tree.
If Cascade could be considered a tree.
Shaking his head, Blair breathed an audible sigh of relief as he turned his Corvair down Prospect Avenue. Almost home…
Home, where people only want to shoot me, not take my head off, he thought dryly. He'd take guns over swords any day.
He still couldn't quite believe it. He'd been saved from one sword-wielding maniac by another sword-wielding maniac. And after his rather harried-looking savior had shoved him in that alley, there'd been a lightning storm over the city – but no rain. That was freaky even for Washington State.
He wished he'd been able to talk more with his reluctant savior, but years of living and loving Jim Ellison had taught him when someone was trying – albeit badly – to hide something.
Duncan MacLeod had saved his life. And, out of extremely grateful courtesy, Blair hadn't been going to even try and interrogate him.
What was MacLeod – who was obviously Scottish, though the accent was muted from a long time living in the States – okay, so what was a college history teacher from Scotland doing with a Japanese katana from the Shogun Era? And in Seacouver, Washington, of all places?
With another shake of his head, Blair pulled into his parking space, thankful he was home once more. He'd take the familiar freakiness over the strange insanity any day. Some things were just too weird to contemplate. Even for him.