Chapter 6 -- a Good and Faithful Servant

Sara sighed as she climbed out of the shower. She had been hoping that Danny would show up once she got home, but she had not seen him yet. She wrapped a towel around her hair and pulled on her boxers.

"Where are you when I need you, Danny..." she muttered, pulling on an undershirt.

"Waiting for you to get decent."

Sara spun around and saw Danny standing by the bathroom door with his back to her. "Smart-ass..." she muttered.

"Well, you know, I figured I'd give you time for a shower. I know I'd want one if I'd spent an evening getting groped by Irons. Oh, I'm sorry, he wants us to call him Kenneth tonight." He made a face.

"Don't remind me." Sara slid past him and dropped onto her bed. "God, that man makes me sick."

"You don't seem to mind his boyfriend, though."

Sara smiled up at him. "Aw, come on Danny, you think Nottingham's hot, don't you?"

"Nottingham? He's okay. Now Tommy Lee is hot." Danny smiled and shook his head, amused. "What is it with you two, though, Sara?" he asked more seriously.

"Nothing, Danny. There's nothing. He's my stalker, that's all."

"Didn't look that way to me. You two seemed to be sharing some pretty intense visions tonight."

"Sharing?" Sara shook her head. "No, Danny, it doesn't work like that."

Danny folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. "Sara..."

Sara blinked in sudden remembrance. "'Forgive me. You were never meant to see that...'" she muttered. She shook her head in confusion. "How the hell does that work?" she demanded, frustrated. Her face grew red as it suddenly occurred to her that, if Nottingham had been aware of her vision of him being beaten, he might also have shared in the vision on the dance-floor. "Jeez..." she muttered, shaking her head. Good thing that things between them were so awkward normally, because that would just cap it. She would probably not be able to look him in the eye again ever. Not that he ever looked her in the eye. Embarrassment gave way to irritation and frustration.

"What did you see, Sara?" Danny prompted gently. "What did he show you?"

Sara decided not to share the dance-floor vision with Danny. She was having a hard enough time dealing with her own reaction to it without having to justify herself about it to Danny.

"He didn't show me anything! I told him that I hoped his back felt better, I was wondering what he did to it, and then I saw..." She looked up at Danny, frowning and shaking her head. "Irons beat him, Danny. He had a whip or something and he just..." she trailed off, feeling nauseous at the memory. "Nottingham just sat there and let him do it. Danny, why would anyone let someone else do that to them?"

He shook his head, troubled by her obvious distress. "I... I don't know, Sara. What else did you see?" he asked slowly, hoping that at least some of it was better than the vision of Nottingham getting beaten.

There was a very real affinity between the two that he had somehow missed before, and Sara deserved at least one live man in her life who was willing to be totally straight with her. He loved Sara dearly and was always glad to help her out in whatever way he could, but she needed a friend who could hold her hand when she was upset, someone who cared about her as much as Danny himself did. He was beginning to wonder if Ian might not be that person.

"I saw just exactly what a cold bastard Irons really is. Danny, the man is evil."

"You only just figured this out?"

Sara shook her head. "Danny, if you had seen what I saw tonight, the things that man has done to Nottingham and to Cailean..." she trailed off, unable to continue. She had witnessed as many acts of brutality today as she normally witnessed in a year as a homicide detective and she was physically and psychologically exhausted by it.

"Try to get some rest, Sara..." Danny suggested gently. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks, partner." Sara rolled her eyes and dropped onto the bed. She pulled up her blanket and turned off the light. "You going to keep hovering?"

"Hovering. Ghost humor... Cute." Danny grinned at her.

"Are you?" Sara asked seriously.

"Do you want me to?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah, actually, I do. After the evening I've had, I'm feeling fairly freaked out."

"Okay, Sara." Danny knelt next to the bed. "I'll sit up with you, for what that's worth."

"It's worth a lot, Danny." Sara smiled at him. "Thank you."

Danny smiled shyly, pleased. "Night, Sara." As he watched Sara drift off to sleep, the feeling of disquiet that he had been feeling since the day before began to return. For some reason, whatever was about to happen in Sara's life had left him more unsettled than he had been by the Periculum.

***

"It's a shame that fair Sara had to leave us so early..." Irons muttered, sipping a glass of scotch in his now-clean sitting-room.

