A Family Affair
Disclaimer: The same as for the other chapters.
Author's Note: Once again, I must apologize for the long drought between chapters. Real life has been a HUGE drag lately. Also, this chapter contains adult situations that may be unsuitable reading for impressionable youngsters. You've been warned, so please don't report me to Enjoy!
Chapter 64.
Danny raised his eyebrows. "The what of the what-what?"
"The Wielder of the Witchblade," Sara repeated. Nervously, she fiddled with the bracelet. "It may look like an ordinary piece of jewelry, but It's actually an ancient, sentient weapon of mass destruction, and I'm Its Wielder."
"You're shitting me, right?" he said, grinning.
"No, I'm not. Watch this." She concentrated, and with a faint snicking sound, the Witchblade obediently morphed, first into a gauntlet and then into the sword form, the carnelian stone flaring bright.
"What the --!?!" Eyes wide with shock, her partner jumped to his feet, shoving his chair back so abruptly, it fell over with a loud clatter. "Please tell me you slipped a hallucinogen into my beer when I wasn't looking, Pez," he breathed, never taking his gaze off the gleaming blade.
She shook her head. "'Fraid not, Partner."
"Um, c-could you, uh, p-put that away?" he stuttered. "Big, sharp, pointy things make me kinda nervous."
The Witchblade returned to the bracelet form but Danny remained standing, his slim body tense. Sara sighed. "I know you've noticed the way I zone out from time to time, not to mention the crazy leaps of intuition I've gotten into the habit of making." She paused, and he gave a curt nod. "That's because the Witchblade sends me visions, or premonitions. That's how I knew about Angel Medina before Paco Gutierrez's body was even identified," Sara said quietly. "And that's also how I knew Joey's life was in danger. I received a vision that showed him being shot to death by Angel's brother, Joaquin. That's why I became so obsessed with bringing the Medina brothers down."
"You're saying that thing is alive?" Danny asked, still eyeing the Witchblade warily.
"Not exactly. Yes, It is sentient, but It's pretty much powerless without someone to wield It. That's where I come in. Seems I'm the latest in a long line of Wielders that stretches back eons. The Witchblade is bonded to me on a cellular level, giving me superhuman strength, speed, reflexes, and recuperative abilities. The visions I already told you about."
His speculative gaze shifted to her face. "So, what, you're Superwoman now?"
Sara shook her head again. "I'm still me, Danny, but I'm also the Wielder, which means, like it or not, I'm now in possession of a mystical weapon of enormous power. It also means that from here on in I've gotta be on the lookout for some pretty scary people who know what the Blade can do and who will do anything, including kill me, to get their hands on It. To be perfectly honest with you, all of this is still kind of new to me, too. I've still got a helluva lot to learn about wielding the Witchblade. In the meantime, I really need to know that my friends and family are behind me," she said, green eyes searching his bemused dark-brown ones anxiously.
Her best friend and partner ran an unsteady hand through his glossy, black shoulder-length hair. "You gotta admit all of this sounds insane, Pez. I mean, if I hadn't seen that bracelet transform with my own eyes, I'd be convinced that you'd gone completely nuts. As it is, I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the whole bizarro situation."
"Believe me, I know the feeling," Sara murmured. "Sometimes it all seems like a bad dream, and when I wake up tomorrow, I'll be back to normal."
A faint smile appeared on Danny's handsome face. "Now, you and I both know you were never normal, Pez."
"Amen to that," she agreed, with an answering smile.
"How does Kenneth Irons factor into all of this?" he suddenly asked. "You mentioned that explosion at the Midtown Museum. If I recall correctly, Irons' private collection was on exhibit in the hall that was destroyed that day, which would mean the Witchblade once belonged to him, right?"
There's that razor-sharp deductive reasoning again, Sara thought ruefully. Aloud she said, "Yeah, It was once in his possession, but It chose me over him. Trouble is, he wants It back. That's why he assigned Ian Nottingham to follow my every move. Irons was hoping I'd prove to be a failure at wielding the Witchblade, and that It would reject me. However, much to his dismay, I passed the Periculum -- a test all would-be Wielders go through -- with flying colors, proving that I'm a True Wielder. Worse, I'm not easily manipulated, which is what Irons was hoping for in the next Wielder. But that hasn't stopped him from trying to control me. He's obsessed with the Witchblade, and he won't rest until he regains control of It or dies trying."
"And Nottingham works for this guy?" Danny shook his head doubtfully. "Sounds to me like you're sleeping with the enemy. I mean, how can you be sure you can trust him?"
"Because he's my Protector," Sara replied. "You see, every Wielder has a Protector, a warrior who is born with a link to both the Witchblade and Its Wielder and who will fight to the death to defend the Wielder from her enemies," she explained. "Ian Nottingham is mine."
"Oh, yeah? So, how'd he end up working for your archenemy?"
