Destiny

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Chapter 13: Sepia Snake Dreams

Sara was sitting against a tree; she could feel the roughness of the bark against the skin of her back. Grass tickled her legs, was refreshingly cool against the soles of her feet. The air was fragrant with exotic blooms and the sky was the perfect blue of midsummer. Cicadas droned in the distance, adding to the feeling that it was a lazy afternoon.

For a time all was peaceful. Then the cicadas suddenly ceased their calling. The complete silence was eerie, and little prickles of alarm raised the hair on the back of her neck. Sara looked around in alarm, not knowing where the danger lay, but certain it was near.

"Did you ever wonder why the Witchblade could only be worn by certain women?" the hissing voice came from the rippling wave of grass to her left.

Scrambling to her feet, Pezzini reached automatically for her gun, only to touch bare flesh. She was stark naked, without so much as a stick for defense. Watching the grass with a wary eye, Sara replied discouragingly, "No."

"It is becaussse of the Tree, of courssse." A large brown serpent pushed through the last of the tall grass and slithered past her legs.

"Already heard this part," Sara yawned, masking her fear behind bravado.

"Part is not all." Ceto chuckled as she wound her way up the huge trunk. "If it were, you would have sssserved my will from the beginning. After all, the Witchblade is blood of my blood, and it isss now yoursss asss well."

"Hello, no Witchblade," Sara waved her bare wrist at the serpent.

"It doesss not matter. You wore it long enough for the Gauntlet to weave itsss way through flesssh and sssoul, it hasss changed the weft of your very moleculesss. Jussst becaussse you no longer wear the Blade, doesss not mean you will revert to that which once you were." Ceto reached a branch and slithered onto it.

"Look, I don't care what it did or didn't do to me. I'm a cop, I was a cop before that thing found it's way to my arm, and I'm still one now that it's gone. That's the only thing that matters." Pezzini glared at the snake.

"Can you yet be ssso naïve? You have been ressshaped into a tool for thossse with the power and the knowledge to ussse you. Without the Witchblade to protect what it hasss wrought, you will find yourssself very open to outside influence." Ceto looked down from her branch, stiff serpent face somehow conveying smug amusement.

"What a pile of shit. I haven't worn the Witchblade in nearly two weeks, and I'm just fine." Sara rolled her eyes.

"Are you ssssure about that?" Ceto dropped half her coiled length down from the branch until her eyes were even with the brunette's.

"I'm sure." Pezzini's voice was full of certainty. She was master of her destiny, not anyone or anything else. Period.

"Perhapsss you ssshould look a little deeper." Ceto tilted her head toward the place where the Witchblade used to rest.

Sara followed the serpent's stare. At first there was nothing to see, only the lightly tanned flesh of her wrist. Then something moved under the skin. It was just a shadow that followed the line of her pulse, but Pez suddenly could not swallow around the lump of fear in her throat.

"Now that the drugsss are wearing off, there isss nothing blocking your receptivity," the voice of the ancient goddess was faint, as if coming from far down a well. Sara stared in horror at her arm, where the outline of serpents could clearly be seen, moving and pressing against her flesh.

Sara woke up alone, heart hammering from the nightmare about snakes crawling under her skin. The television was still on, but muted, and the flickering light cast strange shadows across once-familiar surfaces. Still caught up in the feeling from the dream, Sara was quick to snap on the end table lamp.

In the sharp glare of the lamp, Sara stared around her, looking for… something, anything that might spring out of the darkness and attack. After several moments of tense silence, nothing happened. Pezzini finally looked down at her arm. It was normal, no marks, no shadows, and no snakes.

She rubbed her wrist, the dream had felt so real. It had been as Technicolor surround sound as any vision the Witchblade had ever given her. But which was it, dream or vision?

There was only one person who Sara could ask, and trust the response, Gabriel Bowman. He was coming over this morning. Pez glanced at the clock, wondering if she could wait the four hours until Gabriel was supposed to show. Deciding to try, Sara got up to take a shower.

An hour later, squeaky clean but still keyed up, Sara stopped trying to be patient, she never had been very good at it, and picked up the phone. She ignored the fact that her fingers shook a little as she punched in the numbers. The answering machine picked up, starting it's prerecorded spiel. Pez tuned it out, waiting for the beep.

"Yo Gabriel! Stop surfing the web and pick up the phone." Sara barked into the receiver.

There was a muted fumbling sound as someone grabbed at the phone, "'Lo?"

Gabriel had a very husky morning voice for his age. Sara grinned at the incongruity and began to talk, already feeling better. "Sorry to call so early, but I may have a problem."

"And this possible problem could not wait a few hours?" Gabriel grumbled. He had been up half the night dickering prices for sacrificial mummies with his contact in Peru. It was amazing what you could get done in a chat room.

"I saw Ceto." Pez kept it simple.

"I'll be right over." Gabriel dropped the phone on the cradle.

Sara listened to the dial tone for a moment, her concern increased by Gabe's reaction.