Sara sighed as she
entered the banquet. She was late, and had probably missed Dante's speech
entirely. It was a formal occasion, one which she would've liked to have slept
threw, but she knew she was expected. She wore a simple crimson red silk dress
than hung to the floor, with slits up the side. Over it, she wore her leather
jacket, not caring for formalities. Inside her jacket, however, she concealed
her magnum and badge. She was having trouble with the high stiletto heals she
wore, and felt horribly awkward. A drink tray passed her as she walked into the
room, and she snatched a wine glass. Not wanting to drink on the job, she made
her way to the refreshments table. Pouring the wine into the trash, she refilled
her glass with soda.
Everyone mingled and
conversation blurred into an intoxicating hum. Somewhere in the midst of the
party, a live classical orchesta played music. It was certainly a formal
occasion. Sara recognized a few officers from the other precincts; Jake stood
talking to a few of the female officers, and Dante stood talking to Siry. Not
wanting to clash with Dante at the party, Sara made her way threw the crowd, and
headed for the open balcony window.
A cool breeze blew in from
outside, and she felt relaxed as she stepped past the velvet curtain. Outside,
the music from the banquet was softened and she leaned against the railing,
looking out over New York City. The banquet was on the thirtieth floor of an
apartment building. Dante had rented out the entire floor for his party. The
drop was disturbing to Sara. The Witchblade stayed quiet upon her wrist. Looking
at the Witchblade, her mind continued to wander.
Well…I passed your
test, Blade, so I hope you'll live up to mine. I wish I had better informants
than Kenneth Irons and his assassin lap dog. She sighed. The snow had stopped
earlier, and the air was still chill. Her breath puffed out like smoke from her
lungs, and she watched it fade away. She listened over the music and heard
sirens from the city. It was the one familiar thing, aside from the Witchblade,
present in her life. With a slow smirk, she raised her wine glass to drink.
Sara chilled when she
realized someone stood behind her. Watching him from the reflection in her wine
glass she set her glass down slowly. Her gun was just inside her jacket. She
reached for it, very tediously. By the time she drew her .44 magnum, slammed the
clip into it, and spun around—Ian was within a few feet of her. The wind blew a
strand of her hair across her face, but her aim never faltered.
"..Hello, Sara," came
Nottingham's soft-spoken voice. His gaze traveled from Sara's eyes, down her
arms to look at the point of her magnum aimed at his chest. His face remained
impassive. Sara scowled, looking at him.
"What are you
doing here? Is Irons here as well? What's this all about?" Her questions came
one after the other, her gun never moved from his range. Ian stepped
forward.
"Stay back, Ian—This
is loaded and set on fully-automatic." Snapped Sara, tensing. Ian looked from
the gun to Sara, his eyes fogged with some unknown thought.
"You can't hurt me,
Sara…Your Witchblade will not hurt me, and that.." His eyes shifted to the gun
again, "..won't hurt me." Sara quirked a brow, her grip shifting on the
magnum.
"Seems a little cocky
to me," She replied, her finger tightening on the trigger. Ian stepped forward
quickly, and took her hand, training the gun slowly across his heart. Sara
faltered, easing off the trigger. Ian let go of her hand, and looked into her
eyes. He saw her fear, though he knew she tried to conceal it. She could conceal
nothing from him, not now.
"It can, and
damnit Nottingham, if you don't get out of here.." She said softly, releasing
the trigger completely. Ian watched her thoughtfully. Sara had apparently just
seen him for the first time.
He's…gorgeous,
Damn.. Her thoughts mused, as she looked at him.
Wow.. She frowned, lowering her gun. Has he always…been like this?
She wondered, studying his face. No.. He had changed, somehow. He was
clean-shaven, his eyes.…they seemed brighter than usual, he was dressed in
real clothes this time, in a formal suit of ebon silk. He…he's
wearing..a..tie? Sara grinned despite herself.
"What is it?" Asked
Ian softly. Sara only shook her head.
"You…You're wearing
a…tie. I didn't think assassins had any class." She said, a little bitterer than
she had intended. Ian said nothing. Sara put her gun back in her holster, which
was strapped across her chest inside her jacket. The music changed in the
background to something very sad. Ian held out his hand carefully.
"..Dance with me,
Sara," He said, "..and I'll show you, just how much class..this lonely assassin
has." Sara arched a brow, looking at his hand. His ring was beautiful, his
watch, his face.. Without realizing what she was doing, Sara reached out and
took his hand, raising her other to rest upon his shoulder. Ian, with his deadly
grace and charm, gripped her hand lightly and slid his other arm to her waist.
