"Blood Seduction"

When they got to the mansion, the security staff, of course, let them right through and Ian took off through a maze of long hallways, stairways, and corridors with Vicki scrambling to keep up with his long legs. They finally stopped in a dark, narrow area that dead ended at a single, wide elevator door. He drew in a deep breath and pressed the button below an intercom in the wall beside the elevator. A few seconds later, Devian’s unmistakable voice said irritably, “I’ll just bet that’s you, isn’t it, Ian?” She could almost feel Ian gathering his patience beside her. “Let me up,” he ordered. There was a brief pause before the clone replied, “No.” Ian held his hand over the intercom and turned to Vicki. “Clear your throat,” he said, “Loud enough for him to hear it.” She lifted an eyebrow and started to open her mouth but he shook his head. Vicki shrugged and cleared her throat loudly. Almost immediately, the intercom asked, “Who’s there with you? Is that Sara?” Ian deliberately ignored his brother’s question and repeated, “Let me up, Dev.” There was a crackle like static before the intercom snarled, “Fuck you! Fuck you both!” Vicki snorted and Ian frowned. He bent to study the key mechanism in the elevator door. In the next instant, he had pulled out a pocketknife and begun to fiddle with it. As he worked, Ian mumbled toward the intercom, “If you are determined to act like a cranky child having a tantrum then I guess there’s not much that we can do, other than to leave you alone until you get over it.” To their joint surprise, a second later the elevator doors slid smoothly open. Ian blinked and glanced at the tip of the pocketknife. “Did you do that?” Vicki asked. He gave her a quirky grin and replied, “I don’t think so.”

They got on the elevator and watched as the doors shut in front of them. It ascended the short distance to the Observatory smoothly. The doors opened again and Devian stood before them waiting, his body braced for a fight. When he saw Vicki rather than Sara beside Ian, the combativeness seemed to drain out of him. His face fell and the clone whispered, “Oh,” before turning and heading to the desk where he dropped bonelessly into the chair behind it. In a curious ripple effect, Vicki found herself disappointed by his disappointment. She tried to sort out her conflicting impressions. First, he looked gorgeous. He was, as usual, barefoot. He had on the tight, faded jeans sans underwear that he seemed to prefer. They were paired with a cashmere sweater that had alternating red, black, and gray stripes. His hair looked like it had recently been washed and fell in loose, shining waves to his shoulders. The little, gold hoop he still wore in his left ear gave him a sexy, roguish air. Second, he looked like hell. There were smudged dark circles under his eyes, stress lines between his brows, and a haunted look behind his eyes. Something was eating away at him. She tried a grin and said, “Hey there, Dev.” He gave her a grim, wary smile in return. “Hey there, doc,” he responded without enthusiasm. Ian had also been studying his little brother. Now, he walked over and perched a hip on the edge of the desk. Devian glared up at him. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to pry it out of you?” Ian asked.

The clone shut his eyes and tried to slow down his breathing to calm himself. It did no good; too much was pent up inside, waiting for release, and he lost it anyway. “You could have warned me,” he erupted, both accusing and plaintive. Ian blinked. Something in Dev’s demeanor had suddenly struck a chord. Ian’s eyes darkened with pity because he had just realized what must have happened to his little brother. Not one to jump to conclusions though, he asked, “About what?” Devian opened golden eyes, bright now with pain. “I was in the basement of the county building, wandering around in the dark, when it hit me, Ian,” he hissed, “Here I am crawling around in this filthy, smelly cellar filching friggin’ blueprints while you’re having a grand old time doing Sara.” Ian winced and stood, turning his back to the clone. “You felt it?” he murmured. A soft sound came from deep in Devian’s throat. “Yeah,” he confirmed, “I felt it alright. It knocked me to the floor and kept me down there for a long, long time.”

Still turned away, Ian shut his eyes. He could empathize with the clone completely. He had experienced the same thing courtesy of his own connection to the Witchblade when Sara had made love to Daniel. It had hurt him so badly that he had slammed his own fist into his face, giving himself a black eye. That physical pain had been easier to deal with than the misery of being joined to Sara while she made love to someone else. And that had been before the Iunctura; since then, both his and Devian’s connection to Sara had become much stronger. It must have been agony for him, Ian thought. “I’m sorry,” Ian said, turning back to look at his brother, “I honestly didn’t know that it could happen when the Blade wasn’t controlling us.” There was a pause while that sunk in. When it did, Devian’s eyes widened. “Meaning that you knew that it did happen when the Blade was in control?” he asked. Ian nodded. Dev took a deep breath and added, “And you knew that because you felt her with me that last time we were together?” Ian nodded again. Devian leaned forward and dropped his head into his heads. “Shit,” he mumbled miserably, “What a fucking mess.”