"That's a long story, and I don't know all of the details," Sara admitted. "But I can tell you that Irons adopted him from an orphanage when Ian was a little boy. In fact, the twisted bastard is the only father he's ever known. But instead of raising him as his adopted son, Irons raised him to be his personal bodyguard and henchman. Danny, I can't stress enough how evil and ruthless Irons is. In addition to a shitload of money, he's made a lot of enemies over the years, and before the Witchblade chose me, Ian was kept very busy protecting him from them."
"I'll bet," Danny murmured. "But Irons is still alive and kicking, so Nottingham is obviously very, very good at what he does."
"Yeah. Aside from his Special Forces training, he's an expert in several martial arts disciplines. Plus, starting when he was still just a child, Irons allowed him to be used as a guinea pig for top-secret genetic reengineering experiments, nearly killing him in the process. But somehow Ian survived, and the genetic enhancements took, giving him many of the same abilities that I now possess."
Danny snorted. "No wonder you were so nervous about the guy shadowing your every move. I'm curious: What made you change your mind about him?"
"I discovered who he truly is," Sara said simply. "But even before that, he risked Irons' wrath by going against his orders to help me out, saving my butt in the process. That's why I can't hold his past crimes against him."
Her partner gave her a sharp look. "His past crimes?"
"Yeah." Sara paused, gathering her nerve. "Look, Danny, what I'm about to tell you is gonna sound very, very bad, but I want you to promise that you'll hear me out before condemning Ian." And me for hooking up with him, she added to herself.
"Okay," her partner said slowly. "I'm listening."
"Like I said, Irons is rotten to the core and has made plenty of enemies over the years, many of whom decided to take matters into their own hands and attempt to have him killed. In retaliation, Irons sent his very best assassin after these people to make sure they never troubled him again. That assassin was Nottingham," Sara told him. "But those days are over, I promise you that," she added quickly as, predictably, Danny's expression became perturbed. "He's in the process of assuming his rightful role as my Protector."
"So, basically, what you're telling me is Nottingham's a genetically enhanced super-soldier with a string of murders to his credit," he scowled, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw.
She winced. "He's not a cold-blooded murderer, Danny."
"No, he's a premeditated killer, which is even worse," he snapped. "Tell me something, Pez: How many people has he assassinated for Irons?"
Sara's spirits plummeted, even though she'd been expecting this. "Seventeen," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes.
"Does that include the men that were found burned beyond recognition in that warehouse the other night?" Danny queried harshly. "Come to think of it, I should probably ask how many of them you took out with the Witchblade after rushing to Nottingham's rescue."
Sara flinched as if from a blow. "Ian killed those Russian mercenaries in self-defense, just like I did," she defended. "And if I hadn't come to his rescue I'm convinced he would have been killed. As it was, he came close to dying that day -- and not from nearly being blown to smithereens by a shoulder-launched missile. You see, the other day, when I told you Ian had the flu, I was lying. The truth of the matter is Irons poisoned him. Seems he wasn't content with setting Ian up to be ambushed by a bunch of angry Russians -- Russians who were royally pissed off at Irons because he deliberately sold them a cache of shoddy weapons, mind you. Apparently, Kenny felt it was necessary to remind Ian just who his loyalties belonged to. So, he arranged to have him injected with a toxin that very nearly killed him.
Sara paused, giving Danny time to digest this information. "Fortunately, I was able to administer the antidote in the nick of time," she continued quietly. "After that, Ian's recuperative abilities kicked in, and he quickly recovered from both the illness and the injuries he received during his battle with the mercenaries."
"And in the middle of all of this, you decided to hook up with Nottingham," Danny observed acerbically, dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Forgive me for being skeptical, but your change of heart happened awfully fast, Pez. I mean, I know you've got a reckless streak a mile wide, but the guy is a professional killer and you're a homicide detective, for Christ's sake!"
"Former professional killer," Sara corrected lamely. "And, yeah, I can see how you might think I've been brainwashed or something, but I'm asking you to trust me on this. Ian's a good guy." She shrugged fatalistically. "Sure, barely a week ago, if you'd said that me and him were gonna end up together, I'd have told you that you seriously needed to have your head examined, but that was then and this is now. Not only am I convinced that he's my Protector, but I'm pretty sure he's my soul mate, too."
Danny's eyes widened incredulously. "Your soul mate?" he repeated. "I didn't think those words were part of your vocabulary, Pez."
She flushed self-consciously. "They weren't. Until recently." Do I spring the fact that I might be pregnant on him? she mused. No. I should wait 'til I know for sure that I am.
Her partner began pacing restlessly around the kitchen table. "This is a helluva lot to take in all at once," he muttered, shaking his head. "Mystical weapons, Wielders, Protectors. And as if that wasn't bizarre enough, you had to go and hit me with this soul mate business!"
"Look, Danny," Sara entreated, "I know Ian is probably the last guy on earth you would have picked for me to end up with, but, like it or not, he is my choice. I also know it's a lot to ask of you to accept him knowing what you now do about what he used to do for a living, but I'm willing to put his past behind me, and I was really hoping you could do the same."
