Breathing Space

The four warriors for the Light braced themselves in the flickering torchlight, poised at the merging point between the elemental opposites. In the near distance before them, the Gate that held back the Darkness began to open. Even as Ian and Sara joined their energy and channeled it through Cleopatra’s orb, four scaly demons tumbled around the Wall of Power that rose to bridge the widening gap. Drawn to the strongest concentration of power, all of the demons hurtled directly toward Sara. The Wielder and Protector were oblivious to the approaching danger, their full attention centered on building the Wall. Vicki planted her feet and raised her gun in a two-handed grip. She took a deep breath, aimed at the closest demon, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Overcompensating for past carelessness, she had forgotten to remove the safety. As she struggled with the big weapon, Mobius leveled the Lance of Longinus and strode forward to meet the menacing creatures.

As Vicki finally found the safety and flicked it off, she watched her lover grip one demon by its stringy neck, holding it at full arm’s length to avoid its deadly fangs and talons. Mobius snapped its neck and flung the body away. He skewered a second demon like a slimy shish-kebab on the point of the Lance. A third demon leaped on Moby’s back and wrapped its spindly legs around his narrow waist, attempting to grip his neck with its clawed hands. The fourth demon came at him head-on, its claws stretched toward his belly, its intention to gut him. Making an admirable recovery, Vicki shot it in the head. Moby leaned forward and reached behind him, gripping the hideous imp that rode him like cowboy trying to tame a rearing stallion. Pulling it free, he threw it to the dirt and held it still by pressing one booted foot to its sunken chest.

Mobius shifted the Lance in his hands, dragging it across the ground to dislodge the demon still attached to its razor sharp point. Angling the now unencumbered weapon downward, he slit the throat of the demon squirming beneath his boot with a single powerful stroke. Moby raised his head, standing tall and bronzed in the firelight. He looked like some pagan god, surrounded by the motley pile of dead demons. Vicki released the breath she had been holding in a relieved sigh. Other than some long, bloody furrows high on his chest, Moby was unharmed. He turned his head and gave her that incandescent smile just as three more demons emerged in a pack from the woods to their right. Mobius winked at Vicki and turned to face the new challenge. Vicki tightened her grip on the big gun and leveled it at the oncoming danger. She took another deep breath and fired.

Sara was adrift in a grey wilderness, a world neither dark nor light. It was similar to the place she thought of as Witchbladeland, but different too. When she traveled to that place where she communed with the Goddess of the Blade, she felt as if she had arrived at a true location; another realm to be sure, but a true location nonetheless. This place was more limbo than destination. She was between. In this nether place, this no where, the Darkness was very near. She felt a presence, a malicious, destructive glee warming its clever hands against her power. It wanted to come through into the Light. It wanted to dim that clean brightness. It wanted to wrap its shadowy fingers around all that was good and bright, and squeeze the robust life out of it. It was very determined. And, it was very, very strong. Sara whispered a quick, quiet prayer to all the gods of Light that she could find strength within her to meet and overcome the grinning chaos that lurked behind the Wall and waited for her to falter.

Sara blinked in surprise. She was sitting at the kitchen table in her loft. Her dead friend, Maria Buzanis, sat across the table from her, starincusicusingly. Sara drew in a shaky breath. “You’re not real,” she gasped. Maria smirked at her, lip curling in a sneer. “That’s convenient, Sar,” she drawled, “If I’m not real, I guess I can’t ask you why you never returned my call. I guess I can’t ask you why you weren’t there for me like you always said you would be.” Sara flinched and dropped her eyes. She clenched her hands into fists where they rested on the table. It felt so solid beneath her fingers, so real. Her eyes flicked up to meet those of her childhood friend. A drop of blood slid out of her hair and rolled slowly down her forehead. Sara swallowed hard, resisting the urge to reach out to wipe it awayuld uld she feel skin or something else? Maria lifted her hand to wipe away the trail of blood, her eyes filling with tears. “Where were you, Sar?” she asked, “Where were you? I needed you and you just left me to die.”

Sara felt her power waver as guilt stabbed at her heart. The Wall before her shimmered. She closed her eyes and summoned her will. Sara opened her eyes and studied the thing masquerading as Maria. “No,” she said, voice hard with resolve, “I will not let you do this to me. I will not allow it. You’re right. For a long time after Maria died, I beat myself up for not returning her call, for not being there when she needed me. But it’s done and I’ve come to terms with it. You can’t get to me that way.” A tear rolled down Maria’s cheek. “You abandoned me, Sar,” she accused. Sahookhook her head. “My Maria knows that I didn’t abandon her,” she responded, “My friend knows that I loved her and miss her every single day. You should go. There’s nothing for you here.” Maria’s well-loved face dissolved into a grotesque mask of hate. “Ah,” Sara whispered, sitting back in the chair to distance herself further from the thing across tabltable, “There you are.” Maria’s eyes narrowed and she hissed, “Puta.” Sara shook her head again. “No. I’m not,” she hissed right back, “And neither was Maria, you diseased fuck. You won’t get me this way!” Sara steeled her will and sent another jolt of energy through the orb to make the Wall flare brightly and sing with power. Maria and her loft faded and disappeared. Sara was back in the middling land of limbo.

That formless landscape between Dark and Light was a familiar place to Ian. He recognized it immediately, having unwillingly lingered there many times during his long sojourn with Kenneth Irons. He had only been back there twice, briefly, since he had openly linked his fate with that of the Wielder. He had tread that wasteland for a short while in the wake of X’s violation of him. He had gone there again the previous night when the crushing blow of losing Sara had overcome him. In both instances, Sara’s love had been the beacon that had guided him hom the the Light. This time, Ian was on his own. His soul mate was busy fighting her own devils and he would have to find his way back alone. In Ian’s mind, this gray limbo was irrevocably shaped by pain. It was where he went when Irons punished him. It was a terrain of formless suffering occasionally shot through with searing red spikes of agony. His mind would abide there as his body was whipped, prodded, and mangled, and he would passively view whatever phantasms his bent and twisted will managed to conjure to distract him.

Ian fought the overpowering desire to just shut down and let the nothingness take him. This time, that passivity could get them all killed and bring about the end of the world. This time, it was different. This time, he must fight back. As he pulled his will around him like a cloak against the chill, Ian saw a light in the distance. He walked toward it slowly. As he neared the highlighted area and saw what it contained, his sense of déjà vu intensified. The stylish incongruities were so familiar, so like his own torture constructions, that Ian began to wonder whether his body had actually undergone some terrible injury and the cocoon of power was shielding him from its physical impact. “No matter,” he thought, “First things first. I’ll deal with what is before me.” Before him, Elizabeth Bronte sat in a large, dark gray easy chair. A matching chair was across from her – empty, waiting. The chairs were separated by a low coffee table, upon which sat a silver tea service. Elizabeth was stylishly dressed circa World War II. Around every side of this civilized tableau, the gray nothingness lapped.

Ian smiled and bent at the waist in a deep bow. “Ms. Bronte,” he murmured, acknowledging her. The dead ringer for his Sara smiled back at him and said, “Sit down, Ian. Tea?” He shook his head and replied, “No thank you.” He remained standing. Elizabeth sighed dramatically. “Please don’t make this difficult, dear,” she said, “Sit down and have some tea with your grandmother.” There was a pause while Ian digesteat mat morsel. She waited patiently for his response. Ian stared back at her blankly. “Excuse me?” he finally asked politely. Elizabeth put the delicate china cup she had lifted back down on the table. “I said,” she began again, “Sit down and…” Ian interrupted her, “I heard what you said. I do not understand what you meant by it.” She smiled charmingly. “Ah, well,” she sighed, “It’s quite simple really and one does not like to believe that one’s own progeny could be that dense. But, there you are.” When Ian just continued to study her, unmoving, silent, she sighed once again. “Very well,” she continued, “Since you insist on ng tng this confrontational.” She paused again, the consummate actress, before adding, “I am your grandmother. You and Sara are both my grandchildren.”

Ian blinked. Now, Elizabeth used silence to her advantage. Her bright, green eyes studied him with avid intensity over the rim of her teacup as she sipped slowly. Ian cleared his throat. Elizabeth put the cup down in its fragile saucer, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up at him expectantly. “Are you claiming that Sara and I are brother and sister?” he asked. Elizabeth nodded, beaming as if he had won a prize. “The children of my daughter Charlotte,” she confirmed, “My grandchildren.” Ian fought to keep the knee-jerk reaction of intense shock from appearing on his face. He must have managed it because she wasn’t gloating just yet. “And our father?” he asked softly, already knowing what she’d say. Elizabeth gave him a moue of distaste, as if she was growing tired of his games. “Why Kenneth, of course,” she replied, “As you well know, my boy.” Even as a tight ball of molten misery began to coil in his gut, Ian kept his expression carefully neutral. “Who is Karen Bronte then?” he asked her. Elizabeth poured herself more tea, the picture of refinement. “Karen is your cousin,” she said, eyes down, hands busy, “Yours and Sarah’s cousin, that is. She is the child of my daughter Emily.” Determined to get the whole twisted lineage covered, Ian asked, “And her father?” Elizabeth glanced up at him and waved a dismissive hand gracefully. “A man of no consequence,” she said.

Ian shut his eyes. The left side of the Wall began to shimmer dangerously. “Is this why she leaves me?” he wondered, “Is Smy smy sister?” The moment after he gingerly rolled that thought around in his brain, appalled, his intrinsic gift of logic kicked in and Ian began to pull apart the web that Elizabeth had woven. Parsing her statements with the truth as he knew it, Ian abruptly stumbled upon a recollection that tore a gaping whole right through the center of the intricate strands of lie lies. The strength of his knowledge burst free and the Wall of power glimmered solid once more. Elizabeth lifted her head sly. ly. Her feminine charm was fraying a bit around the edges now. The green eyes, so like those of his Sara, narrowed dangerously. “What is it?” she hissed, “What are you thinking, clever boy?” Ian smiled slowly, dangerously. Elizabeth frowned.

