A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. They belong to Top Cow, TNT, etc.
Chapter 55
When Sara and Ian came downstairs a few minutes later, Paula Siri tactfully refrained from commenting on the passionate sounds she must have heard emanating from the guest room. She merely smiled and gave them the once-over with a knowing look.
Sara immediately forgot to act embarrassed when she spotted the plate of sandwiches and containers of potato salad, coleslaw, and macaroni salad on the sideboard in the dining room. In addition to assorted condiments, there were also pickles, potato chips and corn chips.
"Oooo, yummy!" she murmured, making a beeline for the food.
"What would you like to drink? I've got soda, seltzer, lemonade, ice tea, and fruit punch," Paula asked them.
"I will have lemonade, thank you," Ian said, taking a seat at the dining table.
"Seltzer, please," Sara requested, rapidly loading up her paper plate. "Omigod, Paula, you made your famous chicken salad! You gotta try some, Ian. It's to die for!"
Five minutes later, Robert, Gina Marie, and Joseph Siri, Jr. returned from their outing, ravenous and in high spirits.
"So, did you guys have fun?" Sara asked around a mouthful of her chicken salad sandwich as the rest of the family joined them at the table.
"Yeah," Joey said, sitting down and taking a bite of his own sandwich. "One of my buddies was there with his snowboard, and he let me take a few rides on it. It was awesome!"
"I had fun, too," Gina Marie piped up. "My friends Vanessa and Molly were there. Mommy, Molly's mom let her get magenta streaks in her hair and it looks really, really cool. Could I get purple streaks in my hair? Pleeeaaaaase!"
Paula looked dubious. "I want to see for myself what these streaks look like before I give you permission to get them. What do you say we invite Molly and her mom over for lunch tomorrow?" she suggested.
"Cool!" her daughter beamed, but then wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. That means her little brother, Stevie, will probably come along, too. He's sooooo gross. If you dare him to eat a booger, he will!"
"Okay, I could have done without that little tidbit while eating my lunch," her father said, shaking his head and grimacing.
Joey laughed. "This I gotta see. How old is Stevie? Six? Seven?"
"Six-and-a-half. He'll do it, Joey, I swear," Gina Marie told her brother. "Vanessa dared him to do it, and he did. And it wasn't even his own booger!"
"Excellent!" Joey chortled.
"Nobody's gonna dare Stevie Kaplan to do anything while he's here," Paula said firmly. "You got that, Joey?"
Her son shrugged. "Whatever. Oh, and just so you know, no way is that little maniac getting his grubby hands on my collection of Matchbox cars again. Last time he was here, he kept bugging me to let him play with them, and when I finally gave in and let him, he went nuts and trashed them! He kept pretending they were all involved in a massive pileup on the interstate. He broke the doors off a couple of them and scratched up a bunch of others. This time, my room is off limits to him. I mean it."
"Oh, come on, Joey!" Robert said. "You know very well that your collection wasn't exactly in mint condition to start with. Unlike mine. That kid isn't getting within ten feet of my Matchbox cars."
"You still have that collection, Robbie?" Sara asked in surprise. "Something like ten years ago you told me you were gonna give them to Joey when he got older!"
Her brother nodded. "Yeah, I still got my cars. And he will get them." He smirked. "After I die."
Ian chose that moment to speak up. "These are toys you are referring to, are they not?" he queried curiously.
Everybody stared at him.
"Don't tell me you never had any Matchbox cars as a kid, Ian," Joey finally blurted out.
Ian met Sara's gaze. *Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of my past,* he sent.
*Yeah, you can gain their sympathy by telling them about your shitty childhood, and then casually mention the fact that you used to kill people for a living,* Sara replied sarcastically, and then immediately regretted it when she saw the way he winced. *I guess now is as good a time as any,* she acquiesced, sighing.
"No, I never had Matchbox cars," Ian responded quietly to the teenaged boy. "In fact, the only toys I was allowed to have as a child were guns, knives, and swords. It was my father's way of grooming me for my eventual profession."
"You mean as a bodyguard?" Gina Marie asked.
"Yes." Ian took a deep breath. "And an assassin."
Robert burst out laughing. "You're joking, right?" But his grin faded as he saw that Ian was completely serious. "No, you're not," he said faintly, perhaps recalling the earlier incident in the garage.
