Chapter 7 ~ Altered Perceptions
Rest easy.
Those two words had haunted Ian Nottingham all last night and he knew he would have no rest this night either. Upon returning to the mansion, Mr. Irons had no specific instructions for him; he had only wanted Ian to come home. Mr. Irons had expected him earlier, but he had no admonishments for Ian for his tardiness. Mr. Irons knew that Ian had been with Sara but had not said anything; he had only dismissed Ian for the evening with a reminder to stay at the mansion.
In his room, Ian had collapsed onto his bed. He was exhausted but still could not sleep. His mind was unable to find peace, even knowing that both his masters were safe. No, his mind was not the source of his unrest; it was his emotions.
From the window in my room, I watched the car drive away. Yesterday, I had been mad at Ina-she was already learning to protect the Wielder. Because of her, Mr. Irons was disappointed that I was not ready for my training. Today, I was a little sad that she would not be staying. Because of her, Mr. Irons had shown me The Witchblade Room and, without her here, I may not be allowed back there.
"Ian."
I turned immediately from the window. Mr. Irons stood just inside the door to my room.
"Will she come back?" I asked.
"Do you want her to?"
I shrugged, not sure of what answer he wanted but knowing the simple gesture was a mistake. Mr. Irons did not like vague answers to his questions.
I expected him to admonish me, but he didn't. Mr. Irons sat on my bed and motioned for me to approach him. I stood before him, attentive to what he had to say. Whenever he had told me something like this, face to face, it had been important.
"Why do you think she had to go?"
I said the only thing I could think of. "To complete her training."
"Why would you want her to stay?"
"It would have been fun to play with her," I replied honestly.
"It is not 'play', Ian. It is training. Do not forget that."
I nodded. It was always 'training' -of mind or body. I wondered why all my training hadn't been enough and why I was not ready to train like Ina. I didn't dare ask Mr. Irons about this for fear that I would not be allowed to return to the Witchblade Room. I was ready. Why couldn't Mr. Irons see that?
"To protect the Wielder," he continued, "you must be strong. But to wear the Blade, you must have the will. The will is weakened by emotion. What you do and what you feel are two different things. You must keep them separate if you are to do your duty."
Mr. Irons smiled gently. "Perhaps next time Ina is here, you two will train together." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "In the meantime, young Nottingham, I'm afraid I must suffice."
He stood. "Come. It is time for your history lesson."
Ian had spent his entire life separating emotion from action, and, even then, only allowing himself to feel certain emotions. That was part choice and part training. Some emotions he had found useful-anger gave him focus; fear of failing in his duty gave him purpose. Most others he knew were weaknesses. Ian's training -his life- was to prepare him to serve the Witchblade, the Wielder and Kenneth Irons, and that service required a warrior -always loyal, lethal as necessary, and without weakness.
Then he had met Sara Pezzini and all that effort seemed to be in vain. Watching over Sara these last few months had awakened radical ideas in his heart and mind - not just the concepts of compassion, desire, and love, but that perhaps someone like him could have -and give- those things. Only just starting to understand what it meant, he could tentatively say that he loved Sara, but he could not allow his feelings for her to change his duty to her, the Witchblade or Mr. Irons.
Sometimes Ian wished he had never met Sara Pezzini. She had altered everything in his life -his perceptions of the people in his life and of what his life ought to be. When he was younger, he had learned of a samurai's Daisho and had thought of himself and Ina in those roles of Long Sword and Companion Sword, with the Wielder as their samurai - a simple scheme that made sense to a child. Irons was teacher, father, and separate from that scenario. Irons would fancy himself as the samurai's master, Ian thought, then smiled thinly thinking that Sara Pezzini would have no master. Neither, he realized, did Ina.
Ian had always seen Ina as a colleague, a fellow warrior, a fellow pawn in Irons' master plan. Yet Ina had always found a way to be more. She'd had the freedom to be more. Only now did he see that Ina's gentle smiles and caresses had the maternal warmth of family. Brotherhood from shared pain - he had read that somewhere once, but only now did he understand it.
