Three in the morning is a strange trick of the clock. It is not quite night, and yet, not quite day. A time for all but the most haunted to sleep.
In her lavish suite, Elizabeth Bronte was sleeping soundly, her rest nothing at all like the prior night's tossing and turning, its visions and portents. She had lost almost three full days without managing to map out a course of action, and the sentient bracelet she wore--in which she had placed her trust--had given her nothing to go on, save fragmented visions that distracted more than aided. She had begun to think of the Witchblade as her last and only friend in Paris, but had found herself increasingly skeptical of its motives--its own hold on sanity. Whether it could not help, or, or simply refused to, she did not know.
Rolf had once told her (as a type of old wives' tale or boogeyman story, she had assumed) that when it was most needed the Blade would abandon the wielder. This was what had happened to Joan, he said, his eyes round and wide in the dark, where they lay in bed, watching the bracelet on her wrist. She half expected him to shout, "boo!" to cap off such a ghost story. Had he done so, it would have been most uncharacteristic.
She never had (and now never would) understood Rolf's designs on the Blade. He never asked anything of it, never spent much time questioning her about its nature--or any changes that it brought about in her. Did not know the number of men it had killed, riding on her wrist. The number of people whose lives it had saved.
And Rolf Germer had died without ever knowing--ever having even the slightest inkling--that the gift he so proudly had his mistress wear was the single greatest code breaking device the Reich (or indeed, the World) had ever known. There was no language it did not understand, no radio frequency it could not intercept.
Knowing how much good the Blade could do were her own safety was guaranteed, she had (shortly after her periculum) exchanged communication with her lone British Intelligence contact in Berlin to the effect that she must get back to Britain, from whence she could do the most good. Her request was denied. Without telling the truth about the Witchblade her demand had sounded foolish, as though she were giving in, or turning tail. She did not ask a second time.
With the ability the Witchblade gave her, she grew to realize that she was not only a threat to Germany, but such power a potential threat to anyone--any country--that chose to see it in such a light. Scott and the boys back in London were looking--not for a single female code breaker--but the machine on which such codes were created, and the settings book that powered the heretofore unbreakable codification.
Doubtless (she could not be sure as she had no contact with them), they were quite puzzled at the impeccable accuracy through which she was able to break any stray (coded) SS communications that came her way; whether found in a forgotten pocket of Rolf's coat, or laying carelessly atop his office desk when she would casually drop by to see if he would like some lunch.
She had been sure the Witchblade enjoyed their mission, took pleasure in spoiling the Nazi's plans, subverting their designs on the world. Before going to bed that night she had spoken to it, lying inert on her arm, the stone again glassy and unemotive.
"Paris is not for us," she had said sliding it up and down her forearm. "Berlin is where we belong. Berlin is the key." She should have felt foolish for addressing what seemed nothing more than an inanimate object. She did not. "I am going back to Berlin," she declared. "Nothing you do or show or make me experience will change that." For no particular reason, she switched to Latin, "if you like it here so much, you can stay."
The talisman eye rippled in response, in what Bronte took to be the Witchblade equivalent of sticking out its tongue. She had gone to bed quickly after that, before she started trying to decipher what such a response might mean.
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...to be continued...
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Disclaimer: I do not own Witchblade, nor the rights to its characters. Seek out Warner Bros. and/or Top Cow if you want to talk to people that matter. I'm not in their employ, and I'm not making any money off of their creation. But I am having a good time with it. ;)
by: Neftzer (c)2003
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