He stopped pacing and searched her eyes intently. "Maybe I'd be more willing to do so if I could be certain that this really is your choice, Sara," he finally said.
She frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"
"I mean how can you be sure that It," he gestured toward the Witchblade, "isn't controlling you and your emotions?" Danny clarified. "And you said that Nottingham was born with a link to It, right?"
She nodded, guessing where he was going with this line of questioning. "Yeah, so?"
"So, how do you know he isn't exerting some form of mind control over you through It?"
"I had thought of that," Sara reluctantly admitted. She paused, gathering her thoughts. "To be honest with you, I definitely felt as though the Witchblade was prodding me in Ian's direction, especially after he was poisoned by Irons. I started feeling weirdly protective of him, and couldn't understand why. I mentioned this to Gabriel, who, by the way, already knew all about the Witchblade -- more on that later. Anyway, Gabe explained about the bond between Wielders and their Protectors, seriously freaking me out in the process when he told me that Witchblade lore suggested that our connection could be become much, much deeper if we became lovers." She shrugged again, smiling sheepishly. "You and Gabe were right: I was in deep denial about my attraction to Nottingham. Turns out, resistance was futile. I've fallen for him, Danny. Hard. I can't really explain it other than to say it feels right that we're together."
"You didn't answer my question," he pointed out implacably.
She touched the Witchblade's quiescent stone. "I'd like to think that under different circumstances -- like, if the Witchblade hadn't chosen me and Ian was just some guy I happened to meet in a bar -- we'd have still hooked up, but I can't say for sure that we would have. The fact of the matter is, I'm the Wielder and he's my Protector. Neither of us really had much of a choice about that, especially Ian.
"But I'm convinced that falling in love with him was my choice and mine alone. And he loves me, which is nothing short of a miracle considering how badly I treated him at first. I was a real cast-iron bitch toward him, and yet he continually risked Irons' wrath by helping me out. Did I mention that I owe my life to him? More than once. But it took almost losing him to make me realize that I need him if I'm going to succeed in learning how to wield this thing against the bad guys. Actually, accepting Ian as my Protector was surprisingly easy. Admitting that I love him was much, much harder. And although it might seem like it happened awfully quick, I'm ashamed that it took me as long as it did to admit how I felt about him. To him and to myself."
Sara glanced up at Danny's face and was relieved to see that his expression had softened fractionally. "What made you decide to tell me about this after all this time?" he asked curiously.
"Well, after I discovered how I really felt about Ian, I decided I had to come clean about everything to my friends and family if we were going to make our relationship work. Plus, Ian is convinced that Irons will contrive to let the people closest to me find out about his past misdeeds in an effort to alienate them from me. So, telling you about us was sort of a preemptive strike, if you will," she admitted. "However, telling you about the Witchblade was a no-brainer. I couldn't stand lying to you anymore, and I felt sure you could handle the truth," Sara told him.
He stopped pacing and righted his chair, turning it around before retaking his seat. "What does this mean in terms of your job, Pez? Will you stay on the force or are you gonna quit and become a full-time superhero?" he asked her.
Sara shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "I, uh, hadn't really thought about it," she said truthfully. "I mean, I can't imagine quitting my job. You know I love being a cop, Danny. It's all I wanted to be ever since I was a little kid. But this . . . situation complicates things."
"I'll say. For starters, you'd have to figure out a way to explain how the perps ended up with stab wounds instead of bullet wounds."
They sat there in silence for a time, lost in their own thoughts.
"I'll understand if you don't want to partner with me anymore, Danny," Sara suddenly said.
It seemed to take Danny a bit longer to snap out of his private reverie. "What?"
"I said I'll understand if --"
"I heard you the first time," he interrupted her. "I'm just surprised you'd even suggest that as an option."
"Well, after everything I just told you, it would be entirely understandable if you decided you wanted to partner with somebody else." Sara told him, unable to hide her relief that this apparently wasn't the case.
"We're still partners, Pez," he confirmed, and then gave her a wry grin. "Besides, anything beats having to break in another rookie."
Feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Sara smiled back at him. "You got that right!" she seconded.
But then he frowned. "Speaking of rookies, just who else were you planning to tell about all this?"
"Well, Vicky, of course. But I'm undecided about Jake. Think he can handle it?"
Danny looked thoughtful. "Maybe." He shrugged. "I don't know."
"Me either. I'm gonna have to give it some serious thought. I already told my godparents and my brother and his family."
"Oh, yeah? How'd they take it?"
Sara proceeded to tell him about Joe and Marie Siri's astonishing revelation about being her Watchers, as well as about Robbie's similarly negative reaction to her disclosure of Ian's nefarious past. She also told him her theory about Gabriel Bowman's role in the scheme of things, as well as her suspicions about Captain Bruno Dante possibly being on Irons' payroll. Before the two of them knew it, hours had passed.
"I should be getting back home," Danny said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "You know, I really don't mind taking the subway so that you don't lose that parking spot."