When Sara seemed willing to go with him to see Gabriel, Ian had to take her. He was surprised that Sara had not demanded the address and gone by herself, but he was grateful for the opportunity to earn her trust and serve the Blade. Ian worried about Ina's reaction to Sara. He had hoped they would get along, because they would need each other. Ian closed his eyes, the events of the previous night replaying in his mind.
With Gabriel safe with Ina, I had returned home to find that Dr. Immo had not finished preparing the serum for Mr. Irons. Mr. Irons had fallen asleep in his chair in front of the fire, the hounds at his feet. I watched Mr. Irons sleep for a moment, recalling briefly how he had watched me sleep when I was a child. He would read to me or tell me stories about the Wielders and I would pretend to fall asleep. I could hear him breathing in the room. Sometimes he would pat my hair or cover me with another blanket, but he would never say anything, perhaps so as not to wake me. This man, always so strong and vital, was at that moment so terribly vulnerable. Was that the same thought Mr. Irons had had when he had watched over me?
I sat on the stairs in the study. I waited as Dr. Immo administered the serum, my mind jumping between my moments with Sara and my life with Mr. Irons. The serum might help him or not; either outcome would set me on a difficult path.
I lost all sense of time - it could have been five seconds or five hours - then Mr. Irons stood, arms wide in his triumph over nature, exclaiming, "Behold! Time runs two ways."
I barely heard the exchange between him and Dr. Immo. My mind was now locked on my path - What would he have me to do Sara or her friends to ensure a supply of her blood? Or would he just want to keep her in a frozen limbo like Elizabeth Bronte? Why would the Witchblade do this to me or Sara? I didn't understand.
"Ian."
Mr. Irons called to me, but I wouldn't look at him for fear of losing the small shred of control I had. He walked over to me and placed a hand on my back. When was the last time he had shown me affection like that?
"Rest easy," he said gently. "I know what you tried. Had this experiment failed I could have spared our fair lady, but since it succeeded, you know what you must do." He paused then humbly added, "my life is in your hands."
Yes, his life was in my hands...as mine had been in his.
Ian knew it would come to that - he would have two choose between his two masters. The solution came to him with an almost surreal clarity. It was simple, really. He could not serve two masters - not these two masters. In this instance, he was not the exception to the rule. No, he could not rest easy.
Kenneth Irons sat in his favorite chair already feeling older. Since Sara's periculum, the Witchblade had decided not to favor him with its gift of youth and only the Wielder's blood could help him now. It was troubling that one infusion of Sara's blood was starting to wear off after less than 48 hours. He would need more of her blood soon.
Ian walked into the room, his coat cloaked about him like a cape and his scabbarded katana in hand. He shrugged the coat off his shoulders and withdrew the katana from its scabbard with a twirling flourish, casting the scabbard aside as he did so. Ian had always had a flair for melodrama.
"How dramatic," Kenneth commented dryly.
Ian took two hesitant steps, his expression contrite...like a child who knows he has done something wrong.
"It is written no man can serve two masters. I thought I could prove the exception. I was mistaken."
He continued to walk towards Kenneth, and Kenneth's eyes focused briefly on the sword. Ian held the hilt in his right hand, letting the blade rest in his left palm. His stance was almost menacing, but there was nothing dangerous in his eyes. No, this was something else entirely. If Ian were threatening Kenneth, he would offer a fair fight-Ian's foolish sense of chivalry would dictate it. Kenneth had encouraged Ian's quixotic pursuit of honor-it set boundaries on Ian's behavior and thus made him predictable and directable.
"And now you agonize between your devotion to me and your 'passion' for Sara Pezzini."
Ian knelt before Kenneth, and, with head bowed in submission -or was that shame?- offered the sword.
Kenneth pushed himself out of the chair. Whatever little drama Ian was playing at seemed to require it.
