A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. Top Cow, TNT, etc. do. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Author's Note: After much angst (okay, not that much), I decided to rewrite both Chapters 19 and 20. I was dissatisfied with the amount of exposition in the former Chapter 20, so I combined both characters' viewpoints and then split the resulting gigantic chapter into two. Sara and Ian are a team now anyway, right? What God hath joined, let no man put asunder (or something like that)! If you can't be bothered to reread both chappies, that's fine. I'll {sob} understand. For you first-timers, enjoy!
Chapter 20.
On the way to the elder Siris' home in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, Ian Nottingham dutifully reported in to his master.
"Ah, Ian, at last. I was wondering if you had forgotten my request for frequent updates," Kenneth Irons said acerbically, after answering on the first ring.
"There was nothing to report until just recently, sir," Ian told him truthfully.
"I take it the Wielder is still restricted to desk duty."
"Yes. She only ventured outside three times today. Twice for coffee and once for lunch. It was not until she left work for the day that she informed me of her intention to stake out Pier 62, Berth 11, which is the location where the drug bust is scheduled to take place tonight. Of course, that is where I will be, too," he told his master.
"Of course. Where is Detective Pezzini now?"
"She is en route to the home of her godparents, Joseph and Marie Siri, for dinner," he told him, neglecting to mention that Lady Sara also planned to garage her motorcycle for the winter for fear that his master might guess that she and Ian were going to share his vehicle during the stakeout. At least this was what Nottingham intended to propose that they do; whether or not she accepted his offer remained to be seen.
"Keep a very close eye on the Wielder, young Nottingham," Irons bade him, "Call and inform me how the operation went no matter how late it is. And once Sara retires for the evening, return home."
"Yes, sir." Unplugging and removing the headset, Ian put his phone back in his coat pocket. He felt an irrational sense of guilt about betraying Sara's confidence by informing his master of her intentions. Although he knew Irons would not do anything with the information that might possibly harm the Wielder, Ian still felt bad about sharing it with him.
They arrived at Joseph and Marie Siri's home at 18:40.
Sara rode the Buell up the short driveway. The garage door was open and Joe Siri, Sr. and his namesake were standing inside it.
"Here she is!" Joe Sr. said, opening his arms wide as Sara got off her bike and removed her helmet. He enveloped her in one of his patented bear hugs.
Until that very moment, Sara hadn't realized how very much she'd missed him.
"It's really good to see you, Joe," she told him huskily. "It's been too long."
"Where's Ian?" Joey asked, looking up and down the street.
"Hi, to you, too," Sara said. "He's parking his car. Joey, how are --" she found herself speaking to the cold night air as the boy took off down the driveway toward the street. "Okey dokey, then."
"He's been talking nonstop about this fella of yours," Joe Sr. said, his craggy features creasing in a smile. "Joey said he's some kind of bodyguard?"
"Uh, yeah, he's in personal security," Sara said distractedly, glancing toward the street.
Ian had just located a parking space a couple of blocks away from Sara's godparents' home when he noticed Joseph Siri, Jr. approaching his vehicle.
"Good evening, young Joseph," Ian greeted him as he got out of the car.
"Hi, Ian. I could hardly believe it when Grandpa told me Aunt Sara was bringing you along with her. I guess you took my advice, hunh?" the boy said smugly.
"Yes, I suppose I have," Ian concurred, joining him on the sidewalk. Ever mindful of his duty, he scanned the quiet, tree-lined street as they walked toward the house belonging to the teenager's grandparents.
"She must be warming up to you if she invited you to join us for dinner," Joseph observed, extraordinarily pleased with himself judging by the big grin on his face.
"Either that or she feels sorry for me," Ian murmured, "because of my glaring lack of a social life." 'Or any other kind of life,' he thought sourly.
"Nah. Aunt Sara only brings guys that she likes over to Grandma and Grandpa's house," the teen said confidently, instantly causing Ian to start obsessing about just how many men Lady Sara had brought here in the past.
Sara finally spotted Nottingham and her nephew walking up the street together. Joey was grinning up at the tall, dark-haired man and talking animatedly. The assassin listened attentively while simultaneously scanning the dark, quiet street.
"Big guy, isn't he?" Joe Sr. murmured, watching them approach.
"Sort of required in his line of work, Joe," Sara said, taking note of Nottingham's height and the muscular slope of his broad shoulders beneath his black wool overcoat as if for the first time. "Ian Nottingham, Joe Siri, Sr.," she introduced as he and her nephew drew nearer.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Siri. Sara has often spoken very fondly of you," Nottingham said in his deep, quiet voice, holding out a gloved hand to the older man.
Joe Siri, Sr. gripped the black-clad man's hand and shook it firmly. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Nottingham. My grandson and me were just clearing a space for my goddaughter's motorcycle. My wife has been after me for weeks to get around to doing it, but I'm a procrastinator, so . . ." he shrugged.
"Please, call me Ian. Is there something I can do to help?" Ian offered, glancing at the jumble of household detritus that cluttered the garage's interior. Judging from the leaf litter and water spots coating it, the car sitting in the driveway hadn't been housed inside the structure for some time, if ever.
"Oh, no! Marie would have my head if I dared to put a guest to work. We're almost done, aren't we, Joey?"
The boy eyed the garage dubiously. "Yeah, we should be finished by the time Grandma serves dessert," he cracked.
"Come on, Mr. Wiseass, just help me move these boxes and we'll be done. Sara, you and Ian go on in. We'll join you in a couple of minutes," Joe Sr. said, grabbing his grandson by the sleeve.
"Okay, see you inside," Sara said, grinning and heading for the front door.
"Perhaps I should offer to help again. I do not think they can accomplish the task in just two minutes," Ian murmured, glancing back.
"Nah. He'll cram my bike in there within minutes. He always does," Sara said dismissively, opening the door to the house. "Hey, everybody!"
Marie Siri jumped up from where she had been sitting next to her daughter-in-law on the sofa and hurried to the door.
"Oh, there you are, Sara! Did you see your godfather out there? I don't know how many times I reminded him to make room for your motorbike! He waits 'til now, of course!" she said, her voice still retaining a trace of her native land's accent. She gave Sara a warm hug and then looked curiously at the tall, dark-haired man standing next to her.
"Marie Siri, Ian Nottingham," Sara introduced.
Ian had immediately detected a faint but familiar cadence in the voice of the petite older woman with immaculately coiffed salt-and-pepper hair who greeted them at the door. He took off his hat and extended his hand. When Marie Siri placed hers in his, he brought it to his lips, kissing it, eyes gazing soulfully into hers, much as he'd seen his master do when he especially wished to win over a woman.
Sara's eyebrows rose as she watched the two of them converse fluently in her godmother's native tongue for several moments.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Signora Siri," Ian said to her in Italian. "Your reputation for warm hospitality precedes you and I am honored to have been invited to sit at your table."
"You speak my first language excellently, Mr. Nottingham. And I see that you are a gentleman. That is rare these days," Marie Siri said approvingly in the same language.
"Please, Signora, call me Ian," he told her. "I was brought up to hold women in the highest regard, as is their due. And I have long wanted to meet the woman who had a hand in raising such a brave, intelligent, and honorable young woman as your beautiful goddaughter, Sara."
"Oh, my! What a charmer!" Marie Siri finally said in English, blushing and placing a hand on her plump bosom. "I certainly hope you are hungry, Ian. There is plenty of food and I like my guests to eat well."
Ian placed his hand on his heart, a look of sorrow -- a very close relative to the kicked-puppy, Sara thought irreverently -- crossing his face. "To my profound regret, I must confess that I am not feeling very well this evening, Mrs. Siri. I have a touch of the flu, and I'm afraid my stomach cannot handle a large meal. However, in order to please your goddaughter, I have promised that I will try to eat something," he responded.
