Author's Note: this chapter is rated PG-13 for mild violence
Sara and Nottingham hadn't spoken a word on the way to Navarro's. Sara had expected another ride on his motorcycle and was mildly disappointed that he had driven a car. She had meant to joke about how the car -a beautiful black Jaguar- just didn't compare to the motorcycle of the previous day, but then decided against it. She could tell that he was...nervous.
No, he wasn't nervous...Nottingham was never nervous. He was worried - for Henry, Gabriel, Navarro and Sara herself - and she had absorbed his mood.
The front door to Navarro's brownstone was still locked, but Sara knew that wasn't necessarily a good sign. This 'replacement' was probably as good as Nottingham at picking locks.
Sara frowned. Navarro's apartment occupied the entire top floor and Sara didn't remember seeing anyone in the building earlier when she had left to meet Jake. If there had been trouble, the neighbors would have called the police. The White Bulls hadn't all been rounded up-Sara and Gabriel were still in danger.
"Neighbors?" she asked.
Nottingham shook his head. "Ina owns the building. She and Henry are the only ones who live here." He tilted his head slightly, briefly closing his eyes. "He's not here."
It was weird, but no weirder than how he always knew where to find her. Nottingham pulled out a key and unlocked the door. He entered first and Sara pulled out her gun, holding it at the ready, just in case. Sara was sure Nottingham was armed, but he didn't draw a weapon.
They climbed the stairs in silence, Nottingham leading the way. The Witchblade was silent on her wrist. At the top landing, Sara could see that the door to Ina's apartment was slightly open. With barely a glance at Nottingham, they flanked the door. Sara pushed the door open with the tip of her boot.
Nottingham went in first. He paused in the living room and indicated the corner of the room before heading down the hall to the bedrooms. Gabriel was slumped in the corner. Sara saw the Witchblade's stone swirl just before she again felt that slowing of time that marked a vision.
The replacement -a clean-shaven, upscale version of the Nottingham she knew- had taken two steps into the room, surprising Gabriel, backhanding him. The blow sent Gabriel across the room and against the wall. This Nottingham turned toward the dining room in time to see Navarro lunge at him.
Sara blinked once as the vision faded and quickly went to check on Gabriel, setting aside the million and one questions she had about Nottingham's...twin? She couldn't think of another word to describe him. She knelt next to Gabriel and checked for a pulse. He was alive and breathing, but out cold. Sara opened his eyes, and his pupils seemed to react to the light. He didn't seem to have any other injuries.
Sara glanced up to see Nottingham returning, wondering if he had found Henry or Navarro. His face was grim, but he only shook his head at her unspoken question and then headed towards the dining room. Sara, sure that Gabriel was fine for the moment, followed Nottingham.
The dining room was a mess - Navarro and the twin had had a hell of a fight. Sara frowned. It was now unlikely that Navarro had been able to escape with Henry. Nottingham stood briefly between the dining room and the kitchen and seemed to sway before rushing in to the kitchen. Sara hurried behind him, in time to see Navarro's body on the floor, her head at an awkward, unnatural angle. Sara didn't need a Witchblade vision to know that her neck had been broken.
Nottingham collapsed to his knees, cradling Navarro's body against his chest. He looked up briefly at Sara, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
Sara could only stand there, her chest constricting at the sight.
"I'm sorry."
Sara meant it, but she doubted Nottingham had heard her. He didn't make a noise; he didn't rock Navarro. He only held her, the tears flowing down his cheeks, his sorrow plain on his face. There was a time when she thought he was not capable of such emotion, and now she was ashamed she had thought that. There were few people in Nottingham's life, and he obviously cared very deeply for them.
Sara took a few steps to stand next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He finally looked up at her the way a little boy looks at his mother when he doesn't understand that his puppy has died.
"Help her." His voice was soft, almost inaudible.
Sara opened her mouth to reply with some simple words of sympathy, but instead the Witchblade offered her the flash of another vision.
Nottingham dead on the ground before her, a crossbow bolt in his heart...Sara pulling the bolt out, knowing the Witchblade will heal him...Nottingham gasping for breath.