Ian turned his head up to him. "You gave me life. It's yours to take back. I would consider it a mercy." With his head once again bowed in quiet submission, Ian stood the sword on end and added softly, "If you don't, I shall."
With a surge of fury, Kenneth simultaneously took the sword and grabbed Ian's head. He held Ian at arm's length, the sword poised at his side to initiate the fatal blow. But he couldn't do it. Ian, there on the floor, had looked up at him with those damnable, troubled, intelligent brown eyes.
Kenneth drew Ian closer, Ian's head resting against his hip. Ian's hair fell around Kenneth's hand, and his hair was still as soft as when Ian had been a child. In that moment, Ian was the little boy who had entered Kenneth's life so long ago-the little boy that never wanted to displease him. He felt Ian place a hand on his leg in the semblance of an embrace. Kenneth had raised that boy -with discipline, yes, with an agenda, yes, but with affection, too- only to be betrayed. Ian's betrayal was not completely unexpected, but it still upset Kenneth. He hated that Ian's betrayal could affect him at all and, for that, he wanted Ian to suffer.
"I am not a merciful man, Ian." If Ian could not serve his master, then so be it. "And it is also written, 'As for this worthless slave, throw him out into the darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.' "
He pulled Ian's head back. "Begone, Ian. Your darkness awaits." He had wanted to see the pain in Ian's eyes. He was not disappointed. He let go of Ian's head and walked away. He didn't need this Ian. Kenneth Irons had another, and that Ian would be loyal.
Ian was not sure how long he stayed on his knees. He trembled from fear, pain and loss. For a moment, he dared hope that Mr. Irons would, for once, see him as son and not student. But that would never be. That was not his way. Ian had given Mr. Irons the opportunity to collect on his debt of honor, but that was not his way either. With his honor tainted, what did Ian have left? Only Sara, and she had rejected him as well.
Ian knew his darkness and knew that he did not want to live that way. Not again. He had to do something soon, before that darkness overtook him. He was certain that Sara had some foolishly dangerous plan to encounter the White Bulls by now. He would help her. With luck, he would serve Sara and the Witchblade one more time and permanently escape the darkness he knew would soon consume him.
Chapter 8 ~ My Master's Dragon
Sara sat back on the couch, mug in hand. Three hours of conversation with Navarro the previous night gave Sara plenty to think about over her morning coffee. Sara had learned more about the Witchblade and Kenneth Irons during that chat than she had in all the months of owning the thing. Even still, her real questions weren't answered since Navarro had Nottingham's infuriating tendency to avoid direct questions. Why was she chosen to wield this thing? How was she 'connected' to Irons? What did Irons want with her blood? And Nottingham...what could possibly be freaking him out?
And, then, of course, there was this whole business with the White Bulls. Already, Gabriel had almost died. Navarro could take care of herself and her son, but Sara did not want to put the baby in danger. Sara didn't want to run. It wasn't her style. Her father started this fight and she was going to end it. She just wasn't sure how.
"Morning, chief."
Sara looked over her shoulder at Gabriel. "Hey. Morning. How are you feeling?"
"Better." He shrugged coming around to sit next to her. "Still a little sore."
"There's coffee in the kitchen."
"Maybe later." He grinned. "I want to say you're looking better this morning, but you don't. Not really."
Sara couldn't help but grin back. "Thanks."
"You ok?"
"Shower was relaxing, but I didn't sleep well."
"Cuz of that thing?" Gabriel indicated the Witchblade.
Sara sighed. She had never confirmed or denied Gabriel's suspicions about the Witchblade's various 'gifts'. She had slept for a full eight hours, but it wasn't a restful sleep-her dreams had been disconcerting but not nightmarish enough to wake her. It wasn't the first time her sleep had been restless. What was unusual was being awakened earlier that morning with a sudden, intense fury. She was sure the feeling was not part of her dream, but it had jolted her awake.
Finally, she said, "Just...didn't sleep well."
Gabriel seemed to doubt her then shook his head. Suddenly, he grinned again. "Tell me Ina's breakfast is as good as her lasagna."