Vicki had perched in one of the chairs and was trying to follow the general drift of the conversation. The clone lifted his head and pushed shaking fingers through his now messy locks. He looked up at Ian and asked, “How did you stand it?” Ian shrugged and decided to tell his brother the truth. “I knew that, in the end, she would come back to me,” he replied. Pain flashed through Dev’s expressive eyes again. He dropped his head. “That’s a luxury that I don’t have,” he whispered, “Because I’m the one that she doesn’t want.” He angled himself out of the desk chair and stood, tall and lean. It flashed through Vicki’s mind that Dev was losing weight. He looked a good bit thinner than the last time that she had seen him. The clone began to pace, finally stopping in front of his brother. “After all,” Devian grated, looking directly at Ian, “There’s no need for Ian Lite when the real thing is available.” He turned away again, adding softly, hopelessly to himself, “What’s the point?” Ian reached out a tentative hand to lightly touch his brother’s shoulder, but Dev wasn’t having any. He pulled away. “Give it some time, Dev,” Ian counseled, pulling his hand back, “It will get easier.”

“Right,” Devian said, pacing again, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “I’ve been around long enough by now to pick up all the platitudes, Ian. Are you going to tell me that ‘time heals all wounds’? Or, maybe you’re going to remind me that there are ‘more fish in the sea’? Do you expect that crap to make a difference? Is that supposed to help me?” He stopped by the window, staring out, his back rigid. Ian sighed and dropped his head. “No,” he agreed, “I know that it won’t make any difference. It doesn’t stop the pain. Believe me when I tell you that I have been there and I do understand.” His back still to them, Dev nodded. Silence reigned for a few moments while they were both lost in their own thoughts. Then, Dev turned around. He had managed to pull himself together again. “This is my problem,” he said to Ian, voice tight, “I’ll handle it.” Ian started to say something and the clone held up one long-fingered hand. Ian’s mouth closed again. Devian walked back to the desk and said, “We have work to do. That’s why you came over here, after all. Do you want to see the blueprints that I got?” Ian stared at him a moment longer; then apparently he realized that it was best to just let it go. “Sure,” he replied. In moments, the brothers stood together by the desk pouring over the set of old architectural diagrams. Bored, Vicki got up again and began wandering around the Observatory. She checked out the bedroom and the small attached bath before returning to the sitting room. It was a pleasant sanctuary, she thought, sitting atop a nest of vipers.

Something occurred to Vicki and she interrupted them to ask, “Is Dr. Immo back?” Devian looked at her, eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “He’s making himself scarce,” he clarified. She nodded. “And you haven’t been able to find out where he’s been?” she wanted to know. This time, Ian answered. “I’ve had people on it,” he said, “He hasn’t been home either.” She smiled and asked, “More Notties?” His lips twitched in acknowledgement. “Yes,” he agreed, “More Notties.” Dev frowned and asked, “Who?” Vicki wandered over to study the fancy phone on the desk. “Ian’s network of helpers,” she explained, then glanced over at Devian to ask, “Can I order some coffee?” He pushed the appropriate button and handed her the phone. “Yeah, of course,” he replied before turning to Ian to ask, “Notties?” Ian shrugged. The brothers went back to the blueprints, talking and defining escape routes for another ten minutes or so. Then, the buzzer by the elevator sounded. During that time, Vicki had wandered over to the window, where she had curled up, staring out. Now, she stood and asked, “Who’s that?” Dev swung his head around to look at her. “It’s probably your coffee,” he replied. Ian took that opportunity to grab his jacket and head toward the elevator. “We’re finished, aren’t we?” he threw over his shoulder at the clone. Looking confused, Devian nodded. Ian pressed the appropriate button and the elevator doors opened. “I’ll send the coffee up,” he said.

Dev threw a panicked glance toward Vicki before looking back at Ian to ask, “Wait. Where are you going? What about her?” Ian couldn’t help it. He grinned. Then, he glanced at his watch. “I have to be at the dojo to teach my classes in half an hour,” he replied, “Vicki is going to hang around and keep you company for a while. You can take her home when she’s ready to leave, can’t you?” Devian watched his brother desert him, golden eyes wide and lips parted in shock. Ian was still grinning when the elevator doors closed. Vicki, in turn, was watching the look on the clone’s face. It did not bode well, she thought. “I hope that I’m not putting you out,” she said. He cleared his throat and attempted to regroup before responding, “No. It’s alright. It’s just…I’m not very good company right now.” The elevator began moving again and, seconds later, the doors reopened. “Your coffee’s here,” he added lamely. Vicki went over and rolled the serving cart off the elevator. The kitchen staff had added a tray of lovely tea sandwiches and another tray of pastries. She pushed the cart over to the sitting area and turned her head to study him. “Looks tasty,” she observed, “Do you have a fan in the kitchen?” His cheeks colored slightly and he responded, “There’s a new cook. She says I’m too thin.” Vicki nodded. “I was thinking that you looked like you’d dropped some weight,” she agreed. He shrugged, uncomfortable with the topic. “So, come over here,” she enticed, “Come on and eat something. Have some coffee. Talk to me.”

