New York, NY
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
Just before sunrise
When Mac woke to a dark room, it took her a minute to remember where she was. When she heard breathing next to her, memory flooded back immediately. She turned onto her side to stare at Nottingham. He was so beautiful, but even in sleep he wasn't completely relaxed. Every muscle in his body was tense, as if he would jump up at any second. For a moment, she wondered if she had looked that way while she slept before Jarod had promised that he would never let anyone near her while she did so.
The room lightened by degrees and she was surprised to realize that she had slept through the night. Why hadn't he woken her? Surely he wanted her to get out of his life so Irons wouldn't have something else to hold against him. For the second time, she resolved to ask her mother to watch out for Nottingham. Even if she couldn't exist to be with him, maybe she could at least save his life so that he could continue to live to a ripe old age instead of dying when he was barely thirty. The trouble would be in convincing her mother that his life was worth saving without Sara knowing of all the ways Nottingham would have helped her in the months to come if Mac hadn't come back in time.
Time travel was confusing and frantic, and not for the first time, she wondered how Eve did it. But thinking of Eve made her mad. The Oracles wouldn't explain why this timejump had been something that Mac had to do, and not Eve. Eve, whose powers would have made this trip almost easy. All Mac had was the Witchblade and all her training. True, it was a lot more than most people, but she was still only mortal.
The room was full of sunlight now, and Mac turned her gaze back to Nottingham. Suddenly she wasn't angry anymore. If Eve had made this trip, Mac would never have gotten to know Nottingham.
She didn't know his sleeping habits, so she didn't want to wake him too early. Her gaze dropped to his chest and she let out an involuntary gasp. He was crisscrossed with scars, the same kind she had on her back, only so many more. Each barb on Irons' cat-o-nine tails had only made one ripping stroke down her back, but Irons had evidently used it on Nottingham many, many times. Tiny lines overlapped each other everywhere on his chest and side. There wasn't a square inch anywhere on his torso that wasn't affected. Her heart gave a painful lurch. She didn't think he had had anyone to hold him after each beating as Jarod had held her.
Unthinkingly, she raised her hand to touch one of the tiny lines. Before she could move closer than an inch away, she found herself suddenly pinned to the bed. Faster than lightning, Nottingham had rolled over to straddle her, holding her wrists - covered by the sheet - above her head. His hair fell in a curtain around them and his nose was mere inches from her own. She gasped again, not afraid of him but of everything he made her feel. He immediately rolled away, letting her go.
He began pacing next to the bed and her heart ached for him again. Standing, she drew her nightgown off over her head to hold it in front of her.
Still in her panties, she turned her back to Nottingham and looked over her shoulder at him, "I know it can't begin to compare to what he put you through, but I do understand a little."
Nottingham raised his head to stare at her bare back for a minute. Then he came closer to stand directly behind her. He lifted a hand as if to trace the nine white lines that ran from her shoulder blades to her waist, but lowered it without touching her.
Quietly, calmly, he asked her, "He raised you too, didn't he? Did he ever tell you why he let you know about your parents?"
His unspoken question was the one she felt most deeply, Why didn't he ever tell me about mine?
"He never told me about them. I didn't even begin to know anything about them until I was thirteen and the Witchblade activated."
"Activated?" Nottingham echoed.
Mac sighed. They had a very long conversation coming if he was to know everything, and she had the distinct feeling he wouldn't settle for less, but right now she was starving.
"I'll tell you the whole story, I promise, but first can I please go get something to eat?"
"No."
"No? What do you mean, no? I'm starving and if I have to fight you to get out of here and eat, I will. I appreciate everything you've done for me, more than you could ever know, but I'm not your prisoner! I'll never again be anyone's ... "
Nottingham walked up to her and lay a finger over her lips. They both drew in a breath at the contact and froze, and it was hard to say who was more surprised that he had touched her, skin to skin. He drew his finger away and stared at it as if he could still feel her there. She knew that her lips were branded forever by his touch. Suddenly she was flooded with a need to be touched by him. Everywhere. But just as suddenly the reality of her situation pressed itself into her mind again and the feeling was pushed back. She would never be able to get rid of it completely, nor did she know if she would want to if she could. She'd just have to live with it. For the next twenty-seven days, anyway.