"All right, if you insist," Sara acquiesced, secretly relieved that she didn't have to worry about the possibility of them being caught in a vehicle that had been reported stolen. "I'll walk you to the subway." They donned their outerwear in companionable silence, and left the loft.
When they reached the deserted street, Danny made a point of looking into the alley next to her building. "By any chance, is Nottingham lurking nearby?" he asked her.
"No," she smiled, hooking her arm through his. "We didn't think it was a good idea for him to show his face around here until after you'd left. He's hanging out at Talismaniac with Gabriel." Once again, they walked in the middle of the street as they headed toward the subway a few blocks away.
"Earlier, you said that Nottingham is in the process of assuming his rightful role as your Protector," Danny said. "What did you mean by that?"
"He still has to give his notice to Irons," Sara said flatly, then sighed heavily. Yeah, right, if only it were as simple as that. "There's a seriously twisted kind of 'master/slave' dynamic to their relationship that I can't even begin to fathom." She made a frustrated gesture. "Suffice it to say Irons has kept Ian on a pretty short leash for most of his life."
"Yeah, and something tells me Mr. Moneybags isn't gonna let him go without a fight," her partner commented astutely.
"You don't know the half of it," she said, and went on to tell him all about her and Ian's visit to Irons' estate that morning, culminating the story with their narrow escape.
"Do you think it's wise of him to go back there alone?" Danny queried as they reached the entrance to the subway. "Seems to me like that's just asking for trouble."
"If it were up to me, he'd never go back there, but I realize that in order to begin the process of gaining his independence from him, he needs to confront his father on his own. Breaking the ties that bind him to that evil bastard is not gonna be easy. And pretty much all I can do to help is lend Ian moral support." She shivered, hugging herself against a sudden chill. "I pray that it's enough."
"For your sake, Pez, I hope it is," Danny murmured. "And although I may not have any superpowers or a psychic connection to you and the Witchblade, you know I've always got your back, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know." Sara smiled tremulously at him, for once uncaring that her eyes had filled with tears. "Still, it's good to hear you say it. These past few months have been tough as hell on me because I couldn't share what I was going through with you. I was terrified that I'd lose not only my partner, but my best friend," she whispered.
Danny removed a glove from one hand and gently wiped the tears from her cold cheeks. "Well, I can't promise that me and Nottingham will ever become buddies," he said gruffly, "but since it means so much to you, I'm willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt."
"That's all I'm asking, Woo."
He gave her a hug. "See you later, Partner."
"Yeah, later." She watched until he'd disappeared from sight before heading back.
(Ian?)
(Yes, my love?)
(Danny just left.)
(I'm on my way.)
(How's Gabe? Did you guys have fun?)
(He's fine, and, yes, we did. I helped him catalog a box of new acquisitions.)
Sara smiled at the enthusiasm in his "voice." (That's great.)
(How did your talk with Detective Woo go?)
(Better than expected. I'll tell you all about it when you get here. And hurry up, 'cause I really miss you.)
(I missed you, too, my love. See you shortly.)
A familiar buzz of anticipation at seeing him again coursing through her, Sara hurried home.
Silently, Ian cursed himself for not realizing sooner that his father had probably reported the SUV stolen. It would have been terribly embarrassing had Sara and her partner been stopped by a couple of their uniformed peers on the way back to the loft.
He waited in the alley where Sara customarily parked her motorcycle until she and her partner had entered her apartment building before pulling out his cell phone and dialing Gabriel Bowman's number from memory.
The young entrepreneur answered after the second ring. "Talismaniac. You name it, we got it as long as its authentically antique, just plain weird, or both."
"Hello, Mr. Bowman."
"Hey, what's up, Ian?"
"I have some free time on my hands," he replied, encouraged by the fact that the younger man actually sounded happy to hear from him, "and I was wondering if you would like some company for a couple of hours this afternoon. That is, if you are not too busy," he added quickly.
"Not at all. Come on over. I was just about to start cataloging a new shipment of stuff and I could use your help."
"Excellent, I will be there shortly." Ian ended the call, only then recalling that his father had attempted to locate him by triangulating his cell phone's signal. However, since the call had lasted less than a minute, he doubted there had been enough time for even the savviest communications technician to pinpoint his location. Still, this reminder of the fact that he was a wanted man was sobering, and it increased his uneasiness about being forced to rely on mass transit in the event he had to return to Sara's side in a hurry. He decided that once he arrived at Talismaniac, he would immediately ascertain if, as Sara had suggested, Gabriel had access to an vehicle in an emergency. With this resolve in mind, he set off for the subway.
Encouragingly, the ride was brief, and he was further pleased to discover that the subway was only a short distance from his destination. Out of habit, he did a swift reconnaissance of the immediate vicinity, but could detect no sign that Gabriel Bowman's place was being watched. Five minutes later, he hit the buzzer marked "Talismaniac" on the intercom.
"Yo."
"It is me."
"Buzzing you in."