Holding his ground by the desk, Dev asked, “Why? Are you taking notes? Do you still want to know what it’s like to be a clone?” Vicki put down the delicate china cup that she had been holding and turned to face him. “I made a mistake,” she said softly, “What I said to you was stupid and insensitive. Can you forgive me?” He shrugged, still looking a little belligerent. “That depends,” he replied carefully, “My origins need to remain a secret known only to a select few. If that secret gets out, my life will turn into a living hell.” She nodded, understanding his concern. “Your secret is safe with me,” she assured him, “I swear that you can trust me with it. I would never betray you.” He studied her, trying to decide whether she was being straight with him. So far, he hadn’t proven to be a great judge of character. What the hell, he thought, what did he have besides his instincts. He might as well go with them one more time. “Okay,” he agreed, relenting, “You’re forgiven. Just don’t piss me off again. In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to be a bit oversensitive and I’m likely to jump all over you.” Vicki snorted, giving him a rakish smile. “I wish,” she replied. He tilted his head in that characteristic gesture and studied her with narrowed eyes. “What?” he asked. Her smile broadened into a grin. “You heard me,” she said, “Want some coffee?” He sauntered over to the sitting area, grabbed a couple of little sandwiches from the tray, and collapsed into one of the easy chairs. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, “Thanks.”

Devian nibbled while she poured his coffee. “I brought some movies,” Vicki said, handing him a cup, “Ian said that you were really into video tapes.” Dev snorted. His dark head was lowered over his coffee cup so she couldn’t see his face; his long hair blocked it. “Did I say something amusing?” she asked. He lifted his head and she saw the sharp humor in the wide, golden eyes – and something else she couldn’t quite identify. “No,” he replied, “Ian said something amusing.” She sighed. The clone had lowered his head again. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her, forgiveness or not. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked, trying not to show her disappointment or to give him guilt over it. This time, Dev’s head shot up. He looked startled. “Was I being rude?” he asked, “I’m not very good at the whole casual social thing yet; most of my encounters so far have tended to be rather explosive. No. I don’t want you to leave. I’m sick of being alone all the time. It’s nice to have some company; particularly some female company.” She relaxed a little and replied, “I imagine you could have as much female company as you wanted as often as you wanted it.” One dark brow shot up and his sensual lips twitched. “You think?” he asked. She nodded. “You’re very appealing in your own perverse way,” she replied, “Something of which you are not unaware, I suspect.” Dev shook his head. “I think that you’re wrong about that,” he murmured, “So far, I seem to be extremely resistible. I can’t give it away.” Now, Vicki’s lips twitched. “Sara,” she said; a flat statement. He winced at the sound of her name. “Yeah,” he acknowledged, “Sara.” Vicki sipped some coffee before she responded dryly, “Sara’s a hard sell. I wouldn’t use her as a measuring stick for your appeal to the opposite sex.”

She had his interest now, Vicki thought. “What do you mean?” Devian asked. Vicki shrugged. “Once Sara makes up her mind about something,” she explained, “She rarely changes it. She’s kind of stubborn that way. From the start, she had you pegged as evil, manipulative. Your actions have surprised her. I think her unguarded response to you has surprised her even more. She doesn’t like it.” He looked thoughtful. Then, he tilted his head and observed, “She still doesn’t trust me; even though she’s taken me to her bed as her lover.” Vicki shook her head. “You’re looking at that the wrong way,” she suggested, “Sara didn’t take you as her lover; the Witchblade did.” He frowned. “But they’re one and the same,” he replied. She shook her head again. “No. They’re not,” she replied, “But, yes, they are.” He looked confused. “I don’t understand,” he acknowledged. She smiled. “That’s the problem, isn’t it,” she agreed, “Neither does Sara. And, just to make things worse, she’s also really uncomfortable with ambiguity; which is now the keystone for what her life has become.” Devian sighed and shut his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped himself. The golden eyes opened again but stayed downcast, shuttered by the lush, dark lashes. “Go ahead. Say it,” Vicki nudged, “It’s okay.” He shrugged helplessly, looking lost. Finally, he murmured, “I don’t know what to do. I want to be with her so badly. I love her desperately. It’s ripping me to pieces.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you want my advice?” she asked.