The feel of his hand pressed against the cool silk of her dress was very
different for him, and he found himself wondering if he could fulfill his
orders. The music played on, and Ian swept Sara out into a slow dance on the
balcony.
Sara knew that the
two of them dancing was absurd. Ian was a killer, Sara knew it, and she was a
homicide detective. It was like dancing a thin line of death. Sara could even be
Ian's next target, if Kenneth Irons really wanted to Witchblade for himself.
Somehow it all didn't seem to matter. She tried to relax. He really was a
good dancer, he moved with the same grace he stalked his victims, the same
smooth strides he took everyday as he followed her. She felt his hand tremble
slightly against her waist and she wondered. He can't…be, nervous, can
he? She tried not to smile. She simply stared up at him, wondering what he
was thinking beyond those dark eyes.
The wind picked up
around the balcony and the wine glass set on the ledge flew off into the
darkness. Watching it quietly, Sara turned back to look at Ian. He went ridged
when she looked at him, visibly startled. Sara felt his grip on her hand shake
slightly. She gripped his hand a little harder, helping him to steady. Ian
pulled Sara a little closer, leaning his cheek against her hair with a sigh. The
music changed again. They still danced.
What am I
doing? Ian wondered, feeling Sara move slightly
against him. This is... not who I am. I..don't dance. I don't... His mind
drifted and he moved his mouth close to her ear.
"You're in danger,"
he whispered, his lips delicately grazing her ear as he spoke. The motion made
Sara shiver.
"..From who?" She
asked, turning towards him slightly. Ian turned her as they danced and moved
them back towards the edge of the balcony. No one else was outside, but he
couldn't risk his words drifting to lurking ears. He sighed again and
continued.
"From Jake McCartney.
From Kenneth Irons…and from me.." His voice was very soft. Sara pulled away and
looked at him. She frowned, searching his face for a response.
"..Why.. from Jake?
Kenneth? ..You?" She asked, confused. Ian lifted her chin up slightly to stare
down at her.
"..Jake.. could hurt
you, Sara. I was…sent to warn you.. Please. Be cautious." As he spoke he turned
Sara again and they danced slowly to the edge of the balcony.
"..From Irons.. it is
always the same." He mused, leaning Sara against the balcony.
"The Witchblade,"
replied Sara, feeling her back press against the cold stone balcony. Ian turned
her so that he faced the balcony, and she was lightly pressed against them as
they danced slowly. She still hadn't heard his reasons. Looking at him, she
quirked a brow.
"And…you?" She asked,
gazing up at him. Ian closed his eyes. Sara watched him. His face altered to a
mask of pain and confusion. For several moments, Ian stayed with his eyes
closed, rocking Sara slowly as they danced. Sara sighed, and Ian opened his
eyes.
"I..am a danger to
you.." He said, leaning forward, inches away from her face, "..because of this,"
as he spoke he reached a hand up tentatively to cup Sara's cheek. Sara looked up
at him with a curious gaze. Ian leaned down and kissed her gently, his hand
dropping from her cheek and waist. Sara stared back at him as he moved away from
her and headed for the entrance to the balcony.
"..W-wait, Ian—"
Began Sara, as Ian stalked back towards the party. He stopped. He stayed facing
away from her.
"I have waited long
enough, Sara. It is...time for me to leave." He started to walk again, and Sara
moved forward, grabbing his shoulder. Ian reflexively spun around and grabbed
Sara by the shoulder, his knife pressed against her throat. The knife pricked
her throat, a bead of blood dripped down and spilt on shoulder. When he realized
what he had done, he let her go and stumbled back, dropping the knife. Sara
stared back at him, fear in her eyes.
"..I..I'm sorry.." He
managed, before rising again to rush into the party. Sara reached up and touched
her neck, where his knife had made a tiny nick. A small blotch of blood returned
on her fingertips.
He.. I.. that was a..
knife, against my neck, but.. he.. She sighed. Ian was gone. The
cold steel of his knife still shook her, and she rubbed her neck with a
sigh.
Captain Dante sat in
his chair, chatting with a few of the other members of the "White Bulls." No one
knew who they were, and would not know this group of officers was any different,
except for one, who would be initated tonight. Seeing Jake walking towards the
balcony, Dante called for him. Jake turned, grinned, and turned his course
towards Dante's table. Sitting down, he looked to his captain.
"Ah, there you are,
McCartney." Said Dante, sipping his glass of wine. "Sara on duty tonight?"