On the elevator ride up, Ian could not help remembering the second time he'd visited Talismaniac. Despite the less-than-pleasant circumstances, he'd enjoyed himself, especially the discussion he'd had with Gabriel's client, Veronica Matthews. He reached into his coat pocket and found the card that the young museum curator had given him. Turning it over, he discovered that she'd scribbled a phone number on the back, a number that differed from the one on the front of the card. He was still puzzling over this when he reached the door to Gabriel's apartment, which, typically, had been left ajar.
Rock music emanated from speakers mounted on the walls, but, thankfully, at a much lower volume than Talismaniac's proprietor usually favored, and the air was hazy and aromatic with smoke from the incense sticks smoldering in a corner. Ian heard distinctly feminine laughter, and saw that Gabriel and a young, blond woman were sitting on the couch in the dining room-turned-parlor.
"Hey, Ian," Gabriel said, jumping up. "You look much, much better than the last time I saw you," he observed, grasping Ian's hand in greeting.
"I feel much, much better," he replied, glancing curiously at the young businessman's other visitor.
"I'd like you to meet my friend, Chloe. Chloe, this is a friend of mine, Ian Nottingham."
Chloe stood and extended her right hand. "Nice to meet you, Ian. Do you party?"
"Party?"
Gabriel grinned. "Um, Chloe brought over some weed with her, and we were just about to smoke some."
"No, thank you," Ian politely declined.
"Here, let me take your coat," Gabriel offered. "What's that?" he queried, noticing the card Ian still held in his hand.
"The business card Veronica Matthews gave me. I have just discovered that she wrote a telephone number on the back, perhaps indicating that the number printed on the front is no longer in service," Ian said, showing it to him. He discreetly removed his weapons harness along with his beat-up overcoat.
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Um, I'm pretty sure that's her home phone number," he informed him.
Ian frowned in puzzlement. "Why would she provide her private number when her business number would have sufficed?"
The younger man shook his head disbelievingly. "Man, you're really clueless, aren't you?" he said, not unkindly. He looked at Chloe, who had retaken a seat on the couch. "Nottingham doesn't get out much."
"I understand," she said, although Ian did not see how she possibly could. He himself was not quite sure what Gabriel had meant by that last remark, although he had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with his lamentable lack of experience in dealing with the opposite sex.
Chloe smiled at Ian, grey-blue eyes twinkling. "She liked you, Ian. That's why she gave you her home phone number," she explained. "She's hoping you'll call her."
Ian felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment at his own naiveté. "Oh."
The young woman noted this reaction with amusement. "And I totally understand why," she murmured, chuckling. "You're a real hottie!"
Ian gave Gabriel an inquiring look. "A 'hottie'?"
Gabriel rolled his eyes. "It means that, for some reason, otherwise intelligent women dig you," he said shortly, practically snatching Ian's coat and weapons harness from him and hanging them in the hall closet. "Come, have a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?"
"Some peppermint tea would be most appreciated," Ian said, taking a seat on the chaise lounge across from the couch.
"Coming right up." He disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a steaming mug, which he set on the coffee table in front of Ian before sitting down next to Chloe again.
"Are you sure you don't want to take a hit or two, Ian? My bong gives massive but really smooth hits." Chloe picked up a brightly colored plastic device from the coffee table along with a lighter.
"I am sure," he declined again. He watched with interest as she put her mouth over the opening at the top of the cylindrical column and her thumb over a small hole at the base of the column. She flicked the lighter and applied the flame to the small wooden bowl affixed to the end of a slender metal pipe that stuck out at an angle from the bong's bulbous, liquid-filled base. The bowl was filled to the brim with marijuana, which glowed orange as it burned. There was a bubbling sound as Chloe sucked in air, and the vessel filled with white smoke, which she inhaled before passing the bong and the lighter to Gabriel, who repeated the process.
After holding their breath for quite some time, they both expelled billowing clouds of pungent smoke. Gabriel immediately began coughing, face reddening.
Chloe laughed at him. "You're such an amateur, Gabe!"
The paroxysm passed swiftly, and the young man grinned at her. "Never was much of a pot-smoker," he acknowledged, eyes watering. "But I must admit I do enjoy partaking on occasion."
"How about you, Ian? Have you ever smoked weed?" Chloe asked him.
Ian shook his head. "No, I have not." He shrugged self-consciously. "I had a very sheltered and strict upbringing."
"Pity." Chloe took another lungful, held it, and exhaled. "This stuff is guaranteed all-natural Hydroponic Chronic. It's way expensive, but so worth it," she explained, passing the bong to Gabriel again.
"Hmmm. Maybe we should warn him about the dangers of a contact high," Gabriel said a minute later between wracking coughs.
Chloe grinned. "Yeah, maybe we should." She took another hit.
Ian gave his host a questioning look. "Should I be concerned?" he asked seriously.
The young entrepreneur waved off the bong when Chloe offered it to him again. "I'm done," he demurred. To Ian, he said, "Um, empirical evidence suggests that people who are exposed to second-hand pot smoke may experience a mild reaction. But don't worry; you might get a slight buzz, but you're not gonna get stoned."