"Oh, you poor boy!" Marie clucked, taking him by the hand and leading him to the couch. "What was Sara thinking dragging you out of your sickbed to come here? Here, let me take your coat, and you just sit down here and relax. I have just the thing for you! Some of my Millecosedde soup. It is guaranteed to make you feel better!"
Sara watched in amazement as her godmother transformed into a mother hen, fussing over her stalker. She even went so far as to feel Nottingham's forehead, tutt tutting at how hot it was. "Sara! What were you thinking dragging this poor, sick man out in this cold?" Marie reprimanded her. "He should be home in bed with that fever!"
"Um, he wanted to come. He's not contagious if that's what you're worried about," Sara said, taken aback.
"You should be worried about him catching his death of pneumonia out there! This coat is not nearly warm enough!" Marie informed her, shaking the offending garment at her.
It was obvious to Ian that Sara was as surprised as he was at her godmother's solicitousness, and he hastened to tell the older woman that it was he who was to blame.
"Signora Siri, please, do not be angry with Sara. She is right. I wanted to come and meet her family. She tried to persuade me to stay home in bed, but I insisted that I felt up to coming here tonight," Nottingham said soothingly.
"Well, all right then, but you should go straight home to bed after dinner, young man," Marie said, mollified. She bustled off to hang up his and Sara's coats.
"Hi, I'm Robert, Joey's father, and this is his mother, Paula," Robert Siri introduced himself and his wife, rising from his chair to hold out a hand to the other man and indicating Paula, who sat at the other end of the couch.
Ian stood. "Ian Nottingham. I must compliment you both on what a fine job you have done raising your son. He is a remarkable young man," he said, first grasping Robert's hand and shaking it firmly, and then repeating his gallant hand-kissing gesture with Paula's hand.
It was then Sara noticed that Nottingham had actually removed his gloves. She stared at his bare hands in fascination. They were very nice, strong-looking hands, the skin only slightly paler than that of his face. He had placed his heavy silver ring on the index finger of his right hand.
Ian had just retaken his seat when he saw a dark-haired, preteen girl come down the stairs and approach the Wielder.
Sara felt a little tug on her sleeve and glanced down to see her 11- year-old niece and Joey's kid sister, Gina Marie Siri, at her elbow.
"Hi, Aunt Sara," the dark-haired girl said, smiling. She shot Nottingham a quick, shy glance.
Sara hugged the slender girl. "Hey, cutie pie! Is it possible you've grown since the other night? You're already up to my shoulder!"
"I have on heels, see?" she picked up her foot to show the low-heeled boots she wore.
"That must be it," Sara said. "Ian Nottingham, this young lady is my niece, Gina Marie Siri."
"Otherwise known as The Pain in the Butt," Joseph Siri, Jr. said, coming in the front door, his grandfather right behind him.
"Shut up, Joey!" Gina Marie yelled at him, her face flushing with anger and embarrassment.
Ian Nottingham rose gracefully from the couch then dropped to one knee in front of the young girl. Taking her hand, he gravely bowed his head over it and brushed it with his lips, much as he'd done with her grandmother and mother. "I am very pleased to meet you, Gina Marie Siri," he said softly, meeting her wide, brown eyes. Then he leaned a little closer to her and said, sotto voce, "Would you like me to beat Joey up for you? I am much bigger than he is, so I am pretty sure I can take him, even in my weakened condition."
The girl giggled delightedly. "No, that's okay, Ian. I can beat him up all by myself and I will if he calls me names again!"
"Very well then, but you have only to ask, my Lady, and it shall be done," Nottingham said, expression serious. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Joey, who was grinning unabashedly, then rose to take his seat again. Gina Marie promptly plopped down on the sofa between him and her mother, flashing him a shy grin after sticking her tongue out at her older brother.
Sara wondered who this man was that had taken over Nottingham's body. Judging by their admiring glances, he had managed to completely charm all of the females in the house within a minute of arriving. Even Robert and Joe Sr. were nodding approvingly at the way he had diffused the sibling rivalry. And it was obvious that Joey Jr. already had a bad case of hero worship. She shook her head at the extreme bizarreness of it all.
From the bemused look on her face, Ian could tell that Sara was impressed with the swiftness with which he had ingratiated himself with her family. Truth be told, Nottingham himself was a little stunned by how relaxed he felt around so many strangers. He had even remembered to take off his gloves just after entering the house, and was only mildly uncomfortable about how naked his hands felt. He wondered if his rising fever was responsible for this.
"Sara, sweetie, could you come help me in the kitchen for a moment?" her godmother said.
'Here it comes,' Sara thought. 'The third degree.'
"Sure, Marie." Resignedly, she followed her into the kitchen.
Ian tried to eavesdrop on their discussion, but Joseph Siri, Sr. pulled up a chair and began chatting with him, distracting him enough so that he only caught snatches of the two women's conversation.
"So, Sara and Joey say you're in the personal security business," the older man said.
"Yes. I am head of security for Kenneth Irons," Ian responded.
Joseph Sr.'s eyebrows rose. "The guy who owns half the city?"
"Mr. Irons does not own quite that much real estate, but yes, he is my employer."
"I guess that means you're licensed to carry then, hunh?"
'Spoken like a true ex-cop,' Ian thought. "At all times," he agreed.
"So, how did you meet my goddaughter?"
"We met while she was working on a case," he said truthfully.
"Oh, yeah, I remember that case. It was one of the last ones I handled before retiring. An explosion following a shootout at the Midtown Museum, where your boss had some items on display in an exhibit, right? You were there that day?"
"Yes. As Mr. Irons' head of security, I was tasked with making certain nothing happened to the extremely valuable artifacts that were on loan to the museum and that were featured in the Joan of Arc exhibit."
"I understand that everything was pretty much a total loss. He must not have been too happy about that, hunh?"
"He was simply grateful that no harm befell Sara," Ian said quietly, "as was I."
In the kitchen, Marie Siri, the woman who was the closest thing to a mother that Sara had had since her own mother had died of cancer when she was very young, barely waited until the swinging door closed behind them before turning and demanding "So, where did you meet Ian?"
"Um, I met him while working a case," Sara answered truthfully.
"What exactly does he do for a living? Joey said something about him being a bodyguard? That's dangerous work."
"Yes, he's head of security for Kenneth Irons. Maybe you've heard of him?"
Marie's dark eyes widened. "The billionaire?"
"That's the one."
"Oh, my!" her godmother murmured. "Both of you have very dangerous jobs. That's not good. God forbid something should happen to you both. What would happen to the children? I suppose Robert and Paula could take them in."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a minute there, Mrs. Hurry-Up-and-Make-Me- a-Grandma-Again! We're just friends! That's all!" Sara said quickly and emphatically.
"But he's so handsome, charming, and well-mannered!" Marie said. "You need a strong man like him to take care of you, Sara. Plus, I think he might be Italian."
"Okay, that's enough, Marie! I hate to disappoint you, but there's nothing going on between us. We're, um, professional acquaintances. That's all. Really."
"Humph," her godmother said, clearly unconvinced. "I think you'd be foolish to let that one get away. Don't close your eyes to love, cara. It doesn't come around that often."
"Um, yeah. Right. I'll remember that. Now, do you actually want me to help you with something or was that just an excuse to give me the third degree?"
"You can bring the rolls out to the table, sweetie," Marie said, handing her a basket in which to put the fragrant, golden-brown rolls that she removed from the oven. Sara's stomach growled loudly, and she realized that she was famished.
