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She didn’t say anything.

“Trying to impress royalty?”

“No, I had to dress up,” she said ignoring the compliment completely dragging the conversation in another direction. “I’m suppose to blend it, I had no idea that a red dress would make me stick out like a blood clot…”

“So then you don’t know who is here tonight?” The question cut through her bantering and almost seemed urgent. Almost scared.

“About a half a dozen crown heads who wanted to visit the US because they got fed up of their castles is my guess.”

“You mean you haven’t been told why?” Kenneth asked moving to stand in front of her trying to get her to look at him.

‘God, what the hell is it with you?’ Sara thought with utter annoyance. Ever since the middle of November she had been running into him over and over again. Whether it was because his company was discreetly involved in a case or he decided to start inviting her over to his mansion to discuss the gauntlet it was always something. That or she’d meet up with Tall, Dark and Spooky, her personal chaperone everywhere appointed by none other then Mr. Irons himself. The entire list of coincidences were far to long to be called such, so much that it was starting to scare her.

The bracelet, the Witchblade, as she and Kenneth called it, didn’t like him. She could tell. At his presence it was cold, her arm was starting to break out into Goosebumps. Sara was glad that it often gave her little hints like that about people, she preferred those tangible hints to the visions. It was a tool that she was glad of but was a burden to her in the same turn. In one moment it was a bracelet, the next a sword and sometimes she was hit with visions that left her confused and disoriented. One of the few comforts was it obeyed her. Sara was getting better at it daily. Having the thing was strange, as if she had owned and used it before… It didn’t matter now, all that mattered now according to the Witchblade was is that she stay away from this creepy old guy and do her job.

“I don’t have to be told everything to do my job: to protect and serve, Mr. Irons, rich or poor, royal or scumbag to the exception of those that break the law.” Sara gave a wide sweep of the room from her post looking for someone who could possibly need her assistance. If she had been at any other party there would have been a few drunks having a brawl but this wasn’t that sort of a gathering. All was well to her dismay. No distraction in sight.

“If you would care to listen I’ll tell you,” he said his voice dropping low, in a seductive kind of way if she looked at it.

Disgusted with her own thoughts she shook her head mentally. “Fine, shoot. Give me a history lesson.”

“Over there in the corner is the Duke of Steerpike, a small province outside the edge of the Ireland/England boarder. Next to him is his brother Sean, they are said to quarrel often but as you can see that is most likely paparazzi talk.” Sara looked at the two brothers. One was tall and had wide shoulders, his hair was almost completely gray but she could tell that in his time he was a sought after man. His brother was similar save for a bit of a limp in his step. “They are here to talk about the religion issues in Ireland as well as the possible threats to the newly formed alliance of nations. Over there is Prince Charles but you know about him… I’m glad he didn’t bring Camilla, dreadful woman, I might add... Oh, and they happened to invite the Duchess of York. What a turn out this is indeed…”

Appearing behind them was a tall, frail woman. Her face was pinched with age and her eyes were very sad. She glided among the people like a lost ghost not really looking at anyone. No life or will was in her glassy gray eyes and it was obvious she was miserable. Sara felt a chill run up her arm. “Who is that?”

“Lady Jane Tibbston, very distant blood relative of the Tudors and loosely connect by marriage to the Bourbons. A widow of the Lord Clancy Tibbston who was killed in an assassination plotted by the Nazis in World War II in an effort to gain some fear from the European royalty. The Duke of Steerpike is son. Lady Jane is one of the few remaining members of her family. Rumor has it that one of Steerpike’s daughters disappeared a few years back. If that’s true my guess would be that Lady Tibbston feels responsible for all of the Duke’s family because her sister is dead…” Irons said easily as if he were reciting school lessons.

She watched as the royals went into the double door entrance corridor that lead to the second ball room in a line. One of the doors was left closed while the other was being used. Each walking as a swan swims, with grace and unhurried movements. “That’s enough thank you… I don’t want the whole biography… What do you mean by Bourbons? You mean like the drink?”

Sara turned to see him looking at her again. Irons’ cold gray eyes made her feel small and stupid. She could see a smile on his lips at her question. Her little question amused him with her middle class education and lessons taught by the jungles of New York not the sort of education received from the best in the world or the metal business forest. Sara tried to keep her prideful appearance. “The Bourbons,” he began, “were a royal family. Their descendents included King Louis XIV, the first European absolute monarch of his age if that gives you a hint. The French empire rose to an all time high in his reign. At one time the Bourbons almost ruled the whole of Europe. Quite an admirable bloodline. They are in no direct relation to the liquor.”

10:55 PM

Her hopes of trying to remain calm and cool were as good as gone. Sara was about to snap at Irons for making her feel so inferior,(after all she was nice enough to let the dress affair end gracefully without a scene,) when a sudden, unnatural movement caught her attention. A man in a shabby gray tux started moving almost clumsily into the second ball room. He was weaving between party-goes as if he was trying to hide. Swiftly, she looked around the room to try and contact any of the other officers. While moving Sara placed her glass on the base of a column ignoring the fact that she was a few seconds ago talking to someone. She found Danny who followed her gaze to the man. Both of them moved in. At the same time he turned to see them. Noticing that he was being tailed, the man started to run into the ballroom.

“Danny call for back up,” she called behind her breaking forward in a run, cursing herself for deciding to go with the heels. Her feet were going to feel this tomorrow, she knew. “I’m taking him down.” The crowd of blue bloods and billionaires were no help to her, Sara resorted to pushing and shoving, not looking back to see who she had bothered.

Sensing the adventure and adrenaline, the Witchblade came alive in a kaleidoscope of reds. “Look out we’ve go a bogie! Everybody move!” she shouted. As she stepped into the hall she closed the one opened door behind her. Quickly, she opened the Velcro strap that held her guns in place. Sara left one, in case if she didn’t have time to reload. “Stop in the name of the law!” her voice bounced and thundered through the hall like her running footsteps. The man turned, the dark sleek gleaming gun barrel was visible.

11:00 PM

The Blade reverted back into the bracelet state. Her mind was in so many places at once Sara felt as though she was going to be pulled apart although the thought of her as one being was no more, there were so many thoughts and spirits overlapping and merging within her. There were no boarders. All was one, one was all. She was walking the path so many others had known into the darkness to the light at the other side of the cold long, endless path. Then suddenly the grip of death was gone. Air rushed into her lungs as her legs gave away no longer able supported her weight.

Two strong hands from the other side shoved her back. Forcing her away from the realm beyond into the land of the living once again. She still couldn’t see or even comprehend what was going on. She had seen a place that she wasn’t meant to know yet. The Witchblade’s invisible tendrils wrapped tighter around her soul, anchoring Sara to the present world as she struggled for consciousness. The Gauntlet began to mend the interior wounds. It didn’t worry for its protegee, He was there. She would be fine, it knew, as safe as a babe in a carriage.

