Chapter 2 -- Iron Hand
Irons stood facing the fireplace, drink in hand, more interested in the patterns that the firelight produced when it played off of the cut crystal than in the contents of the goblet. The facets of the container allowed him to survey the entire room without turning his face from the fire. Tipping it slightly, he examined the reflection of his own face, smiling with pleasure at what he saw. Almost one hundred years old, and, on a good day, he could still be mistaken for a man in his late thirties. He tilted the glass again as the door opened, catching a reflection of his two favorite employees.
When Ian and Cailean entered the sitting-room, he did not immediately turn around, knowing that they would await his pleasure, all night if they had to. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust off of the lapel of his Italian suit and reflected thoughtfully over his glass of sherry for several more moments before turning to face the two. The fact that, even after better than ten years of separation, they still chose to adorn themselves almost identically did not escape him. They had been playing that trick since childhood, even when separated by great distances.
An amused half-smile crossed his face as he scrutinized them. They stood on either side of the door, leaning slightly forward, heads bowed, hands behind their backs, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. He was faintly reminded of the matching stone lions that some of his neighbors placed on either side of their front drives. Except that these lions were actually deadly.
His smile changed from amused to almost paternal as he deepened his scrutiny. The pair definitely stood apart as some of his finest work. Physically superior, they also had sharp minds, and only such morals as he had chosen to instill in them. Which was to say, very few morals at all. They would kill for him, both had on more than one occasion, and neither had ever been troubled by anything quite as petty as guilt. They would have been dangerous if not for their loyalty to him. As it was, they were the perfect tools.
Ian had not much changed in ten years. Cailean had changed, but only enough that she resembled Ian more now than ever before in her thirty years of existence. She was prettier, certainly, but in form and manner she resembled him more than could reasonably be considered normal for siblings. He had no doubt that she would prove every bit as valuable to him as Ian himself had over the years. Perhaps even more so.
"Come here..." he ordered quietly. Both started forward, but he held up his hand, forestalling Ian. "You stay there. You come here, Cailean."
Cailean approached quickly, keeping her head respectfully bowed. Or perhaps it was simply fear that kept her head down. Irons nodded approvingly as she came to a stop five feet from him. She had not willingly come closer to him than that since she had been seven, a fact which did not entirely displease him. She was less complacent than Ian, knew her place better, a trait which Irons had always taken pains to encourage. He closed the distance between them and came to a stop directly next to her. Although she made no move or protest, or, for that matter, any indication that she was aware of his presence, he could sense that she was not enjoying his proximity.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her lowered eyes, allowing his fingers to brush against her skin, almost eliciting an overt response. He saw her sway slightly on her feet before composing herself. In anyone else, it would have been too minor to even be considered a response. From Cailean, it was something akin to a startled scream.
Cailean swallowed hard and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had that smug look on his face, the one that said that he knew full well that his touch was abhorrent to her for the memories that came with it. She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to regulate her breathing, reminding herself that fear was the most counterproductive of emotions, that it would gain her nothing. She knew full well what the caress foreshadowed, knew that there was nothing that she could do to prevent it, knew that she had to accept it, just as she always had in the past.
Without raising her head, she glanced from Irons to Ian. She could feel the anger radiating off of him in waves, like heat from a fire. It was a wonder that even the insensitive Irons could not feel it. Ian raised his head slightly, glaring at Irons. He could feel Cailean's discomfort and apprehension and, ultimately, her acceptance of the inevitable. That angered him the most, that any woman should ever be forced to accept what Cailean had been quietly accepting since the age of seventeen.
"And how was your training?" Irons breathed in her ear, wondering what other responses he could draw from her during this interview.
Cailean kept her eyes on the ground, focused only on getting through the interview as quickly as possible. If he was in a good mood at the end, he might even grant her some private time with Ian. "Productive, my Master. I have learned many things."
"And did you miss me?" Irons muttered, moving behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders.
Because he was behind her, he could not see her eyes close as she spoke, but he must have felt the spasm that shook her petite frame. "I reminded myself continuously that I was away from you that I might serve you better, my Master." She opened her eyes again and stole a sideways glance at Ian. He was pale, angry, and swaying slightly on his feet. "But that is over now, my Master."
Ian, no... she pled mentally, afraid that he might say or do something foolish.
Ian started slightly, glancing at her curiously. After a brief internal battle, he dropped his head again and resumed his normal posture, still angry with Irons, but unwilling to disobey his sister's gentle plea.
Irons nodded. "Yes, it is over now. We can be together again. Would you like that, Cailean?"