"I'll make something."
She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that for a minute she didn't realize he had spoken and was staring at her.
When she finally looked at him, he said softly, "If you really want to go, you're free to do so. But don't think for a moment that I'm going to leave you alone."
"Why?"
She needed to hear him say that he cared, that he needed her to be with him for whatever time she had left, but she knew she was hoping for too much too soon.
"I want to know you."
Five simple words and yet they held so much meaning. Pleasure flooded through her, and she smiled shyly. Maybe the exact words weren't so necessary.
Nottingham walked to the kitchen area of the open loft as she put her nightgown back on and pulled on the matching robe. He peered into the refrigerator.
"How do you like your eggs?"
"Surprise me," she said.
He turned to stare at her. "You've never had eggs before, have you?"
She shook her head. "We only had protein supplements and vitamins in the Centre."
He frowned for a moment and then took out a pan and set a carton of eggs on the counter. Then he pulled more ingredients out of the refrigerator and set about making breakfast. After watching him for a few seconds, Mac turned and walked toward the bathroom.
"There are extra things in the cabinet above the sink, there should be a toothbrush there."
"Thank you," she said, and they both knew she meant the words for so much more than a toothbrush.
Nottingham found himself smiling as he turned the stove on. She would stay, at least for now. His face fell. He had to find out why she only had a short amount of time and if there was anything they could do to make that time longer. If they found a way for her to still exist, would she be willing to be with him in the future when he was more than twice her age? While he made breakfast, he tried to think of other solutions to the problem besides not letting his Angel come into existence. There had to be another way. When and if someone came to take her away from him, he would fight to the death to keep her here.
She came out of the bathroom six minutes later, her hair loose and wet, hanging in waves half way down her back. Her nightgown and robe clung damply to her body and her face had a freshly scrubbed look to it. He set their plates on the breakfast bar and sat down on one of the stools. She sat down on the other and looked curiously at her plate.
He pointed out the food to her, "Scrambled eggs, toast with strawberry jam, and bacon."
She nodded her thanks and watched as he picked up a strip of his own bacon and took a bite. It was disconcerting to have someone watch him so closely, especially since he hadn't eaten in front of anyone for a very long time. But if it helped her, even in some small way, he could ignore his discomfort. After a slight hesitation, she tried each item of food and then began eating in earnest, cleaning her heaping plate and another when Nottingham got her seconds. She had been hungry. When she was done, she copied Nottingham's actions, rinsing her dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. He took a digital camera out and took a head shot for her falsified driver's license. Turning, she frowned at the couch.
"The closet is in the weapon room," he informed her, pointing to the room on the right of the loft.
She nodded and walked into the room. When he placed the call to his contact and emailed the picture minutes later to start the process for her identification and she still hadn't emerged, Nottingham followed her in. She had jeans and a T-shirt in her hands, but she was now studying his collection of swords and knives. Some were ancient, battle scarred from fights that were won and lost hundreds of years before. Some were brand new, never having been used. Still others had once been his own personal weapon, obviously newer than the ancient pieces, but no longer unmarred by the scars of battle.
"They're beautiful," she complimented softly before turning to leave the room.
His chest swelled slightly with pride at her words, though she had no way of knowing that he had forged many of the newer ones himself.
"Would you like to practice with one?"
She turned back to smile at him, and he wondered at the sadness in the gesture.
"Maybe later. After I get dressed, we need to talk."
Hoping she was going to tell him the story of her life, and perhaps even her name, he let her walk out of the weapon room. Grabbing some of his own clothes, he crossed the loft to the bathroom and closed the door. He quickly showered and dressed, eager to hear what she had to say. But his movements slowed the more he thought about it.
He knew that he wasn't going to like a lot of what she had to say. Part of him didn't want to know everything Irons had done to her, because he didn't know how much more hate he could have for the man and still be able to hide it. And he had a feeling that the hate he would feel on behalf of his Angel would be a thousand times stronger than the hate he felt for everything that had been done to him.
When he came out of the bathroom, she was waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the bed, which she had evidently made while he was showering. He sat on the bed, leaving plenty of space between them. She turned to face him, quiet and calm. But he could also sense the sadness in her, and his heart ached that telling him her past was going to cause her pain.