***

10:57 PM

Ian dropped to the blue carpeted floor from the sky light, landing on his feet. The moonlight gave an eerie glow to the mostly dark room, snow flakes fluttered down melting instantly when they touched the carpet as well as Nottingham’s dark clothes. He stayed kneeling looking about, a stain of black in the white pure light of the winter moon. He found that the room was empty. He exhaled heavily, his breath swirling and twirling in a cold vapor. To his dismay it was not the south hall. Close, but he couldn’t afford close. Not with the prickling sensation in his head, worse then the pain of a concussion and the risk of Sara getting into trouble. Nottingham was sure it wasn’t from the previous fight of the evening. His gaze flickered around the empty room till he caught sight of the door and exited. On the other side was the hall he was looking for… and he had an interesting sight to behold.

The Russian had being doing his work, that much he knew, and expected. But both he and Irons didn’t anticipate that Sara would be the only one to catch up to him. Nottingham had come across Peter Malkovik before, a shrewd and conniving SOB who knew when and when not to cross friends, or at least he did once. Ian wasn’t ever a friend but a colleague. It hadn’t been years since they had seen each other face to face till now… but it was not a time of recollection. Now it was more then a lousy card game and a few rounds of cheap, smuggled vodka, it was business. It was now his hands were wrapped around the wielder’s throat. Sara’s eyes flickered open and shut. She was coughing and wheezing, clawing at her attackers hands for a chance to breathe. He saw her wild gaze turn in his direction. Nottingham felt a jolt right down to his bones: he had to stop this. The pain in Ian’s head was more powerful then ever.

“Malkovik what the hell are you doing?” Ian asked in Peter’s own Russian dialect. “I thought we came to an agreement that you would stay away from her. I specifically asked you, as well as the others, to stay out of New York.”

The man gave a grin, “This isn’t your city. What do the Americans say? “It’s a free country.” Besides that was years ago.”

“Three years ago,” Ian’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, forgive me.”

“Let the woman go.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Kala Drac. Civilians are as guilty as anyone…”

Nottingham felt his insides go aflame. The Russian assassin had no right what so ever to call him his code name, rousing sleeping giants with the memories that name stirred. Along with the inner heat came a chill, Malkovik didn’t care about what happened to Sara. “Killing you would be no problem for me, you owe me money...seven years over due, I am willing to except my share in either retreat or blood. Have it your way…”

Malkovik turned his gaze from Sara. “Nottingham, times have changed, nothing personal. I can’t afford to let this one go. She’s only a police officer and the only thing standing in my way…. This assassination will pay you back in twelve fold. Let me do my work,” he answered his mouth thick with greed as well as his native tongue. “I’ll start off with this mare, she’s made this job quite difficult. Shame to put such a beauty to waste. You know she keeps her man warm at night… Ah well… You know how the work goes, Nottingham.”

Ian couldn’t understand or comprehend the fury surging through him, “I warn you for the last time, Peter. Spare her and get on with the real kill or I will kill you!” he growled back.

“A man must have his kicks in a job you know that, Ian. Don’t deny me this one. “For every job that must be done there is an element of fun,” remember? I’ll let you have the body later if that’s what you want, she’ll still be warm.” For a split second, Nottingham saw the other man’s face contort into a demonic expression. It was gone in the next moment, all the same, Ian knew what he saw. Peter pulled his choking embrace around so that Sara’s back was against his chest. In a short interval of release she took a gulp of air before being deprived once more, she didn’t struggle. Peter now strangled with his arm leaving him a free hand. Out of his tux he pulled out a long knife. Its length shone and reflected the light from overhead. Malkovik gave Nottingham a grin as he gave the weapon a twirl for a few moments before finally bringing it close to Sara’s skin. The knife rested on her thigh, on the small slit of flesh that the dress didn’t cover. He looked up to see Ian watching, transfixed only by his will. “Don’t worry Beauty, it will all be over soon.”

After resting there in a moment he cut downward. A normal man wouldn’t have gotten so far in such a move against Nottingham. But this man wasn’t normal. Sara’s rasp gasps caught and faltered. Ian’s stomach lurched. If he didn’t do something she was going to die. Vaguely, through his confusion and agony, he noticed the Witchblade retracted.

Move and risk greater injury to Sara or stay and wait for an opening, two options that tore Nottingham in two. The emotionless expression on his face never wavered but he was having difficulty keeping it, containing his anger. Thoughts zinged in and out of his mind, ‘How dare he even touch her? He isn’t even worth the pay he would get if he finished the job. How can he just want to kill her off? I can’t stand here while she is on the brink of death.’ His gaze went from his enemy to Sara. Eyes half close blood coming from the side of her mouth and a trickling stream running down the well toned muscles of her leg. The sight of her being held on the edge of life and death at his cost was hauntingly familiar...

Time slowed, nothing moved. The only thing heard was three heart beats, one was becoming more labored and it drove Ian mad. Something inside of him broke loose from a barricaded chamber of his mind and seized control.

11:00 PM

In only three strides he was at the Russians side. With one powerful kick to the gut, Malkovik cringed and his death grip on Sara was broken. She toppled to the marble floor. Ian for the moment being could only spare her a glance. The two ensued in a short, but none the same vicious fight. The Russian preferred to use punches more then kicks. Nottingham quickly caught the others patterns of attacks. Punch, punch, punch, kick, retreat and repeat. It was almost too simple. Malkovik after trying his maneuvers chose to break Nottingham’s spine. In a movement out of the pattern, he grabbed the man in black from behind but only succeeded in putting himself in a perfect position for Ian to snap his neck. Which he did. As the crackle of broken bones settled into the empty halls, Ian gave himself a satisfied smile. The man fell limp as he pulled away letting the body flop to the hard marble, not caring if there was any more damage.

“I really thought for a moment you had actually evolved from the creature you once were, I can see that I was thoroughly wrong.” Ian said coldly to the corpse. He was tempted to spit, a custom of the North when speaking of something vile but thought better.

Stepping over Malkovik, Ian was at Sara’s side, not pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “Sara? Sara can you hear me?”

Sara lay still on her side, limbs out in different directions almost appearing boneless, her hair fell over her face. Ian’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her lying there. When he called again to her, she didn’t budge. Nottingham’s face distorted in a deep frown as his heart thudded in his chest. Quickly he kneeled and carefully he rolled her onto her back. He noticed she hit her head rather hard on the marble, most likely giving her a good knock out if the lack of oxygen hadn’t done that already. He kneeled over her, he moved an ungloved hand above her mouth. She was still breathing, even though her chest moved up and down heavily. He heard heart was still beating, a relief, but she was still not waking. Ian’s first thought was that she was in a coma. A puddle of blood began to form on the clean white marble. It was bright and warm, he could smell it. There wasn’t a chance that he could move her without causing more damage without the proper assistance.