Minutes later, Marie Siri announced that dinner was served.
Ian took the seat to his Lady's right while young Joseph took the chair next to him. Sara's godmother personally served Ian a bowl of her Millecosedde soup, extolling its curative powers, and then watched closely while he slowly ate every bit of it. She attempted to get him to sample some of the other dishes she had prepared but he politely declined all further nourishment. Although the delicious soup appeared to agree with him, Ian decided not to push his luck.
Conversation was lively throughout the meal, and everybody went out of their way to include him. Not surprisingly, one subject that was studiously avoided was young Joseph's recent legal troubles.
"I like your beard and mustache and your hair, Ian," Gina Marie told him at one point, overcoming her shyness. "My daddy says men with long hair look like sissies, but I don't think yours makes you look like a sissy," she informed him, causing her father to choke on a bite of his food.
Her brother burst out laughing, although everyone else tried to keep a straight face.
"Thank you for the compliment, my Lady," Ian said, jabbing a chortling Joseph Jr. with his elbow.
"Ow!" the boy exclaimed, putting on his most innocent expression. "What did I do?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Joey," his mother admonished him, hiding a smile behind her napkin and reaching over to thump her coughing husband on the back.
Ian's eyes kept returning to Sara's face. She was as relaxed as he'd ever seen her, and her frequent husky laughter teased his senses. From time to time, she would glance at him and smile encouragingly, causing his heart rate to speed up. It was obvious that she enjoyed being in the bosom of her adoptive family and that she was secure in their love. He was also glad to see that she ate very well, even having a second helping of practically everything.
Sara noticed that her godmother watched with an eagle eye as Nottingham ate a bowl of her vegetable soup. Marie tried to push some of her antipasto, chicken cacciatore, lasagna, and risotto on him, but he politely declined. Sara ate everything, and even had seconds. It was not often that she had home cooking, especially of this caliber. By the time dessert was served, she could feel the Witchblade swirling contentedly, the glowing stone safely concealed by her sleeve.
Ian had been lulled into a false sense of security by his hostess's grandmotherly warmth and matronly decorum. Too late, he realized that he had committed a serious tactical error by divulging that he spoke Italian fluently as soon as he crossed the threshold of the tidy little home.
The inquisition started out innocently enough over the dessert course.
"So, Ian," Marie Siri said in her native tongue, dark eyes pinning him, "where are your people from?"
"I am afraid I do not know, Signora. I was adopted," Ian replied politely in the same language.
"Ah! That explains the non-Italian name. What a terrible thing not to know your people," she lamented, shaking her head sadly. "How is it that you speak with a Southern Italian accent?"
"My tutor was from Abruzzi."
"Hearty eaters, those people. My people are from the province of Catanzaro in Calabria. I would have guessed that your people hailed from Sicily, or perhaps Sardinia. You have that look. What are your intentions toward my goddaughter?"
"M-my intentions?" he stammered, thrown by the lightning-swift change of subject.
"Yes. Do you intend to marry her? You are not so young and she is not getting any younger. I would like to see her children, whom I would consider to be my grandchildren, before I die. You do want children, don't you?"
"Um, I -- "
"Of course you do. Do you love her?"
"More than life itself."
"Ah!" Marie smiled with satisfaction at his unhesitating response. "That is good. So, you are courting her, yes?"
"Well, not in the traditional sense, no," Ian said, feeling a blush color his cheeks.
Although no one else present spoke the language, Ian had the horrible suspicion that they all knew exactly what the Siri family matriarch was up to. He shot Sara a quick look and saw that she was smirking slightly as she observed their exchange with great interest. A glance at the others revealed sympathetic looks on Joseph Sr.'s and Robert Siri's faces, while Paula and Gina Marie Siri stared at his burning face with almost identical expressions of fascination. Joseph Jr. just grinned cheekily at him around a piece of tiramisu.
"Young people these days do everything backward. They make love first, then begin courting! They move in together, then get married! Are you intimate with my goddaughter?"
"Um, we are just friends and business associates, Signora Siri," he said, his cheeks, if possible, becoming even redder. "She does not think of me in that manner."
Ian now knew what a cornered animal felt like. Out of sheer desperation, he toyed with the idea of pretending to become nauseous again so that he would have a legitimate excuse to rush from the table. But, regretfully, he decided that there was no honor in that sort of deception; his hostess's feelings would be badly hurt and, worse yet, Sara would never hear the end of it. And so, the relentless questions continued unchecked.
"But you admit that you are in love with her?"
"Yes, ever since I first laid eyes on her."
Marie beamed. "I knew it! Of course, she is too thin and she works too hard. Plus, because of her job, she thinks she has to be tough and act like one of the boys. I blame her father, may he rest in peace, for that. After her mother, God rest her soul, died when Sara was just a little girl, her father let her run wild. I suppose it was inevitable that she would become a tomboy. I guess James did the best he could. Still, Sara is very passionate and would make a fine mother. All she needs is a strong man to take her in hand. I think you are that man, Ian Nottingham. Do not make me wait too long for more grandchildren, eh? My time on this earth is growing short. Tell me, how do you intend to court her? Maybe I can give you some advice."
Sara had winced when Marie Siri commenced to give Nottingham the third degree over espresso and homemade tiramisu. Although her godmother had the good grace to interrogate the unsuspecting man in Italian, Sara and everyone else present knew exactly what she was doing. A telltale blush reddened Ian's face at one point, drawing sympathetic grins from all of the males and fascinated stares from all of the females present. After several minutes of relentless questions, a hunted look started to creep over the black-clad man's features. She decided to take pity on him.
"Nottingham, come with me. I wanna show you something," Sara said, rising from the table. "Excuse us, please," she murmured, ignoring her godmother's frown.
Ian was devoutly grateful that Sara chose that moment to say she wanted to show him something in another part of the house. He pushed away from the table with indecent haste and followed her, convinced that he could feel Marie Siri's gaze boring into his back as he walked away.
Sara led him upstairs. "Sorry about the third degree. Marie does that to everybody I bring home," she said apologetically.
"Have you brought many male companions here, Sara?" Ian could not stop himself from asking, then waited for her to rightfully tell him to mind his own business..
Surprised at his query, Sara glanced back at Nottingham's face, but, as usual, his eyes were downcast, the loose tendrils of hair effectively hiding his expression.
"A few over the years. Not anybody recently," she admitted, and then instantly wondered why she had. It was really none of his damn business!
They reached the second floor, and Sara opened a door halfway down the hall on the left, flicking on the light to reveal a small bedroom with shell-pink walls. She flopped onto the afghan-covered bed, rubbing her stomach and yawning. "I ate like a pig," she said, studying her stalker through half-closed eyes. The two cups of espresso she'd drunk hadn't kicked in yet, and she was feeling decidedly relaxed and sleepy.
Ian glanced around the room curiously then slowly began to walk around it, examining the posters on the walls, the decorative items on the shelves, and the framed pictures on top of the bureau. The posters were mostly of musical groups that had apparently been popular when Sara was in high school. There was one from a band called The Smiths and another featuring a group by the name of The Talking Heads. There was also a poster of a gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle, an exact miniature of which sat on one of the shelves.
"This was my room when I came to live here after my father died," the Wielder told him. "It was Robert's before I moved in, but he'd already moved out by the time I arrived. In fact, he had already married Paula, his childhood sweetheart, and started a family. Joey was just a baby."
"This is a house filled with love," Ian said softly. "The walls practically vibrate with it. You are very lucky to be a part of this family, my Lady."
