It is early. He knows that his ersatz son has not been home all night. He
knows because he has been waiting all night. He paces the sumptuous study
as he has for hours, pausing occasionally to glower at one of the room's
numerous portraits though he knows that the woman in them is oblivious.
She is slowly but surely taking something very valuable from him and he is
not happy. The boy has fallen under her spell once again despite all the
care he has taken over the decades to prevent it. The sullen, passive
insubordination that began the moment the new wielder took the Witchblade
has become open rebellion and no form of coercion has been enough to rein
him in.
His hand tingles and he strokes the scar reflexively. The Witchblade cannot shut him out even if it wants to. Conversely, he cannot block it either. He has the distinct, aggravating impression that it is currently laughing at him. The bond between wielder and warrior is becoming stronger by the moment and he can feel the gauntlet's smug approval. He understands its approbation. Together they are a formidable pair.
He knows it has always been inevitable that they would find one another. He has taken extraordinary measures to ensure that their meeting comes on his terms. He has arranged the acquisition of the Witchblade. He has orchestrated the upbringing of the warrior. He has searched for and stockpiled all possible sources of knowledge about any of them. With such painstaking care taken in all these elements it seems inevitable that the new wielder should be drawn to him.
Lose control of one, the Witchblade taunts, lose control of it all.
His hand burns and he tightens it into a fist. His restless pacing drives him from the study and he finds himself outside the boy's room. He enters, knowing with irritation that it will be unoccupied. It has been unoccupied for a month. It is excruciatingly neat. There is no personal ornamentation, never has been. He has made sure that the boy never grew attached to material possessions. That virtue makes it difficult to determine if anything is missing. The desktop is empty; there is nothing that will make a gratifying sound when it smashes. The thin blanket torn from the bed does not make any noise at all when tossed to the floor, but the disorder is somewhat soothing. The wardrobe is opened and shelves of black sweaters and slacks soon follow. He cannot tell if there are any fewer than there should be. Bureau drawers, he realizes with satisfaction, are things that crash agreeably when thrown.
His transient rage vented, he returns to the study. He knows at once that someone has been there in his absence. He knows of only one person who could have, who would have done so. There is a single sheet of paper in the center of his desk. He reads it. He reads it again in disbelief. He reads it a third time in anger. He throws the formal, impersonal letter of resignation into the fireplace and watches until it is nothing but ashes. Then he reaches for the telephone and informs his newly promoted head of security that the former head is no longer welcome on the premises. Use of deadly force to ensure compliance is acceptable. He holds no expectations that such dissuasion will be in any way successful, but it seems to be the appropriate action to take.
For the first time he regrets that the boy's training has been so impeccable and that his skills have been put to such extensive use in recent years. He admits ruefully that he cannot think of anyone left who is capable of killing the young traitor. For the first time a hint of doubt creeps in; perhaps he has underestimated the boy all along. He wonders if other designs have been running concurrently with his own. He does not linger on such thoughts extensively. There are still other plans to be set in motion. This situation, though regrettable, is not entirely unanticipated.
His hand tingles and he strokes the scar reflexively. The Witchblade cannot shut him out even if it wants to. Conversely, he cannot block it either. He has the distinct, aggravating impression that it is currently laughing at him. The bond between wielder and warrior is becoming stronger by the moment and he can feel the gauntlet's smug approval. He understands its approbation. Together they are a formidable pair.
He knows it has always been inevitable that they would find one another. He has taken extraordinary measures to ensure that their meeting comes on his terms. He has arranged the acquisition of the Witchblade. He has orchestrated the upbringing of the warrior. He has searched for and stockpiled all possible sources of knowledge about any of them. With such painstaking care taken in all these elements it seems inevitable that the new wielder should be drawn to him.
Lose control of one, the Witchblade taunts, lose control of it all.
His hand burns and he tightens it into a fist. His restless pacing drives him from the study and he finds himself outside the boy's room. He enters, knowing with irritation that it will be unoccupied. It has been unoccupied for a month. It is excruciatingly neat. There is no personal ornamentation, never has been. He has made sure that the boy never grew attached to material possessions. That virtue makes it difficult to determine if anything is missing. The desktop is empty; there is nothing that will make a gratifying sound when it smashes. The thin blanket torn from the bed does not make any noise at all when tossed to the floor, but the disorder is somewhat soothing. The wardrobe is opened and shelves of black sweaters and slacks soon follow. He cannot tell if there are any fewer than there should be. Bureau drawers, he realizes with satisfaction, are things that crash agreeably when thrown.
His transient rage vented, he returns to the study. He knows at once that someone has been there in his absence. He knows of only one person who could have, who would have done so. There is a single sheet of paper in the center of his desk. He reads it. He reads it again in disbelief. He reads it a third time in anger. He throws the formal, impersonal letter of resignation into the fireplace and watches until it is nothing but ashes. Then he reaches for the telephone and informs his newly promoted head of security that the former head is no longer welcome on the premises. Use of deadly force to ensure compliance is acceptable. He holds no expectations that such dissuasion will be in any way successful, but it seems to be the appropriate action to take.
For the first time he regrets that the boy's training has been so impeccable and that his skills have been put to such extensive use in recent years. He admits ruefully that he cannot think of anyone left who is capable of killing the young traitor. For the first time a hint of doubt creeps in; perhaps he has underestimated the boy all along. He wonders if other designs have been running concurrently with his own. He does not linger on such thoughts extensively. There are still other plans to be set in motion. This situation, though regrettable, is not entirely unanticipated.