“Sara?” he said again, louder keeping the tone steady as his levels of panic reached a personal all time high. “If you can hear me answer, now!”

“Je…” Her lips moved and she took a sharp breath to try and speak again, “Je pourvoir pas respirer…” she murmured her eyes still closed moving her head to one side. “Daddy…? No… Danny…?”

He didn’t repress his sigh of relief. “Sara, this is Ian… Listen to me, wake now but stay still.”

“N-Nottingham?” Sara asked opening her eyes only to thin slits.

“That’s right, open your eyes…” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. She shifted, attempting to sit up, Ian dared to put his hands on her shoulders forcing her down. “ Don’t move yet.” Carefully he inspected her looking for injuries.

“What the… hell happened...?” She moaned her voice hoarse and soft.

Nottingham made sure to avert her eyes from the sight of the dead assassin’s body by standing in the way not wanting to add to the long list of sins she held against him. “You chose an interesting opponent to fight. It is a blessing that you are still living,” was the only answer he gave. Visibly, Ian could find her wounds all of which that he could see were minor, save for the slash on her leg. He couldn’t tell how deep it was because of the amount of blood. It needed to have pressure placed on it so that it could clot. “That needs to be bandaged,” he said softly looking over at her, Sara held a hand over her eyes rubbing them. “Would you mind if I-?”

“No, help yourself..” she answered back trying to be just as polite against the pain, her voice strangled with agony.

Nottingham reached into the collar of his jacket and pulled out the end of his scarf, unwrapping it from his neck. “I will have to put pressure on the lesion. Be still. There will be discomfort when I tighten it.”

“Thanks for the warning…” she grunted.

The red of her dress was dyed a darker hue with the blood. He had moved the fabric up a bit in order to get enough room. Ian held his breath as he wrapped the woolen garment around her thigh. He was glad she wasn’t watching him, otherwise she would notice how much his hands shook. The circumference was smaller then he thought. Dimly, he realized for the first time that Sara was physically as delicate as any other person, just a vulnerable as any other even with the Witchblade. She gave a hiss as he swathed the scarf tighter then it became a low moan. “Hush, it won’t me much longer; I’m almost done,” he said gently. “That should keep it patched for a while.”

Sara reached up silently asking to he helped up, and open invitation for the touch of his hand. Carefully, Nottingham enveloped her hand in his black clad one and lifted her up right slowly so as not to disrupt her forming bruises. When she was sitting up, she leaned heavily on his shoulder. It took a lot on Ian’s part to keep from shaking. From her simply gestures of acceptance, it was obvious to him that something was off. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up, compelling her to look at him. Nottingham bit his tongue against a mouth full of profanities when he found that her eyes were dilated. She suffered a concussion. “How do you feel?” he asked as he shielded her forehead from the lights overhead seeing if her eyes changed, to his frustration, they didn’t. His touches lingered a while about her face, seeing marks that would no doubt become bruises. She didn’t resisted, no doubt focused on trying to fight now the pain.

“I’m really dizzy…Like I’m gonna to throw up…” she mumbled her gaze faltering for a second before she managed to bring them into focus again. Her head fell into the crook of his neck, her breath stirring his hair and heating his skin. “Glad you made it…” Sara said her voice tired and words slurring, “How come you weren’t here? Slacking on your job as my personal stalker?” for a moment he was glad to hear the accusation in her voice, a glimmer of normalcy in her behavior.

Nottingham didn’t answer he didn’t have time. The door at the beginning of the hall’s knob jiggled then burst open. She sat up as best she could alone and turned her sights away from him to the police, paramedics and news crew. “Sara? Sara! Oh my God! Are you alright?” Danny yelled racing forward from the rest of the back. When Sara looked to see Ian, he was gone.

“ ‘Bout time you all showed up..” Sara said with a pained grin. She didn’t bother trying to stand. She was out again before they could reach her.

11:15 PM

She dreamed…

He knew it from the way he felt so distant from her. That only happened when she was in deep sleep, the sleep that gives birth to dreams with no meanings, normal dreams. She deserved that much in the least, something in the ordinary after tonight.

How come you weren’t here?

It was good that she slept. He feared that somehow if Sara she would be in pain now…and it would be his fault. Damn the strange man for interfering. Ian watched her from the top of the embassy as she was rolled into the ambulance. Red against the white, like slender, solitary rose on the snow. It was a well known fact that police were often wounded on the job, everyone knew that. Ian Nottingham, one of the greatest assassins in the world knew that. But it was such a shock now to see her there on the stretcher so many common people had been on. To see Sara Pezzini, wielder of Digitabulm Magae, as a person: not a goddess of war, not a super cop, not a threat to Kenneth Irons: just Detective Sara Pezzini doing her job damn well then any other officer in that building.

‘Was she here trying to be a normal woman, even if she were on the beat? Did she just want to have a quiet evening like everyone else?’ he thought. Something had transpired, it wasn’t just guilt that stirred Ian Nottingham. ‘Why do I feel like this? I’ve never had this…sensation…ever… When had my emotions toward Sara changed?’ The wind blew and it cut him to the bone even though he wore many layers of clothes. There wouldn’t be much sleep for him tonight.


Ian saw one of the spectators turn away from the scene to gaze up at where he perched. Kenneth Irons’ eyes were filled with ice colder then that, that accumulated on the wet sidewalks. Nottingham climbed down in no hurry to meet with him. It was all to soon that he had reach the ground from descending on the buttresses and other architectural structures that acted as handles.

By the time he was at ground level, Irons had his back to Ian who stood hidden in the shadows out of the light that hung close by at the curb. He looked up to view the man’s profile. Kenneth appeared older when he was angry, as if the chaotic expression not only disrupted his composure but his entire façade of youth in a single happening. Wrinkles formed on his brow as his face set in a deep frown. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything but volumes reached Nottingham’s ears in those moments. The ambulance now pulled down the street, siren shattering the silence of the night with its shriek of alarm carrying its precious cargo swiftly to safety. Snow that had stopped earlier began again.

“What were your orders, Ian?” Irons’ words were carefully kept the same tone, most likely for cover from the other rich and wealthy who began to be assorted one by one to their mansions by one of the many lined limousines that made a snaking pattern around the building. Kenneth took note of his brooding silence and spoke again, “What did I specifically asked you to do?”

He didn’t answer. Ian kept his eyes to the snow, gazing sightlessly past the cold lace of winter into his thoughts trying to dowse the burn of his own castigation with thoughts of her.

“I strictly instructed you to prevent her from injury. What prevented you from this task?”

“I was…delayed.”

“Oh, were you? Could you elaborate on that?”

“I was stopped by-”

An image flashed before Kenneth’s eyes. He had seen that face before many times before. A sneer rose on the wealthy man’s lip. “So, he is here… And what did you do?”

“I tried to subdued him but he escaped, disappeared completely. I fear that he might be a later threat to your cause.”