"My father is a very wealthy and powerful man," Ian said, breaking the strained silence that had fallen over the dining room. "As such, he has a lot of enemies. From childhood, I was trained in several martial arts disciplines, earning advanced degrees in each by the time I was Joseph's age. Later on, I served in the Army's Special Forces and learned to expertly handle various deadly weapons. Using these skills at my father's behest, I have systematically and thoroughly eliminated any and all threats to his safety." He paused. "This is not something I am proud of. It is just a fact of life. My life. Very few people know that I am my father's son and heir. If they know about me at all, they believe I am simply his personal bodyguard and head of security. My father prefers it that way, and has never treated me as a son, even in private. He thinks of me as the perfect weapon whose foremost priority is insuring his continued wellbeing. And that is also how I thought of myself until I met Sara," Ian said, glancing at his beloved, who reached over and grasped his hand, silently sending him a wave of encouragement.
"You mean you assassinated people?" Gina Marie Siri breathed, eyes round.
"Yes, Princess," Ian said softly, "I did."
"But they were bad people, right?" Joey said. "People who wanted to hurt you and your father."
"If you are asking whether they were hardened criminals, Joseph, I would have to say, no, not all of them were," Ian admitted. "In fact, on the surface, many of them appeared to be respectable businessmen. Pillars of the community, even. But in reality, they were ruthless men who thought my father was an easy target. They learned the truth of the matter the hard way. I guess you could say I was just doing my duty by protecting my father from his enemies."
"Define 'enemies,'" Robert Siri said slowly, obviously not liking what he was hearing.
Ian shifted in his seat uneasily. "It is an unfortunate fact that my father's great wealth and notoriety make him the object of envy in the eyes of many. You might be surprised by just how uncivilized greed can make otherwise decent men. In addition, his corporation's work in genetics and other controversial fields have made him a target of hatred in certain circles. I can honestly say I have never moved against any of my father's adversaries until they moved against him first. After I disposed of the assassin or assassins that were sent to kill my father, I paid their employers a visit. Suffice it to say, they were no longer a threat to his safety after that."
"You'd think that would deter anybody else from trying the same thing," Paula murmured, visibly shuddering.
"Yes, one would think that," Ian agreed. "But, invariably, my father's enemies think they will be the one to succeed where the others have failed. And so it goes. But not anymore. My days as an assassin are over. Now, Sara's safety is of paramount importance to me." With that, Ian lowered his eyes to his and Sara's clasped hands and waited to see how these people he had come to care for very much would react to his confession.
Nervously, Sara studied the faces of her family as they digested this startling information.
"Why are you telling us this now?" Robert finally asked after several long, uncomfortable minutes had passed.
"As I told your wife earlier, my father does not approve of my relationship with Sara and will do everything in his power to separate us, including attempting to alienate her family by divulging my past misdeeds. Sara and I decided to beat him to the punch."
"You knew about this, Paula?" Robert asked his wife.
She shook her head. "Not about the professional assassin part. I hazarded a guess as to who his father is, and he confirmed it."
"Would your father happen to be Kenneth Irons, Ian?" Robert asked astutely.
"Yes."
"Does this mean that you're a suspect in several unsolved murders?" Paula inquired bluntly.
"No. My name was cleared when the homicide investigations failed to turn up any evidence that could have incriminated me."
"But you're still a suspected murderer, right?" Robert persisted.
"Technically, yes," Ian said, his unflinching gaze meeting the other man's.
"And you're okay with this, Sara?" her brother queried, turning to her.
"No, I'm not," Sara replied honestly. "But wishing Ian's life had turned out differently is a waste of time. We've decided to put his past behind us, and although we know it's a lot to ask of you all, we were really hoping you could do the same."
"Ian, remember when I asked you why you look out for my Aunt Sara?" Joey suddenly inquired.
"Yes, Joseph," Ian said, warning bells going off in his head, "I remember."
"You said 'Because it's what I was born to do.' What did you mean by that?"
Ian contrived to look thoughtful. "How should I put this?" he mused aloud, buying time. *We cannot tell them about the Witchblade, my Lady. To do so would be to place them in grave danger,* he sent to Sara.
*They're already in danger, Ian. I don't see that we have much choice.*
*And just who else were you planning to tell?*
*My godparents, Danny, Vicky, and maybe Jake. I don't see any other way around it. If we're gonna make this relationship work, we have to tell my family and friends about the Witchblade, and that I'm Its Wielder and you're my Protector.*
*Very well,* Ian said reluctantly. *But you'd better ask the Witchblade for permission first.*
*You're joking, right?* Sara said, aware that her family was becoming restless as Ian's silence became drawn out.