“If you’re going to tell me to let go, forget her, move on, or any variation of that, forget it,” Devian hissed, “Everyone else – including me – has already said or implied the same thing. I’ve tried. I don’t know how to do it. If there’s some human trick to releasing love, moving beyond it, it wasn’t passed on to me because I don’t know it.” This was said in a rush of emotion, tumbling out of him as if a cork had been pulled from a bottle and the contents had spewed forth. Once he had gotten that out of him, Dev seemed to simply run out of steam, slumping down in the chair, dejected. Vicki gave him a small smile. “I wasn’t going to suggest that,” she pointed out, “Though, of course, that would be the simplest solution, it is obviously not a viable option for you.” He managed a small smile too. “I warned you that I was oversensitive,” he reminded her, adding, “Okay. I guess it can’t hurt. I’m asking your advice.”

Vicki nodded. “Be patient, if you can,” she advised him, “If you give her some space and don’t put her on the defensive, Sara may eventually come around. I think she’s drawn to you. You’re certainly her type – more so even than Ian. You could yet have what you want if you don’t lose patience and push her.” Devian studied her raptly, looking for any sign that she was playing him. He was apparently reassured. Thinking about what she had told him, he pushed long fingers through his tangled curls. “I’m not great at patience,” he mumbled, “I sometimes do stupid things just to be doing something. I feel compelled to make things happen.” She smiled ruefully. “Yeah, well in this case, if you ‘feel compelled’ to push simply for the sake of it,” she pointed out, “You’re going to push her into a corner and push yourself out of the picture for good.” He nodded. “I get what you’re saying,” he replied, “And I can see the wisdom in it. All I have to do is keep myself from acting like a jerk.” Dev gave her an endearing lopsided grin. “Unfortunately, that may be the hardest thing of all,” he observed deprecatingly. Vicki fixed him in a measuring gaze. “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t underestimate yourself,” she responded, “You’ve got a lot of natural charm; too much for your own good, probably.”

His devastating grin widened. “What did you mean about me being even more Sara’s type than Ian?” he asked. Vicki shook her head. He was quick and he was smart. She had thought that he’d missed that. Now, she shrugged. “Sara has always been drawn to bad boys,” she explained, “And you’re the quintessential bad boy, Dev.” He looked surprised. “I am?” he asked, then added, “What the hell is a ‘bad boy’?” Vicki smirked. “It might be easier to show you than tell you,” she suggested, “Why don’t we watch one of the movies I brought? You should take a look at ‘East of Eden.’ I’d bet my fortune that you’re going to love James Dean.” He tilted his head and asked, “Do you have a fortune, Vicki?” Digging around in her bag for the appropriate DVD, she replied, “No, smart ass, I don’t have a fortune. But if I did and I bet it, it would be safe. Ah, here it is.” She held the DVD up like a prize. Devian angled his head to study the cover. His feline eyes flamed and his sensual lips curved as he recognized the look of a kindred spirit in the actor pictured on the film’s jacket. “Cool,” he said, grinning again, “Hand it over. I’ll put it in the player. Want some popcorn?” Her eyes widened as she gave him the DVD. “Where…?” she started. He shrugged. “I got a microwave to use up here and I have some popcorn packs,” he explained, “Ian was right. I really, really like videos.” Rubbing her hands together, Vicki replied, “Bring it on.”

Stuck in heavy traffic, Sara was in the jeep on her way to Talismaniac. The torrential rain had made taking the Buell unwise. Breakfast with the Woos had been stressful. Lee, bouncing with hormones from her pregnancy, had gone on a crying jag when she found out that she might be forced to take the kids out of school, and leave her home in its comfortable suburb to live in a place she had never seen for who knew how long. Danny took it better. He had developed a thick skin due to all the crazy shit that had come their way since Sara had become the Wielder. Still, he was obviously very concerned over the safety of his family. Sara felt miserable that they had been put in this position because of her. She had apologized over and over until Danny had finally told her to stop. By the time she had left, Lee had stopped crying and they were pretty much resigned to the possibilities that she had placed before them. Going on the principle of hiding them in plain sight, Ian had the Woos set up to move into a rather snazzy townhouse in the middle of Chinatown, complete with Notties to tutor the kids. Danny was trying to convince Lee to look at it as an unscheduled vacation. Unfortunately, that concept had gone over like a ton of bricks. Sara sighed. At least they had been warned and they would be prepared if it was necessary to put their contingency plans into action. And another thread had been tied off; Danny had agreed to talk to Jake that afternoon and to prepare him to go into hiding as well.

