" . . . . .and of my Beloved, the
Breath of my breath, heart of my heart."
Her heart throbbed in her chest. Jees, she hated this.
Third night in a row. Each time
she awoke from broken dreams that were like jumbled, impossible memories, full
of violence and haunting words. She
grasped at the fading threads: Love,
sorrow, joy, pain. Irredeemable
loss. A loss so profound that the pain
lingered, even as the dream slipped away.
Her heart slowed and she sat up against the headboard. Life had been unusual these last few
months. Unusual. That was a massive understatement. Strange times. Every new day seemed to be a battleground for control. No wonder she was having problems sleeping. She punched the pillow. She needed her sleep. In the morning she and Jack planned to dig
deeper into the background of the man found murdered at pier 63 yesterday
morning. It was the second murder down
at the warehouses in as many days.
The sound of the phone was startling in the night. The Witchblade flared for a moment and then
lay quiet against her wrist. Calls in
the middle of the night were never good news.
"Hello, Sara." The
voice was unmistakable.
"Nottingham, its two in the morning, what do you want?"
"Had any dreams lately, Sara"
He was a lethal enigma with dangerous loyalties but she
smiled, in spite of herself. His
response was typical Nottingham.
"Secrets are best protected by the illusions. Illusions are like sun on water. Look to the water, Sara."
"What's that supposed to mean? Do you know something about the waterfront murders?"
She could hear his breath but no words came. She could almost see the small upturn of his
lips, his amusement at her frustration.
However, when he spoke again his words were edged with a strange
vulnerability.
"I have dreams too, Sara"
In that moment before the phone went silent she heard him
say softly, as if unaware of giving voice to his most private thoughts. "Breath of my breath."