One of the photos caught his attention. It was of a young Sara Pezzini. Apparently it had been taken during the summer, because the shorts she wore exposed long, coltish legs and the bridge of her nose looked as though it might be sunburnt. Her shiny, dark-auburn hair in ponytails, Sara stared unsmilingly into the camera, and Ian's heart ached to see that shadows were visible in her beautiful eyes.
"How old were you in this picture?" he asked, showing it to her.
She glanced at it, and made a face. "Ugh. Fourteen. The rest of my body hadn't yet caught up to my legs, I had braces, and I was flat as a board. Not a good year." In more ways than one: that was the year her father had been killed.
"You were beautiful even then," Nottingham murmured, finding the courage to briefly make eye contact with her before putting the picture back where he had found it.
Sara turned onto her side, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and resting her head in her hand. "I certainly didn't feel beautiful. I was the girl whose father had been murdered and who had no mother. I tried to ignore the stares and whispers, but it wasn't easy. I was an orphan. Like you. That's not to say Marie and Joe didn't do their best to try to make me a part of their family. They did. They also have two daughters, you know. Joanie, their youngest, is only two years older than me. But she was in her junior year when I transferred to her school as a freshman, and she already had her own life and friends. I just never fit in with her clique, or any other for that matter," she told the black-clad man, whose back was to her but who she could tell was listening intently to her. "So, I guess I sort of know how you felt in that orphanage."
"But instead of visions that laid out your destiny for you, you suffered from the stigma of tragedy. I think it was actually easier for me," Ian told her, sensing her surprise at his words. "I only gradually came to realize I was different from the other children. And at least I had being an orphan in common with them. You were instantly identified as different because of your loss and at a very difficult age. That must have been a very lonely time for you, Sara."
Sara's eyes widened as she saw him reach up and brush away a tear from his face. "Nottingham, are you crying?" she asked in astonishment, noting that he did not seem at all embarrassed that she had caught him weeping.
"'Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break,'" he said in a low voice. He glanced at her, eyes dark with regret, bearded features somber. "I am grieving for your lost innocence, my Lady. Would that I could have spared you that pain." Grief and loss were the names of those shadows in her green, green eyes, then and now.
"Hey, high school was a long time ago. I'm over it," Sara assured him, but was horrified to feel tears pricking her own eyelids. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to stroll down memory lane," she muttered, sitting up and pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes in an effort to dispel the tears.
Hoping to distract her from the bad memories, Ian grabbed a photograph of her with a very young Joseph Siri, Jr. on her lap.
"How old was Joseph in this picture?" he asked, handing her the photo of herself holding the small, dark-haired toddler.
But as soon as Sara touched the picture, the Witchblade threw them both into a vision.
They saw Joey walk into an unfamiliar building that had a guard station and metal detector in the foyer. Sara's nephew emptied the contents of his pockets into a little basket, the guard looked through his book bag carefully, returned it to him, and then waved him through the detector. Joey then signed in at what looked to be a nurse's station, where he also checked his knapsack. He was given a pass and told to take a certain elevator bank to get where he wanted to go.
The vision fast-forwarded to Joey knocking on a door of what looked like a hospital room. A voice said "Come in," and the boy entered. There, sitting on the bed, was Amanda Lundquist. She smiled happily and rose to give him a hug. She still looked too thin and pale, but no longer jittery, and her blue eyes were bright and clear.
"It's been almost 96 hours since I last got high, so they said I could have a supervised visit for a half an hour today. I chose you as my first visitor!" the girl told Joey. Then she indicated a young African- American woman sitting in a chair near the window. "This is one of my counselors, Imani. Imani, this is my boyfriend, Joey."
"Nice to meet you, Joey," the other woman said.
"It's nice to meet you, too, Imani. I'm so glad you called, Amanda. When I got home from dinner at my grandparents last night and heard your voice on the answering machine, I couldn't believe it!" Joey said, kissing the top of her head tenderly. "I could hardly wait for school to end today."
"Did they catch the guy who killed Paco yet?" Amanda asked him anxiously.
"No. My aunt says the drug bust that was supposed to catch him fell through last night. She says I should keep my eyes open, 'cause I could still be in danger. In fact, she didn't want me to come up here today, but I told her I wouldn't miss it for the world. I was supposed to wait for her to come get me after school, but she was delayed and I couldn't wait any longer. It's so good to see you, 'Manda."
"It's good to see you, too, Joey." They kissed.
The vision fast-forwarded again to Joey saying good-bye to Amanda and leaving the rehab facility. He started walking down the street toward the subway, when suddenly a car pulled up alongside him. A ski-masked man rolled down the window and yelled "Say hello to Paco for me, kid!" and started shooting. Several bullets hit Joey. Mortally wounded, he collapsed to the ground. The car peeled off.
"No!" Sara screamed as the vision released her. "Oh my God, Joey!"
She scrambled to her feet in a panic, intent on rushing downstairs to verify that her nephew was alive and well, only to have Nottingham grab her by the shoulders.
"Sara, wait!" he said urgently. "Joseph's safe. The vision was only a warning. We can prevent what you saw from happening."
"He died, Nottingham," Sara sobbed, tears spilling from haunted green eyes. "I saw him die!"
"It is not going to happen. We will not allow it to," he promised, enfolding her in his arms.
Amazingly, she clung to him, blindly seeking the comfort he offered, until her godfather suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"Is everything all right?" Joe Siri, Sr. said. "We all thought we heard Sara scream."
Hastily, Sara pulled away from Ian, leaving him feeling bereft.
Scrubbing the tears from her face, Sara struggled to regain her composure. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine, Joe. I, I just -- "
"This room and my prying questions brought back some bad memories of her father's death," Nottingham interjected smoothly. "I apologize for upsetting you, Sara."
"It's okay. Whew!" She shook her head as if to clear it. "I've been under a lot of stress lately. I didn't realize coming in here was going to affect me this way," she said sheepishly.
Her godfather seemed to accept this explanation. "You do look tired, sweetheart," he said gently. "Maybe you'd better call it a night? Excuse me for saying so, but you don't look so hot either, Ian."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Sara agreed. "But that reminds me, do you have a digital thermometer I can borrow? I wanna check his temp."
"Sure thing, doll. It's in the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom." He left.
"We've got to catch Angel Medina, Nottingham. Tonight," Sara said as soon as she was sure her godfather was out of earshot. She turned and walked out of her old room, heading down the hall and into the master bedroom. "But first we have to find him."
Ian followed her, a plan forming in his mind. "I have an idea of how we might do that," he told her. He found it odd but extremely gratifying that in spite of her obvious anxiety about young Joseph's continued well- being, she was still concerned about his own health.
"Good, because I sure as hell didn't." She went into her godparents' bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, taking out the thermometer and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Extracting a cotton ball from a jar on the étagère above the toilet, she disinfected the device, pressed the button, waited a few seconds, and then turned to Nottingham. "Open up."
Obediently, he opened his mouth and she inserted the thermometer under his tongue. Sara abruptly realized that despite her near state of panic concerning her nephew's safety, she still had the presence of mind to worry about her stalker's health. She didn't really comprehend why this should be so, but it was.
Fast double beeps sounded. Sara plucked the thermometer from Ian's mouth and peered at the display. She frowned. "102.1. This is not good, Nottingham. You need that antidote."
"And I will get it. After we put away Angel Medina," Ian said firmly. He was very aware of how close she was standing to him. He breathed through his nose, inhaling her distinctive scent, a heady mixture of French lavender, vanilla, tuberose, and her own essence, certain his temperature had shot up a degree or two in just those few moments.
"Okay, deal," she said. "Now, what's your plan?"