“When my master tried to reclaim me after I’d left him SaraSara,” Ian explained, “He used a trigger that he had plantedhin hin me. We had to find a way to disengage it or I could not trust myself to be safe in the company of my love.” Elizabeth shrugged, not yet seeing the fly in the ointment. “So?” she asked, rather belligerently. Ian’s confident smile grew dazzling. “So,” he continued, “Dr. Po ran DNA tests on me to determine whether my blood was tainted in some way. Being rather anal and very careful, Vicki ran a DNA test on Sara as well.” Elizabeth’s lovely lips curled into a snarl. Ian laughed, enjoying the moment. “Bottom line?” he said pleasantly, “You’re full of shit. Sara and I are not brother and sister. My master may be my father but he is certainly not hers. And, you’re not Elizabeth Bronte.” As the illusion dissolved and Ian found himself back in the featureless void, he heard a long, low wail of frustration and grinned. As he regrouped for the next assault, Ian sagely advised himself, “Don’t get cocky!”

Sara was enjoying her moment of triumph over the Darkness dressed as Maria when a sobering thought hit her. They had only just begun. “Don’t get cocky!” she told herself. She felt the warm shimmer of Ian’s amusement dance through her mind and wondered whether the advice was his or hers. It didn’t matter, she decided. All was theirs. They were each other. Sara sent Ian a sweet caress wrapped in a pinch of lust. She felt him receive it, treasure it, and send it back to her. Then, suddenly, she was in a dark, grimy warehouse. Sara studied her surroundings, disoriented. She heard a strangled scream and her whole body tensed. “Oh god,” she thought, “I know that voice. That’s Danny!” She stilled herself and tried to gauge where the sound had come from. She started to walk toward a door at the far end of the large, open room in which she’d found herself. Before she reached it, another scream rent the still air and she stopped dead. Wrong way. The sound had come from a small, black opening to her left that she had missetiretirely in the dim light.

Dreading what she would find within, Sara pushed her way through the jagged cleft in the wall of the warehouse. The room was small, dark, and filthy. The only light came from a single,ll cll crack in the outer wall of the building, high up on the wall. In the reflection of the fey moonlight, Danny sat tied to an old, wooden kitchen chair. He had obviously been tortured. His hands, tied to the arms of the chair, were a bloody mess. It looked as if some maniac had pulled out his fingernails. He was shirtless and the legs of his pants had been slit up the front to his knees. His ankles were tied to the front legs of the chair. Blood was everywhere: on his legs, on his arms, on his chest, all over the floor. His head hung down, chin resting on his chest. His hair fell in lank, sweaty strands that obscured his face. She couldn’t tell whether he was alive or dead.

“Danny?” Sara said. Her quiet voice sounded unnaturally loud in the stagnant air. He lifted his head and Sara cried out before she could stifle it. His face was a bloody mask. If he lived, he would be scarred for life. Sara felt a cold, deadly fury begin to march through her. Where was the bastard who had done this to Danny? She wanted a piece of him; a big piece. “Sara?” Danny whispered brokenly. He squinted up at her through the blood in his eyes. “I’m here, partner,” she said, scanning the dark corners of the room while reaching for gun gun she wasn’t wearing. “Shit,” she thought, wondering what would happen if she had to use the Blade, wondering whether it would pull power away from the Wall. “Help me,” Danny begged. After one more quick scan of the room, Sara dropped to her knees and went to work on the ropes binding Danny. “Hurry,” he hissed through broken teeth, “Before it comes back.” Sara glanced up at him as she tried to untie his ankles, wincing at his damaged face. “Who?” she asked, finally freeing one leg, “Who did this to you?” Danny moved his leg, trying to jumpstart his circulation, gasping softly in pain. “It was a what, not a who,” he rasped.

“What?” Sara asked, confused. She had freed his other leg. She went to work on the rope around his wrists. “Oh lord, his poor hands,” Sara thought, wondering if he would ever be able to hold a gun again. “Exactly,” Danny groaned, “Some kindcreacreature – big, strong, vicious. It’s still around here somewhere, Sara. It wasn’t done with me. It will be back.” Pulling the bloody rope away from his right hand, she quickly went to work on the remaining restraint. “That’s okay, Dan,” she murmured, “We’re getting you out of here before it gets back, whatever the hell it is.” Running was better than fighting, she had decided. Their only weapon was the Witchblade and she couldn’t afford to drain off power that might weaken the Wall. Danny’s arm stiffened under her fingers. “Too late,” he whispered, squinting at something above and behind her. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. She heard a disturbing snuffling noise that sounded something like a cross between a boar and a bear. Giving the last rope holding Danny a final tug, Sara rolled to the side and came to her feet crouched in a fighting stance.

The thing forcing its misshapen body through the rent in the wall was huge and obscene. It looked like a compilation of all the most hideous parts from everyone’s worst nightmares. She helped Danny to his feet and whispered in his ear, “When that thing gets in here, we’re going to maneuver around it and get ourselves through that crack in the wall as fast as we can. Okay? That will give us some time because it’s too damn big to get itself out again quickly. See how hard it’s struggling to get in?” Danny clung to her, dazed. The thing was almost through into the room. Grasping her right arm, Danny said, “Why don’t you just use the Witchblade, Sara? You can take it down.” She turned her head slowly to look at her partner. “What did you say?” she asked, alarms going off in her head. “Use the Witchblade,” Danny repeated, “You can annihilate that thing, partner. No sweat.” Sara stared at her partner, narrowing her eyes. “I can’t afford to use the Blade right now, Danny,” she explained carefully, “We’ll have to rely on ourselves. That thing is slow. If we move fast enough, I think we can get around it and out of the room – buy ourselves time to get out of the building.”

Danny’s grip tightened on her arm. “You’ll get us both killed,” he growled, “Use the damn Witchblade. What’s the point of having it if you won’t ut? Ht? Help me, Sara. I’m really hurt. I need your help now.” Sara blinked twice, her eyes narrowing even more. She pried Danny’s fingers off of her bracelet. “Danny would never pressure me into using the Blade,” she said, taking a step back from him, “No matter what situation we were in. He would trust my judgment. Who are you?” Danny let out a shriek and pointed at the door. “It’s coming, Sara. It’s going to rip us both to shreds,” he cried, “Use the Witchblade. Kill it!” The horror was indeed finally through the crack in the wall and was coming straight for them. She studied it calmly before turning back to Danny. “No,” she replied, “I won’t. I don’t believe that any of this is real. You’re not Danny. He’s at home with his family where he belongs. You’re no more real than that thing across the room. You’re both constructions of smoke and darkness. Fuck you both! I won’t use the Blade because that’s precisely what you want me to do.”

The illusion with Danny’s voice gave one final wail of “Sara!” before it faded away along with the nightmare creature and the warehouse. Sara shook her body like a wet dog scattering droplets of water. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and breathed, “Whoa. That was intense.” Stretching her senses, she ran a thorough check to ensure that the Wall was still secure and holding back the Darkness. It held. Allowing herself to relax a bit, she did some deep breathing to calm down. Feeling better, reacreached out to Ian to see how he was managing with his trials. As soon as Sara touched his mind, she knew that Ian was in trouble. But, before she could even consider how to help him, she had substantial trouble of her own to handle. Just as she breathed another soft prayer to the higher powers of Light to help them survive this night, a snarling, scaly demon came hurtling into her line of sight. It was on a direct collision course with her. Sara braced herself and, without conscious design, activated the Witchblade.

Halfway through its trajectory, Vicki shot the demon aimed directly at Sara in the head. It dropped like a stone, lay twitching on the ground for a moment, and then was still. Mobius met the attack launched by the remaining two demons. One of the demons leaped high in the air, flying like a bat toward a landing point on Moby’s chest. Raising the Lance above his head, Mobius slashed the weapon whistling through the air to connect with a solid crack against the head of the airborne demon. The demon let out a strangled croak and fell to the earth, dead before it landed. But, while the first demon came in high, the other demon came in low, angling itself under Moby’s guard. Before he was able to lower the Lance to stab it, the demon had managed to rip open a tear in Mobius’ thigh that was several inches long. Dark, rich blood jetted from the shallow wound. Seeing the spurt of blood, Vicki cried out his name and shot demodemon crouching on the ground below him just as Mobius brought down the tip of the Lance to slash open its throat from ear to ear.

As Mobius kicked the dead demon aside with his uninjured leg, Vicki knelt at his feet. She pulled off her jacket and ripped off her sweatshirt, unconcerned that she was stripped down to her bra. Tearing the shirt, she created a tourniquet to tie off the wound in Moby’s thigh. The flow of blood eased off until it was little more than a steady trickle. Satisfied, Vicki put her jacket back on. Mobius extended his hand to help her to her feet. He kissed her hand quickly before releasing it, murmuring, “Thank you, my love. Your cool nerves and facile skill are most appreciated.” Vicki squeezed his hand, her eyes scanning the forest. “That’s okay,” she said, “No more rips or tears though. Okay? I have a personal interest in that lovely body of yours.” Moby gave a deep, rumbling purr of a laugh. “I will keep that in mind, Po,” he replied.

Their attention was suddenly drawn to the left side of the Wall, which began to flicker and falter. Soon, there was a breach in the Wall, and through that tear, demons began to tumble. In mere seconds, six of them had come over and more were behind them. Vicki, still huddled at Moby’s side, screamed, “Sara. The Wall.” The Wielder never turned her head, never gave any indication that she had heard Vicki’s warning. Yet, in moments, the Wall flickered again and the Power began to reknit itself to form the solid barrier blocking the Gate. Before that had happened, however, five more demons had pushed their way past the rift. Snarling and snapping, the eleven scaly horrors shaped themselves into a single unit driven by instinct to destroy the greatest source of Power. They turned as one, drawn to the Witchblade and its Wielder. There was one long moment when everything seemed to hold its breath. Then, the demons moved. In a group, they shot like a missle toward Sara. Vicki screamed, lifted the big gun in her two-handed grip, and started shooting into the oncoming hoard.

