"Blood Seduction"

When Sara got home, as promised, Ian was waiting. She came in, took off her jacket, and hung it in the closet by the door. She turned around and he was standing not five feet from her, Hannibal, his constant shadow, sitting just behind him. She had not, of course, heard him. As always, Ian seemed to simply materialize out of thin air. What could she say to him? He would know what the Witchblade had done to them. Because he was linked to it too, he would have felt her encounter with Devian. Sara drew in a deep, shaky breath. “How’s Dev?” he asked, voice soft. In the face of his strength, her resolve to be equally strong simply withered. Her face crumpled and she started to cry, launching herself into Ian’s arms. He gathered her in and cuddled her close, making all the appropriate noises, his face buried in her hair. Since it looked like she had embarked on what promised to be a crying jag, he eventually picked her up and carried her into the library. Ian sat in the same easy chair where she had cuddled with the clone the night before and he reached out to drag the same afghan around them. After a while, she started to wind down. When she was able to talk, Sara whispered, “I’ve hurt him. I’ve hurt him very badly. I didn’t mean to.” Ian stroked her hair gently, comforting her as if she were a child. “Sometimes things just happen, love,” he soothed, “You didn’t set out to make him fall in love with you. It just happened. He’ll hurt for a while and then he’ll find his way through it. We’ll help him.” Sara pushed her face into the hollow under his chin, her fingers clutching his shirt. She’d soaked his collar. “I doubt that he’ll want to be anywhere around me for quite some time,” she murmured, “We probably both need a breather from each other.” There was a pause before he cautiously asked, “And, are you sure now?” She lifted her head to look into his beautiful, golden eyes. They were so like Dev’s eyes in appearance; but what they reflected was very different. “Yes,” she said with conviction, “I’m very sure now. I’m where I belong; where I want to be, where I want to stay.” He smiled. “Welcome home,” he replied.

She was still resting comfortably against him when her stomach growled loudly. That brought the aborted dinner party back to her mind. “How’s Vicki?” Sara asked, “Did you two eat?” Ian smiled, remembering their dinner. “Vicki is feeling excessive guilt,” he responded, “I managed to deflect her attention for a bit by forcing her to act as hostess. After we’d eaten, however, she was determined to follow you to the mansion so that she could beg Devian’s forgiveness. I finally convinced her that it probably was not a good time to interrupt.” Sara snorted softly, a vivid picture of Dev bending her over the desk and thrusting into her suddenly igniting in her head. “No,” she agreed, “Not a good time.” Her stomach growled again. “Do we have anything to eat?” she asked softly. He bent to kiss her forehead. “Vicki had a lot of food left over,” he told her, “I brought you a doggie bag.” From the floor beside them, Hannibal loosed a soft woof. She sat up on Ian’s lap and glanced down. “Not you. Me,” she said to the big dog. She turned back to Ian. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s really a dog,” she said, “Sometimes I think he’s some guy under an evil spell who understands everything we say.” Ian laughed. “Then he can start picking up after himself when I take him for his walks,” he said. That made Sara laugh too. Hannibal tilted his head, studying them curiously. She turned back toward Ian and reality hit her again. She had suddenly caught a whiff of Devian from her skin. Now that she was conscious of it, she could smell him all over her. If she could smell the clone on her, Ian could too. His sense of smell was uncanny. “I need a shower,” she abruptly said, levering herself off his lap and standing up. Ian nodded and asked, “Would you like me to heat up some food for you?” Her eyes filled again and she looked away. She didn’t understand how he could be so kind, so forgiving. She was, however, truly grateful that he was. “That would be very nice,” she said, “Thank you.” He grinned and assured her that it was his pleasure, heading toward the kitchen as she made her way toward the sleeping loft. Hannibal, of course, followed Daddy.