“Indeed,” Irons gave a sigh, his breath curled like smoke in the air. “Your actions disappoint me, Ian. Whether or not you were delayed is no excuse as to why Sara Pezzini is unconscious. The Witchblade had some hand in this, reason, I’m not sure. For a few moments I was left dry. Until what I assumed was your intervention, I was over taken by a great deal of pain more so then previous events. Had she have been left alone, I strongly believe she would have been killed…that goes without wondering what would happen to myself.. Go to her. I want to know her condition with a full medical report. We shall discuss your punishment later.”

        “As you wish.”       

***

The first sound she heard was a beep, it didn’t happen once but several times in a pattern over and over. Sara first presumed it was the alarm. ‘Must of set it wrong again. Great way to start the day…’ But the idea was thrown out when she the more she came to wakefulness the more foreign it sounded. A heart meter that’s what it was… She was in the hospital. ‘Why can’t they just hook me up with an IV at home?’ Sara didn’t open her eyes yet. She had to get herself ready for seeing the bland and awful look of a hospital room. She had only been in one twice in the past twelve years. And one of them was to watch her father’s lifeless body forced into function, keeping him ‘living’ by a thread. The second time was when she was out for eleven days and came out with a scar that looked like a Venn diagram. With all her might, Sara pushed the images away and opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was Danny. His hand rested beside hers, fingers brushing against her wrist. “Hey there Stranger, welcome back,” he said. Sara was mildly surprised to see that Danny came alone to see her, his wife Jenny was no where in sight. “We really thought we lost ya.”

“H-how long have I been out?” Sara’s own voice felt dry and scratchy from disuse.

“About three days. Long enough to be put on the missing persons list,” her partner answered, his joke thinned by his emotions.

“Three days? Christ! What happened? What happened at the party?” She sat up quickly, instantly regretting it. Pain shot through her faster then a speeding bullet. “What happened to ME?”

“You took a few hard blows, Pez. The Doc said you’ve got a bruised rib, a patched up leg and a few pretty black and blue marks…that’s only the good news. It’s gets better.”

“I’m on pain killers again, aren’t I?” Sara moaned. “Don’t they know what happens to me when I’m on those?”

“You actually act like a girl?” Danny offered. Remembering the stunning arrays of openness that were brought on my medication. It was around that time, Danny and Sara acted as though they had been married for many years. It was nothing new to Danny, but it was a shock and he learned a lot more about the woman who acted as though she were bullet proof. But that was years ago…before Jenny became his wife.

“God, I don’t wanna go through that again Danny…” She said and moaned once more. “I

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a smile, “but it won’t be pretty for you. I’ll wager you’d feel better with the pain killers.”

“Is that the bad news?”

“Afraid not, that’s the best of the worst. The guy you ran after, Peter Malkovik, musta been a Russian killer for hire. I looked him over after you were wheeled away and couldn’t find anything but a passport under a pseudonym and a couple thousand dollars. From what it looked like when I got there, you gave the guy a good beat down. He was more messed up then you.”

“What country is his trial going to be in? How’s he?”

“Sara, he’s dead,” Danny’s voice was even and he looked at her with a little speculating gaze. “Do you remember taking him down?”

“No…I remember that he was strangling me…and…” Nottingham’s concerned face flashed before her eyes. Sara wanted to make a connection but none came. “I don’t really know what happened next… I killed this Malkovik guy?”

“It’s okay, it was obviously out of self defense. I’m mostly worried about that head of yours.”

“Danny, I’ll be fine, just give me a minute and I’ll be up and ready-”

“No, Sara,” Danny said, “You’re staying here. You’ve got a bum leg for a while as well as some over due vacation time, take advantage of that.”

“Danny, you know how I hate hospitals…” She hissed in a hushed voice, a nurse passed peeking in for a moment, Sara gave a sugary smile. When the nurse was gone her desperate tone returned, “Don’t make me stay here.”

“Pez, you’ll be fine. Besides, I brought you some reading material.” He held out a few copies of the Enquirer and Examiner along with a Cosmopolitan sporting an agonizingly thin actress being framed by titles ranging from sex to how to enrich your spiritual side.

Sara forced a smile, “Thanks… But do you really have to go?”

“Yes, and you have to stay here. The Doc says you’ve got to stay for a week more in the least and Dante is giving you two off, why not relish in your free time?” Danny gave her hand a pat and then leaned to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Get some rest. Jake and I will handle the cases while your out.” He moved to the door and paused before closing it, “I mean it when I say stay here. See ya around Pez.”

“Bye Danny,” she said as the door closed softly, the click falling into the room with a dull sort of muffled echo.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. Sara lay there for hours blankly staring off into the TV that was crowded with images of women crying their eyes out jabbering in Spanish. The TV occasionally fizzed and shorted before going back to normal: the most exciting thing that happened. She was almost asleep when around three the nurse brought in a few things to eat, since she hadn’t awakened during lunch. Along with her meal was a letter. She smiled to the nurse and waited until she was gone to look it over.

Suspiciously, she looked it over. The envelope was mostly blank, save for her name written across the front in calligraphy. She flipped it over to find a wax seal with a crest of a lion and a unicorn on opposite sides. To save from wrecking the seal, she tore the side open. A short letter fell out written on a stationary with the same emblem as the crest in the center.

Dear Sara Pezzini,

Greetings to you, Detective Pezzini, I write to you on behalf of the lords, ladies, and the Queen of the United Kingdom. The Royal Family expresses their deep concern for your medical condition after going against a public enemy alone. They also graciously thank you for your protection services.
As a token of their gratitude, you are cordially invited to visit the United Kingdom in the recent future, with all reimbursements from the Royal treasury.

I will be visiting you within the span of two days.

Sincerely,
Stuart Welsh
Personal Assistant of Sean, Duke of Steerpike

For a very long time she simply stared at it, just gazed at the letter with the same expression she had with the TV. In her own rough hands, she held a letter that could quite possibly change the way everyone on the force and other wises out look on her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. Before anyone could see what she received, Sara folded the letter back into the envelope and stuck in under her pillow.

Mist hung heavy in the air cloaking the night with a silver shimmer. It was cold, so very cold even though she was wrapped tightly in a quilt and under it was wearing a warm night gown. The man held her close, carrying her with a careful parental ease. Sara whimpered as he quickened his pace, pulling her into wakefulness.

        “Hush, Poppet,” his whispered responding to her unhappiness in a voice so ancient and calming that it could have been the forest breathing. Sleepy eyed, Sara looked up into an equally interesting face. His leathery face with wrinkles that appeared and disappeared in turns looked at her with such tenderness that she felt no danger at all, even though she never traveled at night. Not old and in the same turn not young, who ever he was, the man knew what he was doing. His long blond white hair swished with his footfalls, to where she didn’t know, not being able to see over the quilt folds that encased her. For some reason, this didn’t connect in her mind. The fact that this man was strange didn’t register. The only thing that unsettled her state of mind was being woken up.