Jake nodded.
"Yeah.. probably the only one sober enough right
now, anyways." He said, as Dante filled a glass of wine and pushed it towards
him. The captain nodded,
"Good, good. Listen," As he spoke, he leaned
forward across the table. His voice was very hushed. The music drowned out most
of the conversation around them.
"Sara is going to receive a phone call, very
soon. She will have an assignment. You are not to accompany her. Do you
understand?" Said Dante, looking to Jake with a stern face. Jake frowned,
stopping as he raised his glass to his lips. Setting it down on the table, he
stared at it blankly.
"..I'm her partner, Captain. She's training me,
I—" Began Jake, but Dante cut him off.
"Jake, you will not be accompanying Sara. It
is…your test. No one fails their test." Dante winked at him
quickly. Jake understood. Dante had asked him to join the White Bulls a few
weeks ago and had mentioned a test that would involve his partner, Sara. As much
as it sounded like a setup, Jake needed to be a part of the group. He wouldn't
follow Sara on her assignment tonight. Jake nodded and sipped his wine again. He
would be a White Bull by the end of the night. Piece of cake, he thought,
glancing over the rim of his wine glass. He nearly choked when he saw Ian
Nottingham, the man that had nearly killed him a week ago, quickly crossed the
banquet hall.
What is that bastard doing
here? He wondered, setting his glass down again,
emptied of wine. His vision was blurry around the edges. He had drank the wine a
little too fast for his liking. Ian disappeared into the crowd. Jake stood up
from the table, nodded to Dante, and walked off into the party. He checked his
gun in his concealed holster. It was loaded. He smiled and regretted it moments
later. His bruises still hurt. He had Ian to thank for that. He intended to pay
him back.
Moving
through the crowd, Jake grabbed for another glass of wine. He didn't see Ian
anywhere. The crowd seemed to blur around the edges. He sipped another drink of
his wine. Still searching, he did see someone who could tell him where to find
him. Kenneth Irons sat at a table near the door, consulting with his high class
friends. Walking over towards the table, Jake looked to Kenneth.
"Ah yes, Mr.
McCartney," Said Irons, as Jake approached. Jake nodded.
"I'm looking for your
friend, Ian Nottingham," Said Jake, the words stumbling out of his mouth. With a
frown, he sipped his wine again. Irons quirked a brow.
"Ian
Nottingham is my employee. And I cannot say precisely where he is. I was under
the impression that he was of his own free will." Kenneth sat back in his chair,
crossing his hands over his lap. Jake smirked.
"Yeah,
well, I owe your employee a real…'heart felt' visit, I assure you."
Without waiting for Irons to answer, Jake turned around and walked back into the
party. Kenneth smiled smoothly and went back to talking amongst his companions.
Jake sighed, setting his empty glass down on the refreshments table and headed
back to Dante's table.
Sara sighed. Taking a final glance out over the
city, she zipped up her jacket and headed for the party. The knife that Ian had
dropped still lay on the cold cement of the balcony. Sara stared at it. A small
speck of blood still remained on the knife. Checking the enterance, she leaned
down and picked up the knife. It was made of finely crafted steel, issued by the
Navy Seals. At the base of the handle it read: "Ian Nottingham, Black Dragons."
Not wanting Ian to leave behind a trace, Sara tucked the knife away safely in
her holster. She knew Ian would never have been so careless, had he not have
been nervous. As she started walking back towards the party, her cell phone
rang. Pulling her cell phone out of her
jacket pocket, she flipped it open.
"What?" Sara asked, her voice harsh with
stress
"Pezzini, you're the only police officer
on duty near the scene. Head down to North 56th street. Someone
reported a break in and a potential gunshots fired." The voice was one of the
interns at the station. With a sigh, Sara hung up and walked back into the
party. It figures…I'm the only one here sober enough to handle anything more
dangerous than a mouse right now. She felt the Witchblade flex around her
wrist. With a hushed gasp, she pulled the sleeve of her leather jacket down.
Not now.. She thought, looking for her partner. She found Jake sitting at
Dante's table, sipping a glass of red wine. Walking over, she jerked her chin
towards the door.
"C'mon Jake, there's been a break in down
on 56th street." She looked at him, impatiently. Jake shook his head,
lifting his wine glass.
"..Can't, Pez.. had a bit too much to
drink. You can handle it, I'll catch you at work tomorrow." He grinned
sheepishly and set his glass down. Sara sighed.
"Fine, whatever Jake.. Catch you later."