Feeling cautiously confident with a fresh victory over his phony grandmother, Ian didn’t even flinch when he realized that his location had shifted again. He prepared himself calmly for the next challenge. He was doing fine, he thought, ready for whatever the Darkness had in store for him. Then, he realized with a sudden sinking clarity where he was standing. He was in the shed behind the cabin, the place that he had avoided like the plague since he had last passed its rickety door. It was the place where X had used him. In that instant, Ian knew what his next trial would be and, in a hidden place deep inside him, he started to tremble. His stomach clenched and he began to feel sick. Before he turned around, he knew that she would be there. He had thought never to see her again. She was dead, after all. He had killed her with his own hands. There was no point in pretending that he could avoid this. Best to just plunge in, he thought. Ian took a deep shaky breath and turned around.

She stood directly behind him, so close that her perfume assaulted his senses, making his head swim. Ian had forgotten how tall she was. Her midnight blue eyes were almost level with his and were dark now with all sorts of complicated emotions. Ian stopped breathing for a moment, then his breath left him in a startled rush as he said, “You’re dead. I killed you.” X smiled enticingly, reaching up one long, bright red fingernail to stroke his bearded cheek. “Haven’t you seen enough by now to understand how deceiving appearances can be, my darling?” she asked. Ian knew that his breathing was unsteady, his heart pounding. He fought to bring himself back under control, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of manipulating him this way. “I felt your neck snap in my hands,” he murmured. Her smile deepened. “You felt precisely what I wanted you to feel, Ian,” she replied, “Be honest, lover. You’re not really sure any longer, are you?” Ian frowned, hating her, wanting her dead all over again. Worst of all, the truth was that she was right. He was no longer sure that he had really killed her, that she was really dead.

“Alright,” Ian thought, “I’ll deal with it. She can’t hurt Sara or me if we don’t allow it.” He took a step back from her, needing the distance. “Whether you’re alive or not, doesn’t really matter,” he informed her coldly, “I’ll never let you touch me again, no matter what tricks you try.” X grinned, unfazed by his vehemence. “Never say never, baby,” she replied, “And, besides, I have my own little piece of you now.” Ian frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. X laughed gleefully. “I’m pregnant with your child, my darling,” she said, “How’s that for chemistry? It took one try with me. Something you haven’t been able to accomplish after banging the Wielder for months.” Ian felt a coldness settle inside him and start to spread. This was the reason that Sara would leave him, he thought, it must be. “Why should I believe her?” he wondered. Aloud, Ian said, “I don’t believe you.” X stretched out her hand to slowly stroke his chest. When Ian stepped back out of her reach, X smirked. “Why would I lie?” she asked, “What would be the point?” Hertedrted. “For you, it would be enough to torment me,” he responded, “But if you could use this as a way to come between Sara and me, that would be point enough for you.”

X stepped closer. Ian stepped back only to find that he was against the wall of the shed. She grinned, enjoying his discomfort as she rubbed her body against his. Angling her lips near his ear, X whispered, “What if it’s true, Ian?” she asked, “Don’t you want your baby? Forget that it’s mine. Don’t you want to be a fathe you your child?” He shut his eyes and struggled to think clearly. He failed. A softspersperate voice kept screaming in his head, “Dear god, what if it is true?” He could not deny his own child regardless of the identity of its mother. What would that do to Sara? Caught in the emotional turmoil, Ian’s concentration wavered. His control of the Power being channeled to the Wall faltered. Sara, sensing that Ian was in trouble, moved in to shore up the gap. But, caught up in her own battles of will, she knew that she couldn’t carry the weight for them both for very . Sa. Sara sent a desperate plea for help to Ian. His response was immediate. He locked down his traitorous emotions and pulled his focus back to the Wall. When the Power was stable again, he carefully gave a limited amount of his attention back to X, who was still rubbing her lush body against his, looking for a reaction.

She got one. Ian pushed her out of his way none too gently. When he had put some distance between them once more, he turned back to face her. He cleared his throat. “If you are pregnant and you can prove that the baby is mine,” he said, “I will fulfill my responsibility. I will provide support and I will be the best father that I can learn to be to the child. That does not mean, however, that I will ever have more than fleeting contact with you. You mean nothing to me. This baby, if there is one, is the product of your rape of me. That is no fault of the baby and I hold it blameless, but I want nothing more to do with you – ever.” Her eyes flashed. She obviously was not getting the reaction from him that she wanted. A vicious smile quirked her lips. “How do you think your lady love will react to another woman having your baby?” X asked, “Knowing the temperament of the Wielder, I would guess not too well. Think she’ll stay with you through this, Ian? Think she’ll believe that you weren’t a willing participant in making the baby? It does take two, love. And, as I recall, you were pretty enthusiastic. You can kid yourself all you like that what we did was ‘rape,’ but you were hardly forced to fuck me.”

Ian had gone pale as glass. Several of her barbs hit their mark but he would not give her the satisfaction of showing it. He knew her game now. Regardless of whether she was truly alive or not, regardless of whether the baby was real or not, her goal was to break his concentration. Her goal was to diminish the force of his Power and to cause a breach in the Wall. He would not allow her to break his will a second time. Ian looked back at her with eyes that were hard as shiny, gold coins. “We can stand in this hovel all night,” he said coldly, “But I will no longer allow you to bait me. You will not distract me from my duty or my protection of the Wielder. I have told you what I will do if you bring a child of mine into this world. We have nothing more to say to each other.” X started to move closer and Ian held up a hand. “Keep your distance,” he said menacingly. She sneered. “Or what?” she asked, “You’ll kill me again? If you do, you’ll kill your baby with me.” Ian’s smile would have frozen fire. “There are ways to harm you without causing damage to the child,” he replied, “And, believe me, I know them.” X shrugged, trying for display of bravado, but she held her distance.

Trying another tack, X smiled gently and casually dropped her hand with its long red nails to her midsection. “Our baby will be growing inside me for the next eight months,” she said demurely, “Don’t you want to be part of that? Don’t you want to know your child as it grows?” Ian laughed. It was a dark, brittle sound and her eyes widened. “Not at all,” he said, “I want nothing to do with the baby until it is separate from you. I’ll give you whatever money you need but I want no part of you. Once the child is born, I’ll take it if you wish, or give it my love and support away from its mother. But, you, I will give nothing of me – now or ever. I belong to Sara. As I did when you took me. That will never change.” Her eyes narrowed. “Even if she leaves you?” X asked. Ian nodded. “Even if she leaves me,” he confirmed, praying that this was not the wedge that would pry him apart from his love. “You’re just a fool, after all,” X said dismissively, “Aren’t you?” He laughed again and, this time, she flinched. “And you’re a raging bitch,” Ian responded, “So what? Are we done here?” She snarled in frustration and started toward him again. Ian braced himself to deal with her. He could do it. He felt nothing but a cold, calm readiness to harm her very effectively and very carefully.

Ian blinked and he was back in the gray purgatory of between – no shed, no X. They were gone. No baby? He drew in a deep, shaky sigh and reached out to mentally touch his Sara. She was there as she always was; a warm, golden overlay on his soul. She was holding strong. As her Protector, he could do no less. He could not allow the niggling doubt, the fears for the future, to distract him. He would have to think about it, deal with it, later. After all, it might simply be a lie concocted to distract him. And, if it wasn’t, there could be no resolution now anyway. But his errant mind chose that moment to betray him. It gave him a vivid image of himself holding his own baby in his arms, rocking it gently as it looked up at him with grave, golden eyes. Ian shut his eyes. A single tear pushed past the thick lashes to slip down his cheek. There was an ache within him that was new and strange. “Oh, Sara,” he thought with desperate longing, “Why couldn’t it be ours?”

Like a breeze ruffling her hair, Sara felt the soft sigh of Ian’s longing float across her soul. She ignored it. She needed all of her wits about her if she was to survive this challenge. She was standing in the house where she had grown up and she knew that her father would soon be home from work. Sara had already been through one devastating experience when the Darkness had animated a replica of her dead father, James Pezzini. She did not want to go through that again. She knew that her desire would be futile. Wite poe possible exception of Ian, using her father was the most obvioay tay to break her spirit and damage her concentration. And, even though Ian was her close one now, her father would always occupy a special place in her heart that no other could fill. She didn’t want these new memories of James Pezzini. She wanted to remember him as the good man that he had been, not as the perversion that the shadows made of him. Even as everything within her shied away from the encounter, she heard him coming up the wooden steps of the front stoop.

The front door opened and James Pezzini stood framed in the gray half-light of nowhere, visible behind him. Sara felt her heart constrict. He smiled at her tenderly. “Hello, honey,” he said. She swallowed hard. “Hello, Daddy,” she replied. He was still locked in the body in which he had been murdered, forever forty years old. His eyes blazed with the cold fire that she remembered from when he had posed as “V,” the Hierophant. Her stomach did a long, slow roll. “This thing is not my father,” she thought, “But, God, how like him it seems.” He shut the door and the mists of gray limbo disappeared. Now, she was just in the living room at home with her dad. Except that her dad had been dead for 20 years. Except that she had killed him herself the last time she had seen him. Even though it had been Kenneth Irons wearing her father’s body, it still had felt as if she had murdered her own father. It had been her dad’s face, her dad’s voice, her dad’s smile – but not her dad’s eyes. Like now – not her dad’s eyes. James Pezzini had had kind, gentle eyes. The eyes now studying her were cold and calculating.

“Look at you,” he said, “You’re all grown up. You’re a knockout.” Sara blushed and dropped her head. She would give almost anything in the world if this really were her dad. Still smiling benignly at her, he licked his lips. “So,” he continued, “Tell me about yourself. I know you’re a cop and I couldn’t be prouder of that. Are you married? Do you have kids?” Sara shut her eyes. This wasn’t right. She had to stop it before it sucked her in. She opened her eyes to stare directly into the soulless orbs of the demon animating James Pezzini this time. “You are not my father,” she said. He laughed and, oh God, it was her dad’s wonderful laugh, a jolly rumble from deep in the belly. “What are you talking about, Peanut?” he responded, “Of course, I am.” She winced when he used his pet name for her. Sara shook her head. “No,” she insisted, “You are not.” He looked distressed and, even though she knew better, it hurt her to have put that look on his face. “It’s that thing you’re wearing, isn’t it,” he said mourny, “y, “It’s that damn bracelet. It’s brought you nothing but misery since it first came into your life. You should just get rid of it. Give yourself a chance at a normal life. Find a good man. Settle down and have kids. I’m not saying you should give up your badge, but you need some balance and happiness in your personal life. That thing has been a curse.”