*No, I'm not. Divulging the Witchblade's existence is not something to be done lightly, Sara. You should request Its permission to do so before embarking on this path.*
*And if It forbids me to reveal that I'm Its Wielder, what then?*
*We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,* Ian told her. *In the meantime, I'll do my best to stall your family while you converse with the Witchblade.*
*Uh, okay,* she murmured, taking a deep breath. *Here goes nothing.* Releasing Ian's hand, Sara touched the Witchblade's blood-red stone. 'Hello, Witchy?' she queried. 'Anybody home?'
Abruptly, the stone flared to life, and Sara felt the familiar sensation of being drawn into a vision.
She found herself standing in the living room of an achingly familiar house. It took only a moment for her to recognize her childhood home.
"Daddy, Daddy, look at me!" A young girl's excited voice came floating down from upstairs, and Sara's heart clenched with pain in her chest as she saw her father come out of the kitchen to stand at the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh, Sweetheart, you look like an angel!" her father beamed. "Just like I knew you would."
Sara watched her much-younger self bounce down the steps. "That's what Marie said," she grinned, revealing a gap where her front teeth should have been.
'I remember this,' Sara thought with a pang. 'It was my First Communion. Marie is upstairs with Joanie and Anna Marie getting ready to go to the church. And Joe and Robbie are in the kitchen waiting on us.'
"Family is very important to you, Sara," a voice said, and Sara turned to see a dark-haired woman sitting in her father's favorite chair.
"Who are you?" she asked, noticing that the woman wore a suit of light armor over her toga-like dress, and that although not as strong as it had been with Elizabeth Bronte, she also bore a striking resemblance to Sara.
"My name is Boudica, and long, long ago I, too, was a Wielder of the Digitablum Magae, or Witchblade," she replied. Back ramrod straight, head held high, Boudica possessed a distinctly regal air, and the circlet of hammered gold that rested upon her brow looked like it belonged there.
"Uh, nice to meet you," Sara murmured, watching her younger self pirouette for her father, showing off the beautiful white gown, flowery headdress, and veil that she had worn for her First Communion. "I guess you're the one I have to ask permission from, hunh?"
The other woman inclined her head a fraction. "Yes."
"Um, is it okay if I tell my family and friends about you, I mean, about the Witchblade?" Sara asked, feeling more and more like a subject who had been granted an audience with the queen.
Boudica tilted her head curiously. "Why is it so important to you that you tell them about Our existence, Wielder?"
"Because they're my family and my closest friends, and because I don't think I'm strong enough to bear the burden of wielding the Witchblade alone," she whispered.
"You are strong enough, or We would not have chosen you. And you are not alone. You have your Protector by your side." Boudica paused and then smiled with obvious satisfaction. "And in your bed. We are extremely pleased by this development, Wielder."
"Uh, yeah. Right," Sara murmured, coloring. "Anyway, is it okay if I tell my family and my friends about you?"
"It was never Our intention that Our chosen Wielder should bear the burden of wielding the Witchblade alone. That is why there are others who watch over you. They are the Watchers. Their duty is to provide guidance and counsel to the Wielder in times of peril," Boudica informed her.
"Watchers? Who are they?" Sara asked, intrigued.
The other woman smiled. "They will become known to you in time. For now, it is enough that you know they are watching over you."
"That's great and all, but I still think my family and my friends deserve to know what's going on with me. Danny, for instance, is already beyond suspicious about the weird things that keep happening to me, like the way I zone out when you send me visions and how I make these crazy leaps of so-called intuition that help solve our increasingly bizarre cases. He's my partner and my best friend, and it's becoming harder and harder for me to keep lying to him. I think he can handle knowing the real deal. At least, I hope so."
Her expression noncommittal, Boudica watched her. "The mantle of great power never rests easily on the shoulders of a True Wielder -- nor should it. It has crushed many a pretender who was foolish enough to lay claim to Us. But that will not stop those that lust after the power you now possess from trying to wrest it from you, Wielder. By choosing to reveal who and what you are to your friends and family, you may be endangering the lives of the very ones you profess to love. Are you absolutely sure you can you live with that?"