More to come. Please review and leave feedback if you feel like it. I appreciate it!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. Top Cow, TNT, etc. do. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Author's Note: After much angst (okay, not that much), I decided to rewrite both Chapters 19 and 20. I was dissatisfied with the amount of exposition in the former Chapter 20, so I combined both characters' viewpoints and then split the resulting gigantic chapter into two. Sara and Ian are a team now anyway, right? What God hath joined, let no man put asunder (or something like that)! If you can't be bothered to reread both chappies, that's fine. I'll {sob} understand. For you first-timers, enjoy!
Chapter 20.
On the way to the elder Siris' home in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, Ian Nottingham dutifully reported in to his master.
"Ah, Ian, at last. I was wondering if you had forgotten my request for frequent updates," Kenneth Irons said acerbically, after answering on the first ring.
"There was nothing to report until just recently, sir," Ian told him truthfully.
"I take it the Wielder is still restricted to desk duty."
"Yes. She only ventured outside three times today. Twice for coffee and once for lunch. It was not until she left work for the day that she informed me of her intention to stake out Pier 62, Berth 11, which is the location where the drug bust is scheduled to take place tonight. Of course, that is where I will be, too," he told his master.
"Of course. Where is Detective Pezzini now?"
"She is en route to the home of her godparents, Joseph and Marie Siri, for dinner," he told him, neglecting to mention that Lady Sara also planned to garage her motorcycle for the winter for fear that his master might guess that she and Ian were going to share his vehicle during the stakeout. At least this was what Nottingham intended to propose that they do; whether or not she accepted his offer remained to be seen.
"Keep a very close eye on the Wielder, young Nottingham," Irons bade him, "Call and inform me how the operation went no matter how late it is. And once Sara retires for the evening, return home."
"Yes, sir." Unplugging and removing the headset, Ian put his phone back in his coat pocket. He felt an irrational sense of guilt about betraying Sara's confidence by informing his master of her intentions. Although he knew Irons would not do anything with the information that might possibly harm the Wielder, Ian still felt bad about sharing it with him.
They arrived at Joseph and Marie Siri's home at 18:40.
Sara rode the Buell up the short driveway. The garage door was open and Joe Siri, Sr. and his namesake were standing inside it.
"Here she is!" Joe Sr. said, opening his arms wide as Sara got off her bike and removed her helmet. He enveloped her in one of his patented bear hugs.
Until that very moment, Sara hadn't realized how very much she'd missed him.
"It's really good to see you, Joe," she told him huskily. "It's been too long."
"Where's Ian?" Joey asked, looking up and down the street.
"Hi, to you, too," Sara said. "He's parking his car. Joey, how are --" she found herself speaking to the cold night air as the boy took off down the driveway toward the street. "Okey dokey, then."
"He's been talking nonstop about this fella of yours," Joe Sr. said, his craggy features creasing in a smile. "Joey said he's some kind of bodyguard?"
"Uh, yeah, he's in personal security," Sara said distractedly, glancing toward the street.
Ian had just located a parking space a couple of blocks away from Sara's godparents' home when he noticed Joseph Siri, Jr. approaching his vehicle.
"Good evening, young Joseph," Ian greeted him as he got out of the car.
"Hi, Ian. I could hardly believe it when Grandpa told me Aunt Sara was bringing you along with her. I guess you took my advice, hunh?" the boy said smugly.
"Yes, I suppose I have," Ian concurred, joining him on the sidewalk. Ever mindful of his duty, he scanned the quiet, tree-lined street as they walked toward the house belonging to the teenager's grandparents.
"She must be warming up to you if she invited you to join us for dinner," Joseph observed, extraordinarily pleased with himself judging by the big grin on his face.
"Either that or she feels sorry for me," Ian murmured, "because of my glaring lack of a social life." 'Or any other kind of life,' he thought sourly.
"Nah. Aunt Sara only brings guys that she likes over to Grandma and Grandpa's house," the teen said confidently, instantly causing Ian to start obsessing about just how many men Lady Sara had brought here in the past.
Sara finally spotted Nottingham and her nephew walking up the street together. Joey was grinning up at the tall, dark-haired man and talking animatedly. The assassin listened attentively while simultaneously scanning the dark, quiet street.
"Big guy, isn't he?" Joe Sr. murmured, watching them approach.
"Sort of required in his line of work, Joe," Sara said, taking note of Nottingham's height and the muscular slope of his broad shoulders beneath his black wool overcoat as if for the first time. "Ian Nottingham, Joe Siri, Sr.," she introduced as he and her nephew drew nearer.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Siri. Sara has often spoken very fondly of you," Nottingham said in his deep, quiet voice, holding out a gloved hand to the older man.
Joe Siri, Sr. gripped the black-clad man's hand and shook it firmly. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Nottingham. My grandson and me were just clearing a space for my goddaughter's motorcycle. My wife has been after me for weeks to get around to doing it, but I'm a procrastinator, so . . ." he shrugged.
"Please, call me Ian. Is there something I can do to help?" Ian offered, glancing at the jumble of household detritus that cluttered the garage's interior. Judging from the leaf litter and water spots coating it, the car sitting in the driveway hadn't been housed inside the structure for some time, if ever.
"Oh, no! Marie would have my head if I dared to put a guest to work. We're almost done, aren't we, Joey?"
The boy eyed the garage dubiously. "Yeah, we should be finished by the time Grandma serves dessert," he cracked.
"Come on, Mr. Wiseass, just help me move these boxes and we'll be done. Sara, you and Ian go on in. We'll join you in a couple of minutes," Joe Sr. said, grabbing his grandson by the sleeve.
"Okay, see you inside," Sara said, grinning and heading for the front door.
"Perhaps I should offer to help again. I do not think they can accomplish the task in just two minutes," Ian murmured, glancing back.
"Nah. He'll cram my bike in there within minutes. He always does," Sara said dismissively, opening the door to the house. "Hey, everybody!"
Marie Siri jumped up from where she had been sitting next to her daughter-in-law on the sofa and hurried to the door.
"Oh, there you are, Sara! Did you see your godfather out there? I don't know how many times I reminded him to make room for your motorbike! He waits 'til now, of course!" she said, her voice still retaining a trace of her native land's accent. She gave Sara a warm hug and then looked curiously at the tall, dark-haired man standing next to her.
"Marie Siri, Ian Nottingham," Sara introduced.
Ian had immediately detected a faint but familiar cadence in the voice of the petite older woman with immaculately coiffed salt-and-pepper hair who greeted them at the door. He took off his hat and extended his hand. When Marie Siri placed hers in his, he brought it to his lips, kissing it, eyes gazing soulfully into hers, much as he'd seen his master do when he especially wished to win over a woman.
Sara's eyebrows rose as she watched the two of them converse fluently in her godmother's native tongue for several moments.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Signora Siri," Ian said to her in Italian. "Your reputation for warm hospitality precedes you and I am honored to have been invited to sit at your table."
"You speak my first language excellently, Mr. Nottingham. And I see that you are a gentleman. That is rare these days," Marie Siri said approvingly in the same language.
"Please, Signora, call me Ian," he told her. "I was brought up to hold women in the highest regard, as is their due. And I have long wanted to meet the woman who had a hand in raising such a brave, intelligent, and honorable young woman as your beautiful goddaughter, Sara."
"Oh, my! What a charmer!" Marie Siri finally said in English, blushing and placing a hand on her plump bosom. "I certainly hope you are hungry, Ian. There is plenty of food and I like my guests to eat well."
Ian placed his hand on his heart, a look of sorrow -- a very close relative to the kicked-puppy, Sara thought irreverently -- crossing his face. "To my profound regret, I must confess that I am not feeling very well this evening, Mrs. Siri. I have a touch of the flu, and I'm afraid my stomach cannot handle a large meal. However, in order to please your goddaughter, I have promised that I will try to eat something," he responded.