"When I was around thirteen, it might have been on my birthday, the Witchblade suddenly appeared around my neck. It started out as a necklace, and over the years has gone through many forms, the latest of which is the rings. I can only assume that it was dormant inside me before that, only making it's appearance when it felt I was ready. Just as Maria Bouzani was my mother's guardian," Nottingham nodded slightly, he had thought that was who her guardian had been during the Periculum, "my father was mine. Since he is alive here, I don't have one anymore."
"But that's not important. What is important is the fact that since my father was dead, time didn't have a lot of meaning to him, so I have only vague guesses about some things. When he first appeared to me, he explained what the Witchblade was, and who he and my mother were. He also told me what they had named me when they found out I was going to be a girl."
She stopped and Nottingham waited, hoping she would say her name, that she would trust him with the knowledge.
"They named me after Jake's aunt and my mother's...er...former self, her grandmother. Lilianna Elizabeth McCartey. I told my Keeper, Jarod, and he forever after called me by my real name. After a while of trying unsuccessfully to get Jarod back to calling me 'girl', as they had my whole life, everyone started calling me by my real name, Irons included."
"I was born in Irons' office shortly after you died. My father was killed just before that, though you tried to save him. For the first year or so of my life, I was raised by a series of nurses, none of them staying at Irons' mansion for more than two weeks. He didn't want any attachments to be formed. After that, I was brought to the Centre, which until a few days ago, I had never been allowed to leave for more than a day at a time, and only then with a Sweeper to carry out a hit."
"What's a Sweeper?" Nottingham interrupted.
"A Sweeper is a person who works for the Centre, usually under the direction of an assigned executive, and carries out a lot of the dirty work: tracking, killing, tailing, and in my case, keeping their assignment in custody. Most of them are ex cons who don't care what they have to do to get a paycheck. Some actually like the job. Others, who are at the Centre because of being blackmailed or tortured into it, just do what they have to in order to survive. There are also Cleaners, higher-ups who are usually assassins, assigned to get rid of problems and make sure there is no evidence of Centre involvement, and Keepers, who raise and train the captives of the Centre, though many of them are captives of the Centre themselves, like Jarod."
Nottingham nodded.
"Anyhow, I was put through all kinds of conditioning and brain washing from before the time I was able to talk, including an advanced form of the Black Dragon training. Most of the mind games didn't stick other than the fact that I tend to freeze up around Irons, and I can only guess it was because of the Witchblade being inside me. I did, however, excel at hand to hand combat and any form of weapons training. Jarod was rather disturbed by that, since he himself doesn't believe in killing, but he and I are very different and I'm surprised it never drove a wedge between us."
"You were close to this Jarod?"
Jealousy made his voice harsh and, confused, she stared at him with a hurt look for an instant before answering.
"Jarod is my uncle, and he was also raised by the Centre, though not until he was three. He escaped them five years ago at this point in time, but he went back to protect me when I was around eight after they killed the love of his life and their child. In return for his cooperation and the return of some items he had taken with him during his escape, he was allowed to raise and train me. I was lucky to have him, not many people raised in the Centre have someone who cares about them as their Keeper."
Nottingham had relaxed as soon as she explained the family tie, and the phone conversation of Irons' that he had overheard the day before made a little more sense. Irons never let anyone out of his grasp once they were in it. He wondered for a moment whether Irons was aware of the blood tie yet, then realized that he didn't know whether the tie was to Sara or not. He had a hard time believing anyone related to Jake McCartey could be that important to Irons, but he had also been told that Karen Bronte and her mother, Jane, were Sara's only living relatives.
"I think Irons has some man named Raines looking for your uncle. But is Jarod related to your mother or your father?"
"Raines will never find him, he'll be dead within the year from lung cancer. Jarod is my mother's older brother. She also has a fraternal twin sister named Emily, a younger half brother named Ethan, and a deceased older brother named Kyle." She left Gemini out of it. How could she explain Jarod's twin, who wasn't the same age as Jarod and who had originally died before he even had a real name? Maybe she could find a way to prevent his death.
"Is he deceased now?"
For a moment his question threw her, then she realized he was talking about Kyle.