The shards of glass and pottery on the floor had been cleared away and the shattered display-case removed and was in the process of being rebuilt, along with such of its contents as could be returned to their original condition. The Ming vase had been replaced by a slightly larger vase from the Chen Dynasty until Irons could lay hands on another Ming that matched the sitting-room's decor. The Monet had been sent to a professional restorer who had taken one look at it and declared it irretrievable. An original M.C. Escher drawing now occupied the Monet's position on the wall, complete with a personalized inscription: To my good friend Ken with best wishes on your birthday. Parallel lines always meet... It had been that off-handed comment by Irons that had inspired Escher to adopt his unique style in the first place.

Ian stood next to the fireplace in his traditional pose. Cailean knelt on the ground next to her Master's chair, staring at the ground.

"Still, overall I'd have to call the party a success. Wouldn't you agree, Cailean?"

"Yes, my Master." She nodded.

"How's the hand?" Irons asked, extending his own with a snap.

Cailean obediently extended her splinted hand for examination. "There is some pain still, my Master, but it is not serious."

Irons nodded in approval and dropped her hand. "Sara's display tonight was troubling..." he remarked absently before lapsing back into silence.

Did you enjoy your dance with Lady Sara, Ian?

Very much so, Cailean. I... perhaps enjoyed it too much. I did not guard myself as well as I could have. It could have gone ill.

I kept him distracted.

For which I am grateful, Cailean, but it was dangerous. For both of us. Ian hesitated before admitting, Still, I would do it again in an instant.

"Do you think she might be ill?" Irons asked, lightly resting his hand on top of Cailean's head.

"She seemed, perhaps, tired, my Master, but certainly not ill..." Cailean answered guardedly.

Irons nodded and slid his hands down her face, lifting her chin up so that he could look her in the eyes. "Ready for bed, my dear?"

Cailean swallowed hard, fighting against the wave of nausea that she always experienced in response to that question. She hated the way he asked as though she had some choice in the matter, but she was careful to stifle that response. If he saw any resistance in her, he had the ability to make the rest of her evening agonizing. She could feel the anger and frustration radiating off of Ian, echoing her own, more carefully guarded, sentiments.

Say no... Ian begged her. Tell him no.

Cailean wished for nothing more than to do what Ian said, but she knew how these things worked. Irons owned both of them, and he had never hesitated to take out his frustration with the disobedience of one on the other. She was less afraid that Irons might punish her if she said no than she was that he might decide to punish Ian. So close on the heels of the last two beatings, a third could easily have proved too much even for her brother.

"I... am if... if my M... Master says I am..." she finally managed in a shaking voice.

Irons chuckled lightly. "That's my girl. Let's go, then."

Ian moved swiftly from his place by the fire and dropped to his knees in front of Irons before the older man could rise. He stared at the ground as he spoke. "Master, Cailean has had a very long two days. She must be exhausted. It might be better if she were to go directly to sleep tonight. You can... find someone else to share your bed tonight, I'm sure."

Cailean stared at her brother, too shocked to react.

Irons regarded Ian in surprise for several minutes. A slow smile spread across his face. "Young Nottingham, are you actually offering yourself to me in your sister's place?" he asked, amused. He had, of course, fantasized about the strong, handsome young man more than once, but the idea that Ian might actually offer himself up for the taking had never once occurred to him.

Ian was shaking, but he nodded. "I am."

Ian, have you taken leave of your senses? Cailean demanded. You can't do this.

The offer has already been made. I can not retract it now.

Why, Ian? Why would you do such a thing?

I am tired of standing by as he hurts you. I will not. Not any longer.

Irons placed his drink down and leaned forward, lifting Ian's face in his hands. "It's an intriguing offer, I admit..." he muttered, caressing Ian's face thoughtfully. He was seriously considering accepting. After all, Ian was a physically superior specimen.

Cailean... Ian began, sensing Cailean's growing anxiety, which seemed almost greater than his own.

No, Ian! You have no idea what you are offering! You should never have put the idea into his head. Never do this again!

I don't understand, Cailean. Ian was troubled as to why she was not grateful to him for trying to extract her from a situation that she clearly loathed the very thought of.

That's just the problem, Ian. You have no understanding of what you offer. I know that the Black Dragons taught you never to go into a situation with all the facts, and that is what you are doing here. Never again, Ian. Cailean kept her mental voice stern, not out of anger with Ian, but out of fear for him.