Sara smiled sadly. “Ah,” she thought, “So that’s his game.” He frowneYou You can’t tell me that your life has been better since that thing chose you, can you, Sara?” he asked, “I just want what’s best for you. I want you to have the chance for a full life that I missed out on.” Her eyes narrowed. “You want me to take off the Witchblade,” she clarified, “I guess you’d like me to just pull it off right now and hand it over to you. Is that it? Have I got it right?” James Pezzini rubbed his hands together and began walking casually around the room, straightening pictures, flicking imaginary dust off of furniture. “The picture of innocence,” Sara thought. He picked up a framed photograph of her father holding her in his arms. Her smile was so wide it was a wonder it hadn’t broken her little face. “Do you remember when this was taken?” he asked. Sara nodded. “You didn’t answer me,” she pressed. He turned and held out his hands, the shrug was implied. “If you’re ready to let the blasted thing go,” he said, “Sure. I can take it from you. Dispose of it somewhere where it will never bother anyone ever again. Then, you can start to enjoy your life. What you do say?”

Sara smiled with just a touch of menace. “I say: ‘Fuck you, whatever you are,” she hissed, “What you aren’t, is my father.” He shook his head, his expression both pained and patient. “Sara, Sara,” he replied, “Such language. Have a care or we’ll have to wash your mouth out with lye.” Sara grinned. “That’s more like it,” she said, “You taking the gloves off now? You going to show me what you really aree sme smiled broadly and said, “What you see is what you get, Peanut. What is it that you want from me?” Sara frowned. His front tooth was missing. She suddenly flashed back to the battle between them in the Great Room at the mansion. He sighed dramatically. “You’re not buying this at all, are you, Sara?” he asked. “Sorry,” she replied, “I’ve been down this road before. I didn’t enjoy the trip the first time we took it.” He shrugged. “Oh well,” he said, “I tried to do this nicely. If you won’t cooperate, you leave me no choice.” Sara grimaced. “Is this family about to go dysfunctional?” she asked blandly. James Pezzini grinned. “Actually,” he replied, “I believe that we will pass dysfunctional and go right to psychotic.”

“Okay,” she agreed, “No point in prolonging this farce. Why don’t you let me see the real you?” He laughed, looking delighted with her. “You just don’t quit, do you, Peanut?” he asked, “No. I don’t think so. My appearance bothers you. That’s an advantage for me. Why should I give it up?” Sara shrugged, hiding her disappointment. He was right. It did bother her to be on the opposite sfromfrom her “dad.” “Suit yourself,” she said, feigning disinterest. He nodded. “I’ll ask you one more time, flat out, no deception,” he offered, “Give me the Witchblade and I’ll let you go. I’ll even throw in the boy for good measure. What do you say?” Sara shook her head. “Sorry,” she replied, “Not a chance in hell.” He smiled. “Well,” he said blithely, “You do know where you stand.” She briefly wondered whether that was an oblique reference to the conditions of her trial or to their location. Before things got out of control, Sara reached out to Ian. Last time she had connected with him, he was in trouble, his control slipping. This time, he was solid. Whatever challenge had been straining his will, Ian had overcome it. Sara experienced a quick, warm flash of pride in her mate.

“That’s my baby,” Sara crowed to her lover, mind to mind. She felt Ian’s answering grin. “I need your help,” Sara thought to him. She felt his concern reaching out to her. “I’m okay,” she thought quickly before she threw him off his game. His tension eased. She read the question now in his mind. “Watch the level of Power carefully,” she said to him, “If it starts to dip, step in and make up the difference.” The question was still there. Ian wanted to know what she was facing to cause such a Power drain. She hesitated, not wanting to distract him too much. “I need to use the Witchblade,” she thought to him, “It may pull some of my Power from the Wall.” His response was immediate. “Why do you have to use the Witchblade?” he wanted to know. Sara sighed. “Not your worry,” she thought to him, “You have your own problems. Will you help me?” Ian sent her such a rush of love that, for a moment, she was overwhelmed. “Of course,” she felt him respond, “I love you, my darling.” She smiled. “I love you too,” she thought to him, “Come back to me safe and well, baby.” His beautiful smile warmed her like a welcoming fire in the Darkness.

Sara’s entire mental conversation with Ian had taken mere seconds, but the creature now circling her provocatively had noticed her lapse and was getting ready to pounce. As Sara swung around to face him, the Witchblade’s characteristic metallic hiss echoed through the room when her bracelet morphed into a loladelade. James Pezzini raised his own long, wicked-looking sword and said, “So. It begins.” Sara smiled grimly. “I killed you last time,” she said, “I’ll do it again.” Her father’s cheerful smile answered her. “That wasn’t me,” he said, “Old Irons had his own agenda – and he’s a pushover compared to me.” Sara shrugged negligently as she started to stalk him. “Whatever,” she replied dismissively. With daunting speed, he attacked. Sara barely had time to meet his parry. The clash of steel rang loud in the still air. Sword and Blade slid down each other, separated, and slammed together again. They pressed together, each looking for an opening. Sara started to retreat, inch by inch. He was very strong. She sucked in air, digging deep inside her, and then pushed back.

Her sudden aggression caught him off guard. James Pezzini let out a furious roar as the Blade stabbed him in his left shoulder. Sara quickly pulled it free, poising herself for his counter-attack. The creature was right-handed. He was a bit disabled, but certainly not incapacitated. Fueled by anger and fear, he kicked it up a notch and took her by surprise. Slipping under her defenses, he slashed a long, shallow furrow across her middle. Only her quick arch backward, saved her from a killing blow. Sara hissed sharply with pain and narrowed her eyes. He barked out a guttural laugh and said, “Now we are both blooded. You could live a long life yet. If you give me the Blade now, I’ll let you live.” His voice no longer reminded her of her father and his eyes were now bright yellow. She ducked a vicious thrust of his blade before she answered, “I have no worries about living to a ripe, old age.” She wished that she felt as confident as she sounded. Then, she gasped with shock as he caught her on the left forearm with the tip of his blade. For a moment, the whole world was awash with blinding, red pain. Her focus shifted and a large gap opened in the left side of the Wall. The timing was unfortunate because Ian was buried so deep in his own misery that he missed it. Seizing the opportunity, six snarling, scaly demons tumbled through. Seconds later, they were followed by five more before Ian recovered enough to renew the Power and rebuild the fallen Wall.

The sight of her own bright blood so stark against the whiteness of the skin of her arm, acted like a shock of cold water to the face. Sara twirled so fast that she even surprised herself. She was as shocked as the pretender when she found the Witchblade embedded to its hilt in the demon’s chest. The illusion that was James Pezzini evaporated and she rode the Blade to the floor as a huge, horned horror drew her down in its death throes. As Sara watched, appalled, a chilling rattle escaped it before it curled into a tight ball beneath her. It shuddered once and was still. She pulled in a deep, racking breath. Bracing her foot against its body to gain leverage, Sara pulled the Witchblade from the dead demon. With a satisfied snick of metal, the Blade retracted into its bracelet form on her wrist. Sara lifted her head, closed her eyes, and loosed a hoarse, primal cry of victory to the heavens. She was bleeding badly from both the slash on her stomach and the deep cut on her arm. Her eyes opened again as she fought the wave of dizziness that threatened to overtake her. “Just a little longer, Pez,” she told herself, “You just have to hold on a little longer.” Her next thought was couched in a desire so strong it was more instinctual than cognitive. “I want Ian,” the deepest part of her cried. And, before she could even finish forming the words in her head, she went to him.

“I remember this,” Ian thought, golden eyes wide with wonder, “I was five years old.” It had been a day of pure magic in a childhood most often defined by the harshest of lessons. His master had given him a birthday party. The only one he had ever had. He had been too young then to appreciate the touch of pure absurdity in Irons, Immo, and Ian sitting at the long dining room table in paper party hats. His adult sense of the ridiculous could certainly see it, and it brought a gleam to his eyes and a twist to his lips. There had been a cake with candles. There had been a bicycle, a two-wheeler, with a big, red bow. God, it had been glorious. His father looked up at him and smiled. Ian felt something quiver low in his belly. It had been months since he had last looked into Kenneth Irons’ eyes. The silly paper party hat did nothing to reduce the sheer power of the man. Ian was startled to find that he had automatically settled into a parade rest stance. “No,” Ian thought rebelliously. His lips thinned, his hands dropped to his sides, and his head lifted high. He met Irons’ gaze directly.

Kenneth’s smile broadened until he fairly oozed charm. “Bravo, my boy,” he said, “You’ve become your own man, I see.” Ian didn’t take the bait. He waited, cautious and still. Irons inclined his head appreciatively before he tried another gambit. He glanced down at the cake with its flaming candles before raising his eyes back to Ian. “I made you happy that day, didn’t I, Ian?” he asked. Ian nodded, the barest movement of his head. “Yes. You did,” he murmured. Irons was quiet, considering. The silence between them lengthened. “You are my son. The only child that I will ever have,” his rich voice continued, “I took you in, educated you, made you into what you are today. I gave you life.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. There were those who would say that that was nothing to brag about. “Now, I need you to return the favor,” Irons added. The air seemed to shimmer and the party table and the silent Immo vanished. Only the two of them were left. And the virile Irons who had presided over his fifth birthday party was gone. He had been replaced by a decrepit, wizened old man hunched over in his wheelchair.

“I’m dying, Ian. I can feel the life draining out of me like water through a sieve,” Irons said in a voice like a rusty hinge, “But you can save me, son. You can bring me back.” Ian drew in a sharp breath. It was as if someone had tugged on his will. Almost in spite of himself, he asked, “How?” Kenneth smiled but didn’t gloat – not yet. “It’s so simple, so easy,” he cooed, harsh croak mellowing, “You just have to stop. You just have to let go of your power.” Ian felt that subtle tug again and he wondered, “Is there a flaw still within me as we feared? Is this how I fail her? Is this how the world ends – not with a bang, but a whimper?” He pulled in another deep breath and realized that Irons was still speaking. “You are my last hope, Ian,” he said, “Can you let me die when you have it in your power to save me? Can you commit patricide?” Ian shut his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He felt as if there were a compass inside him, dragging his will like an arrow to the inevitable direction that his master had preordained. As his will weakened, the Power that he was extending to hold the Wall also weakened.

