Author's Note: I've never published in chapters before, so we'll have to see how this goes. Yes, this is just a sad attempt to get more reviews.

Dedication: This is for Meghan, who really wanted a good Gabriel story. The working title is "Gabe in a Cage," but I don't think that'll keep. Anyway's I told her I'd put the working title in the dedication to the bestest, most wonderful, most beautiful, and kind roommate anyone has ever had. Did I mention fun, she's fun too.

So, I don't own the characters, TNT does. I do own the plot, however, so don't steel it. Thanx





Chapter 1: Respite

"You need a break Sara," the soft, wonderful, familiar voice of Danny said.

They were on a crowded street, walking at a brisk pace towards the, office, or store front, or warehouse, or whatever it was that Gabriel kept all his talismans and treasures in. She didn't care who saw her talking to herself, or a figment of her imagination, or a ghost. She would never see those people on the street again anyway.

"What are you talking about Danny?"

"It's been a month since he died," The ghost said, with a calm composed of compassion and wisdom. "It's been a month since the periculum. Your heart and mind were marked forever a month ago and you've barely had time to notice it."

"What are you talking about?" Sara snapped. "Every day I notice the difference. I know who I am, I know what I can do."

"Do you?"

She didn't really have an answer to that question, posed so earnestly and so dryly, so she changed the subject. "Most importantly I know why this all happened."

"Really," Danny said, as if this was all news to him. "Why is that?"

"Because the dark forces have reached critical mass," Sara said, with far more conviction than she felt, and still, her uncertainty shone through her voice.

"Can you tell me what that means?" Danny asked.

"The Witchblade tells me what I need to know."

"You're evading the issue," Danny scolded.

"What issue?" Sara asked harshly. "There's not an issue. I'm fine, the Periculum put everything in perspective."

"You're mind might have perspective, Sara Pezzini, but your heart and soul don't."

"What the hell are you talking about Danny?" she said, not realizing how defensive her voice sounded."

"You've run yourself ragged, trying to do the most, be the most, feel the most, or maybe the least, possible. You need to just breathe, just stop trying so hard and let everything that you are come together."

"I don't understand," she said tersely.

"And that's why you need a break," he answered. "Because then you will."

They reached the greenish-gray steel door on which was proudly written "Talismania.com" and Sara reached to open it. As she walked in, she noticed Danny was no longer following her, at least not that he would let her see.

"Come on in," Gabe called. "I'll be right with you!" She couldn't see him, which meant there was no way in hell he could have seen her. It was awfully trusting off him, Pez thought, to let strangers into his warehouse simply because they opened the door. Granted, no one would know what all this stuff was, or how much it was worth, so theft was not really a concern. But someone might think that that little cup in the middle of the third shelf was pretty and just take it, not realizing that it was the vestle used by the Egyptian high priest Ichni to poison the great Pharaoh Tututcommon. It was kept out of his grave because Ichni believed that, if Tututcommon were to have the cup in the afterlife, his angry spirit would use it to poison Ichni himself. At least that was the story. Everything in this room had a story, some true, some fiction, some that toddled the line between.

She found her way to the preoccupied Gabriel, who was pacing up and down behind the ancient stone alter he used as a counter, at least until it sold.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Gabe told the phone, and turning to Sara said, "Hey, Pez, you mind if I finish this?"

"Go ahead," Sara shrugged as she turned and started examining the last pick Janis Joplin used before her death which was displayed prominently on the counter and marked "Special of the Month" only $30,000.

"Did you talk to Chastity? . . . Really? . . . No, iIt's fine, you know me, whatever. . . . But, ah, I did want to ask you something. You think I could bring someone along? . . . Just a friend. . . . Well, it's complicated, I'd rather tell you later. . . . No, it's a very good reason. . . . No, it's a very good reason that doesn't involve grandchildren. . . . Really. . . .Great, great, thanks, that really means a lot. . . . Think Chase'll mind? . . . Come on, people have been calling her that since highschool. . . . Fine, do you think I should ring up Chastity and clear it through her? . . . You sure? . . . Great, Thanks. . . . Nine, right? . . . Thanks Mom, love you." He pulled the cell phone away from his ear, smiled at it for a moment, as if it were his mother's face, before punching the end button and turning to his friend. "What's the story morning glory?"

"Hey," Sara said. "You called, said you had something for me?"