"We, on the other hand, are definitely getting stoned," Chloe asserted solemnly, taking another hit.
"I have read that marijuana usage impairs one's judgment," Ian remarked. "Are you certain you want to attempt to catalog these new acquisitions you mentioned while under the influence?"
"That's where you'll definitely come in handy, Ian," Gabriel told him earnestly. "I trust that you'll keep me from doing anything crazy, like, like pricing something insanely cheaply, or vice versa."
"I must caution you that I am far from an expert when it comes to valuing antiquities; however, I will endeavor to ensure that your confidence in me is not misplaced," he murmured.
"Um, okay. Endeavor away!" Gabriel grinned, and then burst out laughing for no apparent reason.
Chloe started giggling. "Lightweight! You're already high!" she accused.
"I know you are, but what about me?" Gabriel chortled, poking her in the side.
"Cut it out, Gabe!" she shrieked, shrinking away from him. "You know I'm extremely ticklish."
"No, you're not!"
"You're right. I'm not. I don't know why I said that!" Chloe said, and then dissolved into laughter.
Bemused, Ian watched them laugh giddily until tears ran down their cheeks. Idly, he wondered if Sara had ever experimented with marijuana. Probably, he decided, since apparently it was something practically every American teenager tried at least once. Most of his fellow Black Dragons had admitted that they'd smoked it during their formative years, even Hector Mobius. Ian found himself wondering if his father had ever smoked marijuana. He blinked. Where the hell did that bizarre thought come from? Kenneth Irons was simply not someone he could envision getting intoxicated. For one thing, he hated losing control, and judging by the extreme silliness that both Gabriel and Chloe had succumbed to, Ian was fairly certain his father had never allowed himself to indulge in something as potentially undignified as pot smoking. Suddenly, unbidden, the image of Irons inhaling an enormous lungful of smoke from a bong popped into his mind's eye, and Nottingham was unable to refrain from chuckling.
"Uh-oh, we have contact!" Gabriel crowed, noticing the other man's sudden mirth.
"Excellent!" Chloe enthused. "Just relax and go with it, Ian."
"I just thought of something really funny," Ian admitted. "My father taking a hit from a bong!"
"That I would pay good money to see!" Gabriel declared before bursting into laughter again.
"Omigosh, I can't even imagine my father taking a hit from my bong, can you?" Chloe asked Gabriel. "He's an Appellate Court Judge, and if he even suspected that I occasionally smoke weed, he'd have a coronary!" she told Ian.
"Here, your Honor, take a hit!" Gabriel gasped, miming passing a bong to someone. "It's guaranteed all-natural Hydroponic Chronic!"
Chloe doubled over with laughter. "Stop, stop! I'm gonna pee myself!" she cried. But then she sobered, glancing at her watch. "That reminds me, I'm meeting my parents for a late lunch, which means I've gotta vamoose if I want to have enough time to transform myself into the dutiful, straight-and-narrow daughter they know and love."
"You'd better hope your eyes are back to normal by then," Gabriel said.
"Oh, God, are they as bloodshot as yours?" she grimaced, obviously dismayed.
"If mine are bright, stoner red, then, yeah, they are."
Ian looked from one to the other. "Both of you have rather conspicuously bloodshot eyes," he confirmed helpfully.
Chloe groaned, but then brightened. "Luckily, Gabe's medicine cabinet is equipped with Visine. That oughtta do the trick. Be right back." She hurried down the hall to the bathroom.
"The red eyes are dead giveaway," Gabriel explained with a loopy grin. "So, how's your contact buzz feel?"
"I feel curiously light-spirited," Ian admitted. "And rather easily amused. Does this mean I am intoxicated?"
"Probably. Lucky for you I have plenty of munchies."
"Ah, yes, the compulsion to eat that often ensues after smoking marijuana," Ian deduced. "I doubt that I will experience this since I consumed two PB&J sandwiches immediately prior to coming over here and am therefore still quite full."
"Just you wait," Gabriel said knowingly. "If you did get a contact high, you'll want to munch out. Happens every time with me."
"PB&J," Ian said, apropos of absolutely nothing. "That stands for peanut butter and jelly."
"Um, yes, yes it does," Gabriel agreed cheerfully.
"It is a truly harmonious combination of flavors. Sara prefers grape jelly in her PB&Js, so that is what was available, but I imagine strawberry jam would taste equally delicious with the peanut butter," Ian continued, lying back on the chaise and absently rubbing his belly. "More importantly, the acronym would remain unchanged, only it would stand for peanut butter and jam." He frowned. "That does not have quite the same ring to it as peanut butter and jelly, does it? No matter. It would still be a PB&J whether one used grape jelly or strawberry jam."
Oh, great, Nottingham's high as a kite from nothing but a little contact, Gabriel thought, amusement warring with mild concern as he listened to the lethal assassin extol the virtues of PB&J sandwiches. Must be that genetically tweaked physiology of his. I hope to God it wears off before he leaves, or Sara will never let him come over here again, which would really be a shame 'cause I could make a ton of sales to the ladies with him around. He's like catnip to them. I mean, Ronnie Matthews gave him her number for Pete's sake!