It was at that moment that the demon with James Pezzini’s face opened a gash on his daughter’s arm and the sharp jolt of pain broke her focus as well. The combined distraction of Wielder and Protector allowed a gap to open in the left face of the wall through which 11 opportunistic demons crossed the converging lines. With a sudden stab of panic, Ian understood what was happening. He was failing Sara. She had asked him to hold the Wall and he was failing her. The instincts of a trained survivor kicked in. The weathered visage of Dr. Peter Marx, his intrepid deprogrammer, appeared in his mind’s eye. Like a gift from the gods, all of the many hours of training returned to him and the blocker that Marx had found appeared like the grail in his time of need. Ian took several calming breaths and put his training into effect. With stunning speed, the inexorable drag on his will was released and he was once again his own. He felt a relief so strong that it was dizzying. When Ian finally gave his attention back to Irons, he found that his master was squinting at him and frowning worriedly.

Ian smiled and softly acknowledged what they both were thinking, “You should be worried.” Irons’ frown grew more pronounced. “What have you done?” he asked. Ian met his eyes directly. “I have broken your chains and freed myself,” he said. Then, he gave Irons one of those brilliant smiles that he usually reserved for Sara, before he added, “With a little help from my friends.” The first glimmer of fear edged into Kenneth’s eyes. “Save me, son,” he asked, still to proud to beg. Ian knelt beside the wheelchair. He stretched out one hand, stopping just short of a touch. “I love you, father,” he said softly, feelingly, “Mostly in spite of who you are – though I love the man in the party hat without reservation.” He paused and shook his head, his beautiful eyes sad. “I’m sorry. I cannot save you,” he continued, “The price is simply too high.” Finally losing control, Irons snarled, “It’s that bitch. She has corrupted you. I should have killed her at my first misgivings.” Ian stood and stepped back from him. “Sara did not corrupt me,” he responded, “She saved me. She taught me how to love.”

Irons made a rude sound. “For all the education, all the training, all the care I lavished upon you, Ian,” he grated, “You are a weak child, too emotionally twisted to ever truly understand love. You do not possess the ability to grasp anything genuine or lasting. If you let me die, you will lose the one person in this world who will never abandon you.” That struck a chord inside Ian as he vividly relived the vision of Sara’s ring glittering in Vicki’s hand. He shook his head as if to clear It It did not matter. There was only one choice he could make, after all. He made it and felt something break within him that he knew would never again be healed. “I’m sorry, father,” Ian said again, “I love you. Goodbye.” He shut off the ripped place inside him and reached out to Sara – his love, his light. She was there, waiting for him. Using her as his guiding star, he returned to his place by her side in the clearing. Irons’ desperate wail of “Nooooooo!!!!!” followed him all the way back.

Snarling and snapping, the 11 demons that had wormed their way through the damaged Wall came straight for the Wielder. Vicki screamed, lifted the big gun in her two-handed grip, and started shooting into the oncoming hoard. She killed one, two, three – the there were still too many coming and too little time to stop them. At her side, Mobius was poised to kill but there were simply too many. A flash of errant Power drifted from the Triumverate to flirt with the tip of the Lance and Vicki saw their salvation. She turned to Mobius and yelled, “Use their Power!” The big warrior’s eyes flicked to his lover and he calmly asked, “What?” Vicki pointed at the shimmering triangle of Power that arced from Sara to Ian to the orb. “Dip the Lance into their Power and throw it at the demons,” she cried, “Zap the bastards back to hell!” His dark eyes lit as he grasped what she was proposing. It could work. The demons had circled around the Triumverate to attack Sara from the rear, outside the triangle of Power. The scaly horrors were almost upon them.

Mobius braced himself for the backlash and dipped the tip of the Lance into the incandescent Power of the Triumverate. He shook as the energy vibrated through him. If he had had hair, it would have been standing on end. He gritted his teeth and whipped the charged Lance in a high semicircle through the air to draw and fling the white-hot Power at the phalanx of demons that were now upon them. A lightning bolt shot from the tip of the Longinus Lance and fell dead center into the tight group of demons. It exploded with a fiery blast and concussed outward. When the smoke cleared, all that remained of the demons was simmering ash. Moby lay flat on his back on the ground, eyes shut. Vicki cried out and dropped to the ground at his side, terrified. She pressed her fingers to his jugular. The beat was strong and steady. Shaking with relief, she remembered to breathe. She bent to his ear and whispered his name. His eyelids fluttered. When the bright, chocolate eyes opened and fixed on her, Vicki let out a giddy laugh. “Thank God,” she whispered, “I thought I had killed you.” Mobius gave her a weak smile. “I am not that fragile, darling Po,” he managed, “The infusion of energy was actually quite…stimulating.” Vicki laughed. She was helping him to his feet when the night exploded in a blinding blast of malignant power and they found themselves back on the ground.

As Ian returned to Sara’s side, they wereh thh thinking that it was almost over. Midnight was near and they could sense that the Darkness behind the Wall was beginning to diminish. It was almost over, they were alive, and the Wall was intact the they became aware of each other and their surroundings again, things started to fall into perspective with sickening rapidity. Like an intricate pattern of leaning dominoes, one tipped into the next and the whole design started to unravel. They sensed and then saw the large bunch of demons bearing down on them. They watched Vicki shoot the leaders of the group. They gasped as Moby tipped the Lance into their cone of Power to fling it at the attackers and fry them in mid-attack. It was now two minutes to midnight and the Gate was beginning to close; their Wall of Power shrinking as the sides came back together. Then, the world seemed to slow down. A tiny break appeared in the Wall as Moby pulled Power to the Lance. It was hardly big enough to see, yet it was just enough. There was a wild scream of defeat from the Darkness trapped behind the closing gate. The scream was immediately followed by a searing beam of pure evil. The beam was aimed like a laser right through that insignificant, little hole in the Wall.

Linked irrevocably through their connection, Ian saw the deadly ray heading straight for Sara and Sara saw the deadly ray heading straight for Ian. In the same split second, Ian started to dive in front of Sara and Sara started to dive in front of Ian, each intending to take the blast, to protect the other. Sara was very fast, but Ian was faster. They had come together in the air, one in front of the other, when the dense concentration of dark power hit them. And they both went down.

Time moved and it was over. The converging lines of Dark and Light came within a breath of each other but, after all, did not meet. At one minute past midnight, they moved again on their parallel course. The crisis had been averted. There was, however, a price.

All four champions lay on the ground. Mobius lifted his head, his ears still ringing from the final blast. He glanced around him, disoriented. The shining Wall of Power was gone. The only light in the clearing now came from the moon and the four guttering torches. His eyes fell on Vicki and he gave a soft cry of distress. She was crumpled like a broken doll on the singed grass at his left. He carefully pulled her limp body into his arms and whispered her name. Vicki made a soft sound and stirred. Moby dragged in a ragged breath, suddenly dizzy. He had stopped breathing and hadn’t even noticed. “Thank the gods,” he thought, “She is alive.” Now that the world was saved, their duty done, nothing else mattered. Vicki opened dazed eyes and tried to focus. Her lover’s face was the first thing that she saw. She smiled and reached up a dirty hand to stroke his cheek. “Do you know that you’re crying?” she asked, voice hoarse. The big warrior shrugged. “Truly, Po, I had not noticed,” he whispered, “For just a moment, I thought that I had lost you.” She snorted, now scrubbing at the dirt she had tracked down his cheek. “It’d take more than some wicked power blast thingy to do me in,” she replied, grinning, “You know me better than that.” He pulled her close to his warm body and held her tight. “I do, yes,” he whispered in her ear, “But I forgot.” She clung to him, eyes shut, letting the solid presence of him, the towering life of him, roll over her. They stayed like that for a moment as she said lightly, teasingly, “I forgive you.”

Vicki gasped and pulled back. “Sara and Ian,” she cried, “Are they alri Why Why is it so quiet?” Both of their heads swiveled to the left. Wielder and Protector were in a heap in centcenter of a large, charred circle of earth. Ian was face down on top of Sara, his arms wrapped around her protectively. Neither one of them were moving. “Oh God,” Vicki wailed and moved with amazing speed to her fallen friends, calling over her shoulder to Moby, “Get my bag.” He flew to obey her. She tried to move Ian from Sara but he was too big and heavy for her. “Hurry, Mobius,” she called, her voice just shy of frantic. Then, Moby was back, dropping her worn black bag at her side. He caught Ian’s shoulders in his massive hands and rolled him off of Sara. That’s when they saw the blood. Vicki’s heart sank. There was so much of it. Not knowing which one was badly hurt, she began by examining Sara. Vicki found the shallow gash across her stomach and the deeper wound to her left forearm. Both cuts were bleeding copiously but neither wound was life threatening. She turned to Ian. The moment she touched him Vicki knew that something was deeply wrong. In her line of work, she had come to know the signs but her heart denied them. She smelled the burnt skin before she saw the awful hole in his chest, directly over his heart. “He must have taken that last blast head on,” she thought, her mind not wanting to believe what all her senses were telling her.

Using the bandages in Vicki’s medical bag, Moby was cleaning and binding Sara’s wounds. He turned his head. “How is Ian?” he asked softly, fearfully. Vicki shook her head. “Not good,” she managed, tilting Ian’s head and lifting his chin. He wasn’t breathing. She knew that it was useless but she could not seem to stop herself. “Maybe,” she thought desperately, “Maybe.” She ventilated him twice, then pressed her fingers to his neck. There was no pulse. Fighting against the misery and hopelessness that tried to claim her, Vicki did the fifteen requisite chest compressions before she bent again to press her mouth to his, giving her air to him, silently begging him to breathe. She checked his pulse, knowing what she would find. His skin was starting to cool under her hands. As she began again, Sara moaned deeply and cried softly, “Ian?” Vicki kept pressing her hands rhythmically against Ian’s still, slippery chest. Her eyes were shut and tears were rolling steadily down her cheeks. Almost fully conscious, Sara began struggling against Moby’s restraining arms. “Where’s Ian?” she asked, addin a f a fretful, complaining tone, “You’re in trouble, ace. Slamming into me like that, knocking me senseless, trying to be a bloody hero.”