Sara laughed. "I've only had the coffee." Sara remembered something she wanted to ask Gabriel. "Did she tell you anything else about Irons or the Witchblade yesterday?"
He shook his head. "Pretty much the same stuff she told you last night. I asked her a few questions about Nottingham, but she skirted them."
Sara wasn't surprised. She had known Nottingham how long and he had never mentioned Ina or this future male Wielder.
With a shrug, he added, "She might tell you more, though, being the 'Wielder' and all."
"I doubt that."
Sara and Navarro were forging an uneasy alliance. Navarro felt some duty to serve the Witchblade and the Wielder. Sara could use -and had used- that to her advantage. Navarro's relationship to Nottingham was a question mark but it was amicable. Sara was sure that the woman didn't like her, not that Sara really cared, but Ina Navarro was dangerous - the Witchblade had shown her as much. Like Nottingham, the Witchblade refused to work against her, so Sara didn't trust her. Hell, she trusted Nottingham more than Navarro.
"I was thinking," Gabriel said suddenly. "You have all this info on the White Bulls, right? What if we put it on the web?"
"On the internet? How?"
"All we need is a camcorder and a laptop. I could record you and post it." He winked. "I'd bet you get more hits than Napster."
Sara drank more of her coffee, thinking about Gabriel's idea. "Well, I don't think it would devalue my testimony in court, but I don't think it'll stop Dante and his boys from coming after me."
"But at least your info-"
"Will survive even I don't?" Sara finished for him. She set the mug down on the coffee table and stood.
"That's not what I meant, Sara."
Sara smiled faintly. "But you're right."
She took a few aimless steps and found herself staring at a scabbarded Japanese sword. A scene flashed in her mind courtesy of the Witchblade, but she couldn't make it out. Sara shook her head. She was tired of running. She was tired of putting people in danger. She had a plan. She turned to Gabriel.
"I think it's time to call Jake."
Gabriel was pretty sure this was a stupid idea. As he listened to Sara's side of the conversation with McCartey, he realized that McCartey thought so as well.
"Get me in a room with Dante," Sara argued, "and I promise I will get him to say more than enough to put his ass in the chair."
Ina stepped into the living room then, with Henry in her arms. She gave Gabriel a questioning look, but he only shrugged.
"Like you always say, McCartey - go big or go home. Make it an hour. See ya there." Sara slammed the cell phone shut.
Ina and Sara looked at each other for a long moment. Ina finally said, "I hope you are not using yourself as bait."
"My battle, my choice."
"It's...not tactically sound."
Gabriel had to smile. "Told you it was stupid idea."
Sara shook her head. "I just want this over with."
She had made up her mind. All Gabriel could do now was try to help. "So, where do we have to be in an hour, Chief?"
"I am meeting Jake. You are staying here," Sara nodded her head towards Ina, "with them."
Sara was nuts if she thought she was doing this alone. "No way, Sara. We are in this together."
"Gabriel, please." Sara paused, closing her eyes briefly. She let out a breath. "Navarro has to stay here with her son. She will protect you till this blows over."
Sara looked pointedly at Ina. "You will protect him, right?"
"Of course."
Gabriel was not liking this at all. He actually hoped Nottingham would walk in the front door at that moment. If Ina didn't like Sara's plan, neither would Nottingham.
"At least wait for Nottingham." Gabriel couldn't believe he had just said that.
Sara looked at her watch. "No time. I want to get there before Jake." She turned to Ina. "You got a car?"
Ina shook her head. "But I can give you money for a cab."
"Ian, please come down."
Kenneth glanced at Dr. Immo then looked up expectantly towards the library. Immo worried about this Ian, but Kenneth knew the good doctor had a tendency to fret. After a moment, Ian Nottingham stepped out from the library.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen."
