~
Sara stared down at the Gauntlet as its forked tongue tested the air. Carmelita was right in part; she did gain knowledge from the visions and voices granted by the Witchblade. She knew so much more now than she had when she had battled Dominique, and the things she had seen during their conflict were beginning to make sense the more Carmelita talked.
Not that she was willing to take this little fairy tale completely on a few visions and faith, Pezzini had ever been the skeptic, though certain elements rang true enough. That didn't mean that she was just going to hand over the Witchblade to the first person with a good sob story.
This whole, 'your ancestor did my ancestor wrong so you owe me' crap didn't wash with her. Sara thought it had to be the stupidest thing she had ever heard, and she heard it a lot. The inner city was full of people who thought the world owed them for the unsubstantiated suffering of their distant ancestry.
They acted like someone else's suffering excused their behavior. To them, all the drugs, weapons, and violence were justified because of events that happened before they were even born. If Sara had a dollar for every time she heard that tired excuse trotted out when she caught someone, she could retire.
"So what do you want?" Sara asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Don't play ssstupid with me, Msss. Pezzini. I want what belongsss to me, of courssse." Carmelita's voice was more sibilant on the 's', but the condescension was unchanged.
"Dominique had the Witchblade and couldn't keep it. When we met again, the Gauntlet chose me over her. What makes you think you have a snowball's chance in Hell of getting it if your dear mother couldn't?" Sara arched a brow.
"She-who-bore-me had been...tampered with at a young age. A fair-haired bokkor came to Dominique before she had grown into Ceto's protections and twisted her. I suppose I should thank him, his contributions did give me something none of my predecessors had. I think one lifetime was an excellent trade for the changes the Witchblade wrought in my as-yet unborn form."
Ian hissed in a breath at her revelation. His hands clenched as he struggled with the implications of the Gorgon in front of him. Not that he was surprised by the fact that she had basically called Kenneth an 'evil magician', but that Dominique was pregnant when she was still wearing the Witchblade. That could only mean one thing.
Carmelita was not a Boucher at all. She was Irons get. Unless Dominique had already been fooling around with Armand? Ian allowed himself to hope that was the case. After all, the dark hair had to have come from somewhere.
It did not, however, change the fact that the cellular alterations would have been so much easier in a zygote, who was largely unformed and just beginning to follow the codes in their D.N.A., than an adult woman, who was a completed form of their genetic blueprint.
That was why the Periculum was so dangerous. There was always the chance that the Wielder's body could not adapt to the transformation. Yes, Carmelita did have a leg up in that regard. Combine it with her mingled bloodline, and she might very well be able to take, and wield, the Witchblade.
Ian was officially in Hell.
"So she was pregnant with you while she wore the Witchblade. Big deal, every other Wielder must have been too, or there wouldn't be any more of 'my' bloodline either." Sara snarked.
"No Sara. It is almost always a sibling's offspring that inherits the potential to become the next bearer. Over time, the bloodline has branched; making it difficult to predict into which cadet line the Wielder will be genetically reincarnated." Ian bowed his head as he was forced to refute her.
"Why a sibling?" Sara tilted her head; this was the most open Ian had been with her about the Witchblade since the right before her fight with Gallo. Was he trying to give her some obscure, but life saving if she figured it out, advice?
"Most wielders do not live long enough to bear children once they take up the Gauntlet. Their life is one filled with danger and conflict, with little room for... relationships. Those close to her are usually without protection from the more supernatural elements that a Wielder must battle, and fall accordingly." Nottingham hated to bring up the subject, but felt that Sara deserved to know.
"What?" the exclamation burst unbidden from Sara's lips. Any thought of pumping Nottingham for more information was driven out of her head by the flare of anger. "When were you planning to share that little piece of information with me? Were you waiting until someone else died?"
"Is there anyone else? You lead a very insular life Sara. I've watched you, you have very few friends, and they are all better at protecting themselves than most." Ian gave a small smile at the thought of Vicki Po confronted by a supernatural being.
She'd probably try to take it home with her. The poor creature wouldn't know what had hit it. Gabriel Bowman would manage to bottle it for resale. Since that was about it for friends, he'd say Sara was pretty safe on that front. Even if he were to extend that small circle out to include the widow Woo, the guardian spirit that her husband had become would make short shrift of anything fool enough to cross his family.
"At least you had already chosen such a life before the Witchblade came to you. Not all Wielders have a martial background. The call to defend mankind usually brings a marked change in lifestyle. Jeanne du'Arc was one of the more noteworthy examples, but by no means the only one. A peasant lass has a difficult life, filled with labor day in and day out, but it is usually hunger alone that she must battle." Ian sighed.
Sara was angry with him again. He supposed he should be glad she had left her gun behind, for he had a feeling Pezzini was not above shooting the messenger, not if that glare was anything to go by.