"Please, Sara."
Sara was only vaguely aware of what he had said. Standing before them, for only Sara's eyes, was a woman with Sara's face. She wore some kind of armor Sara couldn't identify, a long curved sword at her side. Her bracelet was different than Sara's, but Sara still recognized it as the Witchblade.
The woman, this other Wielder, shook her head.
"You cannot help her, Sara. She has set sail on a new journey."
Itagaki. Sara wasn't sure how she knew that was the Wielder's name, but she did. Sara also wasn't sure that she understood any of this, but if she could help Navarro...
As if hearing her thoughts, Itagaki said, "She is now a part of us. That was her greatest wish. Take heart in that."
Itagaki looked down at Navarro's body with a fondness tinged by sadness.
"She was a good warrior." Itagaki stared at Sara for a long moment. "The boys will need you now."
"Help her!" Nottingham demanded.
Sara looked down at her right wrist. She was unaware of when he had grabbed it, his palm now over the Witchblade. Sara glanced up, but Itagaki was gone. Sara crouched next to him.
"I'm sorry, Notting-...Ian. I can't."
He looked at her accusingly, his grip tightening. "You could if you wanted to."
"I want to," she said softly, "but the Witchblade won't."
"Why?" he asked, his voice once again soft but with a different accusation in his eyes: she was the Wielder; she had to have an explanation.
"You understand this thing better than I do," she replied, her tone at once somber and compassionate. "Maybe someday you can explain it to me."
Sara did understand it, though. Ian or Navarro would have died today, and that life was the price for something else, something yet to come. She couldn't explain it to Ian, not now. He had been ready to give up his life -was it only a couple of hours ago?- and his grief would be so much worse, knowing that he could have taken Navarro's place. In time, he would understand all this because he did understand the Witchblade better than she did. For now, Sara was grateful that he wasn't thinking straight.
Eventually, Ian loosened his grip on her wrist. He carefully set Navarro's body back down onto the floor and sat back on his heels, shoulders slumping.
Looking at Navarro, he whispered something in a language Sara didn't understand. It was meant for Navarro, so Sara didn't ask.
Sara stood, offering a hand. Ian placed his hand in hers and stood in one graceful movement, barely holding on to her hand. He hadn't needed her help to stand but accepted the gesture all the same. For the second time that day, Sara held on to his hand.
Ian stood before her, head bowed.
"It'll be ok. In time." The words sounded lame to Sara, but he nodded.
Their eyes met briefly, and she was startled at the raw emotion she saw there. She didn't think he had ever felt anything like this. She found herself pulling him closer, drawing him into an embrace.
Slowly, tentatively, his arms wrapped around her. He rested his cheek on her head and she felt him sigh gently.
"It'll be ok," she repeated, not really knowing what else to say.
After a moment, his hands came up to her shoulders, pushing her away gently. He took up his pose, legs apart, head bowed, hands clenched behind his back.
"He will have taken Henry to Mr. Irons. I suggest you attend to Gabriel and I will retrieve Henry."
"Uh...no."
He raised he head slightly, fixing her with a cold stare. His lips pursed slightly and then he frowned. He wanted to get Henry out of that house. He wanted to avenge Ina. If he went, he would fail.
"Your 'replacement' is expecting us and he's dangerous," Sara continued reasonably. "We have to go in with a plan."
"That's...ironic, coming from you."
That stung, but Sara chose to ignore it because it was true.
"When you go in without a plan, people are likely to die."
She saw his jaw muscles clench and unclench, anger warring with reason.
"Look, I know you are angry..and hurt. But I promise you we will get this guy."
Ian lowered his head, awaiting orders as Sara knew he would. Ian's duty was to the Witchblade and the Wielder, and a promise from the Wielder was something he could not ignore.