An hour later, Sara was clean and smelling only like Sandalwood soap. She was once again wrapped in Ian’s old white terry robe. As they sat at the dining room table, she ate Vicki’s excellent borscht and goulash. Ian sipped some of the red wine that Vicki had made him take back home and nibbled on some brie that was on the cheeseboard he had also brought back upstairs. Sara stopped inhaling goulash long enough to ask, “She wouldn’t still go to him tonight, would she? I don’t think that he’d appreciate company right now.” Ian shook his head. “Although I can’t be absolutely sure,” he replied, “I believe that I convinced her that it would be best to leave Devian alone tonight.” Sara looked worried. “Vicki is very stubborn,” she murmured. Ian tried to hide his smile behind the wine glass he raised. Sara frowned. She had seen his expression. “What?” she asked, a bit of her combativeness restored. “Umm,” he waffled, “Just occurred to me that the pot was calling the kettle black, that’s all.” She studied his gorgeous face, loving every line of it. “Oh, that’s all, is it?” she hissed in mock anger. She was so grateful for Ian’s understanding that she couldn’t sustain even the illusion of anger with him. He stood, smiling, and said, “I made some fresh coffee. Want some?” Sara sighed. “Ian Nottingham, you are a jewel among men,” she observed. The smile broadened. “A jewel, am I?” he asked. She nodded. “A diamond,” she confirmed, adding, “But not in the rough.” He laughed. “You’re about to be even more impressed,” he said, moving toward the kitchen. Sara sat back in her chair and called, “Lay it on me.” She heard him puttering around out there. “Vicki had Hungarian pastries from this amazing bakery that she found.” Her eyes widened and she sat up straighter in her chair. He came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a carafe, a mug, and a plate of delicious looking pastries. “And I snagged some of them for you,” he continued. He put the tray in front of her and poured her a mug of fresh coffee. She bit into a pastry and shut her eyes in bliss.

“You are a pearl of great price,” Sara raved. Ian ducked his head, saying, “You flatter me, my lady.” She ate and sipped, finally feeling sated. His eyes had gotten a faraway look; his expression serious again. She put the pastry that she had been about to eat back down on the tray. “What is it, Ian?” she asked. He sighed. “I’m worried about him, all by himself in that place,” he said, “He’s so alone. You and I have each other. He’s struggling quite desperately to connect to someone.” They were silent, each of them thinking about Dev. Ian finally shrugged and repeated, “I’m worried about him.” Sara sighed. “So am I,” she agreed, “When I left him, he seemed so fragile. He was trying very hard to hold it all together and that only made him seem that much more breakable. Still, it was necessary to end it once and for all. It would have been worse to leave him with false hope, wouldn’t it?” Ian nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “Of course it would.” Looking into her coffee, Sara said, “We could ask him to move in here for a while.” Ian looked at her sharply. “To stay in the guestroom,” she quickly added. The piercing stare morphed back into a worried frown as he shook his head. “Although I think it would be good for him to be around other people, I think living with you and me right now would just make him more unhappy,” Ian said, “Whether it’s genuine or not, he believes he loves you, Sara.” She sighed again. “I know,” she said, “You’re right, of course.” She barked out a laugh and said, “Maybe we should try to track down Aras for him. Get them together.” Ian’s eyes went huge. Suddenly, she could hear the wheels spinning furiously in his brain. Her own eyes widened as she realized that he was seriously considering what she had just said completely in jest.

“I was kidding, Ian,” Sara said indignantly, “Aras was a total skank.” Still distracted, Ian murmured, “Of course, I knew you were kidding. What’s a skank?” Her lips thinned. “A cross between a hooker and a skunk?” she tried, “I don’t know. What she is, is bad news. I care about Dev. She would eat him alive. Please get that look out of your eyes. I did a number on the poor guy with Vicki. Don’t make me regret my big mouth again so soon. Okay?” His mind was still working on it. She could tell. “We could dye her hair,” he said, “He’ll be a millionaire. She would love that. He could match her strength for strength.” Sara shut her eyes. “Ian, stop!” she commanded, “I’m too tired to deal with this tonight. If you haven’t seen the idiocy of this concept by morning, we’ll talk about it some more. In the meantime, I want you to remember carefully and realistically exactly what that bitch was like. Are you hearing me?” His attention was finally back on her. “Yes, Sara,” he said, “I am hearing you. I believe the people on the floor below may be hearing you.” Sara blushed. There was a pause while she collected herself. “Sorry,” she apologized, “I didn’t realize I had raised my voice.” Ian slid his tongue into his cheek and asked, “Are you done?” He was studying the empty dishes on the table. There were still a few pastries left. Her eyes shifted to them somewhat regretfully. Reading her mind, Ian said, “I can wrap them up. You can have them in the morning for breakfast.” That brightened her up again. “Okay,” she agreed, adding, “I’ll help you clean this up.” His dark, arched brow lifted high. Sara was being very accommodating. She picked up dishes and started to the kitchen, throwing back over her shoulder, “I saw that eyebrow, Ian.”