Why does he enjoy doing this? She experienced a fleeting suspicion that a great measure of his pleasure in this 'game' came not from Cailean's reaction at all, but from antagonizing Ian. Otherwise, he surely would not have forced Ian to watch the interplay. She wondered how he would have felt if he had known what a dangerous game he was playing in that respect. Irons was, perhaps, the only person who knew Ian's potential and still made the mistake of underestimating him.
"I am my Master's to command. As always." She breathed another silent plea to Ian to compose himself before Irons realized how upset he truly was. Irons might forgive minor irritation simply because he was amused by it, but Ian was, behind his controlled exterior, furious, and Irons would never tolerate that from him. It would have been dangerous.
Irons nodded and circled around her. He cupped her chin in his hands and slowly forced her head up. It looked like a gentle gesture, but a lesser woman would have been left with bruises for a week. He examined her face thoughtfully for several minutes, turning it this way or that to get a better look, almost as if he were scrutinizing a racehorse he was about to purchase instead of a human-being. Cailean actually preferred the impersonal examination to the previous, more tender touches.
"Have your fighting skills improved?" Irons finally asked, releasing her.
She immediately resumed the subservient posture that she had been in before. "My tutors tell me so, my Master."
"Take your coat off."
Although she frowned faintly, confused by the request, she obeyed instantly, holding it in her hands and awaiting further instruction.
"You, too, Ian."
Curious, Ian slid his own coat off.
"Put them on the coat-rack. We're going to have a friendly contest. I want to see what the two of you are capable of."
They quickly hung their coats up and stood before Irons, waiting. Irons examined the two of them thoughtfully.
"As I recall, Ian, the last several times that the two of you have fought, your sister has been the victor."
"Yes." Ian nodded faintly.
"Who do you think will win this time?"
"Unless her skills have deteriorated over the years, I must assume that Cailean will."
Irons nodded thoughtfully. "You could afford to learn from her."
"Yes, Master." Ian nodded.
"Cailean, who do you think will win?"
"I am inclined to agree with Ian's assessment, my Master."
"You could afford to learn from Ian, too, I see."
Cailean hesitated. "Yes, my Master."
"You disagree?" Irons asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It is not my place to agree or to disagree, my Master, but to bow to your superior knowledge and experience."
Irons nodded with approval, not sensing the sarcasm in her quiet voice. "You see, Ian?" he asked, not taking his gaze from Cailean. "Tell me about your creation, Cailean."
Cailean hesitated for a split-second before answering, surprised by the question. "I was created by you, out of Ian, my Master."
Irons nodded. "Very good. And do you know what that makes you?"
"A made creature, my Master, less than human."
Irons caught her chin in his hand again and jerked it up, squeezing hard. "More than human, Cailean!" he hissed, angry to hear one of his crowning achievements describe herself as anything other than superior.
"More than human, my Master..." she repeated quietly, dropping her eyes.
Irons let her head drop again, scowling at her. "Tell me about the Witchblade."
"It is Power, my Master, older than mankind itself. It chooses a wielder, marks that person, connects them to itself forever..." She paused, then continued. "It also has a habit of abandoning its wielder in their hour of most dire need."
Irons nodded, apparently satisfied. "What do you know of the Wielder?"
"Her name is Sara Pezzini, my Master, a police detective."
Irons nodded again. "Could you overcome her in hand-to-hand combat?"
Ian glanced up, startled. He caught Irons glaring at him and dropped his head again.
Cailean shook her head. "Not while she wore the Witchblade, my Master."
Irons nodded, pleased to see that her abilities had not made her overconfident. "Very good. Now, let's see how you can fare against your brother." He stepped away from them, moving his armchair closer to the fire and retrieving his glass of sherry. "Proceed." He smiled faintly. "Oh, and children?" They paused, listening attentively. "Do try not to kill each other, hmm?" He smiled absently. "Begin."
Ian and Cailean bowed to Irons and then to each other. Irons sat down and watched curiously. It was always diverting to watch the two fight, to compare the tactics of two individuals who were virtually identical in terms of their genetics and training. But individuals they were, and their tactics when they fought reflected the fact. Cailean, normally so quiet and submissive, became a confident, aggressive creature, undaunted by anything thrown her way. Ian, normally the more confident and meticulous, was confused by his smaller, weaker sister's continuing ability to prevail in these contests, and it made him tentative and, ultimately, sloppy.
Or so Irons thought. Cailean had always seen the matter more clearly. Ian was a warrior, and, like the heroic warriors who had come before him, he had a weakness. His weakness, though, was not pride or cowardice but his own heart. It was hard for Ian to cause harm to those few that he cared about, even during friendly bouts. He had never understood, as Cailean had, that to hold back was to invite punishment. And so Cailean invariably won, sparing both of them from a much greater pain and humiliation.