"My Master..." Cailean began, struggling to keep her voice steady. "This is not..."

"Silence, child..." Irons ordered, holding up two fingers. The old fear was back in her voice, reminding him of old times. She was gorgeous when she was afraid. "It's an intriguing offer..." he repeated, nodding and returning his attention to Ian, who was shaking in his gentle grasp. Definite possibilities here as well.

It was a shame really that he was no longer as young as he had once been. Taking the two of them together could have made for an entertaining, if exhausting, evening.

He scrutinized Ian's face carefully, amused by the obvious fear there. He brushed his fingers over the younger man's lips, gauging his response. Ian flinched noticeably, drawing a reflective smile from Irons. The young man was not afraid. He was terrified. Definite possibilities there. Even Cailean had stopped being afraid after a few years, and, properly managed, fear could be almost as much fun as enthusiasm.

Ian was still shaking in his grasp. Perhaps he had finally stumbled upon a method of controlling him? He shook his head, reminding himself that Ian was completely inexperienced. This in itself was not a bad thing, per se, but in order to do his job, Ian required total control and concentration. There could be no distractions, and Ian discovering that he enjoyed sex, especially at this late date, definitely qualified as a distraction. Cailean's early exposure and her artificially diminished libido allowed her to control her urges and keep her mind firmly on her task. For Ian, it was likely too late.

Which was a shame. Irons had seen the man in action. Ian had elevated the art of combat to a form of physical poetry, and this was mirrored in every move he made in any task. Irons had no doubt that it would have carried over quite well to romance. Neither did it hurt that the younger man was stunningly attractive and unbelievably strong and flexible. And those hands of his, both strong and gentle, capable one moment of breaking a man's neck and the next of soothing away a child's tears. An evening with Ian would have been truly unforgettable.

"Go to bed, Ian..." Irons ordered with a regretful sigh.

Ian, just go! Cailean ordered when Ian hesitated.

Irons held up a hand to keep Ian from leaving. "I have deliberately limited your exposure to these things for a reason, young Nottingham. Your training could suffer immensely as a result of exposure to these concepts and sensations now." He smiled at Ian, who bowed his head, not wanting to meet his master's eye. "Which is a shame, really. Go now."

When Cailean echoed the order, Ian slunk off, confused and worried. He felt dirty all over from that brief, strange contact. How would Cailean feel when Irons was through with her?

His thoughts were confused, turbulent. He had been horrified that Irons would accept his offer, but at the same time horrified that he might decline. Now he simply felt shame and an almost overwhelming sadness. He could not quite understand why Cailean had been so distressed when he had offered to take her place, but he had sensed that she was not so much angry as protective, fearful that he might get hurt. Never in his life had he felt as confused as in this moment. Not knowing what else to do, he fled to his room.

Irons smiled at Cailean. "Child, why did you wish me to decline Ian's offer?" he asked quietly.

Cailean stared at the ground again. "I love and respect my brother dearly, but there are things that, even at his age, he can not understand. It would only confuse him." This, of course, was a lie. Cailean had long since grown used to it, but Irons would have brutalized the inexperienced Ian. "As you yourself pointed out, my Master, this could cause permanent damage to his training."

Irons nodded, knowing full well that she was lying. He forced her head up, wanting to look into her eyes as she took in his next statement. "Your tutors inform me that you have picked up some very bad habits, Cailean."

She dropped her eyes, not answering.

"You betray yourself, my dear." He rose, stepping past her as if she were not there, forcing her to lean out of his way. "Heroin, my dear? Dreadfully old-fashioned, don't you think? Low-brow as well..."

"It dulls the pain that resulted from the experiments..." Cailean muttered, closing her eyes. She wondered if he had risen to retrieve the lash.

"I know. That's why I told your tutors to allow you to continue in the practice..." Irons whispered in her ear.

Cailean glanced up in surprise. He was holding a flat, wooden box in his hands. "My Master?" she asked in confusion.

"Once it became clear that the drugs did not interfere with your performance, I saw no reason to take your little hobby from you, Cailean. I admit that I was initially concerned about side-effects, which is why I had the good Doctor Immo synthesize the drug which you've been using for the past three years."

"I... I don't understand..." Cailean began, shaking her head in confusion. Manipulative bastard! she thought, furious with him.