"Ah, yeah," Gabe said, looking around on the alter for something that was easily lost in the pile of papers covering the slightly sacred work place. Finally, he found something that made his milk chocolate colored eyes brighten. He pulled a black, unmarked, floppy disk out of the pile and handed it to her. "I found a doctorate thesis by this girl Roberta Leif at Harvard."

"Oo," Sara said, not trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice. "A doctoral thesis."

Gabe smiled, ever so slightly. "You'll like this one. She did an extensive study of the woman's role in the civil war and, ah, from what she said about this one chick, Martha Saultz, I think we have another wielder."

Sara nodded, taking the disk from his hand. He was trying so hard, he had read a doctoral thesis for her, she tried to sound grateful. She failed. "Thanks Gabrial, this is . . . just great."

Gabe smiled and shook his head, "Don't worry, you've got the abridged version."

Sara breathed a sigh of relief, "Thanks," she said, this time meaning it. "I'll get to this as soon as I can."

"Great," Gabe said nodding, "It's a, really, um, not worth it."

"Really?" Sara asked, not quite believing her ears.

"Yeah, Saultz was a widow, her husband died in a skirmish with the British like a week after all the fighting started. There are all these rumors that she was seen on the battle fields with a bayonet or sword or something in her hand taking people down. Leif says it's due to the American's feminine role in the war, something about the land being raped and pillaged. Anyway, she says that old Goody Martha was a personification of that feminine rage on the battle field."

"You don't buy it?"

"I might," Gabe said. "If she hadn't claimed that the Boston Tea Party was really the manifestation of the colonies hidden desire to pleas Britain."

"And how does dumping a couple of tuns of tea into boston harbor get us on their good side?"

"Brit's like nothing better than a good pot of tea. Boston Harbor was a pot big enough for the whole empire."

"So what you're telling me is that this Leif person is a total crackpot?"

"She reads history like a novel, but, ah, I did a little background about Saultz. There definitely was a Martha Saultz who lived in New Jersey from 1742 until 1793 and, the one wood carving that is supposed to be about her shows this, um" he pointed his right had to his left. "Really big bracelet, almost like a glove," He looked up at her, "Bigger than that, but, more or less the same. It's all on the disk."

"Bayonet or sword, hum?"

"Yeah," Gabe said. He was looking at her with unusually piercing eyes, he had been ever since she had walked in.

"What?" She finally demanded.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"There's something you're holding back."

"Well, there was this creepy passage about Martha Washington . . ."

"No," Sara said, trying not to be amused by his sly change of subject. "There is something you want to say."

"Yeah, right," Gabe said. He turned his head slightly so he was looking just over her shoulder at the scull of Hi Chi Lou, the Chinese princess who was fabled to have killed all her suitors in a fair Katana Fight. She died of old age unmarried. Suddenly he turned on her, his eyes open, his voice playful, and his expression nervous, "You doing anything this weekend?"

"This weekend?" That was the last thing she had expected him to say.

"Yeah, there's gonna be this big celebration, maybe you've heard of it, Easter?"

"Easter?" She was in a state of shock.

Gabe nodded, "Baskets? Eggs? Bunny? Chocolate? Thin shreds of green plastic that get everywhere? Any of this ring a bell?"

"Ah, yeah," Pez finally stuttered. She hadn't thought about that holiday, or any holiday really, for years. If a big one happened to stumble around, Danny usually had her over. But those times were long gone. "It's this weekend?"

"Second Sunday every April. Funny how they creep up."

"Funny," Sara said, finally beginning to shake off her dazed state.

"So, you doin' anything?"

"Ah," she laughed a little sarcastically. "I was planing on staying in town and saving the world from the evil."

"So nothing special?"

Sara laughed, this time it was genuine mirth. "I guess not."

"You, Sara Pezzini, need a break."

Sara blinked, she was shocked to hear her living friend echoing the sentiments of her dead partner. "What?"

"It's been hard," Gabe said softly. "Lately, it's just been really, really hard."

"I guess it has," Sara said, her voice was suddenly hoarse. She could see that Gabe was thinking of Sly, the close friend he had lost so unjustly. She had to try very hard not to think of Conchabar, and Danny, and her Father. It had been really, really hard.

"So I think," Gabe said, taking a deep brave breath. "That we should get away."

"I can't leave," Sara said, almost instinctively.

"What, your boss won't give you the weekend off?"