Gabriel was next. She had called him from Danny’s place and he had told her that he’d put the coffee on. They hadn’t been able to spend much time together over the last couple of months. She wished that she were visiting him under better circumstances. She hadn’t a clue how he was going to react to her news. She parked the car in the alley by Talismaniac, grabbed her old umbrella, locked up, and sprinted to the big, steel door. Already drenched to the skin, she leaned on the buzzer by the intercom. It hissed briefly with static before she heard him ask, “That you, Chief?” Sara shook herself and yelled, “Push the damn buzzer, Gabriel. I’m drowning out here.” His snort of laughter was followed by the release of the lock on the big door. He was waiting by the inside door, clad in tight, ripped jeans and a Grateful Dead tee shirt. Struggling with the dripping umbrella, Sara tried to push back her soaked hair with her other hand. She felt like a drowned rat and probably looked like one as well. Gabe grinned and said, “Nice weather for ducks, huh?” She glared at him. “You better have a towel in one hand and a fresh mug of coffee in the other or I’m going to put out your lights for that remark,” she hissed.

Gabriel swung his hand out from behind his back to pass her the bath towel that he was holding. Sara dropped the umbrella in the hallway and took the towel. Draping it over her head, she bent forward to dry her hair. “Come on in,” he said, stepping back to let her pass him. Head still under the towel, she heard him shut and lock the door behind her. When she dropped the towel around her shoulders, she found him sitting up on the counter, hands wrapped around a black mug that said in bright, red letters: “Life’s a bitch and then you die.” He was smiling at her happily. “It’s really good to see you, Chief,” he said, “Even if you do look like something the cat dragged in. I missed you.” She realized that she had missed him too; really missed him. “It’s good to see you too,” she replied, “Where’s my coffee?” He snorted. “Don’t go all mushy on me,” he countered, adding, “The mug is right there by your hand.” She picked up the mug and took a long sip of the hot, strong coffee. Then, she sighed. Then, she shivered. Gabe frowned, concerned. “You should get out of those wet clothes, Sara,” he said, “Let them dry. My robe is on the back of the bathroom door. You could put your clothes on the radiator. That should dry them quickly.” She headed toward the bathroom still clutching her mug. “If this is a clever ploy to get me naked,” she teased, “It won’t work. I’m on my guard now.”

Sara didn’t see the considering look that shifted over his face. Gabriel cleared his throat and called to her, “If you think that I can summon torrential rain at will, you should be scared of me and do whatever I desire.” She came out of the bathroom with a smaller towel wrapped around her head and clad in his old, ratty blue terry robe. She was still clutching the coffee mug like it contained the recipe to eternal life. “In your dreams,” she taunted, grinning. Then, looking around, she added, “How come you don’t have music blasting loud enough to make my ears bleed?” He laughed and said, “I did. I turned it down to talk to you over the intercom.” He leaned over toward the CD player, saying, “But I can turn it back up if you miss it.” She put down her mug and held up both hands. “No. Don’t. Not yet,” she said, “I need to talk to you and I don’t want to have to compete with your music.” He frowned, studying her face, before he said, “Okay. You’ve got my attention, Chief. What is it? Witchblade stuff?” She grimaced. “What else?” she replied, looking down into her empty mug, “Can I have more coffee?” He lithely slid off the counter and grabbed her mug as he headed toward the coffeemaker. Gabriel poured her another cup, murmuring, “You’re stalling. It must be bad.” She snorted, taking the fresh coffee that he handed her. Watching him lift himself back up onto the counter, she retorted, “You know me too well.” He shrugged and suggested, “Just spit it out.”

Sara fought for another minute or so trying to figure out where to start. She settled on the source of their problems. “Irons’ will is being read tomorrow,” she began, “And we’re pretty sure that there’s going to be trouble. We’re trying to be proactive here. Cover all our bases before we get caught with our pants down.” Gabriel grinned. “Wow. Talk about mixing your metaphors,” he observed. She made a face at him. “Who is left to cause trouble?” he asked logically, “Ding dong, the wicked Irons is dead! And who is this ‘we’ that’s getting all ‘proactive’ – you and Nottingham?” She noticed that his voice changed slightly whenever he said Ian’s name. “Even though Irons is dead, Dr. Immo is still very active and has been working at some offsite lab that we can’t find,” she explained, “The ‘we’ is me, Ian, and Devian.” He reached over and hit a key on one of the many computers, glancing at the screen for a moment. Then, he turned his attention back to her and asked, “Who the hell is Devian?” Sara sighed. “Here we go,” she thought. She sucked in a deep breath and said, “Devian is Ian’s clone.” There was a moment of electric silence before Gabriel’s mouth dropped open and his dark eyes flashed wide. “Jesus Marimba!” he exclaimed, “Are you telling me that there are two identical Nottinghams now?” She nodded, then said, “Well, they’re not exactly identical. I mean they look the same but their personalities are really different.” She silently congratulated herself for being a master of understatement.