Sara swallowed hard, her eyes going to her father and her past self. "My father chose to become a police officer," she said slowly, "because he genuinely loved to help people. A year or so before he was killed, we were at this party at my godparents' house, and somebody asked him why he did what he did even though he knew there was always a risk that he might not come home to me at the end of the day. To this day, I still wonder if he knew I was listening when he said 'Because it's my job, and I love it. I love being a cop. It's what I always wanted to be. What's more, I'm good at it. Damn good. I'd turn in my badge in a heartbeat if for one minute I didn't think I was making a difference. But I do. I plan on always being there for my little girl, but if something should happen to me, I trust she'd understand why I did what I did for a living.'" Sara smiled through the tears in her eyes. "I kinda think he did know I was listening, but he never let on."
She looked at Boudica. "I love being a cop for the exact same reasons, and my father's responsible for that. He made me believe that I could make a difference by catching and putting away the bad guys. Now I come to find out that I'm the Wielder of the Witchblade, and that there are people out there who give a whole new meaning to the definition of 'bad guys.' My friends and family have always been a source of strength for me, and I gotta believe they'll support me even when they find out that now I'm some kind of superhero, or what have you. I need to know that I can count on their support. Besides, until Nottingham breaks free of Irons' control, who else can I really depend on?"
Boudica nodded. "You have a point. Very well. You have Our permission to reveal Our existence and your identity as a True Wielder. But choose those whom you would share this knowledge with wisely, Wielder. Several of your predecessors failed to do so, and the price they paid was very, very high. Knowledge of Us is not something to be borne lightly, and there is no going back once you have chosen this path."
"I understand," Sara said. She examined the other woman's appearance more closely. "So, what's your story?"
"My story?"
"Yeah. Who were you?"
Boudica smiled again. "Ask the Mythkeeper. He will tell you all you need to know."
"The Mythkeeper? Who the heck is that?"
"He is already well known to you. You trust him implicitly, and have ever since you met him."
"Is speaking in riddles a Witchblade prerequisite or something?" Sara exclaimed exasperatedly. "Geez!"
"Farewell, Wielder," Boudica said, her form rapidly becoming insubstantial, and Sara felt the vision begin to release her. "Remember: choose wisely!"
"Bye, Daddy," Sara whispered, taking one last look at her deceased father. James Pezzini was taking a picture of her younger self on the stairs, and his obvious pride in her brought fresh tears to Sara's eyes. "I love you." Between one eye-blink and the next, she found herself back in the dining room of her brother's house.
"I love you, too, Sara," Ian said softly, and she realized that she had spoken aloud. *Don't worry; I realize you weren't talking to me,* he added privately, and his matter-of-fact tone unexpectedly filled her with sorrow.
*How long was I out?* she asked.
*Perhaps two minutes.*
*That's all? It felt a lot longer. What have you been saying to stall them?*
*I'll tell you later. What did the Witchblade say?*
*It gave me permission to tell them about It, but warned me to choose who I decide to tell wisely. I hope I'm not making a big mistake,* Sara muttered anxiously.
*It's your choice, my love,* Ian responded. *But I'll stand by whatever decision you make.* Raising a hand, he gently wiped the tears from her face. *I am always here for you, Sara. Never forget that.*
Sara smiled tremulously at him. *I do love you, Ian Nottingham,* she said.
The smile that came over his face at her words was like the sun rising after a long winter night, and it warmed her to her very soul.
"Say it again," he whispered aloud.
"I love you, Ian Nottingham," she said clearly, and then laughed giddily at the realization that it was true.
"Again," he demanded, cupping her chin in his hand and leaning toward her so that his mouth was a hair's breadth from hers.
"I love you," she breathed against his lips, and then they kissed, long and enthusiastically, only ending it when Robert pointedly cleared his throat.
"You didn't actually answer Joey's question, Ian," he said.
"Perhaps Sara should be the one to answer it," Ian replied.
Sara took a deep breath. "Okay," she began, "what I'm about to tell you is gonna sound really, really fantastic. But first you have to swear to me on your lives that you won't tell anybody else about this. Do you swear?"
Robert rolled his eyes. "Sara," he began impatiently, but she cut him off.
"I'm totally serious, Robbie." She looked each member of her family in the eyes. "Swear to me. On your lives." Sara had to fight down a feeling of panic at the enormity of the step she was about to take. 'Please, God, let me be doing the right thing,' she implored to the heavens. Then she felt Ian's hand grasp hers, and the warmth of his love filled her with renewed confidence that the path she had chosen was, in fact, the right one.
"We swear," the Siri family solemnly said in unison.
More to come. Thanks, as always, for the wonderful feedback and reviews. They make my day and provide inspiration to keep going. I know I've said before that this story is in the home stretch, but now I mean it! But take heart, I smell a sequel!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. They belong to Top Cow, TNT, etc.
