Chapter 7
Approaching the periphery of her mistress's grounds Sara began preparing for the worst by squaring her shoulders and freeing her psyche from the confines of her mortal body. Lilith valued punctuality above all other traits save apathy and malice; this was not going to be a pleasant experience by any stretch of the imagination.
Reaching a guard wall one would expect on a castle, not a mansion; Sara smoothly swung herself over the demonic spikes and bits of glass sprouting from the 'fence'. The fence troubled her at a base level of primitive knowledge stored deep in the memory of her blood. Spikes had only one purpose back in the times of the wielder King Arthur and that she-demon Morgan le Fay: to hold the heads of ones enemies. Once on the other side Sara received a reminder from the witchblade in the form of a snake slithering sinuously around a stake on top an ancient battlement. Atop the spike her own sightless eyes stared back at her while ravens sung a discordant chorus of death. The snake writhed and melted, transforming into a woman with iced over cerulean eyes and long, ashen hair. Shuddering with the visual validation of her theories, and the veiled threat to her continued existence, she expertly picked the lock on the intimidating oak door.
She could count the number of visions the witchblade had graced her with on one hand, and they were always portents of doom. Entering the lavish, royal blue carpeted foyer that reeked of elegance and dominance she was greeted by one of Lilith's many 'diversions', an attractive man around thirty who was mostly likely an aspiring actor or accountant. Either would do, Lilith was only picky when it came to their ethics, or more specifically their lack of.
Snapping himself out of a daydream starring himself, a vault full of gold, and Lilith as a blushing bride, the accountant (in this case) rudely stuck a silver tray under Sara's nose. Nodding her acknowledgement of his worthless presence she deliberately lifted her eyes to his face in a manner reminiscent of Lilith, promising that showing such insolence would be adverse to his five year plan of getting rich and marrying the devil herself.
Now it was his turn to lower his head in fear of the utterly blood chilling hatred that lurked below the controlled surface of this girl. The girl that his wealthy benefactor owned. Shaking, he moved the antique tray back a fraction of an inch. Sara smiled and deliberately picked up a miniscule square of linen paper with her leather-clad hands.
"You may go.though I doubt my mistress will be requiring any further services. She generally deals with prying eyes by shutting them, permanently." She smirked slightly, and dropped her gaze back to the note and the one fingerprint marring it's surface. Sara did not bother to look up when the silver tray hit the floor with a muted thump and a small breeze ruffled her hair. Unfortunately, for him he could run, but as the saying goes, not hide. With previously hidden in trepidation she unfolded the note..
Sara,
You are quite worn out from your expenditures on this most eventful of days and therefore I have graciously moved the meeting you were not inclined to attend to tomorrow at 1pm. You will arrive promptly or I will be forced to take preventative measures.I advise you to assume that I have seen and heard everything. Consider this, for it is the fortune and fate of all infatuations~
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile.
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
L. Irons
Dropping the note as if it had burnt her hands, she slipped through a hidden door. The offending slip of paper was left on the ground like a discarded flag of surrender. Desolating muffling her anger and senses she finally found the way of the labyrinth of tunnels. Exiting the tunnel from a convenient vent located near the base of her bathroom wall Sara threw herself violently onto the elaborate four poster bed dominating her entirely black room and succumbed to the welcome oblivion of sleep. But the witchblade had other ideas.....
~*~
It was a dark night. A night when evil walked, masked in the guise of a Nazi soldier. The waning moon failed to penetrate the foot thick fog enshrouding the warren like streets of Paris. Sara stretched and shifted aching muscles. At last growing restless and feeling faint from accidentally locking her knees she perched lightly on the edge of a wooden bench. Once, twice, her eyelids drooped and twitched open again. The fatigue heavy orbs at last overpowered her, concealing jewel-toned eyes. Jerking awake at the sound of muffled footsteps echoing off coble stone she boldly reached into her trench coat for a gun. It was merely for intimidation purposes~ she possessed much more powerful, not to mention painful, weapons.
"Sie finden die ganze mein Kennzeichen in der Ordnung. Verlassen Sie jetzt, Sie wünschen mich nicht als Ihr Feind."
(You will find all of my identification in order. Now leave, you do not want me as your enemy.)
"Entspannen Sie Sich, Sara. Ist die irgendeine Weise, Ihren Teilnehmer zu grüßen?"
(Relax, Sara. Is that any way to greet your associate?)