"You kidding? He'd love to get me out of his hair for any amount of time."

"So there's not problem then?" His grief was slowly subsiding into something resembling hope. But he wasn't a fool, and he knew it was a longshot.

"Did you have a place in mind for this weekend get away?"

"Actually yeah," Gabe said. "Imagine an all expense paid trip to the most picturesque up-state New York town you've ever seen."

"Picturesque meaning?"

"Boring as hell."

"I thought so."

"Look, my grandfather's a preacher, Easter's always been a big deal to our family. I have to go."

"I get that," Sara said, nodding her head. "I really do, what I don't get is why I have to go."

"You need a break Sara," Danny said. Suddenly, he was standing right next to her, urging her on.

"Great, two against one," Pez muttered to herself under her breath.

"What did you just say?" Gabe asked.

"Why are you inviting me?" Sara lied.

Gabe looked at her with critical suspicion, but let it slide. "Because you need to get away, and you don't have any place else to go."

"Is this a pity invite?"

"No," Gabe said fervently. "This is a compassion invite. I know who you lost this year, and I know how bad it hurts."

Sara smothered a bitter laugh, not long ago she had told him the same thing.

"But," he continued. "You can't just fester in this mess, in New York. It's eatin' at you Pez. You gotta get away, just for a while, just to stop and breathe."

"Look at him, Sara," Danny urged. "All he wants to do is help."

There was a pause as Sara considered her options. She didn't want a break, she didn't want to breathe. Any number of things could happen in those moments when she was gone from her post. People could die, criminals could escape, the world could just . . . dissolve.

"It's only a weekend, Sara," Gabe said, with sincere hope he would be able to push her over the edge. "How much could you possibly miss?"

"Go," Danny urged. "You won't regret it."

"Fine," Sara finally said. Her voice was heavy with defeat; her posture and her face sullen. "I'll go."

"You don't have to do me any favors," Gabe said.

"No," Sara forced a smile that looked genuine and lied to both her friends. "I think it's exactly what I need."

***

Ian Nottingham stood before his master, his head bowed, his posture submissive. He was a knight in a world without chivalry: a wizard in an unenchanted land: a poet surrounded by those who did not speak his language. There were two, though, two that could understand him if they wanted to. Two that he had a bond with, a strong bond, impossible to break. Two that he loved but those two had no intention of ever loving him back. So he remained a black spot in a world of colors, a shadow in a world of light.

"And where is Sara Pezzini?" multi-millionaire Kenneth Irons asked, his voice was like a steel dagger, cold, heavy, solid and elegant.

"She has left the city," Ian said humbly.

"Really?" Irons asked, his voice less cold, heavy, solid and elegant. "Where has she gone, and with whom?"

"She left this morning," Ian said, delaying the news he dreaded to deliver for as long as possible. There are times, he thought, when I am the greatest of cowards. "I believe she was headed to a small town north of here; Coppler's Grove."

"Coppler's Grove," Irons said sharply, his voice was a dagger again. "And who's interests drive her there, humm? Who took her?"

"The boy, Gabriel Bowman," Ian said, emotionally bracing himself for the blow he knew would come.

"Gabriel Bowman," the dagger was being raised to draw blood. "I thought I told you to remove him from the situation."

"I did exactly as you told me, he would not be deterred."

"What do you mean?" Irons asked angrily.

"He sought her out," Ian said. "He gives her information."

"Why? What does he hope to gain?"

"Perhaps only her friendship."

"Don't be ridiculous," Irons spat out. He had intended, from the first time he learned of the Witchblade, to control it, and if not it, then its wielder. He had succeeded, in the end, with Elizabeth Bronte, and was failing, repeatedly, with Sara Pezzini. He could not conceive that this young boy was succeeding were he had failed. Even less believable was that this boy was not trying to succeed at anything beyond simple, childlike, innocent friendship. "Whatever his goal, it is irrelevant. The fact remains that his presence is a clear threat to our success and he must, therefore, be eliminated. The sooner the better."

"I understand," Ian said. He had no trouble killing Gabriel, practically, ethically, or emotionally. However, he dreaded seeing Sara's face when she discovered her young friend's body, the tears rimming her green eyes and her soft lips trembling slightly. The very thought of it made his heart ache.

"Good," Irons said with cool dispassion. "I eagerly await your return."

Ian nodded and slipped out of the room, a crusader in a land with no religion.



Two Be Continued . . .