He descended the stairs quickly and Kenneth noted that this Ian's movements, like his predecessor's, were fluid and graceful. He stopped before Immo and Kenneth, his stance respectful but not overtly submissive. The cosmetic differences were minor, but hinted at his personality. This one was more vain, and therefore more arrogant. Kenneth smiled approvingly. This Ian would not succumb to the charms of Sara Pezzini.
Immo walked around Ian, asking casually, "How are you feeling today, Ian?"
"Restless."
"Do you remember how you spent your day?"
"No, sir." Ian turned his head slightly towards Immo, momentarily uncertain. "I think I've been asleep for a while."
"What do you remember?" Kenneth inquired.
Once again looking forward, Ian replied, "That my primary mission is to protect you. Following that, I protect the Wielder of the Witchblade."
Pleased with the answer, Kenneth then asked, "What else do you know?"
"That there have been others before me. That my immediate predecessor was defective in his emotional make-up. He was soft. This deficiency cost him his usefulness. I know I still have some of his memories. I know I only exist," Ian's eyes flicked to Kenneth, "because you allow it."
"Do you feel capable of retrieving the Wielder?"
"Oh, I feel capable of anything."
"Bring me the Wielder," Kenneth commanded. He watched this Ian leave the room then glanced at Immo. The doctor still looked worried, but Kenneth didn't see anything wrong with this Ian.
"I'm pleased with him."
"He's not Ian, Kenneth."
"No," Kenneth agreed. This Ian would bring him Sara and her precious blood. This Ian would not fail him. He smiled. "He's better."
The doctor frowned but said nothing.
Kenneth waited a moment then prompted, "What is it, doctor?"
"I don't know what happened this morning between you and Ian, but-"
"Ian is dead," Kenneth interrupted sharply. "Or will be soon enough."
My eyes opened with a start, my heart thudding. The dream was one I had often as of late, a dream that I shared with Ian -or, rather, that Ian shared with me. The vivid dream always startled me, but I had to appear to be in control. Ian would be coming to my room shortly, looking for security and reassurance. I sat up in my bed and propped up the pillows against the headboard. Leaning back, I straightened the sheets about me and let my eyes adjust to the bright moonlight shining through my windows. I ran my fingers through my hair and took two deep breaths, forcing my racing pulse to calm down.
Within a minute, my bedroom door opened. I squinted at the light coming from the hall, but I could see Ian in silhouette at the threshold. He waited for a moment then entered, closing the door behind him. Only after he came to my bedside could I see that he wore pale blue pajamas, the ones with his initials embroidered in silver over the breast pocket. Ian liked them because they were similar to some of mine. His hair was understandably disheveled, but there were no tears in his eyes, nor tear streaks on his face. There were no outward signs that this little boy had just had a nightmare. Ian rarely cried, even as an infant, and he never cried if he was frightened. His eyes, wider than usual, were the only indication of his fear.
Ian said, "I had the dream again. The one where I protect the Wielder."
He knows I know this, as I always do, because of my connection to the Witchblade, yet I cannot bring myself to reproach him for stating the obvious. The context of the dream wasn't always the same, but the outcome was - Ian, as a young man, dies protecting the Wielder. Ian accepts this outcome resolutely because I have told him to.
"These dreams are a gift from the Witchblade, Ian, but they will not always come true. You are to learn from them to be faithful first to the Witchblade and then the Wielder. But to be faithful to the Witchblade, you must always be faithful to me."
He stood there for a moment and I could see in how his brow furrowed that he was waiting for something. Perhaps, like any other child, he considered asking to sleep in his parent's bed, but he knew I would not allow that. I smiled gently, reassuringly. "Off to bed now. We both need to rest."
Ian nodded, my words a token for the security he needs and my demeanor an example for him to follow. "Good night, sir."
I watched him leave my room as quietly as he had come, pleased at how composed he was. Ian, dutiful, intelligent Ian, would serve me and the Witchblade well.
I rearranged the pillows and leaned back to sleep. I knew enough about the Witchblade to know that Ian would probably not reach old age, most likely dying a violent death. The Witchblade could be very unkind, even to those who were faithful to it. Only alone in the middle of the night just before I drifted back to sleep could I acknowledge that Ian's death would sadden me.
