Ian asked Constable Seanain "Is there a room where Sara and I can talk . . . preferably soundproof?"
In an empty interrogation room, Ian told Sara "The pretense of being your bodyguard stops here and the reality starts. We are going to leave Ireland. You will stay in my sight at all times. No exceptions."
"What about using the bathroom?" Sara crossed her arms.
Ian glared at her from under his eyebrows. "You can close the door to the bathroom if I check it out first! We will leave now. I have Iron's jet at the airport...."
"No."
"What!" Ian became menacing. "You have no reason to stay here. You have talked to almost all who remain of Conchobar's family!"
Sara wasn't going to budge. "There is something I have to do. I have to find that shaman. There is a ritual . . ."
That stopped Ian. He knew about rituals. He had trained in many forms, in many cultures. Scars hidden by his clothes itched in memory.
"May I approach?" asked Ian as he took off a glove.
"Yes." Sara thought with exasperation, *What is it going to take to get this guy out of the Middle Ages?* But he was right to ask permission, she still didn't trust him.
Ian stepped within arm's reach and offered his bare hand. Sara touched it, expecting to see some past event. Instead in her mind she was looking at a black aluminum briefcase. It had a handle and a blue stone pulsing where the lock should be. Otherwise it was smooth without a trace of any seam. Sara looked at Ian, puzzled.
"I was raised to serve Irons but I was bred to protect you, Sara." Ian's eyes were earnest. "I have just given you everything I know about your past. It will not open until you can deal with it. This is not the time to tell you but you must have it in case . . . you survive without me." Ian's face had moved into whipped puppy mode.
Sara almost had the urge to hug him. Almost. What did this mean?
"Why are you helping me?" Sara asked.
Just then Seanain stuck his head in the door.
"Sara, Lasar is here. Do you want to talk to him now? He came here when he found out you checked out of the hotel."
Sara said yes to Seanain and asked Ian "Checked out?"
"When I found you missing last night I checked us out and brought your things here, with the intention of us leaving as soon as I found you."
"Us?" Sara was beginning to feel like a parrot. "What *is* going on?"
"I am turning traitor to the only family I know, Sara."
Just then a stranger entered the room. An odd duck indeed. He was middle-aged and short with wild hair. Sara thought he looked like a gypsy, no, Italian, no, a Scandinavian troll. Yes, troll seemed to fit him best.
"Hello, Sara, I am Lasar. It's wonderful to see you all grown up." He had an accent as odd as his appearance. He took her right hand and kissed it, below the Witchblade, and it seemed perfectly natural when he did it. If Irons had kissed her hand she'd be rubbing it on her jeans now.
The other odd thing about him was that she didn't get any visions when he touched her hand. Just a sense of calm.
"What did you wish to see me about?" he asked. Immediately the symbol of three concentric circles with a jagged line popped into Sara's head. And Lasar nodded. "You have it then." The First Blade he meant. "I see you also have the ring. Are you ready to wear the First Blade?"
Sara did a slow nod, apparently they were on the same wavelength.
In an empty interrogation room, Ian told Sara "The pretense of being your bodyguard stops here and the reality starts. We are going to leave Ireland. You will stay in my sight at all times. No exceptions."
"What about using the bathroom?" Sara crossed her arms.
Ian glared at her from under his eyebrows. "You can close the door to the bathroom if I check it out first! We will leave now. I have Iron's jet at the airport...."
"No."
"What!" Ian became menacing. "You have no reason to stay here. You have talked to almost all who remain of Conchobar's family!"
Sara wasn't going to budge. "There is something I have to do. I have to find that shaman. There is a ritual . . ."
That stopped Ian. He knew about rituals. He had trained in many forms, in many cultures. Scars hidden by his clothes itched in memory.
"May I approach?" asked Ian as he took off a glove.
"Yes." Sara thought with exasperation, *What is it going to take to get this guy out of the Middle Ages?* But he was right to ask permission, she still didn't trust him.
Ian stepped within arm's reach and offered his bare hand. Sara touched it, expecting to see some past event. Instead in her mind she was looking at a black aluminum briefcase. It had a handle and a blue stone pulsing where the lock should be. Otherwise it was smooth without a trace of any seam. Sara looked at Ian, puzzled.
"I was raised to serve Irons but I was bred to protect you, Sara." Ian's eyes were earnest. "I have just given you everything I know about your past. It will not open until you can deal with it. This is not the time to tell you but you must have it in case . . . you survive without me." Ian's face had moved into whipped puppy mode.
Sara almost had the urge to hug him. Almost. What did this mean?
"Why are you helping me?" Sara asked.
Just then Seanain stuck his head in the door.
"Sara, Lasar is here. Do you want to talk to him now? He came here when he found out you checked out of the hotel."
Sara said yes to Seanain and asked Ian "Checked out?"
"When I found you missing last night I checked us out and brought your things here, with the intention of us leaving as soon as I found you."
"Us?" Sara was beginning to feel like a parrot. "What *is* going on?"
"I am turning traitor to the only family I know, Sara."
Just then a stranger entered the room. An odd duck indeed. He was middle-aged and short with wild hair. Sara thought he looked like a gypsy, no, Italian, no, a Scandinavian troll. Yes, troll seemed to fit him best.
"Hello, Sara, I am Lasar. It's wonderful to see you all grown up." He had an accent as odd as his appearance. He took her right hand and kissed it, below the Witchblade, and it seemed perfectly natural when he did it. If Irons had kissed her hand she'd be rubbing it on her jeans now.
The other odd thing about him was that she didn't get any visions when he touched her hand. Just a sense of calm.
"What did you wish to see me about?" he asked. Immediately the symbol of three concentric circles with a jagged line popped into Sara's head. And Lasar nodded. "You have it then." The First Blade he meant. "I see you also have the ring. Are you ready to wear the First Blade?"
Sara did a slow nod, apparently they were on the same wavelength.