"Oh, you poor boy!" Marie clucked, taking him by the hand and leading him to the couch. "What was Sara thinking dragging you out of your sickbed to come here? Here, let me take your coat, and you just sit down here and relax. I have just the thing for you! Some of my Millecosedde soup. It is guaranteed to make you feel better!"
Sara watched in amazement as her godmother transformed into a mother hen, fussing over her stalker. She even went so far as to feel Nottingham's forehead, tutt tutting at how hot it was. "Sara! What were you thinking dragging this poor, sick man out in this cold?" Marie reprimanded her. "He should be home in bed with that fever!"
"Um, he wanted to come. He's not contagious if that's what you're worried about," Sara said, taken aback.
"You should be worried about him catching his death of pneumonia out there! This coat is not nearly warm enough!" Marie informed her, shaking the offending garment at her.
It was obvious to Ian that Sara was as surprised as he was at her godmother's solicitousness, and he hastened to tell the older woman that it was he who was to blame.
"Signora Siri, please, do not be angry with Sara. She is right. I wanted to come and meet her family. She tried to persuade me to stay home in bed, but I insisted that I felt up to coming here tonight," Nottingham said soothingly.
"Well, all right then, but you should go straight home to bed after dinner, young man," Marie said, mollified. She bustled off to hang up his and Sara's coats.
"Hi, I'm Robert, Joey's father, and this is his mother, Paula," Robert Siri introduced himself and his wife, rising from his chair to hold out a hand to the other man and indicating Paula, who sat at the other end of the couch.
Ian stood. "Ian Nottingham. I must compliment you both on what a fine job you have done raising your son. He is a remarkable young man," he said, first grasping Robert's hand and shaking it firmly, and then repeating his gallant hand-kissing gesture with Paula's hand.
It was then Sara noticed that Nottingham had actually removed his gloves. She stared at his bare hands in fascination. They were very nice, strong-looking hands, the skin only slightly paler than that of his face. He had placed his heavy silver ring on the index finger of his right hand.
Ian had just retaken his seat when he saw a dark-haired, preteen girl come down the stairs and approach the Wielder.
Sara felt a little tug on her sleeve and glanced down to see her 11- year-old niece and Joey's kid sister, Gina Marie Siri, at her elbow.
"Hi, Aunt Sara," the dark-haired girl said, smiling. She shot Nottingham a quick, shy glance.
Sara hugged the slender girl. "Hey, cutie pie! Is it possible you've grown since the other night? You're already up to my shoulder!"
"I have on heels, see?" she picked up her foot to show the low-heeled boots she wore.
"That must be it," Sara said. "Ian Nottingham, this young lady is my niece, Gina Marie Siri."
"Otherwise known as The Pain in the Butt," Joseph Siri, Jr. said, coming in the front door, his grandfather right behind him.
"Shut up, Joey!" Gina Marie yelled at him, her face flushing with anger and embarrassment.
Ian Nottingham rose gracefully from the couch then dropped to one knee in front of the young girl. Taking her hand, he gravely bowed his head over it and brushed it with his lips, much as he'd done with her grandmother and mother. "I am very pleased to meet you, Gina Marie Siri," he said softly, meeting her wide, brown eyes. Then he leaned a little closer to her and said, sotto voce, "Would you like me to beat Joey up for you? I am much bigger than he is, so I am pretty sure I can take him, even in my weakened condition."
The girl giggled delightedly. "No, that's okay, Ian. I can beat him up all by myself and I will if he calls me names again!"
"Very well then, but you have only to ask, my Lady, and it shall be done," Nottingham said, expression serious. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Joey, who was grinning unabashedly, then rose to take his seat again. Gina Marie promptly plopped down on the sofa between him and her mother, flashing him a shy grin after sticking her tongue out at her older brother.
Sara wondered who this man was that had taken over Nottingham's body. Judging by their admiring glances, he had managed to completely charm all of the females in the house within a minute of arriving. Even Robert and Joe Sr. were nodding approvingly at the way he had diffused the sibling rivalry. And it was obvious that Joey Jr. already had a bad case of hero worship. She shook her head at the extreme bizarreness of it all.
From the bemused look on her face, Ian could tell that Sara was impressed with the swiftness with which he had ingratiated himself with her family. Truth be told, Nottingham himself was a little stunned by how relaxed he felt around so many strangers. He had even remembered to take off his gloves just after entering the house, and was only mildly uncomfortable about how naked his hands felt. He wondered if his rising fever was responsible for this.
"Sara, sweetie, could you come help me in the kitchen for a moment?" her godmother said.
'Here it comes,' Sara thought. 'The third degree.'
"Sure, Marie." Resignedly, she followed her into the kitchen.
Ian tried to eavesdrop on their discussion, but Joseph Siri, Sr. pulled up a chair and began chatting with him, distracting him enough so that he only caught snatches of the two women's conversation.
"So, Sara and Joey say you're in the personal security business," the older man said.
"Yes. I am head of security for Kenneth Irons," Ian responded.
Joseph Sr.'s eyebrows rose. "The guy who owns half the city?"
"Mr. Irons does not own quite that much real estate, but yes, he is my employer."
"I guess that means you're licensed to carry then, hunh?"
'Spoken like a true ex-cop,' Ian thought. "At all times," he agreed.
"So, how did you meet my goddaughter?"
"We met while she was working on a case," he said truthfully.
"Oh, yeah, I remember that case. It was one of the last ones I handled before retiring. An explosion following a shootout at the Midtown Museum, where your boss had some items on display in an exhibit, right? You were there that day?"
"Yes. As Mr. Irons' head of security, I was tasked with making certain nothing happened to the extremely valuable artifacts that were on loan to the museum and that were featured in the Joan of Arc exhibit."
"I understand that everything was pretty much a total loss. He must not have been too happy about that, hunh?"
"He was simply grateful that no harm befell Sara," Ian said quietly, "as was I."
In the kitchen, Marie Siri, the woman who was the closest thing to a mother that Sara had had since her own mother had died of cancer when she was very young, barely waited until the swinging door closed behind them before turning and demanding "So, where did you meet Ian?"
"Um, I met him while working a case," Sara answered truthfully.
"What exactly does he do for a living? Joey said something about him being a bodyguard? That's dangerous work."
"Yes, he's head of security for Kenneth Irons. Maybe you've heard of him?"
Marie's dark eyes widened. "The billionaire?"
"That's the one."
"Oh, my!" her godmother murmured. "Both of you have very dangerous jobs. That's not good. God forbid something should happen to you both. What would happen to the children? I suppose Robert and Paula could take them in."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a minute there, Mrs. Hurry-Up-and-Make-Me- a-Grandma-Again! We're just friends! That's all!" Sara said quickly and emphatically.
"But he's so handsome, charming, and well-mannered!" Marie said. "You need a strong man like him to take care of you, Sara. Plus, I think he might be Italian."
"Okay, that's enough, Marie! I hate to disappoint you, but there's nothing going on between us. We're, um, professional acquaintances. That's all. Really."
"Humph," her godmother said, clearly unconvinced. "I think you'd be foolish to let that one get away. Don't close your eyes to love, cara. It doesn't come around that often."
"Um, yeah. Right. I'll remember that. Now, do you actually want me to help you with something or was that just an excuse to give me the third degree?"
"You can bring the rolls out to the table, sweetie," Marie said, handing her a basket in which to put the fragrant, golden-brown rolls that she removed from the oven. Sara's stomach growled loudly, and she realized that she was famished.