"Your... suppliers have all worked for me. They've given you only what I tell them to, dear." Irons handed her the box. "Wouldn't want you damaging my property after all."

He smiled at her and sat down again. The truth was that the decrease in side-effects from Immo's new formula was a secondary gain. When Irons had discovered that Cailean was using drugs recreationally, he had felt his control over her slipping. Rather than try to force Cailean to quit taking the drugs, Irons had seized upon the habit as a more subtle method of controlling her behavior. Immo's blend gave the same sense of euphoria as any opiate, in fact to a slightly greater degree than most. It also led to increased docility and complacency. And it was extremely habit-forming. Without even being aware of the substitution, Cailean had become hooked with her first dose, reinforcing her dependency on Irons.

Cailean glanced down at the box with shaking hands. His property, he had called her, as if allowing her to think of herself as a human for even a single day would have been detrimental.

"Go ahead, dear." Irons smiled warmly. "I admit, I've been curious as to how you manage to inject yourself without leaving visible bruises. Show me."

There was no point in resisting. Not only would he have punished her, probably, the evil bastard, by telling Ian about her 'habit', but she needed it very badly right now. Furious with him for his intrusion into the only private act she had left, Cailean nodded and opened the box. She uncapped the syringe and picked up the vial of amber liquid, expertly sliding the needle through the rubber stopper and drawing up several CCs of the drug. Although she resented her master's intrusion into it, there was no point in feeling any shame over the act. It made her life more tolerable and dulled the memories of past abuses. Maybe it would make tonight more tolerable as well.

Without looking at Irons, she slid off her left shoe and found a good vein between her toes.

"An interesting trick..." Irons remarked, casually. "Commonly used by street-junkies, isn't it?"

"I believe so, my Master." She nodded and injected herself, closing her eyes. Within a few minutes, she would be impervious to anything that he cared to throw her way.

Irons smiled fondly as he watched her slowly relax under the influence of the drug. In Cailean, he had what he would never have in Ian, a servant both loyal and lethal who was also totally controllable. Ian displayed an alarming streak of independence, something which Irons believed had long since been beaten out of Cailean. Ian existed to serve Irons, and to serve the Wielder. Cailean existed only to serve Irons, in whatever way he asked her to, no matter how distasteful she may have found it.

"Now are you ready for bed?"

"Yes, my Master."

He nodded. "Splendid. There is, however, one thing that we must discuss first."

"Of course, my Master." Cailean's voice was calm, but she felt suddenly anxious, afraid of what he might now want of her.

"You have now spoken to fair Sara twice."

"Yes, my Master..." she said, her anxiety increasing.

"Your assessment of her?"

"She is a strong woman with a strong Will. She is charming when she cares to be and kind when it suits her, but equally capable of being... less than forgiving."

Irons nodded. "Go ahead, Cailean. Surely you have more to say of her than that?"

Cailean nodded slowly, feeling relieved by the direction of the questioning. It seemed that, perhaps, all he really wanted to do was test the value of the psychology degree that he had forced her to get. She was more than willing to supply a vague profile of Lady Sara if it meant avoiding more direct questions about herself or Ian.

"She is annoyed by attempts to control or direct her behavior. She speaks her mind readily without fear of repercussion. Her profession indicates that she is fascinated by death, although she would likely only admit to being disgusted by it. Death follows her, but she also follows death. In so doing, she is, in her own way, acknowledging the basic duality of life."

"And what is the basic duality of life?" Irons asked her, interested to see how many of her childhood lessons she still retained.

"Death cannot exist without life. Life leads to death. But likewise, life could not continue without death. Death leads to life. The same is true of good and evil, light and darkness, freedom and servitude."

Irons nodded. "You say that Sara is strong. Is this strength merely physical?"

She shook her head. The almost constant pain there was beginning to recede as the drug took effect. "She has passed the Periculum. This indicates a great strength of Will and a desire to endure in this life. That any woman could pass the Periculum in the times of crisis that it inevitably occurs in speaks to a strength that surpasses and transcends the physical. This is what separates true Wielders from Pretenders."

Irons nodded. "But would you say that she is also physically strong?"

"The Witchblade favors women who are so. It then increases their natural abilities. Therefore, she must be very strong indeed."