Sara stared down at the Gauntlet as its forked tongue tested the air. Carmelita was right in part; she did gain knowledge from the visions and voices granted by the Witchblade. She knew so much more now than she had when she had battled Dominique, and the things she had seen during their conflict were beginning to make sense the more Carmelita talked.
Not that she was willing to take this little fairy tale completely on a few visions and faith, Pezzini had ever been the skeptic, though certain elements rang true enough. That didn't mean that she was just going to hand over the Witchblade to the first person with a good sob story.
This whole, 'your ancestor did my ancestor wrong so you owe me' crap didn't wash with her. Sara thought it had to be the stupidest thing she had ever heard, and she heard it a lot. The inner city was full of people who thought the world owed them for the unsubstantiated suffering of their distant ancestry.
They acted like someone else's suffering excused their behavior. To them, all the drugs, weapons, and violence were justified because of events that happened before they were even born. If Sara had a dollar for every time she heard that tired excuse trotted out when she caught someone, she could retire.
"So what do you want?" Sara asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Don't play ssstupid with me, Msss. Pezzini. I want what belongsss to me, of courssse." Carmelita's voice was more sibilant on the 's', but the condescension was unchanged.
"Dominique had the Witchblade and couldn't keep it. When we met again, the Gauntlet chose me over her. What makes you think you have a snowball's chance in Hell of getting it if your dear mother couldn't?" Sara arched a brow.
"She-who-bore-me had been...tampered with at a young age. A fair-haired bokkor came to Dominique before she had grown into Ceto's protections and twisted her. I suppose I should thank him, his contributions did give me something none of my predecessors had. I think one lifetime was an excellent trade for the changes the Witchblade wrought in my as-yet unborn form."
Ian hissed in a breath at her revelation. His hands clenched as he struggled with the implications of the Gorgon in front of him. Not that he was surprised by the fact that she had basically called Kenneth an 'evil magician', but that Dominique was pregnant when she was still wearing the Witchblade. That could only mean one thing.
Carmelita was not a Boucher at all. She was Irons get. Unless Dominique had already been fooling around with Armand? Ian allowed himself to hope that was the case. After all, the dark hair had to have come from somewhere.
It did not, however, change the fact that the cellular alterations would have been so much easier in a zygote, who was largely unformed and just beginning to follow the codes in their D.N.A., than an adult woman, who was a completed form of their genetic blueprint.
That was why the Periculum was so dangerous. There was always the chance that the Wielder's body could not adapt to the transformation. Yes, Carmelita did have a leg up in that regard. Combine it with her mingled bloodline, and she might very well be able to take, and wield, the Witchblade.
Ian was officially in Hell.
"So she was pregnant with you while she wore the Witchblade. Big deal, every other Wielder must have been too, or there wouldn't be any more of 'my' bloodline either." Sara snarked.
"No Sara. It is almost always a sibling's offspring that inherits the potential to become the next bearer. Over time, the bloodline has branched; making it difficult to predict into which cadet line the Wielder will be genetically reincarnated." Ian bowed his head as he was forced to refute her.
"Why a sibling?" Sara tilted her head; this was the most open Ian had been with her about the Witchblade since the right before her fight with Gallo. Was he trying to give her some obscure, but life saving if she figured it out, advice?
"Most wielders do not live long enough to bear children once they take up the Gauntlet. Their life is one filled with danger and conflict, with little room for... relationships. Those close to her are usually without protection from the more supernatural elements that a Wielder must battle, and fall accordingly." Nottingham hated to bring up the subject, but felt that Sara deserved to know.
"What?" the exclamation burst unbidden from Sara's lips. Any thought of pumping Nottingham for more information was driven out of her head by the flare of anger. "When were you planning to share that little piece of information with me? Were you waiting until someone else died?"
"Is there anyone else? You lead a very insular life Sara. I've watched you, you have very few friends, and they are all better at protecting themselves than most." Ian gave a small smile at the thought of Vicki Po confronted by a supernatural being.
She'd probably try to take it home with her. The poor creature wouldn't know what had hit it. Gabriel Bowman would manage to bottle it for resale. Since that was about it for friends, he'd say Sara was pretty safe on that front. Even if he were to extend that small circle out to include the widow Woo, the guardian spirit that her husband had become would make short shrift of anything fool enough to cross his family.
"At least you had already chosen such a life before the Witchblade came to you. Not all Wielders have a martial background. The call to defend mankind usually brings a marked change in lifestyle. Jeanne du'Arc was one of the more noteworthy examples, but by no means the only one. A peasant lass has a difficult life, filled with labor day in and day out, but it is usually hunger alone that she must battle." Ian sighed.
Sara was angry with him again. He supposed he should be glad she had left her gun behind, for he had a feeling Pezzini was not above shooting the messenger, not if that glare was anything to go by.