Minutes later, Marie Siri announced that dinner was served.
Ian took the seat to his Lady's right while young Joseph took the chair next to him. Sara's godmother personally served Ian a bowl of her Millecosedde soup, extolling its curative powers, and then watched closely while he slowly ate every bit of it. She attempted to get him to sample some of the other dishes she had prepared but he politely declined all further nourishment. Although the delicious soup appeared to agree with him, Ian decided not to push his luck.
Conversation was lively throughout the meal, and everybody went out of their way to include him. Not surprisingly, one subject that was studiously avoided was young Joseph's recent legal troubles.
"I like your beard and mustache and your hair, Ian," Gina Marie told him at one point, overcoming her shyness. "My daddy says men with long hair look like sissies, but I don't think yours makes you look like a sissy," she informed him, causing her father to choke on a bite of his food.
Her brother burst out laughing, although everyone else tried to keep a straight face.
"Thank you for the compliment, my Lady," Ian said, jabbing a chortling Joseph Jr. with his elbow.
"Ow!" the boy exclaimed, putting on his most innocent expression. "What did I do?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Joey," his mother admonished him, hiding a smile behind her napkin and reaching over to thump her coughing husband on the back.
Ian's eyes kept returning to Sara's face. She was as relaxed as he'd ever seen her, and her frequent husky laughter teased his senses. From time to time, she would glance at him and smile encouragingly, causing his heart rate to speed up. It was obvious that she enjoyed being in the bosom of her adoptive family and that she was secure in their love. He was also glad to see that she ate very well, even having a second helping of practically everything.
Sara noticed that her godmother watched with an eagle eye as Nottingham ate a bowl of her vegetable soup. Marie tried to push some of her antipasto, chicken cacciatore, lasagna, and risotto on him, but he politely declined. Sara ate everything, and even had seconds. It was not often that she had home cooking, especially of this caliber. By the time dessert was served, she could feel the Witchblade swirling contentedly, the glowing stone safely concealed by her sleeve.
Ian had been lulled into a false sense of security by his hostess's grandmotherly warmth and matronly decorum. Too late, he realized that he had committed a serious tactical error by divulging that he spoke Italian fluently as soon as he crossed the threshold of the tidy little home.
The inquisition started out innocently enough over the dessert course.
"So, Ian," Marie Siri said in her native tongue, dark eyes pinning him, "where are your people from?"
"I am afraid I do not know, Signora. I was adopted," Ian replied politely in the same language.
"Ah! That explains the non-Italian name. What a terrible thing not to know your people," she lamented, shaking her head sadly. "How is it that you speak with a Southern Italian accent?"
"My tutor was from Abruzzi."
"Hearty eaters, those people. My people are from the province of Catanzaro in Calabria. I would have guessed that your people hailed from Sicily, or perhaps Sardinia. You have that look. What are your intentions toward my goddaughter?"
"M-my intentions?" he stammered, thrown by the lightning-swift change of subject.
"Yes. Do you intend to marry her? You are not so young and she is not getting any younger. I would like to see her children, whom I would consider to be my grandchildren, before I die. You do want children, don't you?"
"Um, I -- "
"Of course you do. Do you love her?"
"More than life itself."
"Ah!" Marie smiled with satisfaction at his unhesitating response. "That is good. So, you are courting her, yes?"
"Well, not in the traditional sense, no," Ian said, feeling a blush color his cheeks.
Although no one else present spoke the language, Ian had the horrible suspicion that they all knew exactly what the Siri family matriarch was up to. He shot Sara a quick look and saw that she was smirking slightly as she observed their exchange with great interest. A glance at the others revealed sympathetic looks on Joseph Sr.'s and Robert Siri's faces, while Paula and Gina Marie Siri stared at his burning face with almost identical expressions of fascination. Joseph Jr. just grinned cheekily at him around a piece of tiramisu.
"Young people these days do everything backward. They make love first, then begin courting! They move in together, then get married! Are you intimate with my goddaughter?"
"Um, we are just friends and business associates, Signora Siri," he said, his cheeks, if possible, becoming even redder. "She does not think of me in that manner."
Ian now knew what a cornered animal felt like. Out of sheer desperation, he toyed with the idea of pretending to become nauseous again so that he would have a legitimate excuse to rush from the table. But, regretfully, he decided that there was no honor in that sort of deception; his hostess's feelings would be badly hurt and, worse yet, Sara would never hear the end of it. And so, the relentless questions continued unchecked.
"But you admit that you are in love with her?"
"Yes, ever since I first laid eyes on her."
Marie beamed. "I knew it! Of course, she is too thin and she works too hard. Plus, because of her job, she thinks she has to be tough and act like one of the boys. I blame her father, may he rest in peace, for that. After her mother, God rest her soul, died when Sara was just a little girl, her father let her run wild. I suppose it was inevitable that she would become a tomboy. I guess James did the best he could. Still, Sara is very passionate and would make a fine mother. All she needs is a strong man to take her in hand. I think you are that man, Ian Nottingham. Do not make me wait too long for more grandchildren, eh? My time on this earth is growing short. Tell me, how do you intend to court her? Maybe I can give you some advice."
Sara had winced when Marie Siri commenced to give Nottingham the third degree over espresso and homemade tiramisu. Although her godmother had the good grace to interrogate the unsuspecting man in Italian, Sara and everyone else present knew exactly what she was doing. A telltale blush reddened Ian's face at one point, drawing sympathetic grins from all of the males and fascinated stares from all of the females present. After several minutes of relentless questions, a hunted look started to creep over the black-clad man's features. She decided to take pity on him.
"Nottingham, come with me. I wanna show you something," Sara said, rising from the table. "Excuse us, please," she murmured, ignoring her godmother's frown.
Ian was devoutly grateful that Sara chose that moment to say she wanted to show him something in another part of the house. He pushed away from the table with indecent haste and followed her, convinced that he could feel Marie Siri's gaze boring into his back as he walked away.
Sara led him upstairs. "Sorry about the third degree. Marie does that to everybody I bring home," she said apologetically.
"Have you brought many male companions here, Sara?" Ian could not stop himself from asking, then waited for her to rightfully tell him to mind his own business..
Surprised at his query, Sara glanced back at Nottingham's face, but, as usual, his eyes were downcast, the loose tendrils of hair effectively hiding his expression.
"A few over the years. Not anybody recently," she admitted, and then instantly wondered why she had. It was really none of his damn business!
They reached the second floor, and Sara opened a door halfway down the hall on the left, flicking on the light to reveal a small bedroom with shell-pink walls. She flopped onto the afghan-covered bed, rubbing her stomach and yawning. "I ate like a pig," she said, studying her stalker through half-closed eyes. The two cups of espresso she'd drunk hadn't kicked in yet, and she was feeling decidedly relaxed and sleepy.
Ian glanced around the room curiously then slowly began to walk around it, examining the posters on the walls, the decorative items on the shelves, and the framed pictures on top of the bureau. The posters were mostly of musical groups that had apparently been popular when Sara was in high school. There was one from a band called The Smiths and another featuring a group by the name of The Talking Heads. There was also a poster of a gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle, an exact miniature of which sat on one of the shelves.
"This was my room when I came to live here after my father died," the Wielder told him. "It was Robert's before I moved in, but he'd already moved out by the time I arrived. In fact, he had already married Paula, his childhood sweetheart, and started a family. Joey was just a baby."
"This is a house filled with love," Ian said softly. "The walls practically vibrate with it. You are very lucky to be a part of this family, my Lady."