Kenneth neither wanted to be reminded of Ian's betrayal or talk about it. Immo's penchant for sentimentality and his affection for Ian could be quite trying.
"You have another Ian to take care of now," Kenneth continued calmly. "He is the only one you need worry about."
And this Ian, Kenneth thought as the doctor walked away, was guaranteed to be faithful. He frowned. Kenneth would have to make a point of not referring to him as 'this' Ian. He was now the only Ian, his Ian.
Sara waited for Jake McCartey on the roof across the street from 111 Richard Street. She crouched behind the ledge of the building, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on her growing unease. This building, several stories taller than the surrounding ones, afforded her a view of the abandoned building where she was to meet Jake. She grinned-even Nottingham would have to approve of her little recon mission. She glanced at her watch. Jake was due any minute. She had been watching the building for about half an hour and hadn't seen anyone enter the building, but that didn't relieve her anxiety. It was possible that Jake's FBI cohorts were already in place...or not there at all.
Still crouching, Sara quietly walked away from the edge to the brick wall that encircled the roof access stairwell. Sara straightened up to her full height, happy to stretch her tightening muscles.
"Sara."
She turned to the familiar voice, not really surprised that Nottingham had tracked her down. "Don't even try to stop me from doing this."
"As if I could." He smiled faintly. "I only wish to say goodbye."
Goodbye? That was one thing she was sure she would never hear from Nottingham. Did Irons order him out of town or did he finally grow the stones to abandon Irons?
Sara frowned. "Where are you going?"
"Far away," he replied softly.
But not as far as you.
Sara had heard his voice, but his lips had not moved. She was confused but didn't say anything. Something was wrong. Sara wasn't sure what was wrong, but there was something different about Nottingham. He looked different -Sara couldn't remember ever seeing Nottingham with his hair loose- but there was something in his expression that she couldn't quite describe. This was definitely not the bad-ass Ian Nottingham she knew. What was up with him?
He suddenly dropped to one knee before her and she took a surprised step back. Sara sighed, accepting it as one of those weird Nottingham things. He had probably read too many stories about knights. She was only glad that they were on a roof and not some place more public-like a parking lot. He held his left hand out, palm up. She wanted to be annoyed with him, but she really wasn't. This was his thing, the way he wanted to say goodbye, and she didn't want to take that away from him - she owed him that much for helping Gabriel and her.
Nottingham took her hand in both of his and Sara felt a surge of despair from the Witchblade. He brought her hand to his lips and laid a tender kiss on the back of her hand. She felt the shift in her perception of time, Nottingham frozen at that moment with his lips on her hand, as the Witchblade assaulted her with visions:
Nottingham at the precinct, "If you want to stay close to me, just ask...Sara."
Irons to Nottingham, "And now you agonize between your devotion to me and your 'passion' for Sara Pezzini."
A memory from another time of Nottingham speaking to her, "Take the cause out of a man, there is no cause for a man."
Ina's voice,"The incalculable sadness, Deep within my dragon heart..."
Dante on the ground aiming a gun at her and Jake...Nottingham leaping out in front of them and taking the bullet in the heart...
Nottingham stood, but Sara wouldn't let go of his hand. Her mind and heart reeled from the visions. His life, like hers, had been turned upside down by the Witchblade and by Sara.. She saw it, then, in his eyes -his beautiful eyes, always so expressive either angry, contrite, shy, resolute, sad or proud- seemed...resigned, hopeless...defeated. This Nottingham had no purpose. He was in mourning for his honor. He thought of himself as a knight -a warrior- and so his grief was too much to bear. That was something Sara understood all too well.
She knew that Nottingham's life depended on this moment. She knew Nottingham shouldn't die like that and she wouldn't let him.
"Nottingham, stay close to me."
His eyes searched her face. After a moment, his brow crinkled slightly in confusion in the childlike way that was quintessentially Nottingham.