The man murmured a wordless tune that helped lull her. It wasn’t much longer until the unknown person placed her in a whicker basket and carried her with the same amount of care as before as the boarded a small boat. The sound of ores sliding through water was heard. Above, through the gauze of mist, the moon shone in full face like a pale watery eye gazing down at all below with an all knowing and all seeing position. The eye of the White Lady, watching and waiting while the lady of another element watched unseen with eyes embedded in the earth and souls that sparkled and flickered like flames as they grew under her succor. Sara was just about asleep once more when the rhythm of the paddling ceased, the boat was pulled up onto a grassy shore. The trees hung close to the water’s edge. There was another stranger there, the face was concealed in shadow.

        “We must hurry. It won’t belong before they know the child is missing,” the other whispered to the man who had carried her and sang to her. Sara was passed from the man to the other unknown person. A curtain of darkness was around the face, added to that the shelter of the trees, the identity was well protected. Sensing, at last, an unfamiliar atmosphere Sara let out a cry…the sound that reached her ears was an infant wail. “Peace, Little One,” her new care taker. “You will see him again…”

~~~

        Sara blinked hard, the dream fell away as she rolled onto her side after several attempts. She buried her face in her hands for a few moments, the Witchblade simmered on her wrist, becoming calm. The confused state of mind remained from the dream. It didn’t make sense. Nothing connected. The scenario was foreign as well as meaningless. It had been a very long, all most too long a time since she actually had a dream that meant nothing, one that she remembered at least.

The room was so quiet, not a sound was heard. She remembered where she was with a sad shock. ‘I want to go home…there at least I can do something productive like playing music or calling someone. God, I’d love to just talk to somebody.’

        “Hello, Dreamer,” a voice said softly in a very low tone as though it were unsure if she were awake.

        Had she actually been heard someone speak? Did the ceiling open up and answer her prayers by bringing someone for her to speak with? She moved her hands away from her face. ‘Nope,’ she thought but it seemed Ian Nottingham appeared. As the veil of sleep fell away she realized this wasn't a dream, although it was as though he materialized from the shadows. It was still dark, he was poised in a series of light stripes from the blinds that had been opened more increasing the light without turning on the ones over head. Her breath caught in her throat for a second as she silently looked him over. It was strange and yet at the same time natural to see him right next to her. His hair was down and he looked tired as he leaned forward his gloved hands entwined across his knees as his arms rested against his legs. The look in his dark brown eyes, the color of a newly rained upon forest floor, held something different…

        ‘How long as he been sitting here?’ she wondered, staring off for many moments just looking at him, he doing the same. Sara suddenly became very aware of the fact that she must look like a mess. The far off ache of the bruises were in her head only because of the minor dosage of pain killers… Ugly purple blue marks… ‘Why do I care what the hell Nottingham thinks? Then again I don’t want to look like a drowned kitten incase if he thinks he can take advantage of me… Okay Pezzini, be in control…’ As she began to move a wave of dizziness hit her, Sara looked to see that in her hand was a tube that no doubt was pouring in anesthesia into her veins.

        “Why is it you and Danny always seem to be the ones who only see me when I’m at my worst?” she asked reaching for the button that moved the bed upright. Nottingham pushed it for her but didn’t answer. Honestly, Sara didn’t expect him to. “I know you’re prone to wander the cities at night, but why are you here? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. You know where I’ll be in the next forty-eight hours at least, no need to play guard dog.”

        “Mr. Irons is concerned over your well-being,” Ian answered eye contact falling on the tiles.

        “Can’t he send flowers or candy like everyone else? Does he think he’s special or something? Listen, if he wants to get a girl he needs more then a guy in black, especially if he comes empty handed.”

        A shade of a smile, or what might have been a smile was at his lips for a second before it disappeared as Ian spoke, “It’s more then that, Sara. You are now an enemy to a group of extremists, surely you don’t expect him to let the wielder go about alone…”

        As she listened, Sara began to dislike the situation. “Wait,” she said cutting Nottingham off. “What are you talking about?”

        “You’ve stumbled upon an international organization member a few nights ago and interfered to what is believed to be an act that was suppose to make them known to the public,” was all that came out of Ian.

        “Thanks for telling me,” she sighed as she looked out the window into the night.

        “Sir? You half an hour is up,” a woman called at the door. She squinted looking into the room, Sara thought she looked like a person who’d be a nosey neighbor. The assumption was affirmed when the nurse flipped the light-switch, making both she and Ian wince at the sudden exposure of light. “Ms. Pezzini, he won’t be bothering you much longer. I’ll have him gone soon so that you can get back to sleep.”

        “We’re not done yet,” Sara told the woman as she stepped in to escort Nottingham out. “Come back in forty-five minutes, thank you.”

        “Ms. Pezzini, you need your rest,” Nurse Mary protested. “And he needs to get into the waiting room.”

        “Ms,” Sara began, taking the tone of seniority as she read off the attendants tag, “Nesbit. This is police business. Please don’t intrude.”

        “This isn’t a station, Ms. Pezzini,” Mary answered in a huff. She gave a glance to Ian, who had stood up at some point upon her entrance and had done nothing since. “This is a hospital and you are injured and he isn’t suppose to be here.”

“I’m really sorry. If it’s so much of a problem, I’ll have Mr. Nottingham out in twenty-five minutes,” Sara returned in a very surrendering tone as though she had lost.

“Alright, but he has to go to the waiting room if he’s going to stay longer like he said,” as the older woman spoke, Sara looked to Nottingham whose eyes were on the floor.

‘Oh, I’m going to have a talk with him,’ she thought to herself as she turned to the nurse. “Sure thing.” Sara was smiling until Mary Nesbit left the range of sight. She turned to Ian who hadn’t said a word, “Staying in the waiting room?”

At first he only sat down again, in the same relaxed position she woke to see him in, still not speaking. “Visitors are only allowed so much time. What kind of paladin would I be if I wasn’t around to watch you?” he said softly at last his words well thought over.

“Excuse me?” Sara’s eyebrows furrowed as she clearly didn’t understand or like the way he was telling her whatever it was. “What are you getting at Nottingham?”

“Until further notice you are to be in my line of vision at all times,” Ian replied.

“So you’re my bodyguard now? When did this happen?” Sara folded her arms and tried her best to stare him down and out of his cool poise.

Nottingham was unaffected. “Mr. Irons insisted. My presence could be vital to your safety.”

Sara frowned, “What if I don’t want a bodyguard? I’m a cop. I can handle scum.”

“Like you handled, Malkovik?”

“You were there?” she asked, coming fully interested. “What did you see?”

“The Witchblade and a your gun obviously weren’t enough to protect yourself.” Ian said, his voice still ever calm, ever controlled; completely unconcerned.

Sara narrowed her eyes, anger flickered through them. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Again Nottingham was looking at the floor. He knew that detailing her weakness would anger her, but in turn make her see his point. While the soundless pause ruled the air, Ian knew she was considering his words.

“Okay fine, if we can’t talk about that let’s go on with the bodyguard thing: I can’t have one. Nottingham, were talking about Kenneth Irons, the man with diamonds on the soles of his shoes. Go watch him, there are hundreds who want him six-feet under. Besides, I can’t just bring you to work and say “he followed me home. Can I keep ‘em?” it doesn’t work like that, you know that. It’s-It’s weird. What sort of story will you come up with to explain why you’re with me everywhere? You ooze suspicion, Nottingham. Dante will be sniffing up your @$$ in no time.”

“Do you doubt what I’m capable of, that much?” he asked looking up at last, only with his eyes, his head not moving. A chill ran down Sara’s spine as she made eye contact. Nottingham really could be a dangerous man, there was something in his gaze that silently swore that to anyone. She was no acceptation.

“No…” she meant to say, her mouth formed the words but her voice failed. She saved herself by adding, “That’s not the issue, Nottingham. Listen if you’re not going to cooperate let’s talk about something else. What about that organization you were telling me about?”

Again he was unresponsive.
       
        “Is there anything at all you can tell me?” Sara asked frustrated.

        “Yes, but nothing you’d believe is of any importance.”

        “Oh,” she huffed. It was quiet for a long time. The florescent lights gave the situation a high school atmosphere and Sara realized that she really did feel like she was younger now. Not wanting to continue the line of thought she spoke again, “Uh…can you do me a favor?”

        “That depends,” Ian said looking up completely.

        “Next time you come and see me and plan not on answering questions, could you at least bring some real food?”

        “I’ll see what I can do,” was Nottingham’s answer as he stood up stretching a bit, muscle by muscle, as a cat would. Slowly, he moved to the door.

Ian ended the call, unable to comprehend what he was instructed to do. He was glad that the room was mostly empty save for an old woman weeping in a corner and a father and son who were falling asleep together. It was as though all three parties were in separate rooms, trapped in separate states of mind like everyone else in the world.

        The chair he settled in creaked a bit as he shifted one leg over the other so that his foot rested on his knee. Nottingham brought a hand over his eyes and began to ponder exactly what he heard.

        “This is your chance, the opening we’ve been waiting for. You are to become a comrade of Sara. With her under your protection at close range now, there is no way that she will be able to avoid you and your position in her world will give more information and access then ever before. Gain her trust, have her confide in you and I will get the Blade. And, if things go as well as I anticipate, she may become as manageable as a collie.” Irons had said this all with a sort of carefully contained joy although quite a bit was leaking.

He had waited for an answer this time, Nottingham was unable to give one. “Just think, Ian!” Kenneth started up again. “Just think. With Sara under my care there will be nothing stopping us. And if you wish, you may fight at her side, we will all be together just as in my rudimentary plan.”

“Do you suppose it is possible?” he asked at last.

“It may be difficult… but all the same it is absolutely attainable. Can you do this?”

“I am willing to attempted. And if Sara is not swayed so easily?…”

“Then you will intensify your efforts doing everything necessary, this maybe your only chance. If you need any ideas look to Detective McCarty, he seems to be fairing well in that department.” The latter comment was a cutting insult, a taunt to both himself and Nottingham. Kenneth knew that tender area well, and predicted bad blood long ago. He knew for sure that now good and faithful Ian would not fail, not with that in mind.

Ian felt a sneer come to his lips at the thought of one so inferior as Jacob McCarty would be able to gain the confidence and trust of the wielder of the Witchblade. “Yes, Sir,” was his answer.

        ‘Yes, Sir. Yes, I’ll betray the trust of one who bearly trusts. Yes, I will destroy a perfectly good opportunity to see what sort of woman is under the stone and armor. Yes, I will not follow new impulses to do otherwise. Yes, I will be happy. Yes, I will doubt my happiness even thought I know that I want to have Sara apart of my life. Yes, I am going crazy,’ Nottingham thought bitterly. This wasn’t any good. His emotions were too worked up. The strong barrier between himself and his work was coming down.

        Ian sat for a time staring off into himself thinking long and hard. ‘I constantly am thinking about Sara. She is who I live to protect next to Kenneth Irons, yet why do I not think of him all the time? Every time she leaves my line of vision, I replay her every move and speech until I find her once again to dwell on what she does in that moment. Surely that is not work at all. What is it? Love? No, I cannot love. I am incapable of love. It’s not something that belongs in my keeping. Infatuation then. That’s what it is. I am enthralled with the idea of Sara Pezzini.’

Psychoanalyzing himself was harder then Nottingham anticipated. ‘But what is it about her? Oh, god… Now that I think about it… what isn’t it about her? What element does not intrigue me?’ And that was it. Many hard chisels and at last he struck gold and it wouldn’t stop coming. He was infatuated with the wielder and now that he realized it, Ian understood that he would never truly be able to stop on coming thoughts. Sara was an over flowing stream that crashed into his world and capsized his ideals and drenched his assets. ‘It’s fine, just so long as it’s under control. It’s absolutely healthy.’

Tired of his own thoughts, Nottingham became weary and let sleep fall over him in the guise of a day dream...