Two strong arms descended onto her shoulders. She desperately fought the urge to put physical distance between her and her 'assailant'. Struggling to appear unruffled by his proximity she fluidly switched to English.
"Ah.Mr. Bronte. Has it been a productive evening satiating the Blade's bloodlust?" Sara smirked. She already knew the answer to that~ the scent of freshly spilled blood (not his) and sweat (his) lingered still.
"How can any form of lust ever be truly satiated?" he whispered, his breath teasing against her ear while running a finger down her cheek with agonizing slowness.
Swallowing, she was thankful that she was seated; the sensations and emotions he provoked unnerved her. Forcing a coldness she did not feel into her voice she replied, "A mirror image of Ares.pity. You are destined for more than a life stained in crimson."
"Perhaps. though bloodlust is a powerful thing. Desire for revenge. The desire for control. Should you control that desire? Or is it better left unleashed?" Skillfully he produced a thin piece of black silk from his sleeve. In one deft motion he secured it around her mesmerizing eyes. Gently he smoothed her hair away from the silk.
"You're disturbed. You feel you've lost control." Ian snorted derisively at the irony of the comment~ he was not the one currently blindfolded.
"Don't worry . you never had any to begin with. Believe in the Witchblade, Ian. It believes in you."
"If one cannot live ferociously ... why live?" He queried, sitting on the edge of a fountain meeting her veiled gaze. He could not help thinking that her eyes, even when exposed, only reflected and never revealed.
"True, without his flame the dragon is nothing." Sara conceded enjoying the battle of wits between the spy and assassin, wielder and protector. "Ah.but what is your flame? The witchblade. Your temper. Your uncontainable fury of hatred and thirst for revenge...You are much like the very code you seek to unravel~ an Enigma cloaked in a conundrum."
"You, you are my flame.the witchblade is merely a conduit, but you are the inciting force.never let the embers within your fortress of a heart be quenched, Sara." The heat in his voice was answered with a barely audible gasp.
With casual grace he stood up and closed the remaining distance between them. Slowly he sat down beside her and cupped her face in the hand not encumbered with the Blade. While with his other hand he pinioned her hands behind her back. Brushing his finger across her lips he sucked in a breath when she nipped playfully at him, then smiled wickedly. At that moment he could have sworn he saw at pair of opal fangs slide from their sheaths~ it was just an illusion generated by the gauntlet. Catching him off guard again she leaned forward and lightly bit the side of his neck, then licked the mark. She moved up to his ear and playfully nibbled the edge. At last she ceased the torment and captured his mouth in a kiss full of fire and the crispness of raw ice. Grabbing a handful of her lustrous hair he pulled her onto his lap and bit down on her full lips...
Just then the witchblade extended into full gauntlet form and a silver blur ricocheted off of it to sink into flesh. "Oh.Ian." Sara shuddered and attempted to speak.
Staring in horror at the crimson stain beginning on her chest and the witchblade still in gauntlet form Ian screamed a battle cry of rage and tore it from his wrist. Ping.ping.clank.the witchblade rolled, to rest at the base of the fountain, its eye swirling malevolently. "Sara, NO.the ring.call on its power!"
Covering the wound with his hand he sought frantically to stem the blood loss. "Ian.solve the Code.others will die.her cravings know no bounds.the war." Sara shuddered and coughed up blood. Desperate, she grasped the thread of her life force and allowed herself to channel the full power of the ring. Regaining a few minutes of her life her eyes glowed a feral yellow with the effort and closed only to flutter open again.
Staring in shock at the power that now possessed his consort he trembled involuntarily. "What do you see? Will Germany be victorious.democracy laid waste? Who is this woman?"
Laughing raspily she coughed once and spoke, ".you never consider the bigger picture do you? As for the woman.mother of all demons.shunned by Adam.you know her! Do not loose faith!" With feverish intensity she grasped his hand one last time and was still.
"How could you take her from me Blade? Thing of evil! How could you make me kill the very one I treasure most? I will not serve You; find another slave to do your bidding! I never asked for this 'privilege' and I don't want this duty!" After he finished his tirade the witchblade defied gravity and with magnetic intensity clamped back onto his wrist. For a few moments he struggled futilely to remove the sentient cuff but eventually gave in to his despair and anger.