Normally, Kenneth Irons could be very patient. He had only looked at his watch once since Ian had gone to retrieve Sara, but now he found himself glancing at the various entrances to the study every few minutes. A short while ago, the mark on his right hand had felt warm, pleasantly so, then it had burned briefly and now there was a steady, dull throbbing - all indicating a flurry of Witchblade activity. Long ago, he had learned to interpret what these sensations meant. He knew Sara had seen visions and that the Witchblade was angry about something - perhaps a sign that Ian, the original Ian, was dead or, hopefully, that an unconscious Sara was on her way to the mansion. Kenneth could just imagine the colors of the Witchblade as it must now be swirling on Sara's wrist.
He glanced across the room at the doors to his left and was surprised to see one of them open. Ian entered with a bundle under his arm, a bundle far too small to be Sara. Kenneth squinted, sure that he had seen the bundle move. As Ian stepped closer, Kenneth realized it was a baby. Kenneth raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Ian stopped in front of Kenneth, holding the infant out in front of him. Ian grinned, looking almost...smug. The infant's arms flailed happily as the infant gave Kenneth a toothless smile.
"Ian?"
His grin faltered. "The Wielder, as you requested."
Kenneth could not let his confusion show. He was sure that Ian, this Ian, had been drawn to this infant by the Witchblade. Could it be that Sara was already fated to die this day and that the Witchblade had already chosen her successor?
Kenneth raised his arms to receive the infant. Ian handed the child over to his master, then took a step back, awaiting further instructions. Kenneth set the infant on his lap and took a good look at the child. Still smiling a toothless grin, the infant appeared healthy, well cared for, and completely unperturbed by the situation. Kenneth recognized the child's large brown eyes with the long black lashes. The thick, dark hair in contrast to the fair skin, the cleft on the chin...This child was Ina's and his - the son crafted by science and, Kenneth hoped, accepted by the Witchblade.
Kenneth looked up at Ian. "Do you know his name?"
Ian closed his eyes briefly. "Henry."
"And what of his mother?"
"She is dead."
Kenneth looked at the child again, the child with warm, brown eyes so like his mother's. While Ian's personality always had an undercurrent of mischief and independence, Ina had always exuded a certain warmth...a gentleness that put everyone at ease and belied her very deadly skills. Kenneth would have liked to have seen Ina again...to see how motherhood had changed her. Would she have become more domesticated to care for her son or more feral to protect him?
Kenneth raised his son toward Ian.
"Take Henry to Dr. Immo for a physical and send one of the servants to acquire any supplies we will need for him."
Ian took Henry, holding the infant with two hands. He kept the child away from his body, as Henry's arms and legs wiggled and jerked happily in the air. As Ian departed, Kenneth's thoughts returned to Sara.
Perhaps he wouldn't need her and her blood. Perhaps he wouldn't have to deal with her intransigent nature. Ian had been drawn to the boy as a Wielder. Henry had not worn the Witchblade, nor bonded with it, but he was recognized by it as a Wielder. Kenneth had hoped that Ina's son would be a Wielder -he'd had Immo engineer the boy's DNA with such a goal. In this, as in almost everything, Ina had not failed Kenneth and he smiled. He was one step closer to wielding the Witchblade. That meant he would have to get it back from fair Sara.
Ian and Sara sat in the front seat of the car, waiting for Gabriel to return from a deli down the block. Ian's eyes constantly shifted from the rearview mirrors to the windows, searching for signs of danger. The clone was not nearby, of that Ian was sure, but that did not allay his fears. The clone had killed Ina, but Ian could not believe Mr. Irons had ordered her elimination. Despite Mr. Irons' 'appetites', he could never bring himself to violate her. Despite his anger at her one betrayal, she was still one of his prized creations. Mr. Irons' pursuit of Henry was a surprise, and Ian wondered what could have precipitated it. Ian was not sure what his former master had in mind, but he knew it centered on the Witchblade, which meant Sara was to be a part of it.
Ian glanced at Sara. She sat with her elbow on the car door and two fingers against her temple. Her eyes occasionally darted at Ian, and she had been unusually quiet. Ian frowned slightly, unsure if she was angry with him. She had never refrained from voicing her annoyance with him before.
"You know," Sara said breaking the silence, "you could have backed me up with Gabriel."