Chapter 55
When Sara and Ian came downstairs a few minutes later, Paula Siri tactfully refrained from commenting on the passionate sounds she must have heard emanating from the guest room. She merely smiled and gave them the once-over with a knowing look.
Sara immediately forgot to act embarrassed when she spotted the plate of sandwiches and containers of potato salad, coleslaw, and macaroni salad on the sideboard in the dining room. In addition to assorted condiments, there were also pickles, potato chips and corn chips.
"Oooo, yummy!" she murmured, making a beeline for the food.
"What would you like to drink? I've got soda, seltzer, lemonade, ice tea, and fruit punch," Paula asked them.
"I will have lemonade, thank you," Ian said, taking a seat at the dining table.
"Seltzer, please," Sara requested, rapidly loading up her paper plate. "Omigod, Paula, you made your famous chicken salad! You gotta try some, Ian. It's to die for!"
Five minutes later, Robert, Gina Marie, and Joseph Siri, Jr. returned from their outing, ravenous and in high spirits.
"So, did you guys have fun?" Sara asked around a mouthful of her chicken salad sandwich as the rest of the family joined them at the table.
"Yeah," Joey said, sitting down and taking a bite of his own sandwich. "One of my buddies was there with his snowboard, and he let me take a few rides on it. It was awesome!"
"I had fun, too," Gina Marie piped up. "My friends Vanessa and Molly were there. Mommy, Molly's mom let her get magenta streaks in her hair and it looks really, really cool. Could I get purple streaks in my hair? Pleeeaaaaase!"
Paula looked dubious. "I want to see for myself what these streaks look like before I give you permission to get them. What do you say we invite Molly and her mom over for lunch tomorrow?" she suggested.
"Cool!" her daughter beamed, but then wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. That means her little brother, Stevie, will probably come along, too. He's sooooo gross. If you dare him to eat a booger, he will!"
"Okay, I could have done without that little tidbit while eating my lunch," her father said, shaking his head and grimacing.
Joey laughed. "This I gotta see. How old is Stevie? Six? Seven?"
"Six-and-a-half. He'll do it, Joey, I swear," Gina Marie told her brother. "Vanessa dared him to do it, and he did. And it wasn't even his own booger!"
"Excellent!" Joey chortled.
"Nobody's gonna dare Stevie Kaplan to do anything while he's here," Paula said firmly. "You got that, Joey?"
Her son shrugged. "Whatever. Oh, and just so you know, no way is that little maniac getting his grubby hands on my collection of Matchbox cars again. Last time he was here, he kept bugging me to let him play with them, and when I finally gave in and let him, he went nuts and trashed them! He kept pretending they were all involved in a massive pileup on the interstate. He broke the doors off a couple of them and scratched up a bunch of others. This time, my room is off limits to him. I mean it."
"Oh, come on, Joey!" Robert said. "You know very well that your collection wasn't exactly in mint condition to start with. Unlike mine. That kid isn't getting within ten feet of my Matchbox cars."
"You still have that collection, Robbie?" Sara asked in surprise. "Something like ten years ago you told me you were gonna give them to Joey when he got older!"
Her brother nodded. "Yeah, I still got my cars. And he will get them." He smirked. "After I die."
Ian chose that moment to speak up. "These are toys you are referring to, are they not?" he queried curiously.
Everybody stared at him.
"Don't tell me you never had any Matchbox cars as a kid, Ian," Joey finally blurted out.
Ian met Sara's gaze. *Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of my past,* he sent.
*Yeah, you can gain their sympathy by telling them about your shitty childhood, and then casually mention the fact that you used to kill people for a living,* Sara replied sarcastically, and then immediately regretted it when she saw the way he winced. *I guess now is as good a time as any,* she acquiesced, sighing.
"No, I never had Matchbox cars," Ian responded quietly to the teenaged boy. "In fact, the only toys I was allowed to have as a child were guns, knives, and swords. It was my father's way of grooming me for my eventual profession."
"You mean as a bodyguard?" Gina Marie asked.
"Yes." Ian took a deep breath. "And an assassin."
Robert burst out laughing. "You're joking, right?" But his grin faded as he saw that Ian was completely serious. "No, you're not," he said faintly, perhaps recalling the earlier incident in the garage.