Others might not have understood it, but Cailean and Ian truly enjoyed fighting with each other. With, but never against. They so seldom faced truly worthy adversaries that any opportunity to hone their skills against one was welcomed. Their telepathic bond, forged in childhood, perhaps as a result of years of chemical and genetic alterations to their bodies and brains, served to turn combat into something infinitely more intimate than a simple fight. It became an act of Communion for the two.
The bond itself was their one secret from their Master, a private defiance against his early attempts to play them against each other. Failing that, he had isolated them as best as he could, forbidding them even to speak in each other's presence. So they did not speak, but it did not stop them from conversing. It had started as a game for them, but had quickly become a necessity, allowing them to survive a brutal and isolated upbringing more or less emotionally intact.
Even in adulthood, it conferred a certain freedom on them. Neither of them could have been described as having a sense of humor, but in the privacy of their minds, they teased each other in much the same way as any loving siblings would. The context was different, but the emotion behind it was similar.
You've always said that I have a lovely face, Ian. Cailean told him as they circled. Surely you wouldn't want to mar it?
Your good looks are safe with me, child.
I'd say the same, brother, but you have no good looks to spare.
Sister, you wound me! Ian laughed mentally.
No casual observer, even if he had known of their bond, would have guessed at the gentle banter passing between them. As they circled, they eyed each other like hungry predators, waiting for the ideal opportunity to strike.
I've missed you, Cailean.
Cailean moved in, feinting with her right hand. As Ian's hand bobbed up to block her, she delivered a crushing blow to his abdomen with her stronger left hand, knocking the wind out of him. An experienced boxer, Cailean added the momentum gained from that punch to the follow-through roundhouse she delivered. Ian recovered with more speed than even Cailean would have thought possible, managing to swing his head out of the way and avoiding more than a glancing blow. It would leave a mark, to be sure, but it would not even slow Ian down.
I've missed you, too, Ian. Afraid I can't say the same for our... employer.
Instinctively, Cailean's head moved to indicate Irons. She was instantly aware that she had made a mistake, and hurried to correct, managing only to swing her head directly into the back of Ian's opened hand. Her lip split as it connected with his ring, the ring that she had given him before her departure ten years ago.
Oh, you kept it! How sweet, Ian.
She could taste her own blood, but refused to be troubled by the fact. The fight had just gotten interesting. She ducked under Ian's jab-hook combination only to find herself on the receiving end of a kick to the chest. She flew backwards under the impact, amazed that no ribs had been broken. As she hopped to her feet, one of her arms, spread for balance, made a glancing contact with a pedestal on which a priceless Ming vase was perched. The pedestal tottered for a few moments but did not fall. The vase was not so lucky.
I always hated that thing... she informed Ian as she circled out of his reach.
Carefully, deliberately, Cailean edged Ian into a corner, closer to a glass display-case full of 'trinkets', rare and priceless pieces from all over the world. She feinted with another punch, and when he threw his arm up to block, she caught it firmly in both hands. Using her weight to counterbalance his own, she threw him into the display-case. As he connected with it, he cried out, tears springing to his eyes.
Ian, are you okay?
Fine. I just got cut by the glass.
Most of those artifacts which were not destroyed when Cailean threw her brother into the case were destroyed when Ian struggled to pull himself to his feet. He managed to free himself from the wreckage with nothing more than a few minor cuts and bruises.
You know, Cailean, Master always loved those pieces... Ian chided gently.
I know. Cailean sounded gleeful. Did you see the look on his face?
Yes. It was... enjoyable.
Cailean used the delay caused by Ian's attempts to pull himself from the wreckage of the display case to dodge out of his sight and quickly ascend the stair-case to the sitting-room's upper level. Irons shifted in his chair, growing increasingly disquieted. From his point of view, the fight was turning exceedingly vicious. From the upper level, Cailean observed the look on his face and projected it to her brother so that he could share in her amusement. There was something so satisfying in forcing the man to squirm, even a little, after everything that he had done to them.
Dismissing her amusement as ill-timed, she launched herself, feet first, over the railing, landing directly in front of Ian, who had finally managed to disentangle himself from the remains of the cabinet. She delivered a pair of right jabs, followed by a brutal left uppercut. Ian's head snapped back and he staggered backwards a few steps.
You're holding back, Ian. Stop it. If he suspects, he'll punish us.
So make it look convincing.