At least, she did not sound annoyed. Ian had checked Gabriel for injuries. He had no broken bones, no internal bleeding, no concussion. Ian felt Gabriel wanted to stay near Sara for his own peace of mind.
"He's fine."
"I know that. I just...want him some place safe. And, right now, being with us is not safe. I could have had Jake put him in protective custody. And do not give me that 'no place safer than with the Wielder' crap."
"He feels safe with you because you are his friend, not because you are the Wielder."
From the corner of his eye, he saw her watching him. She turned to look out the window again.
"Well, whatever we decide to do, Gabriel stays out of it."
"Of course, Sara."
Ian decided not to ask if she had formulated a plan yet. He knew sending Gabriel to get food was a delaying tactic on her part. He continued to scan the area.
Sara shifted in her seat and asked, "He's not your twin brother, is he?"
Ian shook his head. He looked at her, considering lying about the clone.
"Mr. Irons has some well financed scientists working for him. He..." Ian paused, unsure why it was so difficult to say. "He cloned me."
Sara's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Your clone?"
"As I said, they were well financed and bound by a strict non-disclosure agreement. The clone was 'enhanced' using Elizabeth Bronte's DNA and the drug therapies developed in the Black Dragons program."
Sara shrugged. "So, this guy's over-amped on a Black Dragon psycho-cocktail. You took those drugs, too, and you're ok."
"Mr. Irons," Ian continued, "didn't tell you the exact truth about the Black Dragons."
"When has he ever told me the truth?" Sara remarked dryly.
"The Black Dragons were all insane," he said quietly. "I was no different."
Kenneth leaned forward and took a pawn from the chess board with the intention of moving it. Instead, he sat back, absently rubbing the chess piece, distracted once again by a more interesting game.
Kenneth needed confirmation that Henry's blood had those anomalies particular to Wielders. Until he had that, he could not decide on his next move. No, he corrected himself, his next move was to confront Sara. She would undoubtedly want to take Henry. He was half-surprised that Sara hadn't already come charging through the door, but she would sooner or later - either by her own initiative or because Kenneth would send Ian to fetch her. How that scene played out -those moves- was unclear. He had a few stratagems in mind, but they were really secondary gambits, useful to diffuse Sara's anger or redirect the conversation. He could not develop an effective strategy without the doctor's results.
He returned the pawn to the chess board, then checked his watch. The doctor's examination of Henry was taking too long. With an energy he had not felt in weeks, Kenneth bolted from the chair and headed to the doctor's rooms.
Approaching the door to Immo's examination room, Kenneth heard a loud crash from within. He pushed the door open and stopped abruptly at the sight before him.
Ian held Immo against a wall by the throat. Immo gasped for breath, his hands clutching futilely at Ian's arms. Henry, with tear streaks on his face and pouting lips, sat on the examination table.
"Ian! What are you doing?!" Kenneth demanded.
Ian, his eyes still focused on Immo, cocked his head slightly in Kenneth's direction. When Ian spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "He was hurting the Wielder."
Immo tried to speak. "...only...blood...samp..."
"Ian," Kenneth said carefully, "Dr. Immo would not injure the boy. Let him go."
Ian's eyes were glazed with anger and an all too familiar madness.
Standing in the security room next to the library, I had watched Ian's progress through the house on the monitors. When he had entered the house, the hounds had bounded up to him, but he barely glanced at them. He walked through the familiar halls, his staid expression unchanging. If he noticed the changes in the mansion since he had left, he did not acknowledge them.
I watched as Ian entered the Witchblade Room, waiting as he had been ordered. He stood at parade rest before the Joan of Arc portrait.
I turned my head slightly to address Ina who stood behind me. "Bring Ian to the study."
I heard the door close behind me. Ian appeared to be speaking. I raised the volume.
"...it abandoned you," Ian was saying in French, "and with good reason. You were not willing to defend it. It should never have accepted you."
