Chapter 18: Possession

It had done Ian's heart good to see Robert so obviously recovering. The older man's coloring had been better, and the sparkle had been back in his eyes. A rueful grin curved generous lips. Oh yes, Robert had been in better spirits, enough so that he had asked some rather pointed questions about 'that green-eyed gal'.

Talking about Sara had done much to lighten Nottingham's mood as well. Ian departed the hospital with a much springier step than he had entered. Talking about his beloved to an appreciative audience had been cathartic, and he had found himself saying more than he had intended. It was hard not to extol the virtues of Sara, and he had babbled like a lovesick swain.

Thank God Kenneth did not converse with the servants, except to give orders, for they were sure to know all about Ian's love life by now. When he had left, Robert was squirming like a small child with a secret he was desperate to share. Nottingham hadn't even gotten all the way through the door before the older man was reaching for the phone.

Ian had chatted with the recovering chauffer longer than he had anticipated; it was almost eleven by the time he left. In the interest of saving time, Nottingham did something he enjoyed but rarely did. He drove like a maniac. Ok, so no one was really in any danger with his excellent timing and superior reflexes, but many motorists had still applied the title as he had woven through traffic.

Maybe he shouldn't enjoy it so much, but the waving fists, blaring horns, and creative profanity that followed his aggressive driving style made him laugh with demented glee. The speakers were blaring 'Princes of the Universe' and the wind from the open windows was whipping his hair out behind him as Sara's apartment building came into view on the left.

Miracle of miracles, there was a parking space opening up next to the building. Nottingham slewed the wheel, tires screeching on pavement, and cut across three lanes of traffic to slide into a parallel parking spot. Smirking at the driver he had cut off to get the space, Ian got out of his car and walked to the entrance. He reached up and took the ponytail holder out of his hair. The elastic band had lost the battle with the wind, and Sara liked his hair down better anyway.

Strolling through the lobby instead of racing up the fire escape was a relatively new experience, this being his second trip to Sara's apartment. It felt… odd. Nottingham was very aware of the change in his status as he rode inside the elevator. No longer relegated to the outside, he had been welcomed in, and it was wonderful and scary all at the same time.

He didn't have a key to Pezzini's door, but he didn't need one. Her apartment was surprisingly easy to break into. Ian wondered if she counted on the fact that everyone in the building knew what she did for a living to be sufficient deterrent against breaking and entering, or if it was just that nobody wanted to carry anything down from the top floor of the building.

As soon as the door opened, Ian could hear the laugh track of an old situation comedy. Sara must be watching television right? Right. Yet the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Something wasn't right. A strange tingling began on his right side where the Witchblade lay.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Ian drew out the cotton bag that held the Gauntlet. He opened the drawstrings and spilled the bracelet out into his gloved hand. In the center of the stone was a faint glow. His initial reaction was relief that the Witchblade was stirring; this was the first sign he had that the Gauntlet had not been rendered inert from the battle with Medusa. Hard on the heels of that relief was concern. What was the Witchblade reacting to?

The bracelet was slid back into the bag and strung around his neck, instead of returning to his pocket. The Witchblade rested over his heart, warm even through the two layers of cloth that separated them. Hands free again, Ian moved stealthily through the apartment. He was alert for any danger, but found nothing except Sara, asleep on the couch.

Pezzini was dressed in navy sweats and a grey NYPD tee shirt, slouched sideways across the futon that had been made back up for sitting. Sara must have fallen asleep while watching the television… with every light on in the place. That was peculiar. The blinds were open on every window, and yet she had turned on all the lights.

Moving closer, Ian realized that whatever dream Sara was having, it wasn't a pleasant one. She twisted on the couch, head jerking back and forth, and there were rings of sweat around the collar and armpits of her tee shirt.

"No," Sara whispered. Her breath was coming fast, as she were running or expending great effort. "I won't… can't make me… fucking bitch…No!"

As the scream faded, Sara sat up in a sinuous rolling motion that made Ian step back. Pezzini did not move that way. She turned her head, drawn by the motion. Her eyes met his, pupils so dilated that only a thin ring of green glittered between black and white. She smiled, a predatory stretch of lips that held nothing of the woman Nottingham had come to know.