"My father is a very wealthy and powerful man," Ian said, breaking the strained silence that had fallen over the dining room. "As such, he has a lot of enemies. From childhood, I was trained in several martial arts disciplines, earning advanced degrees in each by the time I was Joseph's age. Later on, I served in the Army's Special Forces and learned to expertly handle various deadly weapons. Using these skills at my father's behest, I have systematically and thoroughly eliminated any and all threats to his safety." He paused. "This is not something I am proud of. It is just a fact of life. My life. Very few people know that I am my father's son and heir. If they know about me at all, they believe I am simply his personal bodyguard and head of security. My father prefers it that way, and has never treated me as a son, even in private. He thinks of me as the perfect weapon whose foremost priority is insuring his continued wellbeing. And that is also how I thought of myself until I met Sara," Ian said, glancing at his beloved, who reached over and grasped his hand, silently sending him a wave of encouragement.
"You mean you assassinated people?" Gina Marie Siri breathed, eyes round.
"Yes, Princess," Ian said softly, "I did."
"But they were bad people, right?" Joey said. "People who wanted to hurt you and your father."
"If you are asking whether they were hardened criminals, Joseph, I would have to say, no, not all of them were," Ian admitted. "In fact, on the surface, many of them appeared to be respectable businessmen. Pillars of the community, even. But in reality, they were ruthless men who thought my father was an easy target. They learned the truth of the matter the hard way. I guess you could say I was just doing my duty by protecting my father from his enemies."
"Define 'enemies,'" Robert Siri said slowly, obviously not liking what he was hearing.
Ian shifted in his seat uneasily. "It is an unfortunate fact that my father's great wealth and notoriety make him the object of envy in the eyes of many. You might be surprised by just how uncivilized greed can make otherwise decent men. In addition, his corporation's work in genetics and other controversial fields have made him a target of hatred in certain circles. I can honestly say I have never moved against any of my father's adversaries until they moved against him first. After I disposed of the assassin or assassins that were sent to kill my father, I paid their employers a visit. Suffice it to say, they were no longer a threat to his safety after that."
"You'd think that would deter anybody else from trying the same thing," Paula murmured, visibly shuddering.
"Yes, one would think that," Ian agreed. "But, invariably, my father's enemies think they will be the one to succeed where the others have failed. And so it goes. But not anymore. My days as an assassin are over. Now, Sara's safety is of paramount importance to me." With that, Ian lowered his eyes to his and Sara's clasped hands and waited to see how these people he had come to care for very much would react to his confession.
Nervously, Sara studied the faces of her family as they digested this startling information.
"Why are you telling us this now?" Robert finally asked after several long, uncomfortable minutes had passed.
"As I told your wife earlier, my father does not approve of my relationship with Sara and will do everything in his power to separate us, including attempting to alienate her family by divulging my past misdeeds. Sara and I decided to beat him to the punch."
"You knew about this, Paula?" Robert asked his wife.
She shook her head. "Not about the professional assassin part. I hazarded a guess as to who his father is, and he confirmed it."
"Would your father happen to be Kenneth Irons, Ian?" Robert asked astutely.
"Yes."
"Does this mean that you're a suspect in several unsolved murders?" Paula inquired bluntly.
"No. My name was cleared when the homicide investigations failed to turn up any evidence that could have incriminated me."
"But you're still a suspected murderer, right?" Robert persisted.
"Technically, yes," Ian said, his unflinching gaze meeting the other man's.
"And you're okay with this, Sara?" her brother queried, turning to her.
"No, I'm not," Sara replied honestly. "But wishing Ian's life had turned out differently is a waste of time. We've decided to put his past behind us, and although we know it's a lot to ask of you all, we were really hoping you could do the same."
"Ian, remember when I asked you why you look out for my Aunt Sara?" Joey suddenly inquired.
"Yes, Joseph," Ian said, warning bells going off in his head, "I remember."
"You said 'Because it's what I was born to do.' What did you mean by that?"
Ian contrived to look thoughtful. "How should I put this?" he mused aloud, buying time. *We cannot tell them about the Witchblade, my Lady. To do so would be to place them in grave danger,* he sent to Sara.
*They're already in danger, Ian. I don't see that we have much choice.*
*And just who else were you planning to tell?*
*My godparents, Danny, Vicky, and maybe Jake. I don't see any other way around it. If we're gonna make this relationship work, we have to tell my family and friends about the Witchblade, and that I'm Its Wielder and you're my Protector.*
*Very well,* Ian said reluctantly. *But you'd better ask the Witchblade for permission first.*
*You're joking, right?* Sara said, aware that her family was becoming restless as Ian's silence became drawn out.