The contempt in his voice surprised me. Ian had never shown such disrespect to the Witchblade or to its history. He closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds then opened them again. He turned abruptly and took a few steps to stand in the same pose in front of Cathain's portrait. He began to talk to it in what sounded like Gaelic. His voice was low, and I saw his hands clench into fists. The only words he said which I understood were Llan Ann Cailleach, the Witch's Glove.
He turned away from the painting, muttering in English, "Whore. I should have killed you when I had the chance."
His words alone were enough to startle me, but the hostility towards the Wielder truly alarmed me.
Ian stalked over to the glass case that housed the Witchblade. "And you," he said angrily, "I gave you everything. I believe in you. Together we will annihilate all that can be annihilated. We don't need them." Ian tilted his head indicating the paintings behind him. He put a hand on the case. "Or will you reject me and my brothers?"
All that can be annihilated must be annihilated. I knew the quote, of course. It was used in the Black Dragon training tapes.
Ian had turned and now partially faced the security camera. He again closed his eyes, raising his fists to his temples, his expression contorting into a pained grimace. He shook his head violently then took another angry step towards the Itagaki portrait. He seemed to be listening to the painting and then began to speak Japanese.
I did not understand what he said, but I didn't have to. He pointed at the painting, gesturing furiously. This...belligerent man was not the Ian I had raised. He seemed to listen to the portrait again then spoke again, the expression on his face still angry. Ian stopped in mid-sentence his head turning to the door, then he once again took up his 'at-ease' stance. A few seconds later, Ina entered the room.
She stepped up close to him with a gentle smile as she always did, and he looked down at her.
"Welcome home, Ian. I'm glad you are back."
Ina's smile faded when he didn't reply. Ian raised his head, once again looking forward in his perfect soldier pose.
Ina looked at him curiously. "Mr. Irons would like to speak with you in the study."
She turned on her heel and, after a moment's hesitation, he followed her.
I crossed my arms, considering Ian's attitude and his episode in the Witchblade Room. What had Immo said? 'not quite himself.' No, he certainly was not.
Once in the study, Ian took up his at ease pose in the center of the room, eyes forward. Ina said, "Mr. Irons will be here in a moment."
At that, Ian's eyes sharply returned to her.
I walked through the library and paused on the balcony overlooking the study. Ian and Ina both stood there in similar black outfits and in similar respectful poses, but the tableau before me had lost its sense of comforting familiarity. I started down the stairs noting how Ian's attention immediately turned to me. As I approached them, his attention stayed focused on me. His eyes were guarded, wary...very unlike Ian. And Ina, I noticed, was keeping a close eye on him.
A pleasant greeting, such as Ina had tried, would be pointless. Ian apparently did not feel that he was home.
"Welcome, Ian. I assume you have been briefed about your duties?"
Ian nodded once. "Yes, sir."
Was that a hint of...contempt in his voice?
His next words were not ones I expected. "Where are my brothers?"
At that instant, I had a moment of self-doubt. In wanting to guarantee Ian's loyalty to me, had I instead lost it to his brothers-in-arms? I wanted to say, 'I am your only family, Ian,' but I knew all the details of his training. I knew the Black Dragons had been encouraged to establish a fraternal esprit de corps. Now I had to re-direct that loyalty to me.
"Your brothers have betrayed you."
A flash of anger in his eyes. "You lie. My brothers would not abandon me."
"Why are they not here, then, to take you back?"
I saw his eyebrows edge ever so closer to each other - a hint of confusion, a re-assessment of the situation. I knew Ian too well to misinterpret that small change in his expression.
"You have done your duty well, which is why you are here. But the others..." I let my voice trail off. "They have failed in their mission."
Ian knew what that meant. They would be terminated.
In a grave, low voice, Ian asked again, "Where are my brothers?"
I found myself saying very softly, "You know, Ian. You know."
In a flash of movement, Ian's arm came up to strike to me, only to be blocked by Ina's forearm. I stepped away, watching, my eyes barely able to track their quick movements. After a few blocked punches, Ina landed a hard kick on Ian's right, momentarily leaving his left side exposed. Ina struck out with her right hand, and Ian caught it with his left. He planted his right hand firmly on her shoulder; Ina gasped and tried in vain to pull his hand away from her shoulder. Ian used his greater reach to hold her steady, but I wasn't sure what he planned as he straightened her right arm. I heard a very audible crack and Ina yelped. He had broken her arm.