He cleared his throat. “Eyebrow?” he asked, following her to the kitchen with the rest of the dishes. Sara snorted as she rinsed off plates and put them into the dishwasher. “Mr. Innocence,” she murmured. She decided to change the subject. “Do you want me to come with you to the memorial tomorrow?” she asked, “I’d be glad to.” Ian didn’t answer her right away. Finally, he said softly, “Dev will be there. If you go with me, it will be difficult for both of you.” She sighed. “I could handle it,” she replied, “But I guess it would be like rubbing his nose in it, wouldn’t it? Us together in front of him, so soon.” Ian smiled sadly. “And you were going to move him into the guestroom,” he reminded her. She looked chagrined. “Yeah,” she agreed, “Not such a good idea, I guess.” He shrugged. “I appreciate your offer,” he said, “But it’s probably best if I go to the mansion alone. He may need to talk to someone tomorrow. Are you okay with that?” It occurred to her that they both still had trouble using Devian’s name when they talked to each other. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Sara replied, “Yeah. Of course. Whatever you think would be best is fine with me. I trust your judgment.” Her back was to him so she didn’t see his sudden grin at that last statement. Still grinning, he said, “Glad to hear you say that. So then I’ll also start that intensive search for Aras right after the memorial service is over.” It took a minute or so for it to sink in, then she swung around, mouth and eyes wide. “What?” she shrieked, “What? Tell me that you didn’t just bring up that troll again.” He held up his hands in surrender and said, “Just kidding, just kidding. Please don’t hurt me.”

Sara snorted, anger turning into amusement. “Okay, smart ass,” she giggled, “I’ll leave you unscathed if you swear to me that you won’t mention that name again tonight. Do you agree or do I have to bring out the implements of pain?” Ian sucked in a startled breath; golden eyes wide, sensual lips fighting not to smile. “Not the implements of pain,” he begged, “Spare me, mistress. You have my word. My lips are sealed.” Sara loved it when Ian played with her. He did it so rarely. She moved close. Voice hard, she said, “Well, now you’ve gone too far in the other direction. Unseal those lips immediately.” As she looked up into his face, the molded lips parted. “Better, ma’am?” he asked with just the right note of fear. She studied his sexy mouth critically, then licked her own lips. “Hmm,” she stalled, adding, “It’s hard to tell. Perhaps a test?” He lost the battle and grinned. “By all means,” he agreed, “A test is definitely in order. I am, of course, at your disposal.”

Sara went up on her toes, snaking her arms around his neck. She felt his arms wrap tightly around her, pulling her full against his hard, warm body; hard, warm, and already aroused. For just a moment before their mouths came together, another thought skipped through her mind tinged with a combination of vague disgust, perverse pleasure, and completely ridiculous pride. “I’m going to have two men in one night,” she thought, adding slightly appalled to the mix. When their lips touched, tongues immediately colliding and teasing each other, it was like opening the door of a blast furnace. Their need for each other was almost painful. Ian had not gone this long without making love to Sara since he had become her lover. He was, quite simply, horny as hell. Sara needed Ian to reassure herself that he still loved her, in spite of what she had done with his clone, and to confirm to herself that she was still in control of her own body. When they finally broke apart to breathe, her eyes dropped to her right wrist to verify that what she was feeling was not manufactured lust from her bracelet. The large, red stone was dull. The Blade was quiet, just along for the ride. Sara shivered. The wonderful, erotic tug that she was feeling was entirely due to the love and desire that was between them. It was not enhanced by a pushy Object of Power with an agenda of its own.