As Cailean tried to figure out this cryptic remark, Ian delivered a left to her ribcage and a right to her jaw in rapid succession. He could have broken her jaw as easily as, moments before, she could have broken his. Shortly after her first series of genetic enhancements, Cailean had failed to pull one of her punches, leaving Ian with a broken jaw, eating through a straw for almost a month. He could easily have done the same to Cailean, but there was simply no point. Irons was trying to test their skills, not their pain tolerance. Or, rather, not just their pain tolerance.
That looked like a smile, Ian... Allow me to wipe it off of your formerly pretty face for you before our Master sees it.
Try not to be so smug, child. You know how he feels about arrogance. Ian seemed faintly troubled as he sent this message to her.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Cailean launched herself at Ian with a blinding flurry of kicks and punches. Ian retreated into the corner, blocking as well as he could and managing to land a few blows himself. He found himself pinned in a corner, directly underneath a priceless Monet, and redoubled his defensive barrage against Cailean. Their mingled blood, saliva, and sweat splattered the surface of the canvas, making the water-lily look like something out of a horror-movie.
"Enough!" Irons bellowed, half-rising.
He stared at his beloved painting in shock, then slowly took in the remains of his once-lovely sitting-room, assessing the damage. It was like a sick parody of a MasterCard commercial. Priceless, priceless, priceless. He shook his head and sank back into his chair, suddenly remembering why he had long ago restricted their fights to the gymnasium. With shaking hands, he poured himself another glass of sherry. He jumped to his feet again, closing the distance to the corner of the room where the siblings still stood, surveying the room.
"Oops..." Cailean whispered, looking around with affected surprise before bowing her head.
Ian bit his lower lip and quickly assumed his subservient posture, hoping that they would be dismissed soon. His back hurt and he wanted to get some ice on his face before it swelled beyond all recognition. He had forgotten how punishing these 'friendly contests' with his sister could be, even if he did enjoy them.
"What was that?" Irons demanded of Cailean in a hiss, leaning close to her and brandishing a shard of the broken Ming.
"You said..." she began uncertainly.
"You just destroyed better than a million dollars worth of my property, Cailean..." Irons breathed in her ear. "And you didn't even win!"
Cailean bowed her head. "I would have, my Master..." she muttered.
Irons backhanded her. "I saw at least one opportunity that you failed to exploit, Cailean. You could easily have finished him when he was tangled in my display-case!"
"You said not to kill him, my Master..." Cailean whispered hastily.
Irons forced her head up, staring at her through narrow eyes. "Is that the only reason that you did not seize the opportunity. Because I said not to kill him?"
"I am a warrior, my Master. It does not befit a warrior to take a life needlessly or to prey on a helpless opponent."
Irons sneered at her, shaking his head. "I see. So... familial affection played no part?"
"None, my Master. It is not our place to yield to such things."
"You lie better than you used to..." Irons observed quietly. "If I catch you at it again, you will be punished most severely."
Cailean shifted slightly. "Yes, my Master."
"And, now that I have seen that the money I have expended on this aspect of your training has not been wasted, the two of you may go and become reacquainted."
Cailean bowed. "Thank you, my Master."
Ian nodded. "Thank you, Master."
"Go..." Irons ordered. As they back from the room, he frowned thoughtfully. "Ian, stay a moment."
Ian hesitated by the door, frowning. Cailean reached out as she walked behind him to leave, brushing a gloved finger against his hand.
Be good, Ian. Cailean closed the door behind her as she left.
For you, Cailean... he projected after her. I will... endeavor.
Ian approached Irons, head bowed. "Yes, Master?"
"When you retrieved your sister today, did you see Sara Pezzini?"
"Briefly."
"How did she look to you? Strong? Healthy?"
"Yes." Ian nodded and added, "Happier as well."
Irons frowned, faintly displeased. "I see." He poured himself another glass of sherry. "And how did your sister react to her?"
"She seemed in awe of Lady Sara. She bowed to her before she left."
Irons scowled. Cailean simply did not bow to people other than Irons himself. It was completely uncharacteristic. "Did she say anything to her?"
"She professed her innocence."
"Why to Sara? Was it Sara who arrested her?"
"No. She was arrested by another officer, a man. She spoke to no one else, not even the arresting officer." Ian's voice reflected his approval of that decision. There was no reason for her to potentially incriminate herself when Irons could make any pending charges disappear so easily.
"But she chose to talk to Sara?"
Ian hesitated. "Yes."
"Why?" Irons frowned.
Ian half-shrugged, worried that Irons was questioning Cailean's motives. Generally speaking, her behavior was less subject to scrutiny than his own, so this sudden interest worried him. "Perhaps she saw the Witchblade and assumed that the Lady Sara could be trusted. Perhaps she assumed a relationship with you based on the fact that the Lady Sara wore your property on her hand." He hesitated, wondering how to distract his master's attention from Cailean's actions. "She has been remote from recent events."