~~~~~

        Ian didn’t know the path.

It was a route he had never tried to go through. The town was far away in the distance. The light from the lone lantern atop the guard tower couldn’t be seen. Nottingham kept on walking not caring to look back. The night was young and his temper was hot. A wind was alive with the spirit of adventure, a silent call carried on wings of destiny. He kept his steady pace and continued in the stark white wasteland the snow made the glade into. No lantern was needed to light the path, the world was aglow with the illumination of the moon.

Ian came upon a blockage in his path, an unruly bush of barbs. He would not let a bramble get in the way of his course. The winter weakened the briar patch, weight down the spikes with snow and allowed any who dared to hack through the thorns to pass more easily then any other time. Although they were mostly covered, the shards of plant life looked like thousands of tiny fairy daggers that could have been tipped with poison if one sprit was so malicious. Nottingham recalled having been stopped before by this obstacle, mentally he refused to do so again. Taking out his sword he cut down the unruly black and gnarled vines. Blow after blow he dealt, as if opposing him, the plant became thicker as he progressed. In the light of the silvery full moon, the blade gleamed and reflected the light as it zinged this way and that. Sweat poured down his face and neck, his light traveling cloak had to be drawn over one shoulder else he would over heat himself. When he was done blazing the trail he looked behind to see how very thick the entire batch was. If he were to walk back, it would be a third of a league.

‘No,’ Ian thought, ‘I will not turn back.’ His stepped into a clearing, surrounded by the same plant entwining and wrapping around itself in a tangled knot so tightly coiled that it was indeed a wall of nature. Nottingham had cut only a tiny proportion of a monstrous element.