Sara lifted her head suddenly like an animal scenting danger on the air. Vicki heard the panic start to bubble under her voice when she called, “Ian? I can’t feel you. What’s going on?” She struggled against Moby, mumbling, “Damn it, Mobius. Let go of me. Now!” He finally let her go – the inevitable could not be delayed forever and he was starting to huddle within his own mantle of grief. He, too, had seen enough death to know its demeanor. Heedless of her wounds, Sara scrambled across the smoking ground to crouch beside her lover and best friend. Vicki was still doggedly doing CPR, eyes shut, tears rolling down her face. Sara took one look at her and knew. “NO!!!! she screamed, her agonized wail renting the now quiet night. She flung herself across Ian’s still form, her arms around his slender hips, her cheek against his hard stomach. His blood stained her face and turned her hair gory. She started to sob; deep, damaging cries that tore through her soul and left it in shreds. She lifted her head and looked at her friend. Vicki had stopped moving. She looked back at Sara and, for the first time in her life, she wished that she’d chosen to be something other than a doctor. Sara’s green eyes glittered bright, awash in tears. “Make him better, Vick,” she begged like a broken and beaten child, “Make him better.” Vickcontcontrol gave way and she started to sob too as she reached out to her friend. “I can’t, Sara,” she whispered, voice rough with pain, “I wish I could but I can’t.”

Sara ran her hands over Ian, tearing at his clothes, covering her fingers with his blood. She pulled herself up his body and Vicki scooted back, out of her way. Sobbing incoherently, Sara touched her fingers gently to his bearded cheek, his closed eyes with their lush lashes, his sensual mouth. “He’s so cold,” she whispered brokenly, “That’s not right. Ian’s the warmest person I’ve ever known.” Teetering at the fringes of sanity, Sara yanked off her torn and bloody coat to cover her fallen lover. She tucked it around him and rubbed her hands against it to warm him. In a familiar gesture, she stretched out shaking fingers to push an errant dark curl behind his ear. She bent forward to kiss his parted lips, to try to tease them open with her tongue the way he loved. Sara pulled back, gripping his shoulders and shaking him as if to wake him. “Ian?” she said again, hysteria riding the edge of her voice. Vicki couldn’t stand any more. Crying brokenly, she reached out for her friend to hold her. Sara pulled back from her, eyes wide, and hissed, “Don’t touch me.” A moment later, her face crumpled again and she cried, “Oh God, help him. Please help him.” Vicki wrung her hands, wanting very badly to take Sara’s pain away. “There’s nothing that I can do, sweetie,” she said gently, “There’s nothing that anyone can do now. I’m so, so sorry.”

Vicki turned her head to look at her living lover, feeling immense gratitude that he had survived, even amidst her pain over Ian’s loss. “Oh, Mobius,” she whispered. The big man moved to her side and opened his arms to gather her in. She pressed her face against his, feeling his tears mingling with her own. Although Sara’s loss was the gravest, Vicki had lost a dear friend and Moby had lost a brother. They clung to each other as if their shared energy could ward off the misery for just a little longer. Hugging herself, rocking over Ian, Sara began to wail. It was an eerie, keening assault on the ears that made the fine hairs on Vicki’s arms lift. Vicki clutched Moby’s jacket in her hands and dug her face into the hollow between his chin and shoulder. “Help her, Mobius,” she begged, “Please help her.” Devastated with grief, the seasoned warrior shook his head. “Let the Wielder mourn her Protector, Po,” he rasped, “It is her right. It is fitting that she release her grief. Let her mourn Ian.” Hearing his name brought a vivid picture to Vicki’s mind: she saw Ian smiling at Sara, his beautiful golden eyes alight with his love for her. That image tore at her remaining shards of control. Vicki clung to Mobius, sobbing wildly. He gripped her to him tightly and buried his face in her hair.

Neither one of them realized that Sara had stopped wailing to stare intently at the dormant bracelet on her wrist. Neither one of them saw her dip the ruby stone in Ian’s blood before raising her fisted hand toward the star-filled sky, lips moving in a dialogue that they did not hear. Neither one of them saw her disappear.

The dimensional shift was disorienting but Sara was too emotionally destroyed to notice. She stood like a punch drunk boxer, legs spread for balance, head lowered, fists clenched. It was an apt analogy because she was fighting for her life. Ian was her life now. Sara dragged air into her lungs and raised her head. The Goddess of the Witchblade sat on the edge of the platform that held her throne-like chair. It wore the shining breastplate that Sara remembered from her vision. “You’re too late to join the fight,” Sara hissed, “It’s over.” Witchblade Sara looked up and Sara was startled by the raw lines of grief on Its visaSparSparkling tears tracked down Its face to pool at the chin and drip to the armor below. “I loved him too,” It whispered. A visible tremor passed through Sara and then she suddenly seemed calm. “Good,” she replied, voice hoarse with pain, “If you love him, you’ll save him. Heal Ian. Don’t do it for me or for him. Do it for yourself.” The Blademaiden looked stricken. “I cannot,” It replied. Pure, unadulterated fury flashed through Sara’s eyes and the Goddess reared back, startled. “I will not accept that,” Sara screamed, “We just saved the fucking world! I will not allow you to do this. You cannot take him from me this way. It’s wrong. It is just wrong!”

Witchblade Sara stood and took a tentative step closer to Sara. It stopped while it was out of striking distance. “Please, Wielder,” It entreated, “You know that I cannot heal him. I warned you of this. I am forbidden by a law greater than me. I cannot break it.” Sara narrowed eyes swollen and red with weeping as that ridiculous little phrase popped into her mind: “tit for tat.” She nodded and murmured, “Yes. I remember.” Sara shut her eyes and swayed, grief and exhaustion stalking her. The Goddess stepped forward, reaching out one perfect white hand to steady her. Sensing the movement, Sara’s eyes flew open. She glared at the Blademaiden, stepping back and pulling herself to her full height. She didn’t want pity. She wanted help. “I’m sorry,” the Witchblade said, Its voice raw with grief, “I can’t change this. To save him, you must lose him.” A feeling of déjà vu washed over her as her vision was brought to life. Sara took a deep breath and said, “Alright. What’s the deal? What’s the price for Ian’s life?” Witchblade Sara turned aside, gripping one of Its hands with the other. “The cost is steep,” It said, “As I told you, it must be a deed of equal price.” Sara nodded, assuming that she would be asked to give her life for Ian’s – something she was perfectly willing to do, something she would have already done had he not been faster. “What is the price?” Sara asked again.

The Goddess turned to face Sara, looking every inch a deity. “You must relinquish your love for the Protector,” It said, “As I must relinquish his role as my champion.” Sara frowned. “If we do this, Ian will live again?” she asked, “He will be unharmed.” Witchblade Sara shook her head. “The Pro…,” It began, then stopped to correct Itself, “Ian will still be gravely wounded, but he will recover.” Sara frowned. “How does this work?” she asked, “Do I forget that I ever loved him?” Just the thought of losing all her sweet memories of him hurt. It shook Its head and replied, “There would be little cost in that. No. You will remember everything. You will still love him. You will simply be forbidden to act upon it on pain of his death.” Sara blinked, the implications of this bargain starting to sink in. “And Ian?” she asked, “How will he feel?” The Goddess shrugged. “As he always has,” It said, “He will love you and expect you to love him in return.” Sara smiled bitterly. “I don’t suppose that I can explain this to him, can I?” she asked. It shook Its head again. “Tell anyone and Ian’s life is forfeit,” It said. Sara dropped her eyes. “What about our connection?” she asked. Witchblade Sara sighed. “It will be broken,” It replied, “He will have no paranormal connection to either you or me. He will be truly alone for the first time in his life.”

Sara raised her head, making up her mind. “He won’t be alone,” she said, “He’ll have Vicki and Mobius.” The Blademaiden stared at Sara intently. “But he will not have us,” It said. Sara nodded and sighed. “No,” she agreed, “He won’t have us.” It drew in a breath and stepped into dangerous territory. “Are you very sure that Ian will want to live under such conditions?” It asked. There was a pause before Sara asked, “What do you mean?” It cleared Its throat and hesitated before replying, “You would be sentencing him to live without the only purpose he has ever known, without the only love he has ever known. Would he choose such a life for himself?” Sara pushed all doubts from her mind. Her eyes were hard as emeralds when she grated, “I will not lose him.” The Goddess shrugged. “You lose him either way,” It said. Sara actually managed the smallest hint of a smile. “Perhaps,” she replied. She was remembering Lazar, sitting by the fireplace the night before and saying: “Temper the pain with this thought. It is an old saw but a true one. ‘Where there is life, there is hope.’” And she and Ian had made a pact. She would trust him to honor it. He would come back with a different purpose but a purpose nonetheless. If anyone could find a way to cheat the gods and bring them back together, it was her Ian.

“I accept,” Sara said. The Goddess sighed. “Take some time. It is allowed. Think on this choice before the die is cast and there is no turning back,” It counseled. Sara shook her head. “Time will make no difference. Nothing will change,” she said, “I accept the terms of the deal. Bring Ian back.” Witchblade Sara closed her eyes and dropped her head. “Very well,” It said, “The bargain is sealed. The deal is made. Ian will live again.” Sara inclined her head. “Thank you,” she said. The Goddess raised her head and met Sara’s eyes directly. “Hold your thanks in abeyance, Sister,” It said, “You may reconsider when Ian comes to you begging for your touch and yost tst turn him away.” It sighed heavily and added, “You have conquered a great evil this night but be wary for the world is a dangerous place and you no longer have a Protector.” Sara smiled. “If you think that Ian will no longer protect me just because I reject him, then you don’t know him at all,” she replied, “It may not be official but I’ll have a Protector.” They stared at each other in silence for another moment before Sara said, “Can I go back now?” She needed to touch Ian. She needed to assure herself that he was going to be alright. It nodded. As she felt her stomach drop with the shifting dimensions, Sara heard the Witchblade say softly, “Godspeed, Wielder. Thank you for saving him, even though he is no longer ours.”