Chloe came back into the room. "Well," she said, quickly gathering up her things, "I'm gonna get going. You guys have fun cataloging stuff. It was really nice meeting you, Ian."
"Same here," Ian said, rising to his feet. He noticed that her eyes were no longer as red as they had been.
"I'm leaving my bong here, okay, Gabe? Do you want me to leave you a little weed, too?" she asked him.
"Nah. It's no fun smoking alone." He got up from the couch and went to the closet in the foyer, taking out a light-blue down parka trimmed with faux fur. "If you want, you can come by again tonight," he told her, helping her into her coat. "We can ride out this next storm together."
"I just might do that," she said. Leaning close to him, she planted a lingering kiss on his lips, which Gabriel returned enthusiastically. "Mmmm. See you later."
"Later." Gabriel closed and locked the door behind her, and then turned to face Ian. "Ready to do some cataloging?"
"Sure." He hesitated before asking curiously, "Is Chloe your girlfriend?"
"Sort of." The younger man shrugged. "It's more like we're really good friends who occasionally sleep together."
"Sara and I have slept together," Ian announced. "First we made love, and then we slept together," he clarified.
Gabriel gave him a startled look. "Um, thanks for sharing," he said, then grinned. "Actually, that's great news. I'm really glad for you guys." He went behind the nearest counter and hefted a large wooden crate onto the countertop.
"Our bond is strong, and will only grow stronger with time," Ian murmured, "but I am afraid time is something we have precious little of. I intend to return to the estate tonight."
"Why tonight?"
"The sooner I begin the process of winning my freedom from my father the better," he explained, and proceeded to tell Gabriel about Joe and Marie Siri being Watchers, as well as their plan to defeat Irons. Ian also elaborated on the events that had taken place earlier in the day, only leaving out the part about the visit to the drugstore in Scarsdale. He decided that there was no sense in mentioning that Sara might be pregnant until they knew for sure she actually was.
"Wow, that's deep," Gabriel said when Ian finished speaking. "I guess confronting him again is better than having to constantly look over your shoulder, but I gotta tell you that I'm afraid of what he might try to do to punish you for running off with Sara, especially since he's probably back to full strength by now thanks to the infusion of Sara's blood."
"I have promised Sara that I will no longer allow him to beat me," Ian said.
Gabriel froze in the process of unwrapping a small statuette, bloodshot eyes widening. "Irons used to beat you?"
"Whenever I seriously displeased him, yes," Ian confirmed, "which means fairly regularly as of late." He grimaced. "I developed quite a predilection for disobedience where Sara was concerned, even though I knew it would infuriate my father."
"What a fucking asshole Irons is!" Gabriel exclaimed, outraged on the other man's behalf. "But I'll bet he was really careful not to let his cruelty show, otherwise it would've seriously tarnished his carefully cultivated image as an urbane, conscientious philanthropist."
"Yes. Most of the scarring is confined to my back. However, he became a bit careless once my recuperative abilities kicked in upon puberty." He indicated a faint scar that almost bisected his left eyebrow. "An errant blow from the lash did this. It laid my skin open to the bone and nearly cost me my eye. After that, he was careful to avoid hitting me in the face with the whip."
Gabriel looked like he was about to become ill. "God, Ian. I had no idea."
"How could you? After all, until last Wednesday, we were barely acquainted. By the way, I apologize for threatening you with bodily harm. And although I claimed not to feel any remorse for my past actions that day, I do feel regret," he told the younger man, "especially since I realize you were only trying to help Sara out by telling her what you had learned about the Witchblade."
"Bygones," Gabriel said dismissively. "You were only following orders."
"That is part of the problem," Ian said quietly. "Obeying my father's wishes is so deeply ingrained in me, I am afraid that I will find it extremely difficult to stand up to him."
Coming around from behind the counter, Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder and waited until Ian met his eyes before speaking. "You did it before, and you'll do it again, Ian," he said staunchly, brown eyes intent. "You're stronger than you realize."
Ian smiled faintly. "Your faith in me, although badly misguided, is heartwarming."
The younger man shrugged again. "Well, my friend, you'll just have to endeavor to ensure that my confidence is you is not misplaced," he quipped.
"I will try my best to do so," Ian promised. "That reminds me, Sara asked me to ask you if you have a theory as to why the Witchblade apparently wants my father to remain in the picture."
"Good question," Gabriel nodded, going back behind the counter. "I'll have to give it some thought. Maybe do a little research. What's she up to this afternoon anyway? You never said."
"She is telling her partner about the Witchblade," Ian informed him, "and me."
The younger man looked up sharply. "Wow. That's a big step for her. I don't suppose Danny's gonna be thrilled to find out about your background," he said perceptively. "No wonder you wanted to make yourself scarce."
"Indeed."
"Hey, would you look at this beauty! An Olmec fertility figurine, if I'm not mistaken." He held up the statuette he'd just unwrapped.