The moonlight bathed all in its pale pure light nothing could be hidden from its gaze. A figure moved along the thorns trying to blend in. Ian turned to look. Stepping forward he saw a young gypsy woman. Her eyes were striking and sharp with a passionate blue flame. Her deep purple skirt and scarves wound around her waist were made silvery with the starlight and her blouse was a ghost white that darkened her already tan skin. To his surprise, she only wore three articles of jewelry, two silver earrings and a blood red gem bracelet The green cloak blew with the wind as she stared at him with distrust and fear. It was with one gaze that his heart was no longer his own.

Nottingham swallowed and tried to return the distaste looked trying to ignore the desire that flooded his senses. He turned to escape by the trail he made when another appeared in the darkest of midnight black cloak and cowl. Only a pair of moonfaced hue hands were visible. Ian knew that he should have felt a spark of fear but none came. Moving, as if a feather on the wind, the figure approached and stood in the space between them. Reaching out, the white hands took hold of his wrist. The being’s touch was cold but its hands were so very smooth. The opposite hand took hold of the gypsy’s wrist. In one movement both hands put Ian’s palm to the girls. As they touched, there was a sensation, a jolt of warmth. Out of the dark cloak the hands brought a thin silver ribbon, it shone in the moonlight. First it was tied to the bracelet of the woman and then it was woven through both of their fingers again and again and then wrapped around their combined wrists so they were trapped, hand against hand. All the while, Nottingham couldn’t take his eyes off the woman’s face. When he did look away, the black shadow of a person was gone.

        The gypsy, waking too from whatever enchantment the visitor had cast, began to tug her hand away from his. The ribbon wouldn’t break. She plucked at the knots but they wouldn’t yield. She looked at him, wordlessly confused and no doubt frightened very much a wild bird frantic in a cage. After a while she stilled, her other hand came to his face. Her touch heated him more then the fire pit in the town could ever. Now they were stuck, they were part of each other by enchantment…

But it was wrong. She was a gypsy, and he… He could not live as she did. Not at all. There was no way that such a partnership would have a happy ending no matter how he felt. At last Ian too tried to remove it, yet the thread remained strong. His fingers moved to the sword, as he did so the ribbon became a vine. It was cold and scaly…the caress of a snake.

The skin turned red and the moon became a mourning teary face. The silver snakes unfeeling yellow eyes looked at the two. The gypsy looked not at the snake but at him, in the moment of being unaware the serpent struck. Sharp long fangs cutting into soft flesh.

Nottingham moved his head up and found himself looking at an empty line of burgundy chairs across the room. He had fallen asleep in the waiting room and now as alone on his watch for Sara. Again it was to be one of those nights were he would dream many times but not remember a single one.

Nottingham found Danny leaning outside the door giving him a good stare. Ian knew full well that he was a good deal stronger as well as more experienced fighter then the detective but Daniel Woo had a sort of power that cut Ian right to the quick. Dark brown eyes searched his own. With a look, Danny was please to find a sort of flinch in Nottingham’s gaze. Inwardly, the Asian man smiled, ‘Tonight on Sixty Minutes: Interview with the Vampire…’ “Were you at the party?”

        “Yes, as I was suppose to be.”

        “Did you see anything?”

        ‘He is the detective.’ Ian thought, he did deserve the real answer, after all there wasn’t an interrogation or accusation or anything of the sort. He found it was very easy to respect this man, after all not only did he keep up with Sara but was able to get to her person to person. Just a plain and simple question answer session. ‘Pity Kenneth Irons doesn’t think of such a thing. Sorry Detective Woo, I commend your nobility but you are a threat.’ “No.”

“You wanna tell me why Irons thinks Sara needs a person guard?”

There it was, right in front of him a verbal embodiment of the deductions of a protective friend. Woo was no fool and if he wasn’t taken seriously, he could uncover everything. Nottingham thought fast. “With all due respect Detective, I believe this is an insult to both of our intelligence. You and I know Sara is now a target for the organization that Peter Malkovik was working for,” he paused and gave a side long look at Sara who was intently listening to a sort of story Jake was telling about the coffee. “I hope that my presence with the two of you won’t interfere with business.”

“I suppose I owe you an apology for leaping at your throat. Really, it is very suspicious that you happen to be just around the corner 24/7. All I’m saying is be careful with whatever you’re doing. But if you have any information what so ever you, you tell us,” there was a half retreat in his voice. It was an open apology, but all the same, Nottingham felt suspicion. It was a sort of comfort that there was someone close to Sara who did have their guard constantly up.

        “I accept your apology and I hope that there will be no farther conflicts that should make us draw our swords against each other.”       

        “Good…” Danny nodded his mouth pursed for a moment. Thinking he was done, Nottingham began to go into the room again. “One more thing, and this is important. If you’re going to have to hang around us, I’m alright with it only because I suppose you wouldn’t leave if we asked you to. I’m not one to peg you for that. Just watch out for my partner, she will let you in if you don’t push it. Whatever you do, don’t force Sara. She had this personal space thing with anybody who hasn’t been around her in years. Respect it.” There was something under all of this. They both knew but neither one were willing to show their cards.

        Ian lingered a while, he went to the vending machines down the hall he didn’t have any interested in eating anything. This wasn’t going to be easy not at all. He kept on walking. Thinking. This added more elements to the puzzle. ‘How the hell do I do this? I have no plan, no weapons… nothing. This is not like any warfare... I’m not the one to do this…’ Only a few times he gazed out the windows as he passed. The sky was a muggy gray, last night it snowed several more inches then usual. ‘I should go back, McCarty and Woo should be gone by now…’ Nottingham silently shuffled down the corridor.

        The door creaked opened, he was relieved to find that she was again alone. “Where did you go?” she asked, not looking up from the magazine.

        “No where,” Ian sighed. He went to the window, it started to snow again.

        “Been there, done that.” She muttered to herself as she exchanged the magazine for the file. “So… you know this guy Malkovik?”

        “What makes you say that?” he questioned off handedly. His mind flew to their back-round in the Black Dragons. That was all very hush, hush and now that he thought about it, Ian had no idea what was in the file. ‘God please don’t make me do anything to ruin my position…’ He ran a glove on the edge of the window. It would be easy to escape now if things got ugly. Ian was disgusted that is first thought was to run away from confrontation.

        “Nothing. Just a hunch, for all I know maybe of you guys trained at the same New York University of Deadly Assassins. I mean by the way you mentioned him it sounds like you hated is guts.” Sara turned the page, not looking up. She was completely unaware of the turmoil that Nottingham was going through.

        “All I can say is that I don’t have a lot of respect for sloppy and impudent assassins.”

        Sara mumbled something, Nottingham heard something along the lines of asshole. ‘Degrading, but none the less harmless…’

        The rest of the day was slow and dragging. Sara didn’t even want to attempt to turn on the television. She was about to pick up the tabloid that wasn’t in Nottingham’s possession when Nurse Mary came in with the results of Sara’s poking and prodding this morning. “It looks like you get to go Ms. Pezzini,” Mary Nesbit said trying to keep back the thankful tone in her voice.