As if he had read her mind again, Ian said, “The Witchblade isn’t intervening. It isn’t pushing us together any more. Now, I wonder what that means?” Sara sighed, licking and nipping his ear lobe. “The damn thing gets us going and coming,” she whispered. He turned to brush his lips against her forehead. “It certainly did get us coming,” he agreed slyly, “Want to go to bed?” She pushed her pelvis forward to grind herself against his substantial erection. “Oh, yes,” she agreed, “I’m definitely ready for bed.” He sighed. There were moments over the last few days when he wasn’t sure that they were ever going to make it back to this place in their relationship; when he wasn’t sure that things between them would ever be this relaxed and easy again. He swung her up into his arms and she let out a little squeal, surprised. Ian laughed at the look on her face. Then, just as suddenly, his face cleared and the jungle-cat eyes darkened, his expression serious again. He had gone very still and Sara tensed in his arms, waiting for whatever was coming. “I love you, Sara,” he whispered. She let herself breathe again. “I love you too, Ian,” she whispered back, “Let’s go to bed.”

The first hint of dawn slanted across his body as Devian prowled naked through the parlor of the Observatory. He was sick. Although he had finally stopped vomiting, he still felt shaky and nauseous; like his insides had been scraped out, tossed around, and reinserted with a spatula. He had just spent the worst night of his short life. Left alone again and in so much pain he could barely stand it, he had found an unopened bottle of whisky in the cabinet by the desk. He had tried to drink it all. At some point, he had realized that such a quantity of alcohol – particularly in someone who had only drunk an occasional glass or two of wine – might kill him. At another point, he wanted it to kill him. Instead, he had just gotten very, very sick. He had spent most of the night bent over the commode or lying naked on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Now, here it was a new day and very little had changed. He was still alone and still in pain; the only difference was that he was sick and exhausted as well. He curled his long, slender body up in the deep well of the high Observatory window and looked out at the estate. Wrapping his arms around himself, he shivered absently. He squinted at someone on the grounds below, carrying trash out of one of the servant’s entrances. Briefly, he wondered if he could be seen were they to look up. A moment later, he thought, “Why would they bother? They only concern themselves with me when I ask for food.” And that was exactly the point, wasn’t it? He was nothing much to anyone. He had no real family, no friends. He called Ian “brother” but they were not related in the meaningful way that true families were. Ian was real and he was only a faint echo of that reality.

Sometime during the long, long night, he had started thinking seriously about ending his own life. Not passively playing with the idea – like with the whisky – but just doing it, having done with everything once and for all. Dev rubbed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes. They were fucked up too, like the rest of him. Red and swollen from too many tears. He had started crying after she left and he hadn’t been able to stop for a while. He had gotten hiccups and hadn’t been able to stop them either until he’d started guzzling the whisky. Then, something must have loosened up and they were just gone. He dropped his head back to rest against the stone of the window casement. He was shivering badly now. The stone was freezing cold against his bare body but he didn’t have the energy or will to move. He turned his head to watch a red sun rise over the horizon and dragged in a ragged breath. “I’m so tired,” he thought, “I’ve only lived in this world a little while and I’m so tired. How do people do it for years and years?” He turned his head in the other direction to look at the tray of sandwiches that still sat untouched on the table in the parlor; each one neat and separate in their plastic wrap. He knew that he should try to eat something. He had had an early lunch the day before and had planned on dinner at Vicki’s loft. All he had consumed in almost a full day had been a couple of sips of wine, a little coffee, and most of a bottle of whisky. Dev shut his eyes. Just the thought of food made his stomach clench painfully again.

Suddenly shivering violently, Devian pushed himself away from the window. He traveled on shaky legs into the bedroom and dropped on the unmade bed. Pulling the pillow into his arms, he wrapped himself around it and buried his face in the still damp pillowcase. He must have spent a while here last night too. He didn’t remember. He rolled on his back, still clutching the pillow, and stared at the blank ceiling. It wouldn’t be hard, he thought, especially in this place. Without leaving the premises, he could find knives and guns; not to mention all manner of pills and poisons in Immo’s lab. It would be easy; much easier than living with this pain. Except that something was coming and they would need him. Even as messed up as he was right now, as impaired as his instincts and his reactions were, he could still feel the hot breath of danger on the back of his neck. Something was definitely coming for them; for her, for Sara. Her name brought another jab of fresh pain and the memories started to assault him again. “No,” he thought, pressing his palms hard against his temples, “No. No more.”