*No, I'm not. Divulging the Witchblade's existence is not something to be done lightly, Sara. You should request Its permission to do so before embarking on this path.*
*And if It forbids me to reveal that I'm Its Wielder, what then?*
*We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,* Ian told her. *In the meantime, I'll do my best to stall your family while you converse with the Witchblade.*
*Uh, okay,* she murmured, taking a deep breath. *Here goes nothing.* Releasing Ian's hand, Sara touched the Witchblade's blood-red stone. 'Hello, Witchy?' she queried. 'Anybody home?'
Abruptly, the stone flared to life, and Sara felt the familiar sensation of being drawn into a vision.
She found herself standing in the living room of an achingly familiar house. It took only a moment for her to recognize her childhood home.
"Daddy, Daddy, look at me!" A young girl's excited voice came floating down from upstairs, and Sara's heart clenched with pain in her chest as she saw her father come out of the kitchen to stand at the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh, Sweetheart, you look like an angel!" her father beamed. "Just like I knew you would."
Sara watched her much-younger self bounce down the steps. "That's what Marie said," she grinned, revealing a gap where her front teeth should have been.
'I remember this,' Sara thought with a pang. 'It was my First Communion. Marie is upstairs with Joanie and Anna Marie getting ready to go to the church. And Joe and Robbie are in the kitchen waiting on us.'
"Family is very important to you, Sara," a voice said, and Sara turned to see a dark-haired woman sitting in her father's favorite chair.
"Who are you?" she asked, noticing that the woman wore a suit of light armor over her toga-like dress, and that although not as strong as it had been with Elizabeth Bronte, she also bore a striking resemblance to Sara.
"My name is Boudica, and long, long ago I, too, was a Wielder of the Digitablum Magae, or Witchblade," she replied. Back ramrod straight, head held high, Boudica possessed a distinctly regal air, and the circlet of hammered gold that rested upon her brow looked like it belonged there.
"Uh, nice to meet you," Sara murmured, watching her younger self pirouette for her father, showing off the beautiful white gown, flowery headdress, and veil that she had worn for her First Communion. "I guess you're the one I have to ask permission from, hunh?"
The other woman inclined her head a fraction. "Yes."
"Um, is it okay if I tell my family and friends about you, I mean, about the Witchblade?" Sara asked, feeling more and more like a subject who had been granted an audience with the queen.
Boudica tilted her head curiously. "Why is it so important to you that you tell them about Our existence, Wielder?"
"Because they're my family and my closest friends, and because I don't think I'm strong enough to bear the burden of wielding the Witchblade alone," she whispered.
"You are strong enough, or We would not have chosen you. And you are not alone. You have your Protector by your side." Boudica paused and then smiled with obvious satisfaction. "And in your bed. We are extremely pleased by this development, Wielder."
"Uh, yeah. Right," Sara murmured, coloring. "Anyway, is it okay if I tell my family and my friends about you?"
"It was never Our intention that Our chosen Wielder should bear the burden of wielding the Witchblade alone. That is why there are others who watch over you. They are the Watchers. Their duty is to provide guidance and counsel to the Wielder in times of peril," Boudica informed her.
"Watchers? Who are they?" Sara asked, intrigued.
The other woman smiled. "They will become known to you in time. For now, it is enough that you know they are watching over you."
"That's great and all, but I still think my family and my friends deserve to know what's going on with me. Danny, for instance, is already beyond suspicious about the weird things that keep happening to me, like the way I zone out when you send me visions and how I make these crazy leaps of so-called intuition that help solve our increasingly bizarre cases. He's my partner and my best friend, and it's becoming harder and harder for me to keep lying to him. I think he can handle knowing the real deal. At least, I hope so."
Her expression noncommittal, Boudica watched her. "The mantle of great power never rests easily on the shoulders of a True Wielder -- nor should it. It has crushed many a pretender who was foolish enough to lay claim to Us. But that will not stop those that lust after the power you now possess from trying to wrest it from you, Wielder. By choosing to reveal who and what you are to your friends and family, you may be endangering the lives of the very ones you profess to love. Are you absolutely sure you can you live with that?"