Without waiting for him, she turned and walked off towards the exit. Kenneth
Irons watched as she left.
It was nearly eleven at night, the wind was freezing and the snow had
frozen to the ground. Sara pulled her bike up on the curve of 56th
street and picked up her radio.
"..Pezzini, here, you said 56th
street, right?" The radio answered with static. Sara couldn't understand the
response. Lifting a brow, she shut her radio off and checked her gun. Her neck
hurt from the cold—the tiny gash still seeped sluggishly. Drawing her gun from
her holster, she began walking down 56th street. The city was silent.
Sara knew something was wrong. 56th street was nothing but warehouses
and broken homes. Well.. she thought, the snow crunching beneath stiletto
heels, ..Lets just get this over with. She didn't look like a cop. With
her dress, heels and her leather jacket.. she wasn't prepared to answer a
call.
A light was on in a house as she walked
down the street. The only house on the street. Sara figured that was the one.
She shivered and walked up to the door, knocking. The light in the house went
off. Frustrated, Sara knocked again.
"This is a New York City Police officer, I
received a call on a break and possible gunfire." Pounding on the door, she got
no answer. The door creaked open. No one was on the other side. Frowning, Sara
stepped back, turned, and walked back down the stairs. I need to get out of
here.. It was stupid to come alone.. As she hurried back to her motorcycle,
she heard the click of a gun from behind her. Frozen, Sara tensed.
"Yuh, you must be that homicide detective
we were lookin' for.. turn around, lass." The voice was rough and heavily
accented Irish. They must be from the Irish Massacre she thought, as she
slowly turned around. The Witchblade was silent. When she turned back to face to
unknown follower, she found there was more than one. Six stood in the darkness,
burly men with iron pipes, chains or the first man, with a gun. He grinned; his
mouth was full of broken teeth. His raised his chin arrogantly. Damnit,
Jake.. why did you have to leave me alone tonight? She wondered, watching
her captives closely. No one moved.
"C'mere lass," he said, motioning her
forward. As Sara took a slow step forward, he added, "..And ditch the gun." He
grinned. Sara sighed, reaching into her jacket. The group tensed. The man raised
his gun and trained it on Sara's chest. "Slowly," he said. Sara nodded, drawing
the gun out, she set it on the ground. Kicking it to the side, she walked
towards them. The group closed in. The man kept his gun at her chest. Sara
smirked.
"..So, you've heard of me," said Sara,
casting her smirk at the main with the gun. He nodded. "Is that why there's six
of you? To kill one homicide detective? Doesn't say much for your skills, does
it, boys?" The man with the gun narrowed his eyes.
"Heh, yeah, we heard you were tough as
nails. Though.. you do look awfully pretty in that dress.. it's a shame we have
to kill you." He glanced at the man next to him. "Maybe we'll have ourselves a
little fun before then, huh?" As the man with the gun walked towards her, Sara
spun and kicked the gun out of his hand, then ran to the side, grabbing her gun
as she went. The man cursed.
"GET HER!" The yelled with a growl,
shaking his sore hand. The men dispatched and took after Sara. The Witchblade
remained silent. Running in a dress and heels was not Sara's style. She hated
it, and would've changed had she been given the time. She heard a gunshot behind
her and felt the bullet slam into the back of her leg. Crying out, she stumbled
and almost fell. The pain burned along her thigh. She felt the blood seeping
threw her dress as she ran, felt it stream slowly down her leg. It was the only
warmth she felt, her lungs burned as she ran in the cold air, her leg now aching
unbearably. Turning around a corner, she reached for the apartment pull down
stairs but couldn't reach. As her captors rounded the corner, the stairs fell
down. Looking up, she saw Ian motion her up.
Climbing as quickly as she could with a
wounded leg, she managed to get to the top of the stairs. Ian held out a hand
and pulled her to the roof. Once there, he knocked her pursuers off the stairs
and pulled the stairs back up. They were safe on the roof, for the moment. Sara
gasped, stumbled and fell. Her leg was burning, blood was now soaking her dress.
Tears brimming her eyes, she reached down and tried to rip her dress, to act as
a bandage. Ian knelt down silently, drew another knife, and cut her dress to the
top of her knees. With her wound exposed, the air made it throb. She bit her lip
to keep from cursing at Ian as he wrapped her leg.
Sara felt her vision fog. She knew she had
lost a lot of blood. The pain started to fade away. Suddenly, Ian was upside
down.. and spinning. The whole roof was spinning.
"Sara.." Ian's voice seemed far away. Her
world went dark. The Witchblade glowed.