Dev felt fresh tears sting his eyes, burning the sensitive, abused tissue. Do something useful, he told himself harshly – take a shower, order coffee. Stop acting like a little girl. “You knew that she didn’t love you,” he thought, “Okay, you believed that she wanted you, cared for you – you were wrong. Get over it.” His head ached terribly and now he was having trouble breathing. “How?” a tiny, plaintive voice wailed in his head, “How do I get over it?” Fighting for some kind of control over himself, Devian launched himself off the bed and went in the bathroom. It stank of sickness and he gagged. For a few moments, he hung on the edge of getting sick again but then he mastered it. He turned the shower on full blast and so hot it was almost scalding. He was still shivering. When he stepped into the shower stall, Dev realized that his legs wouldn’t hold him and he slid down the wall to sit on the floor of the shower, water raining down on him from above. Feeling the awful, burning lump pressing hard at the back of his throat, he let go. He stayed there at the bottom of the shower until he felt empty and until he got warm. Moving like an old man, he finally dragged himself back to his feet and picked up the one remaining clean towel to dry himself off. Listlessly, he found a clean pair of black sweats in a drawer and pulled them on. After that, he went to the phone to order fresh coffee and toast. He thought he might be able to hold down the toast if he ate it dry.

An hour later, the clone had managed to eat a single piece of toast and keep it down. He was taking tiny sips of coffee from the delicate china cup that had arrived on the serving cart. Dev wanted to watch the tape he had made of his last encounter with Sara the night before; to verify that it had recorded correctly, if nothing else. Conversely, he knew that watching it would rip him to pieces right now. He had just managed to pull himself together to the point where he thought he might be able interact with a human being. He had to meet Ian in a couple of hours to prepare for and execute Irons’ memorial and all that was attendant to it. He could not afford to do anything that might shatter his fragile control right now. The tape would have to wait until he was alone again tonight. He needed to do some thinking with a clear head. Since he had been introduced to this new world with all its pleasures and miseries, he had been trying to find his place in it. At first, he had thought to replace the old man; take over his world of deals and corporations and mega-capital. He could still have that. Ian was willing and even honor-bound to hand it over to him. The problem was, Dev wasn’t sure that he really wanted to be a mogul any more. Sara had assumed that once he got his hands on Irons’ empire he would become so preoccupied that her loss would be muted or even fade entirely. Devian believed that she was wrong. When he had begun to move among human beings, to interact with them, everything had changed. It was no longer about things; it was about people. It was about the connections between them; the way that they supported each other, loved each other, needed each other.

And Dev was connected to no one through love. That had become a growing ache inside of him that no amount of money or property would ever be able to fill. Still, there was another possible cure for the emptiness. He was connected to others through power. The Witchblade had connected him to Ian and Sara in a way that no others on Earth were linked. There was a reason for that. There was a plan and a purpose in that, even if they were still unknown. Maybe it would be enough; maybe that was reason enough to go on living. He needed to learn more about the Witchblade. He had begun to study the lore in the big, old book that he had taken from the locked room downstairs. It was fascinating reading. The clone decided that he would do some more reading, fill in the gaps in his knowledge. It couldn’t hurt to gain an understanding of this object that had chosen to make him Its avatar. Especially since that strong sense of impending doom was still dancing along his nerve endings. Even through the sharp misery of the night before, he had felt it; an ever-constant companion in his pain. That brought Devian to another decision. He needed to talk to Ian about this thing that was coming. He had to determine exactly what his brother was feeling and how closely it matched his own feelings of unease. They could not formulate an exact plan without knowing the nature of the foe that they would face; however, they could set some contingencies in place. They could gather strategies for a general plan of defense.

When Ian got to the mansion early Saturday afternoon, Devian was already waiting in the Great Room for him. Ian glanced at his little brother once and then did a double take, startled at his ragged appearance. Dev looked like hell. He was parchment pale with deep, dark circles beneath startlingly red eyes. His hair was dull, tangled, roughly pulled back, and secured with a band. Foregoing his usual colorful attire, he wore plain, wrinkled black sweats and gym shoes. A faint odor of sickness came from him, assaulting Ian’s keen sense of smell. He had expected Devian to be upset but he hadn’t anticipated this strong a reaction to Sara’s loss. The clone was quite obviously in trouble. “You’re sick,” Ian said, foregoing the entire phase of question and denial. Dev was sitting in a chair close to the fire. Although, as usual, there was a virtual conflagration in the huge, stone fireplace and Devian was huddled right next to it, he looked like he was cold. He tilted his head and fixed Ian with his swollen, enflamed gaze. “I’m fine,” he replied softly, “I was sick last night but I’m alright now.” That was clearly a lie. “If you’re ill, you don’t have to do this,” Ian said, “I can do it alone.”