Sara looked at him oddly. “You don’t find the whole concept of a clone bizarre?” she asked. Gabriel shook his head. “Irons certainly had the bucks and the scientific expertise to make such a thing possible,” he responded, “The only bizarre thing is that he chose to replicate Nottingham. God, wasn’t one of them enough for anyone?” Sara snorted. “It certainly was for me,” she said, “Irons actually had six of them in the hopper. Ian managed to get rid of five of them, but Dev got by him.” Gabe allowed himself a delicate shiver. “Two Nottinghams,” he repeated, “It boggles the mind. Just keep them far away from me. Okay?” There was a heavy silence during which Sara just looked at him. “Crap,” he said, “I sense that the other shoe is about to drop.” She shrugged. “We’re pretty sure that something major is going to happen at the reading of the will. We think that someone is going to try to grab us and we intend to do our best not to get grabbed. If we have to, we are going into hiding. Ian suspects that, if they can’t get us, they might try to get to us through my friends.” She paused, figuring that he would make the connection. He did. “You think they might come after me?” he asked, although it was more statement than question. Sara nodded. “Ian has arranged safe houses for Danny and his family, Vicki, and Jake,” she explained, “If you’re willing, we’d like to bring you along with us. We want to try to get things resolved as quickly as we can so that everyone can get back to their lives. We think you might be a major help in doing that. Again, of course, only if you’re willing. If you would rather be on your own, we can set that up instead. What do you think?”

Gabriel launched himself off the counter and starting to pace with a little smile playing around his lips. “Let me get this straight,” he said, “You want me to come be your bunkmate along with Ian Nottingham and his clone, Devian Nottingham. All four of us will be locked away together; feverishly trying to come up with some way to vanquish the latest evil conjured up by Kenneth Irons from his grave.” Even to her, it sounded like the plot line from some skewed comic book. She shook her head and responded, “Yup. That’s pretty much it.” Gabe laughed delightedly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he roared, “It should be a hoot.” His laughter was infectious and it caught Sara up as well. It felt wonderful to have a good laugh with her friend; like old times. “Damn, I missed you,” she managed when she could breathe again. He grinned. “I’m not surprised,” he responded, “Look at the company you’ve been keeping.” She laughed again. “Yeah, well, if you’re going to be our ‘bunkmate’,” she pointed out, “You better learn to put a sock in that attitude, Bowman. Remember that there are now two Nottinghams that can rip you a new hole if you don’t.”

Sara sighed and tried to get serious again. “What about your business?” she asked. He looked around, then replied, “As long as I can move my artifacts somewhere safe and have my computers, I can pretty much run the business from anywhere.” She relaxed a little. “Good,” she said, “I’m sure Ian can get it all organized by tomorrow. You’ll just have to let him know what you need to store, what you need to bring, and what sort of electrical connections you require.” Gabriel nodded. She reached over and gave his arm a little punch. “I’m really glad that you’re going to be with us, Gabriel,” she said. He grinned. “I’ll remind you of this moment when you’re sick to death of sharing a bathroom with three men, Chief,” he responded. She looked appalled. “Oh, no,” she hissed, “Ian better get us a place where I can have my own bathroom or he’s dead meat.” There was a pregnant pause while Gabriel studied his hands. “Are you guys still sleeping together?” he finally asked. Strangely, it was not a moment between her and Ian that flashed through Sara’s mind; it was a moment between her and Dev – but she wasn’t about to go there with Gabe. She shook it off and answered, “Yes. Is that a problem?” He looked up quickly, met her eyes briefly, and then dropped his eyes again. “Nah,” he responded, trying to be casual about it, “Why should it be?” She studied him curiously. “No reason that I can think of,” she said.