When Sara suddenly appeared back in the clearing, it was as if she had never left. Vicki and Mobius still clung together, comforting each other, oblivious to her absence. Ian was still stretched out on the cold ground, bloody and silent. As she stared at Ian, unblinking, her attention was soon rewarded. She saw the barest flutter of movement from his chest. “Vicki,” Sara called. Vicki Po looked up, startled by the sudden calmness in Sara’s voice. Just a moment ago she had been wailing to the heavens. Her friend’s cheeks were dry, her face composed. Vicki pushed back from Moby and frowned. Had Sara snapped? she wondered. “Ian is breathing,” Sara said. Vicki’s face set itself in tragic lines. “Oh God,” she thought, “Sara has lost her mind.” Vicki’s thoughts were clearly written on her face and Sara could read them. “Check him for yourself,” Sara suggested. To mollify her addled friend, Vicki crawled over and touched the carotid artery in Ian’s neck. She felt a pulse – thready and weak to be sure, but a pulse – under her fingers. Her mouth dropped open with shock. She turned to Sara, eyes enormous. Then, she flew into action. Shouting orders at Sara and Mobius, Vicki became Dr. Po with a vengeance. In less than half an hour, she had Ian stabilized. He had not yet regained consciousness, but he was out of danger. He was going to live. Moby and Vicki were almost giddy with relief. Sara was satisfied but very subdued. When her fingers itched to touch Ian, stroke him, soothe him, she began to understand just how hard it was going to be to keep her end of the bargain.

They doused the torches, not wanting to start a forest fire, and trouped back to the cabin. Mobius carried Ian, limping badly on his injured leg. By a stroke of luck, Ian and Moby had the same blood type. Vicki took blood from her lover and fed it intravenously into Ian to try and replace some of his massive blood loss. After another couple of hours, Ian was still unconscious but resting comfortably in the bedroom. The slightest hint of color was back in his cheeks. The wound in Moby’s thigh had been cleaned and stitched, as had the long gash across Sara’s stomach and on her left arm. Favoring his leg, Moby was in the kitchen making coffee and tea. Vicki was in the bedroom, still hovering over Ian, not quite believing her own eyes. Sara was lying on the sofa staring into a blazing fire. She was so drained that she didn’t even twitch when Lazar abruptly appeared in the chair across from her. The old man was silent for several minutes as they companionably watched the burning logs shift in the fire. He sighed deeply before he said, “I am so sorry, my child. You are right. It is both wrong and unspeakably unfair.” Sara smiled at him sadly. “Say that to someone who matters,” she replied. He smiled back at her, just as sadly. “I did,” he said, adding after a pause, “To no effect.” Sara nodded. She had expected nothing else. Lazar thought of Sara and Ian together, the way that they touched, the way that they fitted, one within the other. He had never seen two people more in love with each other.

“Can you do this, Sara,?” he asked. She sighed. “I must,” she responded, “If I fail, Ian dies.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Can you tell him about the bargain I made?” she asked. Lazar smiled and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but the same restrictions apply to me.” She shrugged. “Of course not,” she thought, “That would have made it too easy.” He studied her in the meager light. “What are you going to do?” he asked, “How are you going to tell him?” She had been sitting there thinking about just that when he had materialized. After digging deep and acknowledging their weaknesses, she had decided to fight her nature and take the coward’s way out. “I’m going to go away for a while,” she said, “I’m not going to tell him. I’m going to ask Vicki to do it.” Lazar nodded, understanding her decision. “I have to put distance between us, build up a shell, before I see him face to face again,” she murmured, “If I can’t learn to put a barrier between us, I’ll never be able to resist him. I’ll never be able to say no, and I must.” Lazar nodded again. “I understand,” he assured her, “I will keep looking for ways to reverse this injustice. I will keep searching and I will continue to watch over you both.” Sara smiled at him sadly. “Thank you,” she said.

It pained Lazar to see her like this. She seemed subdued, hurt, achingly alone. Feisty, independent Detective Sara Pezzini was buried deep within this broken, miserable woman; maybe she was even gone for good. The old man stood. “I should go check on Ian,” he said. One of her hands clenched on the arm of the sofa. “Give him a kiss for me,” she whispered. As he moved past her, he lingeringly stroked her hair. It was a father’s caress to soothe a restive child and it brought more tears. She roughly pressed the heels of her hands to her stinging eyes as the bedroom door shut behind him. Mobius limped from the kitchen carrying a tray. The smell of rich, dark coffee made Sara lick her lips. In a natural progression, she thought of all the mornings that she had woken to Ian pressing a steaming mug into her hand. Her eyes began to fill again. Mobius put the tray on the floor between them. Lifting the carafe, he filled a mug with steaming cofand and handed it to Sara. He retrieved his tea from the tray and perched on the edge of the chair. Sara felt him studying her in the firelight. “Something is badly amiss,” his deep voice rumbled softly. Her eyes opened wide and she looked back at him, startled. “Can you tell me?” he asked. She took a long sip of coffee and then gave him the barest shake of her head. He nodded. Not looking at Moby, she whispered, “Be his friend. Take care of him.” His face lit in that patented, megawatt smile. “Ever and always,” he replied, “Ian is my brother.”

Sensing that she wanted to be alone, Mobius poured another large mug of coffee and rose to take it to his lady in the bedroom. Sara shut her eyes. She wanted to leave soon. She knew that Ian would ask for her as soon as he awakened. She had to be gone by then. All that she had left to do was to make her request of Vicki. Then, she could take off. She didn’t plan on packing or taking anything with her. She would manage to get what she required when she got wherever it was that she was going. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered; nothing but the fact that Ian was breathing again. The bedroom door opened and Vicki came out, pushing a hand through her spiky curls. Sara gathered herself. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. She cleared her throat. “Can I talk to you a minute, Vick?” she asked. Vicki grinned and ambled to the chair across from her, both exhausted and exhilarated. She poured herself more coffee and sat, tucking her legs up under her. “Your boy has got some color,” she crowed, pleased as punch. The briefest flash of pleasure flickered across Sara’s face. “Good,” she replied. Vicki laughed. “Damn straight it’s good,” she bubbled, “It’s a genuine, first-class, A-fucking-number one miracle.” Sara nodded. There was a small but pregnant pause. Finally picking up vibes, Vicki squinted at her, face falling. “What is it?” she asked, the first note of dread creeping into her voice.

“I have to leave,” Sara said. Vicki released the breath she had been holding. “Sure,” she replied, buoyant again, “We’ll all go in the morning. I know Ian hates hospitals so I guess we’re going to have to create something safe and sterile at the loft. I’d love to get him X-rayed but I don’t guess he’d…” Sara interrupted her. “Vick,” she said, “I need to go tonight and I need to go alone.” Vicki went still, her mouth slightly open. She frowned. “What the hell are you talking about, Pez?” she asked. Sara cleared her throat. She pulled off her engagemringring and Vicki’s eyes wid. “d. “I need you to be my friend,” Sara murmured, “I need you to give Ian back his ring for me. It’s over between us. I need you to tell him that for me.” Vicki gasped. “Are you nuts?” she asked. Sara smiled sadly. “I know that it looks that way,” she said softly, “But I don’t think so.” Vicki snorted. “Oh yeah? Well, I beg to differ,” she replied, “I won’t do it.” Sara closed her eyes and fought not to fall apart. “Vicki, please,” she begged, “I need your help. Don’t let me down now. I need you really, really badly.” The desperation in Sara’s voice struck a chord. Vicki’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?” she asked, “What kind of trouble are you in?” Sara pulled in a calming breath and said, “The kind that requires you to take a leap of faith and just do as I ask. No more questions.” Vicki chewed on her lip. “You know what this will do to him, don’t you?” she asked. Sara shut her eyes. In a tiny voice, she replied, “Yes. I do.” Vicki accepted the ring from Sara’s outstretched hand. “Promise to tell me when you can?” Vicki asked. Sara nodded.

Vicki stood and asked, “Will you call to let me know you’re alright?” Sara squinted up at her. “I will if you promise not to nag me to come back or try to make me feel guilty about Ian,” she agreed. Vicki frowned. “Now that’s just cruel,” she said. Sara shook her head. “No promise, no call, Vick,” she replied. Vicki nodded and put her hand over her heart. “I promise,” she said. Sara nodded back. “Then, I’ll call,” she replied. Vicki’s face fell and she whispered, z, Sz, Sara. What can I do for him? You know how he’s going to be. We just saved him. This will destroy him.” Sara shut her eyes and fisted her hands. “Just be his friend, Vicki,” she whispered back, “You and Mobius. Just be there for him. Take care of him for me. Don’t let him go off on his own. Keep him close. Okay?” Vicki swallowed hard. “I’ll try, Sara,” she said. Vicki turned to head back to the bedroom. Before she could leave, Sara caught her hand and held it. Head down, Sara whispered, “I love you, Vick.” Vicki held her breath and then let it out very slowly. “You’re not planning to do something stupid, dangerous, or both, are you?” she asked. Sara barked out a soft, bitter laugh. “Nah,” she said, “I just need time to be by myself. There are some things that I need to work out and I need to do it alone. That’s all. Nothing dangerous. Honest.” Vicki nodded and gave Sara’s hand a quick squeeze before she released it. “I love you too,” Vicki said, “Even when I don’t understand you – like now – I love you. Be careful.”Sara nodded and Vicki went back to her patient.

Sara took one last, long look around the cabin. There were memories everywhere. The scrabble set across the room by the bookcases. Penny candy on the sofa. A porno movie with a ladder on the T.V. Ian losing his virginity on the floor by the fireplace. Sara realized that she was crying again. “Oh, my love. My darling Ian,” she thought, “How will I ever live without your hand in mine, without your sweet body next to mine? My heart will always be yours.” Her watering eyes glanced at the mantel and fell on the small statue of Sehren that Ian had given her and the wreath of dried flowers from the engagement party. She got a dish towel from the kitchen and very carefully wrapped the little goddess. After she had put on her jacket, she slipped the small statue in her pocket and held the brittle wreath gently in her hand. She stopped at the coat rack by the door and rested her face against the lining of Ian’s old, brown leather bomber jacket. Sara inhaled deeply, filling her head with his scent. “I love you, baby,” she thought. She pulled herself back with a sudden jerk and went through the cabin door, closing it softly behind her. She took Ian’s Jeep, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to drive anyway. The three of them would be taking Moby’s car when they left in the morning. In another ten minutes, she was at the access road and the cabin was out of site. Sara found that she was crying again.