For the briefest of instants, Ina and I exchanged a glance, and in that glance she told me to flee - that she would distract him, do her best to disable him, but that I should run- and I understood she why she couldn't utter the words. If she had, Ian would have concentrated his attention on me.
Yet, as they continued to fight, with Ina slowly losing ground, I found I could not leave. Perhaps in my hubris, I didn't think Ian would actually hurt me and convinced myself that this contest with Ina would satisfy his bloodlust.
As if it happened in slow motion, I watched as Ina was knocked off her feet by a powerful kick. Because of the way she was falling, she would only be able to break her fall with her now useless right arm and consequently she landed hard on her right side, her head banging against the step of the hearth. Ina did not get up.
Ian bent down on one knee next to her. He reached a hand out to her neck. At first, I believed he was checking her pulse, until I noticed his knuckles whitening as his hand tightened around her throat. What have I done?
"Leave her," I ordered, hoping he would listen out of habit and training.
Ian stood immediately, turned on his heel and walked over to me. His movements were still deliberate and threatening, despite the adrenaline that must be pumping in his body. There was no remorse or recognition in his eyes, only anger. As hard as it was to admit, I was afraid, but I knew I could not show it. He stood before me, his arms loose at his sides, ready to continue the fight.
He threw a punch which I blocked with a forearm. I tried an undercut, which he easily blocked. We went on like that for a bit - Ian's fighting was almost leisurely while I struggled to land a punch or a kick. With sword or staff, I might have been able to give him a good fight, but his hand-to-hand combat skills were far superior to mine. He knew that. I knew that. Perhaps he wanted to tire me out; perhaps he wanted to humiliate me...whatever the case, he soon tired of it and threw me face first against the wall.
"What have you done to my brothers?!" he demanded furiously.
I had managed to use my hands to lessen the blow as I hit the wall. As I started to push myself off the wall, Ian turned me and easily slammed me against the wall again. He held me in place with one hand on my throat and the other holding my right arm at bay.
This close, I could see something I had never seen in his eyes before - the crazed look of a madman. Irrationally, I briefly wondered why he hadn't crushed my windpipe then I realized he was waiting for an answer to his question.
"Ian!"
He still held on to me, but I sensed the hesitation. Slowly, that mad look in his eyes faded. He dropped his gaze to the hand which still gripped my throat and his eyes widened slightly, the way they always did when he was afraid. I hadn't seen that fear in his eyes since he was a little boy.
His hands slipped away from me, and he looked at me looking like a lost little boy. Ian whispered, "Father...help me."
During his time with me, our relationship had evolved as needed. As a young boy, he needed a father figure, someone to respect and emulate. Before that relationship turned into one requiring rebellion against authority, another evolution occurred; he became my apprentice, my protégé, in the ways of the Witchblade. Now a different relationship was necessary: one of control, that of master and servant - Ian's sanity would have to be held in check by my dominance and his will.
I slowly brought my right hand up to his cheek and cupped it. "Do you trust me, son?"
Ian, shaking now, nodded slowly.
"You must do exactly as I say from now on. I will be harsh with you - harsher than I have ever been - but it is the only way."
His eyes closed and he leaned into my hand. "I understand."
That last time Kenneth had taken advantage of his bond with Ian to gain control of the situation. That same tactic would not work with this Ian. This Ian, however, did have a strong bond to the infant.
Kenneth stepped closer to the examination table and gently placed a hand on Henry's shoulder. Excited by the attention, Henry bounced once, his hands trying to come together to clap.
"Ian," Kenneth said calmly, "does the Wielder look injured to you?"
In fact, Henry again had his toothless grin and was still attempting to clap his hands. Ian looked over at the Wielder and, apparently convinced that the Wielder was not hurt, released Immo. Ian stepped back to take his usual stance. The deep connection between Henry and Ian was surprising but full of potential.