The offer was tempting but Dev shook his head, wincing slightly at the movement. “I want to see the old man off,” he murmured, “As whacked as he was, I’d rather think of him as my father than Immo.” Ian started to say something but thought better of it, only nodding instead. He sensed that Devian’s emotional stability was extremely precarious. In that same moment, Ian also came to the decision that they couldn’t leave his brother alone again tonight; not even if it meant bringing him back to the loft with all the consequences that would entail. The trick, of course, would be getting him to agree. “Have you eaten anything, Dev?” Ian asked. The clone nodded, wincing again. He had already forgotten that it hurt when he did that. He didn’t tell Ian that he had lost the single piece of toast that he had managed to consume right before he had come down to the Great Room. He figured that Ian was just making conversation anyway. He didn’t really care. “Have you seen Dr. Immo today?” Ian asked, “I imagine he’ll want to be here when we lay Mr. Irons to rest on the mantel. Although what he’s instructed us to do seems to hardly be worth the time it will take. It is curious. I would have expected him to make a grand gesture. He was not a small man. This seems out of character for him.” Dev shook his head, shutting his eyes. They hurt. “Personally,” he said, “I’m glad he didn’t want a lot of hoopla. What’s the point? He can’t see it so who’s it for anyway? Us? Again, speaking for myself, I don’t really give a shit. I’m glad the old boy kicked.”

Ian smiled. The clone was nothing if not honest. Ian shrugged. “I don’t wish for a lot of false grandeur either,” he agreed, “It just seems unlike him that it would be so lacking in fanfare.” Devian waved a hand, eyes still shut. “Well,” he murmured, “You knew the old man a lot better than I did. When did they say that they’d bring us the ashes?” Ian glanced at his watch. “Around one,” he replied, “It’s just after that now.” Dev cleared his throat and opened his eyes. “So, it’s just us?” he asked carefully. Ian nodded. “She didn’t think that you would want her here,” he responded. Pain flashed through the red eyes looking back at him before they quickly dropped. “Your eyes look like they hurt,” Ian observed. Dev hitched up one shoulder, not answering. Ian pulled a pair of sunglasses from the breast pocket of his suit and handed them to the clone. “Here,” he said, “Try these.” Dev just looked at his brother for a moment, startled. Then, he reached out a hesitant hand and took the sunglasses. “Thanks,” he said. He slipped them on and released a grateful sigh. Ian grinned. “Better?” he asked. The clone started to nod but stopped himself just in time. “Yeah, much better,” he agreed. There was a soft knock at the door. It was the obsequious director of the funeral home with Kenneth Irons’ ashes. Ian got rid of the man as fast as he could. When he was gone, Dev barked out a short laugh. “What was he kissing up for?” the clone asked, “Not like we’re planning to open a charge account with him, is it?” Ian shrugged, holding the ornate urn that the man had left. “When you reach a certain level in society,” he said, “Many of the people below you in the food chain just automatically pucker up.”

Dev smiled, surprised by his brother’s cynicism. That had sounded like something he might say. “Do you want me to try to find Immo?” Dev asked. Ian nodded and the clone picked up the phone on the table beside him. He pressed the button that connected with the laboratory. Ian watched the one-sided conversation. When someone picked up the phone in the underground lab, Dev said, “Let me speak to Immo.” He listened for a moment before he asked, “Where is he? Is he expected back soon?” Ian heard his brother’s voice sharpen when he replied, “Okay, thanks.” There was another brief pause before he said, “No. No message.” Devian hung up the phone and looked up at Ian. “Dr. Immo is at the ‘offsite lab’,” he said, “What the hell is the offsite lab?” Ian frowned. “I have no idea,” he replied, “But I don’t like the sound of it. Is he due back soon?” Dev shook his head. “They’re not expecting him back at all today,” he replied, “He knew the memorial was today, right?” Ian nodded. “I left a voice mail for him yesterday to remind him,” he said, “Yes. He knew.”