Sara stood up and looked around her for a moment, seeming at loose ends now that her mission had been accomplished. “Well,” she mumbled, “I’m going to check and see if those clothes are dry.” While she wandered off to the bathroom, Gabriel stayed where he was, head down, deep in thought. He was still thinking when she returned, dressed again in her now-dry clothing. He swung his head around and said, “I could do some digging around in Vorschlag’s files if you want. Would that be helpful?” Slipping on her coat, Sara replied, “Sure. I imagine that Ian has already done some of that but there’s no one who can get around security like you.” She shifted her attention to the crowded shelves and tables, then added, “Still, you’ve got a lot of stuff to deal with here. You might want to take care of that first.” He followed the line of her gaze, trying to see the familiar surroundings with fresh eyes. She was right, he thought, he had a lot of stuff to deal with. “Tomorrow afternoon?” he confirmed. Sara nodded. “I’ll let Ian know right away and we’ll get someone to help you within the next couple of hours,” she promised, “Okay?” He nodded and agreed, “Okay.” Sara turned and headed toward the big, secure door, calling over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Gabe.” He gave her a tentative smile and lifted a hand to wave. “Yup,” he replied, “Tomorrow, Chief.” Sara picked up her soggy umbrella and headed out again into the rain. She felt the pressure change as the vault-like door slid shut behind her.

Back at the mansion, Dev and Vicki sprawled in the easy chairs, the remains of a large pizza spread before them on the coffee table. They had watched “East of Eden.” Then, at his urging, they had moved on to “Rebel Without a Cause.” When he wanted to watch “Giant” too, she had finally balked. “I’ll leave it with you,” she said, squinting at him because her eyes were tired, “Just be sure that you bring it with you when you cut yourself free from this place tomorrow. Okay?” He nodded. “Absolutely. I promise,” he agreed, “I wouldn’t go anywhere without all my tapes and the player.” She studied him curiously. “What other tapes do you have?” she asked. Devian’s face went completely blank. Then, he began trying to recover furiously. After all, he could hardly tell Vicki that his favored viewing was “Making Love to Sara: Parts I and II,” could he? Any more than he could tell her that “Kissing Vicki” was on the list of special films as well. He fled to the mainstay of heterosexual men everywhere – even clones – and told her, “I have some old “Three Stooges” tapes.” Since the attraction to such antics was incomprehensible to Vicki, as it was to many members of her sex across the globe, she let the topic drop immediately. Then, too, she had her own agenda.

“So,” Vicki said, casually grabbing a piece of lukewarm pizza, “Sara and Ian are going inside the Wolfram & Hart Building for the reading of the will. Where will you be and what’s your assignment? Are you helping the Notties get the rest of us stashed away safe?” Dev stopped putting the DVD back in its case and eyed her narrowly. “No. I’m Sara and Ian’s backup in case something goes wrong,” he replied warily, “If they get taken, I get them free.” She looked at him askance, mouth open, before she observed, “You and what army, sparky.” His whole body froze and the warm golden eyes went glacial. There was a brief, charged silence before he said with deadly quiet, “Please don’t call me that.” A chill ran down her spine and Vicki apologized immediately. “I’m very sorry,” she responded softly, “I won’t do it again.” She had actually realized her mistake even as it was coming out of her mouth; that was Sara’s pet name for him.

Devian stood fluidly, tall and lean in the low light of the room. Heading toward the bedroom, he said, “I can take you home now. Just let me get my coat.” Vicki pitched the half-eaten piece of pizza back in the box. “Shit,” she thought, annoyed with herself, “Nice going, Po; some Mata Hari you are. Piss the guy off before you can get enough information to figure out how to join them at the command center.” She sighed, thinking that now she would just have to go to Plan B. Stake out Wolfram & Hart herself tomorrow and try to follow them when they made their getaway. Of course, by then, her own personal Nottie, Megan, would have probably alerted Ian that Vicki was not where she was supposed to be and they might all be on the lookout for her. She shrugged. It couldn’t be helped. Getting any information out of Dev had been a long shot and now, of course, he probably wasn’t going to talk about anything much at all. Now, he probably just wanted to be rid of her.

As soon as the clone came back out of the bedroom, his calf-length, brown leather duster slapping against those long legs, Vicki knew that she was right. The eerily beautiful face was closed up tight and the light in the wide, golden eyes was frosty. “Ready?” he asked flatly, gracefully waving a long-fingered hand toward the elevator door. Not really, she thought, dismayed by his icy demeanor. She could kick herself. What she really wanted to do was crawl into that bed in the next room, pull Devian into her arms, and never let him go. Instead, she rose, gathered up her things, and joined him at the elevator.