Kenneth gave Immo a few moments to catch his breath before asking, "When will you know the results?"
"Within the hour," Immo replied.
"Within the hour," Kenneth confirmed.
Kenneth started to head out of the lab saying, "Ian, come with me. We have some matters to discuss."
Ian waited for a glib remark from Sara. When none came, he averted his eyes from hers. Ian had not wanted Sara to know about his homecoming. Somehow, he was comfortable with Sara knowing that he was an assassin -after all, she had not minded his hand in Tommy Gallo’s ‘suicide’. However, that he had once been insane shamed him. Without Irons' strict control, he would once again become that madman. And Sara, for all her bravado, was too compassionate to hold that leash. He would not – could not– live that way.
When Ian looked up again, he saw sadness and understanding in Sara's face. Her pity, he realized, was worse than her scorn.
Sara looked out the window again. “I can’t believe you haven’t killed that guy.”
“Could you kill your father, Sara?”
Sara’s head turned back to him, her expression somewhere between surprise and disbelief. “Irons is your father?”
Ian shrugged. “He raised me. Isn’t that enough?”
Sara didn’t seem to know what to say to that, which surprised him. Her eyes seemed to focus beyond him –lost in a memory, Ian assumed, because he did not feel the Witchblade.
After a moment, Ian added quietly, “There are worse things than being raised by Kenneth Irons.”
She seemed to be thinking that over then focused her attention on him again. “Your loyalty to him is not just family duty, and it’s not just the Black Dragons’ conditioning, is it?”
When Ian didn’t answer, Sara pressed, “Tell me.”
Ian opened his mouth to say something then closed it, his jaw clenching. He didn’t want to tell her. But if he didn’t tell her, how would she ever understand him and their bond?
“As harsh as he was -as strict as he was- after my return, it didn’t seem to be enough to help me. Mr. Irons felt...” Ian’s voice trailed off, then he added softly, “He made me wear the Witchblade.”
Ian felt a gentle tingle flow through his body – this time, Sara was experiencing a vision. As if confirming this, he saw the Witchblade’s stone swirl gently. He wondered what it showed her, but was honestly afraid to ask. She blinked rapidly then turned to him, her expression turning thoughtful.
“And that,” she asked hesitantly, “made you...normal again?”
Ian laughed gently. “As normal as I ever was.”
Freak.
Sara looked a little embarrassed. After a moment, she said, “The Witchblade didn’t reject you.”
It wasn’t a question, so Ian said nothing.
“Irons wasn’t happy about that, was he?”
“No, he wasn’t.” Mr. Irons had been furious, jealous, and Ian had almost...If Ina had not interrupted the row, Ian was sure the situation would have become physical, perhaps deadly. And after that, his relationship with Mr. Irons had changed - it had lost something, something that Ian had yet been able to define or to recapture.
Ian spotted Gabriel walking up the sidewalk towards the car. “Gabriel has returned.”
“That’s your plan?” Gabriel asked incredulously. “Talk to the guy?”
Sara gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s not like we can sneak up on them.”
“Yeah, but...”
“Gabe, it’s simple. Irons wants something from me. Either the Witchblade or...” Sara fiddled with the Witchblade then looked at Nottingham. “My blood?”
Nottingham continued to drive, not even sparing a glance at Sara. Gabriel leaned forward. He now had a half-dozen other questions, but he settled on one. “Why your blood?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The point is I have something he wants. He has Henry. We’ll cut a deal.”
“Would you really give up the Witchblade?” Gabriel asked.
Sara looked down at the bracelet. “Yeah, yeah I would. To get Henry back, I would.”
Nottingham, still concentrating on the road, said very softly, “The Witchblade without Henry is useless to him.”
“Man’s got a point, Sara. So, what if he won’t deal?”
“Then...we move on to plan B.”
“Which is?”
Nottingham answered for her. “Revenge.”
Gabriel sat back. The rest of the drive to 1111 Faust Street was quiet.