Sara swallowed hard, her eyes going to her father and her past self. "My father chose to become a police officer," she said slowly, "because he genuinely loved to help people. A year or so before he was killed, we were at this party at my godparents' house, and somebody asked him why he did what he did even though he knew there was always a risk that he might not come home to me at the end of the day. To this day, I still wonder if he knew I was listening when he said 'Because it's my job, and I love it. I love being a cop. It's what I always wanted to be. What's more, I'm good at it. Damn good. I'd turn in my badge in a heartbeat if for one minute I didn't think I was making a difference. But I do. I plan on always being there for my little girl, but if something should happen to me, I trust she'd understand why I did what I did for a living.'" Sara smiled through the tears in her eyes. "I kinda think he did know I was listening, but he never let on."
She looked at Boudica. "I love being a cop for the exact same reasons, and my father's responsible for that. He made me believe that I could make a difference by catching and putting away the bad guys. Now I come to find out that I'm the Wielder of the Witchblade, and that there are people out there who give a whole new meaning to the definition of 'bad guys.' My friends and family have always been a source of strength for me, and I gotta believe they'll support me even when they find out that now I'm some kind of superhero, or what have you. I need to know that I can count on their support. Besides, until Nottingham breaks free of Irons' control, who else can I really depend on?"
Boudica nodded. "You have a point. Very well. You have Our permission to reveal Our existence and your identity as a True Wielder. But choose those whom you would share this knowledge with wisely, Wielder. Several of your predecessors failed to do so, and the price they paid was very, very high. Knowledge of Us is not something to be borne lightly, and there is no going back once you have chosen this path."
"I understand," Sara said. She examined the other woman's appearance more closely. "So, what's your story?"
"My story?"
"Yeah. Who were you?"
Boudica smiled again. "Ask the Mythkeeper. He will tell you all you need to know."
"The Mythkeeper? Who the heck is that?"
"He is already well known to you. You trust him implicitly, and have ever since you met him."
"Is speaking in riddles a Witchblade prerequisite or something?" Sara exclaimed exasperatedly. "Geez!"
"Farewell, Wielder," Boudica said, her form rapidly becoming insubstantial, and Sara felt the vision begin to release her. "Remember: choose wisely!"
"Bye, Daddy," Sara whispered, taking one last look at her deceased father. James Pezzini was taking a picture of her younger self on the stairs, and his obvious pride in her brought fresh tears to Sara's eyes. "I love you." Between one eye-blink and the next, she found herself back in the dining room of her brother's house.
"I love you, too, Sara," Ian said softly, and she realized that she had spoken aloud. *Don't worry; I realize you weren't talking to me,* he added privately, and his matter-of-fact tone unexpectedly filled her with sorrow.
*How long was I out?* she asked.
*Perhaps two minutes.*
*That's all? It felt a lot longer. What have you been saying to stall them?*
*I'll tell you later. What did the Witchblade say?*
*It gave me permission to tell them about It, but warned me to choose who I decide to tell wisely. I hope I'm not making a big mistake,* Sara muttered anxiously.
*It's your choice, my love,* Ian responded. *But I'll stand by whatever decision you make.* Raising a hand, he gently wiped the tears from her face. *I am always here for you, Sara. Never forget that.*
Sara smiled tremulously at him. *I do love you, Ian Nottingham,* she said.
The smile that came over his face at her words was like the sun rising after a long winter night, and it warmed her to her very soul.
"Say it again," he whispered aloud.
"I love you, Ian Nottingham," she said clearly, and then laughed giddily at the realization that it was true.
"Again," he demanded, cupping her chin in his hand and leaning toward her so that his mouth was a hair's breadth from hers.
"I love you," she breathed against his lips, and then they kissed, long and enthusiastically, only ending it when Robert pointedly cleared his throat.
"You didn't actually answer Joey's question, Ian," he said.
"Perhaps Sara should be the one to answer it," Ian replied.
Sara took a deep breath. "Okay," she began, "what I'm about to tell you is gonna sound really, really fantastic. But first you have to swear to me on your lives that you won't tell anybody else about this. Do you swear?"
Robert rolled his eyes. "Sara," he began impatiently, but she cut him off.
"I'm totally serious, Robbie." She looked each member of her family in the eyes. "Swear to me. On your lives." Sara had to fight down a feeling of panic at the enormity of the step she was about to take. 'Please, God, let me be doing the right thing,' she implored to the heavens. Then she felt Ian's hand grasp hers, and the warmth of his love filled her with renewed confidence that the path she had chosen was, in fact, the right one.
"We swear," the Siri family solemnly said in unison.
More to come. Thanks, as always, for the wonderful feedback and reviews. They make my day and provide inspiration to keep going. I know I've said before that this story is in the home stretch, but now I mean it! But take heart, I smell a sequel!