Devian stood and started to pace, some of his usual nervous energy returning. “Something’s up, Ian,” he growled, “I can feel it. Little hairs all over my body are standing at attention.” Ian smiled at his brother’s description because it so closely matched what he was feeling. “When do you think it will hit?” Dev asked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ian responded, “Monday. When the will is read.” The clone nodded. “In the lawyer’s offices?” he asked, “Right?” Ian nodded again. Before he could continue, Devian jumped in. “I think we should make some plans,” he said, “Even though we don’t know exactly what’s coming. I think we should have an emergency response in place for whatever they pitch at us.” Ian smiled, proud of his little brother. He had wondered whether Dev would simply leave them hanging because Sara had rejected him. He reached out to clasp the clone lightly on the shoulder. Devian stopped pacing and tilted his head, eying Ian curiously. “I agree,” Ian said, “Forewarned is forearmed. Let’s get this memorial service over with. I’ll come back later and we can make some plans. Is that alright with you?” Dev nodded, wincing again when it felt like something might have broken loose and rolled around inside his head. “Sure,” he replied, “I’ll be here.” And, though he didn’t say it, he would be very grateful for the company. They went through the brief service that Irons had requested, saying the Byron poem and installing the urn on the mantel. When it was over, Ian left promising to return at 7:00 with Chinese takeout. Devian hoped that his stomach would have settled enough by then to hold it down.

Ian arrived home around 3:30 but he didn’t go directly to their loft. Instead, he stopped at Vicki’s place first. She answered his knock dressed in old clothes with a scarf around her hair. She had been cleaning. Her eyes widened in surprise and she said, “Ian. Hi. What can I do for you?” He smiled. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?” he asked. She stepped back to let him in, replying, “Sure. Did the memorial service go okay?” Ian nodded. “There wasn’t much to it,” he replied, “There were just the two of us. We split the rites between us. I recited the poem and Dev put the urn on the mantel.” She studied his face, then asked, “Sara didn’t go?” He fidgeted a little. She had never seen Ian fidget before. He sighed before he said, “She told him last night that there was no chance that they could remain lovers. Essentially, she broke it off with him.” Vicki walked over to her living room grouping and sat heavily in a chair. “I thought she was going over there to reassure him,” she said, “To tell him that I would never expose his origin.” Ian shrugged. “Things went a bit differently than expected, I guess,” he explained, “The Blade got away from her again. It took things over.” Vicki’s shock was evident. “They made love again?” she asked aghast, “Aren’t you upset?” He shook his head. “You forget that it’s happened to me too,” he responded, “I know what it’s like. You have no control. The Witchblade directs the action. If I’m upset, it’s because they’ve both been hurt by this. Sara feels guilty and Dev has been very badly hurt.” Vicki felt her heart lurch inside her. “He’s hurt?” she asked, aching for him. Ian shook his head. “It’s more than that, Vicki,” he said earnestly, looking into her eyes, “I think he’s really in trouble. I think he needs help.”

“What can I do?” Vicki asked. Ian gave her a beautiful smile. “Thank you,” he said, “I knew I could count on you.” She shook her head, dismissing his gratitude, and repeated, “What can I do for him?” Ian nodded. “I don’t think he should be alone right now,” he said, “I’m getting bad feelings from him; a sense of despair. I’m going over there to be with him tonight. I was wondering if you might spend the day with him tomorrow.” She gave him a rueful grin. “I don’t think that I’m exactly Dev’s favorite person right now,” she responded, “How are you going to get him to let me in?” Ian grinned back at her. “I figured I’d be your Trojan horse,” he explained, “I’ll suggest that we have a follow-up session tomorrow and I’ll bring you with me. I’ll get you into the Observatory and then I’ll take off.” She looked at him curiously and asked, “The Observatory?” He nodded. “Devian’s hidey hole,” he said, “It’s a private suite at the top of the mansion that can only be accessed by a key-activated elevator.” Her eyes narrowed. “What is it that you expect me to do for him, Ian?” she asked. Now, his eyes narrowed too. “Not that,” he hissed. She relaxed visibly and asked again, “What can I do?” He shrugged and answered, “Take over some videos – comedies maybe. Order some pizza. I bet he’s never even had pizza. Just be with him. He shouldn’t be alone right now. Okay?” Vicki nodded, smiling. “Okay,” she agreed.