"Yes, he's been dead for two years, I think. He was killed saving Jarod, and Jarod donated his heart to a teenage boy who would have died without it."
"Your uncle is quite a man."
"You have no idea," she murmured softly before continuing her story. "Jarod is what's known as a Pretender; they're geniuses with the ability to become anyone they want to be. When he was growing up, the Centre exploited his talents to sell information and ideas to the highest bidder, and he found out later that sometimes the information was used to hurt and kill people. So when Jarod broke out, he spent most of his time trying to help people as a kind of misplaced penance, while also looking for his family. But that gets even more complicated and isn't really important right now."
"So, before I knew anything about the Witchblade, I was already an assassin and a Black Dragon in training. Irons always made sure there was no possible way for me to escape, and he beat me the one time I got close." Nottingham growled and she lowered her voice slightly. "It was two years after Jarod was brought back to the Centre, and I still didn't completely trust him. When Irons caught me trying to escape, he beat me and then used the cat o' nine tails on me. Jarod broke in and stopped him, taking care of me and nursing me back to health."
"A few years after that, the Witchblade activated and my father told me what he could about myself, himself, and my mother. That's when I learned that my mother was still alive, but after thinking about it I gave up on the idea of getting out and finding her. I knew that if I did manage to escape, Jarod would have been killed, and by then that had become something I could never allow. But Irons never truly accepted that I wouldn't at least try. For the next eleven years I was constantly under surveillance, as well as a heavy rotation of Sweepers."
Nottingham stood and began pacing. Agitation rolled off him in waves and Lilianna felt an urge to comfort him, even though she was the one who had been through so much. Then she stopped herself. She wasn't the only one who had been through a bad childhood. They were more alike than either of them had initially realized, both having been manipulated and controlled their whole lives. And both of them by the same man.
"He watched me every day from then on, though I only physically saw him when the other Pretenders and myself had to report every other day for our Black Dragon training."
Nottingham stopped his pacing to turn and ask her, "Are you a Pretender?"
Lilianna shook her head and said, "I have Pretender genes, but they're not fully dominant. I have some Pretender abilities, but nowhere near Jarod's level, my talents lie mainly in weaponry and languages, I know eleven. At one point they wanted to start me on a breeding program, but with the help of the Witchblade, they could never get close enough. I'm surprised they didn't try harder, I may have given in if they had used Jarod as leverage." She frowned and shook her head. "Sometimes they have hidden motives."
"Then a week ago, all hell broke loose. My mother broke into the Centre but died trying to get to me, and I never even got to see her." Tears began to roll down her face. "Irons got the Witchblade back, but couldn't control it. He couldn't even put it on. Then Glorificus, a demon god from another dimension that at this point in time has been trapped on earth for twenty-five years, came and stole the Witchblade to find her dimensional key, and all the dimensions became blurred together. Jarod was turned by a vampire, and I had to k-kill him to save a young Pretender named Cami."
Her voice broke and the tears she had been crying turned to sobs that wracked her body. Nottingham didn't know what to do, and for an instant he froze. Then something kicked in, instinct, he supposed, and he sat beside her. Awkwardly, he put an arm around her. When she hesitantly moved closer to him, he momentarily stiffened, but he liked the sensations that this brand new type of contact gave him. He felt closer to her, protective and possessive. He scooped her up and placed her gently in his lap. Lilianna looped both arms around his neck and clung to him.
For a minute he just listened to her sob, holding his arms loosely around her. Then he tightened his hold on her and lowered his head to rest it on the top of hers, surrounding her with his strength. Her sobs began to quiet and he rubbed soothing circles on her back. Scooping her up again, he moved back on the bed to rest against the headboard. When he deposited her half on him and half against him, she almost immediately softened and remained clinging to him.
Emotionally drained, her sobs turned to muffled sniffles. Her breathing slowed and her fingers crept up slightly to thread through the hair near his nape. It sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, and he tightened the arm he had around her, stroking slowly down her back repeatedly with the other hand. Soon, she was asleep, her breath coming in soft puffs against his chest where her head rested. Unable to resist, he bent his head down and kissed the top of hers softly.
In her sleep, she snuggled closer to him and murmured, "Nottingham."
Smiling, he laid his head back and closed his eyes.