One of the photos caught his attention. It was of a young Sara Pezzini. Apparently it had been taken during the summer, because the shorts she wore exposed long, coltish legs and the bridge of her nose looked as though it might be sunburnt. Her shiny, dark-auburn hair in ponytails, Sara stared unsmilingly into the camera, and Ian's heart ached to see that shadows were visible in her beautiful eyes.
"How old were you in this picture?" he asked, showing it to her.
She glanced at it, and made a face. "Ugh. Fourteen. The rest of my body hadn't yet caught up to my legs, I had braces, and I was flat as a board. Not a good year." In more ways than one: that was the year her father had been killed.
"You were beautiful even then," Nottingham murmured, finding the courage to briefly make eye contact with her before putting the picture back where he had found it.
Sara turned onto her side, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and resting her head in her hand. "I certainly didn't feel beautiful. I was the girl whose father had been murdered and who had no mother. I tried to ignore the stares and whispers, but it wasn't easy. I was an orphan. Like you. That's not to say Marie and Joe didn't do their best to try to make me a part of their family. They did. They also have two daughters, you know. Joanie, their youngest, is only two years older than me. But she was in her junior year when I transferred to her school as a freshman, and she already had her own life and friends. I just never fit in with her clique, or any other for that matter," she told the black-clad man, whose back was to her but who she could tell was listening intently to her. "So, I guess I sort of know how you felt in that orphanage."
"But instead of visions that laid out your destiny for you, you suffered from the stigma of tragedy. I think it was actually easier for me," Ian told her, sensing her surprise at his words. "I only gradually came to realize I was different from the other children. And at least I had being an orphan in common with them. You were instantly identified as different because of your loss and at a very difficult age. That must have been a very lonely time for you, Sara."
Sara's eyes widened as she saw him reach up and brush away a tear from his face. "Nottingham, are you crying?" she asked in astonishment, noting that he did not seem at all embarrassed that she had caught him weeping.
"'Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break,'" he said in a low voice. He glanced at her, eyes dark with regret, bearded features somber. "I am grieving for your lost innocence, my Lady. Would that I could have spared you that pain." Grief and loss were the names of those shadows in her green, green eyes, then and now.
"Hey, high school was a long time ago. I'm over it," Sara assured him, but was horrified to feel tears pricking her own eyelids. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to stroll down memory lane," she muttered, sitting up and pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes in an effort to dispel the tears.
Hoping to distract her from the bad memories, Ian grabbed a photograph of her with a very young Joseph Siri, Jr. on her lap.
"How old was Joseph in this picture?" he asked, handing her the photo of herself holding the small, dark-haired toddler.
But as soon as Sara touched the picture, the Witchblade threw them both into a vision.
They saw Joey walk into an unfamiliar building that had a guard station and metal detector in the foyer. Sara's nephew emptied the contents of his pockets into a little basket, the guard looked through his book bag carefully, returned it to him, and then waved him through the detector. Joey then signed in at what looked to be a nurse's station, where he also checked his knapsack. He was given a pass and told to take a certain elevator bank to get where he wanted to go.
The vision fast-forwarded to Joey knocking on a door of what looked like a hospital room. A voice said "Come in," and the boy entered. There, sitting on the bed, was Amanda Lundquist. She smiled happily and rose to give him a hug. She still looked too thin and pale, but no longer jittery, and her blue eyes were bright and clear.
"It's been almost 96 hours since I last got high, so they said I could have a supervised visit for a half an hour today. I chose you as my first visitor!" the girl told Joey. Then she indicated a young African- American woman sitting in a chair near the window. "This is one of my counselors, Imani. Imani, this is my boyfriend, Joey."
"Nice to meet you, Joey," the other woman said.
"It's nice to meet you, too, Imani. I'm so glad you called, Amanda. When I got home from dinner at my grandparents last night and heard your voice on the answering machine, I couldn't believe it!" Joey said, kissing the top of her head tenderly. "I could hardly wait for school to end today."
"Did they catch the guy who killed Paco yet?" Amanda asked him anxiously.
"No. My aunt says the drug bust that was supposed to catch him fell through last night. She says I should keep my eyes open, 'cause I could still be in danger. In fact, she didn't want me to come up here today, but I told her I wouldn't miss it for the world. I was supposed to wait for her to come get me after school, but she was delayed and I couldn't wait any longer. It's so good to see you, 'Manda."
"It's good to see you, too, Joey." They kissed.
The vision fast-forwarded again to Joey saying good-bye to Amanda and leaving the rehab facility. He started walking down the street toward the subway, when suddenly a car pulled up alongside him. A ski-masked man rolled down the window and yelled "Say hello to Paco for me, kid!" and started shooting. Several bullets hit Joey. Mortally wounded, he collapsed to the ground. The car peeled off.
"No!" Sara screamed as the vision released her. "Oh my God, Joey!"
She scrambled to her feet in a panic, intent on rushing downstairs to verify that her nephew was alive and well, only to have Nottingham grab her by the shoulders.
"Sara, wait!" he said urgently. "Joseph's safe. The vision was only a warning. We can prevent what you saw from happening."
"He died, Nottingham," Sara sobbed, tears spilling from haunted green eyes. "I saw him die!"
"It is not going to happen. We will not allow it to," he promised, enfolding her in his arms.
Amazingly, she clung to him, blindly seeking the comfort he offered, until her godfather suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"Is everything all right?" Joe Siri, Sr. said. "We all thought we heard Sara scream."
Hastily, Sara pulled away from Ian, leaving him feeling bereft.
Scrubbing the tears from her face, Sara struggled to regain her composure. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine, Joe. I, I just -- "
"This room and my prying questions brought back some bad memories of her father's death," Nottingham interjected smoothly. "I apologize for upsetting you, Sara."
"It's okay. Whew!" She shook her head as if to clear it. "I've been under a lot of stress lately. I didn't realize coming in here was going to affect me this way," she said sheepishly.
Her godfather seemed to accept this explanation. "You do look tired, sweetheart," he said gently. "Maybe you'd better call it a night? Excuse me for saying so, but you don't look so hot either, Ian."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Sara agreed. "But that reminds me, do you have a digital thermometer I can borrow? I wanna check his temp."
"Sure thing, doll. It's in the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom." He left.
"We've got to catch Angel Medina, Nottingham. Tonight," Sara said as soon as she was sure her godfather was out of earshot. She turned and walked out of her old room, heading down the hall and into the master bedroom. "But first we have to find him."
Ian followed her, a plan forming in his mind. "I have an idea of how we might do that," he told her. He found it odd but extremely gratifying that in spite of her obvious anxiety about young Joseph's continued well- being, she was still concerned about his own health.
"Good, because I sure as hell didn't." She went into her godparents' bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, taking out the thermometer and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Extracting a cotton ball from a jar on the étagère above the toilet, she disinfected the device, pressed the button, waited a few seconds, and then turned to Nottingham. "Open up."
Obediently, he opened his mouth and she inserted the thermometer under his tongue. Sara abruptly realized that despite her near state of panic concerning her nephew's safety, she still had the presence of mind to worry about her stalker's health. She didn't really comprehend why this should be so, but it was.
Fast double beeps sounded. Sara plucked the thermometer from Ian's mouth and peered at the display. She frowned. "102.1. This is not good, Nottingham. You need that antidote."
"And I will get it. After we put away Angel Medina," Ian said firmly. He was very aware of how close she was standing to him. He breathed through his nose, inhaling her distinctive scent, a heady mixture of French lavender, vanilla, tuberose, and her own essence, certain his temperature had shot up a degree or two in just those few moments.
"Okay, deal," she said. "Now, what's your plan?"
More to come. Please review and leave feedback if you feel like it. I appreciate it!