"Yes, note the cinnabar tracing etched into the face. This mercury ore was precious to the Olmecs. The piece is in excellent condition," Ian remarked, taking it from him and examining it more closely.
"Yeah. Unfortunately, as you might imagine in a country that poor, there's a chronic problem with looting of the Olmec and Mayan sites in Mexico. Luckily, I have a reputable seller who I've dealt with for ages. He's sent me some really gorgeous stuff over the years, and it looks like this shipment is no exception. I'm in the market for a good-sized jaguar god statue, and a couple of weeks ago he contacted me to say he'd found one along with a bunch of other goodies. Imagine my surprise when this shipment arrived late yesterday afternoon in spite of the blizzard!"
"You are only now unpacking it?"
"Um, yeah. Chloe came over, and I, uh, kind of got sidetracked."
"I see," Ian smiled. "Is it safe to assume that marijuana usage factored into your decision to delay cataloging the contents?"
"Among other things," Gabriel acknowledged wryly. "Me likey the ganja, Mon!"
"It seems to me that Chloe is a bad influence on you, Gabriel," Ian teased him.
Gabriel grinned. "Women: can't live without them, can't have fantastic, pot-fueled sex without them."
"Sex with Sara is fantastic," Ian commented, "even without the benefit of Hydroponic Chronic."
"Uh, I'll have to take your word on that, dude," Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head at the other man's candor. "Sara and I never did the wild thing -- although not for lack of interest on my part."
Ian nodded with reassuring equanimity. "I suspected as much. In fact, to be perfectly honest, the suspicion that you desired Sara made that, ah, errand I undertook for my father a lot easier to accomplish. I was very envious of your relationship with her," he admitted. "Particularly the ease with which you could make her laugh."
"Hmmm. So, that's what an insanely jealous professional assassin looks like, hunh? I'd always wondered," Gabriel cracked.
"Former professional assassin, if you please."
"Right. Are you getting hungry?" his host asked. "'Cause I sure as hell am."
"The dreaded munchies, eh?"
"Yup."
Ian followed him into his kitchen.
Gabriel opened his freezer. "Let's see: I got some Chubby Hubby -- it's got peanut butter in it, you know -- Cherry Garcia, and good, old-fashioned Van-Choc-Straw. I also have Chloe's fav, Häagen-Dazs Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough." He closed the freezer door and peered up at the top of the refrigerator, which was cluttered with snacks. "If none of the above floats your boat, I've got blue corn chips, barbecue potato chips, Cheese Doodles, Stoned-Wheat Thins, and regular chips, plus humus, salsa, and French Onion and Ranch-flavored dips. So, what are you in the mood for: salty or sweet?"
"Both?" Ian hazarded.
"Atta boy!" Gabriel grinned. "Here, take these," he grabbed several bags from the top of the refrigerator, "and I'll grab the dips."
They sat at his kitchen table and devoured vast amounts of chips and dip and then huge bowls of ice cream (Chubby Hubby for Ian, and Cherry Garcia for Gabriel), while discussing the potent symbolism of the jaguar throughout Mesoamerican cultures. Thus, it was quite some time before they got down to the business of unpacking and cataloging the crate of new acquisitions. At one point, Ian realized that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. So, too, was Talismaniac's youthful proprietor, he observed happily. This is what friends do, he mused, gratified to see that the last vestiges of guarded watchfulness had vanished from his new friend's mien. Sara would be pleased to see us getting along so well. With a guilty start, he realized that he'd completely forgotten to ask Gabriel about the availability of a vehicle in case of an emergency. 'Oh, well'he shrugged fatalistically. It's a little late to worry about that now. Moments later, he started again when Sara contacted him telepathically to let him know that Detective Woo had gone home.
Gabriel noted his momentary distraction. "Was that Sara?" he asked, as if communicating telepathically was the most natural thing in the world.
"Yes. She and her partner have concluded their discussion."
"So, you're heading out."
"Yes. I have enjoyed myself immensely today, Gabriel," Ian told him truthfully. "Contact high notwithstanding."
The younger man grinned conspiratorially. "We'll just keep that between me and you, okay?"
"Why? Do you think Sara would disapprove?" Ian asked curiously, following him to the hall closet.
"Well, she is a cop."
"True. Fine. It will be our secret." He put on his weapons harness and then his overcoat. "Thank you for having me."
"Any time," Gabriel said. "I mean that." A crafty look suddenly came over his boyish features. "As a matter of fact, what are you doing a week from tomorrow?"
"Other than fighting to gain my freedom from my ruthless, domineering father and defending the Wielder from her enemies," Ian said archly, "I have no plans."
"Well, I set up an appointment with a client who's interested in that gorgeous jaguar god statue, among other things, and it would be really great if you could just happen to drop by at around, say, 2:00-2:30?" Gabriel said hopefully. "Her name is Marilyn."
More to come. Thanks, as always, to those of you who have been kind enough to leave feedback. It truly stokes my creative fires and inspires me to ever-greater feats of imagination. Peace. dragongrrl.
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