He probably thought that she didn't know what she was asking, but she did. He probably thought that she had only said that because she didn't want to be responsible for another death - even Nottingham's. Maybe he thought she owed him for helping her with Conchobar and Gabriel or even because he was a source of information about the Witchblade but not because she might actually care about what happened to him. Why did it sadden her that he might think that?
He wanted to understand, but, in the end, he would just accept it. Truthfully, his devotion to her frightened her. She didn't like having so much say in anyone's life.
He needed orders. Nottingham understood orders-he followed them. "Jake will be here any minute. I've got a plan." She grinned. "Sorta. If you're up to it."
He nodded once, starting to look like her Nottingham - the one who seemed like he could walk on water.
Kenneth took a seat on the leather couch to await his next meeting with the Wielder. Sara would not be in a good mood, and it was possible, although rather unlikely, that Ian would come to protect her. Kenneth doubted that Ian would make an appearance - he was now dead most likely, no doubt 'sacrificing' himself for Sara such that his little melodrama would be remembered as martyrdom. Sara, like Ian, could be too sentimental and, if she had witnessed his sacrifice, she would be angry and more difficult to deal with. However, no matter how angry she was, Kenneth believed she would not harm him. She had many questions about herself and the Witchblade, and he had all the answers. He was happy to answer those questions, with even a certain amount of truth, but the price was her blood.
Ian waited in the alley next to the building. Sara had asked him to find out if Jake's FBI back-up was there. If they were there, she gave him strict orders not to interfere and to stay out of sight. If not, Ian was to be her back-up. The FBI assault team was in place and Ian had settled into a secure spot in the alley. All of his instincts told him to be inside with Sara, but he would not risk her anger. When she had held on to his hand on the roof, he felt that she had finally begun to understand his duty to her. For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to believe that Sara would accept his service if not his love. He knew Sara could be compassionate, more than she cared to admit, and perhaps he was fooling himself, seeing in her eyes only what he wished to see. Perhaps that self-delusion was the first inkling of the darkness that was to come.
I must find the Wielder.
Ian looked down the alley sure that he had heard a voice. He tilted his head, straining to hear.
I'm coming, Brother...
The voice in his head faded. He recognized the voice. He had to warn Sara.
Irons and Dante shaking hands to seal the agreement that ended in her father's death.
The vision played over and over in Sara's mind, each time each time becoming clearer and fueling her anger. She barely noticed pushing open the fire door. She raced down the steps, running towards the curb. Her one goal right now was making sure that Irons would pay -for her father, for introducing the Witchblade into her life, for whatever misery that bastard had caused any one.
Nottingham stepped out in front her, just far enough ahead of her for her to stop before bumping into him.
"You should not go to Mr. Irons now. It's too dangerous."
"For him, maybe."
"Sara, you must listen-"
"He had my father killed," Sara said, her voice tight with rage. "And he's going to answer for that." Why didn't he want her to pursue this? What did he know? She looked at Nottingham accusingly. "Did you know?"
"I was just a child then," he responded angrily. Softly, he added, "But I'm not surprised."
Nottingham could come with her or not. She didn't care. Sara moved to step around him but he grabbed her arm. She tried to free herself, but Nottingham held on.
"Sara, Mr. Irons has," he faltered, "he has replaced me. You are not ready to face him. I can help you, train you..."
"Let go!"
"Sara."
She saw it then...that concern for her in his eyes. Dammit. He was really afraid for her. His replacement was dangerous enough to give Nottingham pause. She stopped struggling and he released her.
"Alright, who is this guy?"
"My replacement is...me."
Would she ever get a straight answer from him? "What the Hell are you talking about?"
"My replacement is coming after you. We must go now."
"How do you know that?"
"He and I...are linked."
"What? Like you know what he's thinking?"
Nottingham nodded. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but turned his head to the side instead. His eyes widened slightly.
"He's not coming for you, Sara. He's coming for Henry."