Lazar stayed with Ian, who was still not conscious, while Vicki and Moby talked in the living room. When she told him that Sara had returned her ring and left Ian, Mobius shut his eyes, his full lips thinning into a hard line. He shook his head slowly. “This will damage Ian terribly, Po,” he sighed, “He is desperately in love with the Wielder. It may have been a greater kindness to simply let him die than to save his life so that he could face this misery.” Vicki looked shocked. “How can you say that?” she asked. His large, chocolate eyes, deadly serious, met hers. “I say it because it is true,” he replied, “I do not know whether Ian will be able to survive this.” Vicki wrung her hands nervously. “Can we take him home to your place?” she asked, “I’ll stay with you both and take care of him. Can we keep him with us and watch him until he learns to accept her loss?” Mobius stood and walked to the fireplace. His back was to her when he said, “Ian is a grown man, Po. We cannot keep him prisoner. We cannot restrain him if he wishes to leave. As to accepting the Wielder’s loss, I am dubious that he will ever come to terms with that. We cannot act as his keeper for the rest of our lives.”

Vicki dropped her head. “I know. I know,” she said, “Maybe just for the next couple of weeks? Until he’s back on his feet? Can you help me keep him safe until then? It’s not just that I gave Sara my word to look out for him. I don’t think he should be alone right now.” Mobius turned. He dropped to his knees in front of her and took her small hand in both of his enormous paws. “Of course,” he agreed, “We will do our best to keep Ian safe. We will endeavor to help him heal in body and spirit. Although, ultimately, I believe that we are doomed to fail, we may be able to cushion him within our gentle regard for a short while. Your skill may even be able to heal his body. But while he is apart from the Wielder, his heart and his soul will never cease to bleed.” Vicki shut her eyes and nodded. “I know,” she whispered again. He lifted her chin gently with his hand and bent forward to brush his lips across hers. “I love you, darling Po,” he purred softly. She smiled, pushing her face against his stroking hand. “I love you too, Mobius,” she replied.

The sun was just starting to rise when Ian’s eyes finally opened. Vicki had fallen asleep in a chair beside the bed, her chin resting on her chest, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She was snoring softly. He could tell that he had been drugged. In spite of that, his chest hurt. That must have been where he took the hit. Ian shifted his mind and it became bearable. Gingerly, he picked across the last things that he remembered. His whole body stiffened when he again saw that beam of killing power shoot through the closing Wall. He watched Sara go airborne, hurtling toward him to throw herself in front of him like a shield. He remembered thinking that he had to be faster. He was. Then there was searing pain and darkness. “Sara,” he thought. Was she alright? Ian stretched his senses out to touch her and felt…nothing. Nothing. Nothing. His damaged heart started to trip and pound. Where was Sara? he wondered, panic beginning to crawl up his spine. He tried to move and failed, falling back to the bed with a soft grunt of pain. Vicki woke, looking at him blearily until her brain kicked in. “Hey there, Captain,” she said, moving to the bed and starting to check his vital signs.

Ian managed to get one hand past Vicki to pull the old thermometer from his mouth. “Sara,” he croaked, shocked at the sound of his voice, “Is she alright? Why can’t I feel her? Where is she?” She took the thermometer from his hand and pushed it back under his tongue. His dark, arched brows pulled together mutinously and he started to remove it again. “Stop,” she commanded, “Let me work here and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” The big, golden eyes fixed on her and he gave her a tiny nod. She nodded back, taking his blood pressure. “Sara is fine,” she said, “Something happened with your connection. We’ll talk about that when I’m done here. She was hurt a little but it’s nothing serious.” She removed the thermometer and read it. He had a fever. No wonder his eyes were so bright. “Where is she?” he asked again. Vicki frowned at him sternly. “When I finish,” she promised. He impatiently allowed her to check him out, writing her findings down in a small notebook. Then, he suffered through her changing the bandage on his chest. She moved slower than necessary, wanting to delay the inevitable. When he finally used those eyes to plead with her, she knew that she couldn’t put it off any longer.

Vicki brushed her hands against her clothes, idly noting that she was filthy. So much had happened. She hadn’t yet even had time to shower, She sighed. Ian was watching her carefully. She had just changed his bandage and it was already bloody again. The sheets were also liberally doused with blooblood. They needed to be changed. His pale face was pinched with pain. “Talk to me, Vicky,” he whispered, a broken edge to his voice. Vicki sighed. She didn’t want to hurt him. Ian had taken enough blows in his life to know that one was coming now. “Just say it, Vicki,” he added hoarsely, “It’s okay.” She sucked in another deep breath. “Sara’s gone,” she said, “She left last night.” Ian shut his eyes. The pain in his chest couldn’t hold a candle to this. He turned his face away from her, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears that were burning the back of his eyes. She rubbed her hand against her jeans, feeling the ring in the pocket, and started to cry. His voice tight with pain, Ian asked, “There’s more, isn’t there? Go ahead. Let me have it.” Vicki pulled the beautiful engagement ring from her pocket and held it out to him in her outstretched palm. He turned his head back to her, sensing the movement. His eyes widened. Everywhere inside him, Ian could feel things start to slip and break.

Vicki was crying harder. Slow, sluggish tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped off her chin. “I’m so sorry, Ian,” she said, her voice filled with pain, “I hate this. I don’t understand it either.” He stared at the ring with glazed eyes, as if hypnotized, a snake watching a mongoose. Then, suddenly, his face crumpled and he turned his head away, toward the window. Vicki reached out to sympathetically stroke his shoulder but hesitated, stopping just short of touching his bare skin. Ian stiffened, as if he had been touched after all, and stifled an agonized sob. “Could you leave me alone please?” he whispered. She was worried about him. He was hurt, and sick, and torn all to pieces. She wanted to hug him and make it better. She knew that was ridiculous but she hated to leave him alone. “Please,” he repeated in a strained whisper. She figured that he didn’t want to fall apart in front of her. She could understand that. “Just for a little while,” she said. He nodded stiffly, face still turned away. She would bring Mobius back in with her and they would give him something to let him sleep, she thought, even if they had to hold him down to do it. “Don’t try to get up,” she warned, “We’re just outside.” He gave another rigid nod.

When Vicki stood, he said softly, “Wait. Please.” She stayed still. “Before you go,” he whispered, “Can I have Sara’s robe? It’s on the chair by the window.” Snuffling loudly, Vicki got Sara’s old, ratty white bathrobe from the chair and put it gently into Ian’s hands. Throat tight, she left him alone. His mind didn’t seem to be working. It was just a maze of bright, painful colors. Ian pushed Sara’s ring on the first digit of his ring finger. He rolled on his side and curled into a tight, fetal ball around Sara’s robe. He buried his face in her smell and let the tears come. His deep, racking sobs were muffled against the thick, raveling terry. He had expected this. He had thought that he would handle it better. He was wrong.

Many, many miles away, Sara sat in an uncomfortable looking chair. She was in an anonymous room. The motel was part of a national chain. It was one of those places where innocuous pictures were permanently affixed to the walls. Her body was bent forward, curved around the pillow that she was clutching to her. She was sobbing as if her heart had broken. Leaning forward, she pushed her face into the depths of the pillow to muffle the sounds that she was making. When she finally lifted her head, her face was splotchy and her eyes were swollen almost shut. Suddenly, she went still, eyes fixed on her bracelet, its large red stone pulsing steadily, like a heartbeat. With a low growl, she yanked the Witchblade from her wrist and hurled it viciously across the room. “You bitch,” she hissed, “What good are you to me? Where were you when we needed you? Why couldn’t you help us?”

When Sara had cried herself out, she took several deep breaths and crossed the room to recover the Witchblade. She extended her hand toward it and, after a weighty, considering pause, it snaked over her hand to settle back on her right wrist. “I guess we’re stuck with each other,” she whispered, “I guess it’s just you and me now.” As soon as she had entered the room, Sara had very carefully put the dried wreath of flowers on the scarred table beside the bed. Now, she picked her jacket up off the chair and gently pulled the statue of Sehren from its pocket. She reverently held the tiny goddess in her hands and sat cross-legged on the bed. Sara ached all over and was sick at heart. She wanted Ian so badly that it was a physical pain in her chest. He was more than her lover. He had become her best friend as well as her family. Through their connection, now broken, he had become an intimate part of her. Sara brought Sehren to her face, squinting at the goddess in the bad light of the generic room. “Help me,” she whispered, “Please help me. Bring us back together. Help us have the life that we dreamed of. Help me marry Ian the way that we planned and have our honeymoon in Italy.” She sighed deeply and lifted the tiny figure to her lips, as if she were confiding to it. “Maybe even have a kid,” she breathed, adding, “After a while.”

Sara pressed Sehren to her heart and thought of Ian, sending him all the love and desire she was no longer able to give him. In the bedroom of the cabin, Ian froze and lifted his head from the damp robe. He had just felt her familiar touch. It was like coming home. He gathered all of the love and need within him and sent it back to her. In the motel room, Sara gasped. She felt him. She felt Ian inside her. How was that possible? The connection had been broken. She didn’t question it and she didn’t try to get fancy. Instead, she sent him another package of love. Logically, Ian knew that what was happening was no longer possible but he didn’t care. If he was imagining it, then he would pretend. He opened himself to her and returned every touch that he felt. His battered body relaxed and the hint of a smile kissed his lips. Ian started to drift off to sleep, clutching Sara’s robe. Sara stretched out on the bed, still holding the little goddess in her hands. Her eyes closed. She sent one more vivid thought to Ian before she slept. It was: “Remember our pact, baby.” In the cabin, Ian did smile now. He focused his energy, still curled around her robe, and sent his answer: “I remember, my love. I remember.”

FIN