"I believe I owe you thisss," even the voice was different, sibilant.

She raised her arm, and Ian was forced to dive to the side as a bullet split the air where his head had been. Nottingham rolled, pushing off in the opposite direction as he came up. The whine of another bullet told him she had anticipated his movement but misjudged the timing.

"Almossst got you that time, pretty boy." The brunette chuckled, and it sounded like the rustling of a nest of snakes.

"Almost doesn't count for much, does it?" Nottingham taunted, holding his ground. When she fired at his still form, he twisted out of the way again. He had hoped to bait her into anger, wanting her to do something foolish that would give him a chance to disarm the Gorgon, but the look on her face was both determined and patient.

"No, but I am getting a feel for your sssspeed now. Sssoon enough I won't missss," the brunette smiled confidently.

Ian did not want to hurt Sara, but he wasn't too keen on being shot either. What she said was true, sooner or later she would correctly anticipate his movements and take him down. Her Glock had at least eleven more rounds in it, each one a chance to hit him or go through a wall and injure someone else. Knowing there was no help for it, Nottingham spun, using the momentum to throw one of his knives at the gun.

With a metallic clatter, the spinning blade connected with the barrel, knocking the weapon out of her outstretched hand. She hissed at Ian and lunged, closing the distance faster than he would have believed possible, her fist just grazing his jaw as he belatedly dodged backward.

Damn, but she was fast, almost as fast as him. Nottingham twisted aside, hands sweeping her strike out and away as she came at him again. This close to her, the Witchblade responded with a surge of power that distracted him with its intensity. The Blade called out to its previous owner with the silver ringing of trumpets, vibrating his bones with its song. Seeing an opportunity in Ian's moment of inattention, the possessed woman kicked, knocking his kneecap out of the socket.

Ian dropped in a haze of pain, teeth clenched against the scream in his throat. He had to stop playing nice, or he would die and whatever had taken over Sara would run unchecked through the city. He knew that Pez would rather get hurt than have her reputation damaged by whatever the being inhabiting her body decided to do. Nottingham thought about his options as she circled him, her expression gloating.

She closed in for the kill as he huddled on the ground, injured leg out beside him at an odd angle. With a silent apology, Ian punched Sara in the outer thigh. He hit hard enough to cause the nerve cluster to shut down, and she dropped as awkwardly as he had. As soon as she hit the ground, Nottingham flung himself atop her, doing his best to hold her down. He had no idea how to reverse whatever had happened to Sara, but he had to subdue the flesh before he could deal with the spirit.

Torso struck torso as Ian grabbed for her flailing arms, and the Witchblade grew hotter as it was pressed tight between them. The smell of burning cloth filled his nostrils as he grimly hung on to the brunette twisting under him. The burning grew worse; Nottingham could feel his flesh scorching under the heated metal.

The woman under him hissed in pain as the cotton of Sara's tee shirt disappeared in a puff of flame and the metal touched her bare flesh as well. Chance or fate had the Gauntlet land on the concentric rings that Sara already bore, the mark of the Chosen one.

A white light, too brilliant to look at, sprang up from where metal touched flesh. The woman under him screamed, the tone high and thin as if she couldn't get enough air. Through the pain of the burn, Ian could feel his throat working, words spilling from his lips that he did not understand nor had chosen to speak.

Whatever he was saying, it drew the fire away from him and down into her like a sword. The brunette flung her head back, oily grey smoke rising up from her screaming lips. Ian could not see the light progress, but he could feel the heat of it crawling through the woman beneath him.

It was enough to make Ian realize that he was cold. Frost rimmed the edges of his hair and the wool of his coat; his breath came in plumes of white. The Witchblade was using his life energy to fuel the ethereal fire that was cleansing Sara of whatever had tainted her. Nottingham hoped he was strong enough for this; there was a ringing in his ears that told him he had been pushed beyond his endurance. He knew that he was going to collapse soon.