        Sara flipped through the written report. It was a good thirty page long write up. She didn’t realize how many tests they took on her. ‘Wow.. I hope this isn’t on my HMO.’ Her gaze looked up to see that Nottingham looking just as interested. “I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I’m dying and that means that you have to go away, I mean no use guarding a dead person walking.”

        Ian felt the shallow swell of a smile come to his face for a half a second as he stood and crossed the room. “You have a very morbid sense of humor.” Without asking, most likely knowing he wouldn’t get it other wise, he took the report to look at it himself.

        She sighed and shook her head, “But would you leave if I were?” Sara found herself asking.

        A tingle ran down her neck as he said, “No.”

        Sara sighed, and pulled herself upright with ease and kicked off the thin, flimsy blankets. She put her feet on the floor then instantly jumped back on the bed, “Damn, that’s cold!”

        Nottingham set the write up in the little bin hung on the door back, “I will go get your clothes.” Without waiting for an answer he was gone.

        “Maybe I could get him to clean my apartment, that could scare him away...” She muttered to herself. Sara didn’t have long to sit about, Ian came in moments later with clothes tucked under her arm. “That was quick.” Nottingham swiftly walked past her, his face a light red most likely from the cold, Sara thought. He didn’t answer and set them on the bed then moved quickly to the door, nervous. “Thanks,” she called.

        “I will be outside,” was his answer as the door shut.

        “Oookay…” she sighed. On the bed was her pair of jeans, comfy gray sweater, black leather jacket, boots, socks, boxers and bra. As Sara lifted the shirt over her head and put on the sweater she stopped. Her breath caught and she tried to stop this swelling blend of gratitude and apprehension. ‘I didn’t wear these to the party.’ The mental picture of Nottingham strolling into the apartment and picking out her outfit strobed quickly, it wasn’t a vision. It made Sara’s skin prickle in a feeling she couldn’t place because of the strange mixture.

While zipping up her jeans, Sara tried to assess the current situation. ‘As of this moment, all of his intentions are seemingly good.’ She tugged on her jacket. There was a slight weight in the pocket, Sara reached in to find her gun. ‘Very good. His objectives haven’t been stated yet. Nottingham is almost two times my weight, he is great and hand to hand combat as well as shooting… so he must feel like I need a chance to defend myself if he intends to kill me. How thoughtful…’ When she was tying her boots she looked down on the Witchblade, it’s red globe peeked out beneath her sleeves. ‘He knows I have this, so technically I don’t need a gun. Then again the damn thing won’t work against him.’
       
        She got up off the bed and moved to take magazine and tabloids when she stopped. In a zip-lock bag was the red dress… The Witchblade became hot on her wrist.

        She stood on the edge of a vast endless boarder of the sea and a canyon on a tiny stretch of land no wider then her feet. She was forced to walk with one over the other. There was no light from the open air above her. It was dark, save for light coming on either side of her. She leaned carefully over the canyon to see what was in the deep bowels of this strange world. Sara was surprised to see the sky, so blue and placid it brought back the sort unconditional happiness of childhood. She looked to the ocean and gazed into the fathoms. She could see it was a long way down. She moved to see there was a long hallway lit with lights at the bottom of the sea. It was so far away from her, she squinted to see a streak of red… red like blood.

        ‘Blood?’
       
        The ocean rippled and the image changed. “Her battle cry was your name…” a wounded soldier said to the man in the traveling clothes, at his side was a broadsword, unstained. The traveling man held a body in his arms, the soldier stood over him his face gray with sorrow. Sara couldn’t make out the face of the comrade being mourned. She listened intently as the soldier spoke again. “She lasted until about a sunrise before you arrived. The captain of the barbarians fell at her hands, his general flew into a fury and took her on. She wounded him…was about to lop off his head when he-”

        The traveling man, at the soldiers words brought a hand to the corpses side were the armor was nothing but a crumbling dent. “I don’t want to hear any more!” the he howled to the soldier who backed away, leaving him to weep. “My love, my goddess…” his fingers unlatched a helmet made out to be a face, a flurry of brown hair came out framing a pale face. “I have left you thinking that I would return to wed you, when I find that death has taken you first… Cruel fate!” The man drew out his broadsword and directed it to his own gut.

        Gasping, Sara pulled back. Blood…blood…blood…

It ran down her leg…onto the marble.. No not marble. What was it? Marble? Earth? No air. Her lungs moved as if to try and pump it from out of nothing. Her insides burned and felt far away. ‘I cannot fail. I can’t go back. I’ve already done that! I can’t fail this time!’ Sara teetered on the edge, pain coming like a flash flood. Maintaining her balance became difficult. She moved a hand over her face. Sara jumped back to find a gash in the center of her palm. Red flowed down her arm into the ocean. She expected pain but none came. She looked over herself to find more injuries. A hole materialized in her back, some of her skin was forced inward as though she were stabbed the unseen wound bled down her legs making the skin sticky with its essence.

<Run! It comes!> the Blade called.

        “Oh god.” A shapeless figure approached, gray and ebbing like a festering salt drenched slug instead of growing small, became larger as it drew closer . She started back trying to run. “I can’t go! You cannot take me yet!” Sara held up the Witchblade, in full form. “I still have a mission to do! Your claim on me is not justified! Away!” Despite her outbursts still it came. “Get away!” Out of the mass of gray a hand was produced and reached for her. Sara tripped and she hung. Below her was the ocean… the tide came up to meet her dangling body. It pulled on her with its awesome strength.

        A hand touched her arm and pulled her around. Sara screeched and grabbed the cold hand, “I wish not to die, I have not yet lived!” A light invaded her vision and her breathing was hard and heavy when she became aware of her surroundings. The hand that she was grasping tightly to was gloved in black leather: Nottingham. She was fine, there was nothing wrong.. she wasn’t bleeding. Sara let go of Ian when it finally settled in that everything was as it should be and drew away a full three feet. She wrapped her arms about herself fighting a chill from deep inside herself.

Her face was pale and her frame was ridged. Whatever happened, must have been intense. Ian didn’t take any heed of unsaid plea to be left alone. He moved a tendril of hair away from her face. Sara shrank back he could see that she was trembling. He looked deeply into her face, and calmly asked. “What happened? What did you see?” Unsure of what to do to put her at ease, Nottingham brought a hand to her shoulder.

His attempts to comfort did nothing. She waved away his hand and backed into a corner her hands over her face. “I-I don’t know…” Sara croaked, her voice strangled. She brought a hand to it, remembering how it was constricted by someone’s savage grip. “I-I was changing and….the dress and…blood.. Oh God! The blood…” Her hands ran down her sides looking for something, some proof of the wounds but there was none. The more she tried to put the vision to words, the more frightened she became.