Tears raining down his face he leaned over her and kissed her cold, lifeless lips a last time. Still kneeling beside her he whispered into her ear words that would transcend both life and death.. ~*~
Approaching the periphery of her mistress's grounds Sara began preparing for the worst by squaring her shoulders and freeing her psyche from the confines of her mortal body. Lilith valued punctuality above all other traits save apathy and malice; this was not going to be a pleasant experience by any stretch of the imagination.
Reaching a guard wall one would expect on a castle, not a mansion; Sara smoothly swung herself over the demonic spikes and bits of glass sprouting from the 'fence'. The fence troubled her at a base level of primitive knowledge stored deep in the memory of her blood. Spikes had only one purpose back in the times of the wielder King Arthur and that she-demon Morgan le Fay: to hold the heads of ones enemies. Once on the other side Sara received a reminder from the witchblade in the form of a snake slithering sinuously around a stake on top an ancient battlement. Atop the spike her own sightless eyes stared back at her while ravens sung a discordant chorus of death. The snake writhed and melted, transforming into a woman with iced over cerulean eyes and long, ashen hair. Shuddering with the visual validation of her theories, and the veiled threat to her continued existence, she expertly picked the lock on the intimidating oak door.
She could count the number of visions the witchblade had graced her with on one hand, and they were always portents of doom. Entering the lavish, royal blue carpeted foyer that reeked of elegance and dominance she was greeted by one of Lilith's many 'diversions', an attractive man around thirty who was mostly likely an aspiring actor or accountant. Either would do, Lilith was only picky when it came to their ethics, or more specifically their lack of.
Snapping himself out of a daydream starring himself, a vault full of gold, and Lilith as a blushing bride, the accountant (in this case) rudely stuck a silver tray under Sara's nose. Nodding her acknowledgement of his worthless presence she deliberately lifted her eyes to his face in a manner reminiscent of Lilith, promising that showing such insolence would be adverse to his five year plan of getting rich and marrying the devil herself.
Now it was his turn to lower his head in fear of the utterly blood chilling hatred that lurked below the controlled surface of this girl. The girl that his wealthy benefactor owned. Shaking, he moved the antique tray back a fraction of an inch. Sara smiled and deliberately picked up a miniscule square of linen paper with her leather-clad hands.
"You may go.though I doubt my mistress will be requiring any further services. She generally deals with prying eyes by shutting them, permanently." She smirked slightly, and dropped her gaze back to the note and the one fingerprint marring it's surface. Sara did not bother to look up when the silver tray hit the floor with a muted thump and a small breeze ruffled her hair. Unfortunately, for him he could run, but as the saying goes, not hide. With previously hidden in trepidation she unfolded the note..
Sara,
You are quite worn out from your expenditures on this most eventful of days and therefore I have graciously moved the meeting you were not inclined to attend to tomorrow at 1pm. You will arrive promptly or I will be forced to take preventative measures.I advise you to assume that I have seen and heard everything. Consider this, for it is the fortune and fate of all infatuations~
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile.
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
L. Irons
Dropping the note as if it had burnt her hands, she slipped through a hidden door. The offending slip of paper was left on the ground like a discarded flag of surrender. Desolating muffling her anger and senses she finally found the way of the labyrinth of tunnels. Exiting the tunnel from a convenient vent located near the base of her bathroom wall Sara threw herself violently onto the elaborate four poster bed dominating her entirely black room and succumbed to the welcome oblivion of sleep. But the witchblade had other ideas.....
~*~
It was a dark night. A night when evil walked, masked in the guise of a Nazi soldier. The waning moon failed to penetrate the foot thick fog enshrouding the warren like streets of Paris. Sara stretched and shifted aching muscles. At last growing restless and feeling faint from accidentally locking her knees she perched lightly on the edge of a wooden bench. Once, twice, her eyelids drooped and twitched open again. The fatigue heavy orbs at last overpowered her, concealing jewel-toned eyes. Jerking awake at the sound of muffled footsteps echoing off coble stone she boldly reached into her trench coat for a gun. It was merely for intimidation purposes~ she possessed much more powerful, not to mention painful, weapons.
"Sie finden die ganze mein Kennzeichen in der Ordnung. Verlassen Sie jetzt, Sie wünschen mich nicht als Ihr Feind."
(You will find all of my identification in order. Now leave, you do not want me as your enemy.)
"Entspannen Sie Sich, Sara. Ist die irgendeine Weise, Ihren Teilnehmer zu grüßen?"
(Relax, Sara. Is that any way to greet your associate?)