Just as spots were forming in front of his amber eyes, the grey smoke rose above Sara, twisting and writhing like a beheaded snake. The analogy was not far wrong. Flat, unfriendly eyes met his as the mist slowed and somehow gained solidity. A great grey snake drifted on invisible air currents, drawing its head back in preparation to strike. Nottingham fought to stay awake; knowing somehow that to fall unconscious was akin to leaving the doors of your car unlocked in Queens.

"You have given too much of your life-force to drive me out. You have nothing left for yourssself." Ceto assessed his condition. Now that she had been forced from Sara's flesh, she needed a new avatar to interact with the material world. He was not as good a host as the Wielder in some respects, but he would be easier to control, and had strength and skill enough to overpower Pezzini. She could do worse.

"I have enough to do what I must." Ian bluffed. He was as out of it as he could ever remember being. Just keeping his eyes open was a Herculean effort.

The serpent did not reply immediately, body coiling lazily under that upraised head. The movements were entrancing, pulling at what was left of his focus. "How tired you mussst be."

It was hard to remain silent, to not agree with her. His eyelids were so heavy. Ian felt a prickling on his chest, like being stuck with a thousand pins. He hissed in a breath, the pain sudden and sharp, but he was awake again. Nottingham tore his eyes away from the serpent. He would not make that mistake again.

What could he do to break the stalemate? Ian wracked his brain for any bit of arcane or archaic knowledge that would send the manifestation away. Then the Witchblade hummed under him. Ian felt the world shift and realized the Blade was changing something, rearranging time or causality to suit its needs.

There was a sudden knocking on the apartment door. "Yo Pez! Open up!" There was a long moment of silence. "Fuck. Sara, come on. Don't be asleep dammnit." There was another round of loud banging.

Ian tried to call out, but his teeth were chattering from the cold. In frustration, he slammed his fist into the floor.

"Pez? You ok? Shit. That's it. I'm coming in," Bowman rattled the door and found it unlocked. He burst in, a bag full of artifacts on one shoulder, his other hand holding a ceremonial knife.

Even half-dead Ian noticed that Bowman's grip was all wrong. He was clearly going to have to teach the boy how to hold a blade.

"Oh shit. Uhm, spastrim delikat me qellim aplikimin e ndienjave te izolimit, dobesise dhe vulnerabilitetit ndaj ketij komuniteti me qellim qe ata te braktisin shtepite e tyre dhe te shperngulen" Gabriel chanted, hoping he'd remembered the words to draw away Ceto's power and force her out. It had been a long time since he'd needed to speak Greek, but supposedly the only way to use the power of the bronze alloy knife in his hand was to speak the old language.

Gabe hadn't been convinced any of it would work. Of all the artifacts he'd seen in his career, the Witchblade was the only thing that performed consistently, and it had an agenda of its own. He must have gotten it right enough, there was an implosion of air that made his ears pop, and the otherworldly serpent disappeared.

"What the Hell was that, and what the Hell are you doing? Get off Sara right now." Bowman started to move forward, only seeing Irons henchman sprawled over the body of his friend.

"S'Okay Gabe. I think. Wha' happened?" Sara mumbled woozily; vaguely aware of a cold weight over her. She remembered fighting Ceto in her dream, remembered the snake coiling around her and sinking into her skin.

"How the Hell should I know? I just got here." Gabriel looked at Nottingham for information and realized he was covered in melting frost. "But I think we'd better do something about tall, dark, and deadly. He's lowered the temperature of the room by more than ten degrees."

Sara curledher lips, remembering her description of Ian back when she had met Gabriel. "Yeah, he's shaking." Now that she was coming awake, she was aware of his shivers and chattering teeth. She was also aware of a throbbing in her leg and chest.

Gabriel grabbed the blankets that had been stripped off the futon and dropped them over Nottingham. He headed for the kitchen to see if there was still coffee in the pot. The heated liquid would help to bring his core temperature back up. So would a warm bath, but he was damned if he was going to suggest it. Something told him that trying to take the dark man's clothing off while he was only half aware was asking to get killed.

A/N: So, worth the wait? Love to all my readers!