Irons slapped Ian, angry that he seemed to be questioning his decision to keep Cailean ignorant of recent events with regards to Sara. "I have a reason for every action! Never question me again!"
Ian bowed his head, unmoved by the act of violence. Cailean had made him promise to contain himself, and so he would. It had never been by threats or intimidation that Irons had controlled Ian, and they both knew it. Irons lashed out when frustrated, and Ian had lately been far more frustrating to Irons than ever in the past.
"When you see her again, you will find out why she chose to speak with Sara and you will find out exactly what she told her."
Ian nodded. "Of course."
"Now, tell me again about Sara."
"She seemed well, Master. Less bereft, more comfortable interacting with that partner of hers."
Irons frowned thoughtfully at the phrasing Ian had chosen. "Her partner? McCarty, isn't it? The one who came to see us during the Periculum?"
Ian nodded.
Irons nodded. "And you say she trusts this man?"
"She seems to."
"And do you trust him, Ian?" Irons asked, suspecting from Ian's tone of voice what the answer would be.
"No."
Irons smiled faintly. "Why ever not, Ian?"
"He reeks of secrecy and deception. He is not what he seems or who he claims to be."
"Is that all?"
"He is aware of Lady Sara's role in the Irish Massacre. He holds it in his hands to destroy her, and, beyond a brief silence in that matter, he has given no clear proof of his loyalty to her."
Irons nodded, smiling faintly. Sara's partner could turn out to be more useful than he had anticipated, if only to keep Ian distracted from his plans for Cailean. "Keep watch on this man, Ian. Do not trouble him, but neither should you let him threaten Sara in any way. Report anything you find back to me."
Ian nodded.
"I will also look into this matter myself."
Ian looked up, startled, but quickly dropped his head. The correction was so quick that he doubted that Irons had even noticed the original infraction.
Irons paused thoughtfully. "How did Sara act towards Cailean?"
Ian hesitated. "She seemed... confused."
"Confused? Why?"
"I do not know."
"Find out when you talk to Cailean."
"Of course."
"Do you have anything else to report?"
Ian shook his head. "No."
"How do you feel to see Cailean again, Ian?"
"Pleased."
"Pleased?" Irons repeated quietly.
"Her absence has been... affecting."
"Mmm." Irons nodded thoughtfully, reminding himself to keep a close watch on Ian while he implemented his plans for Cailean. "I'm glad that her return has pleased you, Ian."
"Master?" Ian asked in confusion. Irons seldom expressed any interest at all in the way that Ian felt, except occasional displeasure when Ian presumed to actually display his emotions.
"I had noticed that you have seemed... discontented for some time. I thought that perhaps her presence might quiet you." It was a lie, but perhaps a useful one.
"If I have displeased in any way..." Ian began, recognizing that the seeming concern for his emotional state was actually a veiled threat against Cailean should Ian step out of line again.
"Not at all, Ian!" Irons assured him magnanimously. "Your work is, as always, admirable. I have no complaints whatsoever."
Ian hesitated, not trusting Irons in the least. "Is this why you have called her back, then, Master? Simply for my sake?"
"For both of our sakes." Irons lifted his head up. "I have missed her as well, Ian." He was pleased and amused by the faintly angry expression on Ian's face. "As I am sure she has missed me..." he continued, turning his back to Ian and staring at the fire. He smiled. "I think it's safe to say that we have both been lonelier men without Cailean about. Wouldn't you agree, Ian?"
Ian gritted his teeth. "Yes..." he managed.
Irons smiled more broadly, not turning around. "That is all, Ian. Go, see our lovely Cailean."
"Thank you, Master." Ian bowed and left, clenching his fists at his sides.
Irons watched him go out of the corner of his eye, smiling reflectively. He had been wrong to assume that simple loyalty would always be all that was needed to keep Ian in line. Ian was growing unpredictable, a fact which made him harder to control, and Irons would have been a fool not to have been unsettled by the prospect of an uncontrollable Ian. Cailean's presence, and his fear for her well-being, would be a far superior means of controlling the assassin than simple loyalty to Irons himself could ever be.
And concern for her brother's welfare would keep Cailean under tighter control as well, if that were needed. Given Ian's recent reactions to Sara, it was easy to foresee Cailean hesitating in the task that he was going to lay on her. Loyalty to, and fear for, Ian would no doubt be all that was required to overcome any moral objections to her assignment.
As he stood in the shattered remains of his sitting-room he marveled that he had not thought of something so simple years ago. Yes, Cailean would be useful to him. In more ways than the ones that he had foreseen when he had recalled her.