"Could you defeat her in hand to hand combat?" Irons asked, trying to sound as thought the question was a hypothetical one.

"Not while she wore the Witchblade, my Master."

"Could you overcome her in some other way?"

Cailean was beginning to feel somewhat dreamy and very much at peace. The question did not seem at all odd or sinister to her, so she answered honestly. "Perhaps by subterfuge or if I were to take her by surprise."

Irons nodded, satisfied. "Cailean, it's time I told you why I have recalled you to the States."

"Yes, my Master..."

"As you are aware, Sara has passed the Periculum. This troubles me greatly."

"Why, my Master?"

"Because I can not control her. I had hoped to be able to control the Witchblade by controlling the woman who wears it. Since the Periculum, Sara has only grown stronger, harder to control. Therefore, I no longer see fit to allow her to wear my property on her wrist. You will retrieve it from her."

"My Master, now that she has passed the Periculum, the Witchblade will not willingly leave her while she remains alive and healthy..." Cailean pointed out.

"That is true, but I do want my property back. If fair Sara must die to accomplish this, it would be regrettable, of course, but also necessary."

Cailean glanced up at Irons with wide eyes. He was as good as ordering her to kill Sara. Even in her drug-induced haze, she recognized that, and knew that Sara's death would crush Ian. She also recognized that Irons knew how Ian would react as well. He simply did not care.

"Do you understand, Cailean?" Irons asked when she did not immediately answer.

She nodded. "Yes, my Master."

He smiled at her. "There's a good girl. Now, of course, we don't want to mention this to Ian. He's grown rather fond of her. Do not mention this to him, Cailean. That is an order." His tone was gentle, that of an indulgent parent, but Cailean knew better. He would kill her in a heartbeat if he disobeyed in this. She was not, for all her value to him, irreplaceable.

Cailean nodded slowly. It had occurred to her that the Witchblade could be very useful to her, but that Ian would not be able to understand that. She could use the Witchblade to purchase freedom for both of them. "Don't worry, my Master. I will not tell Ian."

"That's a good girl." He rose and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. "Bed time, dear."

Cailean nodded, grateful for the drug that allowed her mind to almost escape the bounds of her body. "Yes, my Master."

***

Ian could not sleep. His thoughts were alternately tormented by his embarrassment over all that had passed with Lady Sara at the party, concern for Cailean, and revulsion over the way that Irons had touched him earlier, which always led right back into concern for Cailean.

He was not surprised when she stole into his room several hours later.

Did he hurt you?

No, Ian. She looked up at him. I love you, Ian. Don't ever let anything convince you otherwise.

I could never believe anything else, Cailean.

Promise me, Ian.

I'll always love you, Cailean. You know that. Why are you acting like this?

Our Master seems to sense that we are closer to each other than we are to him... Cailean lied easily. The drug eliminated most of the guilt that she should have felt over the lie. The knowledge that she was doing it for Ian took care of the rest. He will try to drive a wedge between us. This was not a lie and they both knew it.

He will never succeed, Cailean.

"Can I sleep here tonight, Ian? I feel very lonely for some reason."

"Of course you can." Ian helped her into the bed and tucked her in.

Cailean, my beloved sister, you will never be alone as long as I draw breath.

I love you, Ian.

Cailean sighed and wrapped her arms around her brother, curling up against him. This was a habit that they had picked up as quite young children. Whenever Irons had hurt one of them, the other would be there for them. After a beating or some other humiliation, neither was able to sleep without the other there to comfort them.

Ian fell asleep quickly, lulled by Cailean's familiar presence. Cailean lay awake for many hours, considering what her Master had ordered her to do. She frequently glanced at Ian, who smiled in his sleep as he never did in waking, perhaps dreaming of Lady Sara. Lady Sara whom Cailean had been ordered to kill for no other reason, she knew, than because the woman had the strength to resist Irons.

A tear trickled down Ian's cheek as he slept, and Cailean gently smoothed it away, not bothering to do the same as her own tears began to fall. Ian loved Sara, and Cailean loved Ian, which made her reluctant to harm Sara. But Ian had spent his life as a slave, the same as Cailean. He would never possess Sara, or her love, until he was his own master, until Irons no longer ruled over him.

She would do it, she finally decided, but not for Irons. She was done being controlled by him. Ian would probably hate her forever for it, but she would do as Irons ordered. For Ian.