Two strong arms descended onto her shoulders. She desperately fought the urge to put physical distance between her and her 'assailant'. Struggling to appear unruffled by his proximity she fluidly switched to English.
"Ah.Mr. Bronte. Has it been a productive evening satiating the Blade's bloodlust?" Sara smirked. She already knew the answer to that~ the scent of freshly spilled blood (not his) and sweat (his) lingered still.
"How can any form of lust ever be truly satiated?" he whispered, his breath teasing against her ear while running a finger down her cheek with agonizing slowness.
Swallowing, she was thankful that she was seated; the sensations and emotions he provoked unnerved her. Forcing a coldness she did not feel into her voice she replied, "A mirror image of Ares.pity. You are destined for more than a life stained in crimson."
"Perhaps. though bloodlust is a powerful thing. Desire for revenge. The desire for control. Should you control that desire? Or is it better left unleashed?" Skillfully he produced a thin piece of black silk from his sleeve. In one deft motion he secured it around her mesmerizing eyes. Gently he smoothed her hair away from the silk.
"You're disturbed. You feel you've lost control." Ian snorted derisively at the irony of the comment~ he was not the one currently blindfolded.
"Don't worry . you never had any to begin with. Believe in the Witchblade, Ian. It believes in you."
"If one cannot live ferociously ... why live?" He queried, sitting on the edge of a fountain meeting her veiled gaze. He could not help thinking that her eyes, even when exposed, only reflected and never revealed.
"True, without his flame the dragon is nothing." Sara conceded enjoying the battle of wits between the spy and assassin, wielder and protector. "Ah.but what is your flame? The witchblade. Your temper. Your uncontainable fury of hatred and thirst for revenge...You are much like the very code you seek to unravel~ an Enigma cloaked in a conundrum."
"You, you are my flame.the witchblade is merely a conduit, but you are the inciting force.never let the embers within your fortress of a heart be quenched, Sara." The heat in his voice was answered with a barely audible gasp.
With casual grace he stood up and closed the remaining distance between them. Slowly he sat down beside her and cupped her face in the hand not encumbered with the Blade. While with his other hand he pinioned her hands behind her back. Brushing his finger across her lips he sucked in a breath when she nipped playfully at him, then smiled wickedly. At that moment he could have sworn he saw at pair of opal fangs slide from their sheaths~ it was just an illusion generated by the gauntlet. Catching him off guard again she leaned forward and lightly bit the side of his neck, then licked the mark. She moved up to his ear and playfully nibbled the edge. At last she ceased the torment and captured his mouth in a kiss full of fire and the crispness of raw ice. Grabbing a handful of her lustrous hair he pulled her onto his lap and bit down on her full lips...
Just then the witchblade extended into full gauntlet form and a silver blur ricocheted off of it to sink into flesh. "Oh.Ian." Sara shuddered and attempted to speak.
Staring in horror at the crimson stain beginning on her chest and the witchblade still in gauntlet form Ian screamed a battle cry of rage and tore it from his wrist. Ping.ping.clank.the witchblade rolled, to rest at the base of the fountain, its eye swirling malevolently. "Sara, NO.the ring.call on its power!"
Covering the wound with his hand he sought frantically to stem the blood loss. "Ian.solve the Code.others will die.her cravings know no bounds.the war." Sara shuddered and coughed up blood. Desperate, she grasped the thread of her life force and allowed herself to channel the full power of the ring. Regaining a few minutes of her life her eyes glowed a feral yellow with the effort and closed only to flutter open again.
Staring in shock at the power that now possessed his consort he trembled involuntarily. "What do you see? Will Germany be victorious.democracy laid waste? Who is this woman?"
Laughing raspily she coughed once and spoke, ".you never consider the bigger picture do you? As for the woman.mother of all demons.shunned by Adam.you know her! Do not loose faith!" With feverish intensity she grasped his hand one last time and was still.
"How could you take her from me Blade? Thing of evil! How could you make me kill the very one I treasure most? I will not serve You; find another slave to do your bidding! I never asked for this 'privilege' and I don't want this duty!" After he finished his tirade the witchblade defied gravity and with magnetic intensity clamped back onto his wrist. For a few moments he struggled futilely to remove the sentient cuff but eventually gave in to his despair and anger.
Tears raining down his face he leaned over her and kissed her cold, lifeless lips a last time. Still kneeling beside her he whispered into her ear words that would transcend both life and death.. ~*~