Vicki called in to work sick the next day. That was not part of Ian’s plan. She could only hope that he and Sara were so busy with other details that they wouldn’t find out about it too soon, and that her Nottie, Megan, wasn’t due to start watching her until later in the day. Before that happened, she intended to be out of the loft and in her car, on stakeout in front of the Wolfram & Hart Building. As she finished packing her second small bag, Vicki stopped and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She was tired. The previous evening had ended very badly. She had thought that things couldn’t get much worse after she had put her foot in it by calling Devian, “Sparky,” Sara’s special name for him. She was wrong. When the clone had brought her home, she had asked him to walk her to her door. She was just trying to extend her time alone with him as long as she could. Then too, somewhere in the back of her mind, Vicki was nursing some misguided hope that she might get him to come in and spend the night with her. They had heard the pounding before the doors of the big freight elevator even opened. When they did, there was Jake; standing in the hallway in front of her door, pounding on it as if he would tear it down with his bare hands, calling her name. Behind her, she felt Dev bristle immediately. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The clone had had a really shit day and had been spoiling for a good fight since his brother’s passionate interlude with the Wielder had knocked him to the floor of the county building that morning. Although he didn’t know it yet, the rookie was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The situation had developed when Danny had stopped at Jake’s place on his way home from the dojo on Sunday afternoon. He had spent a couple of tense hours with the rookie telling him about the Witchblade and explaining the current crisis. Like Sara’s other friends, Jake eventually understood and accepted the situation – with one caveat. He hadn’t wanted to be sequestered alone in his safe house; he had wanted to be stashed away with his main girl, Vicki. This left Danny at a loss since the lady herself had expressed no such preference. Danny tried to use the “putting all the eggs in one basket” argument with the rookie to no avail. Jake was adamant. He and Vicki had been drifting apart lately and he had seen this as an opportunity to get them back on track. Danny had finally told Jake that he would put his request to Sara and Vicki, and someone would get back to him soon. Danny knew better than to let Jake know that Ian was in charge of housing Sara’s friends; those two mixed like oil and water. It was likely that Jake would reject any plan Ian had created out of sheer perversity.

After Danny had left him, Jake had started thinking. With minimum reflection, he had suddenly decided to go directly to Vicki to get what he wanted. He had called her home phone, work phone, and cell for the better part of an hour without success. Vicki’s cell phone lay on the table by the door in her loft, ringing ineffectually. Excited at the prospect of seeing Devian, Vicki had forgotten to take her cell with her when they went to the Observatory. Rapidly losing patience, Jake had impulsively decided to present his case in person. He would wait by the door of her loft until she got home. If he was there in the flesh, he had reasoned, she would have to deal with him; there could be no more evasion. It was this unfortunate series of circumstances that had put Jake in the path of an already short-tempered Dev when he had brought Vicki home from the mansion. When she thought about it later, Vicki figured that Fate must have been watching them all lasciviously and laughing like hell up its sleeve. The elevator doors had opened and Jake had turned, his fist still cocked and poised for another rap to her front door. They had stepped off the elevator with Vicki taking the lead, striding toward Jake. Her own hands had already been clenched as she cast nervous glances at the closed front door of her neighbor across the wide hallway. McCarty had been making a lot of noise.

“What the hell are you doing?” Vicki had hissed at Jake, coming to a halt in front of the irate ex-surfer, “Stop that racket this instant!” She had felt Devian looming behind her back; both a reassuring and a menacing presence there. Jake had looked a bit taken aback by her overt hostility. “You didn’t answer your phone,” he had explained belligerently. “Oh, I see,” she had challenged, “And that gives you an excuse to come over here and try to break down my door; make a commotion in the hallway?” He had shrugged, losing some of his steam. “If you responded to your messages once in a while, I wouldn’t have been forced to do it this way,” he had said testily, voice raised only a little, “You didn’t leave me any other alternative.” Her eyes had narrowed. “Uh huh,” she had responded dryly, asking, “Waiting like a gentleman to allow me to respond was not an option, I suppose?” Jake had shifted his body, putting his fists on his hips. “You didn’t seem inclined to do that, Vicki,” he had pointed out. His eyes had narrowed, shifting behind and above her. “What are you doing here, Nottingham?” Jake had said nastily, “Trying to build yourself a harem? I thought that you were fucking Sara Pezzini. One woman not enough for you?” Vicki had realized that, although Jake was more accurate than he knew, he had mistaken Devian for Ian.

Vicki had heard a soft growl drift from behind her and the fine hairs on her arms had stood straight up. In front of her, she had seen Jake McCarty’s blue eyes widen and his body tense as he suddenly seemed to discern that he might have gone too far. “What did you say?” Dev had asked; his voice deceptively quiet and cold as ice. Vicki Po had shivered from the chill at her back. She had started to turn around, stretching out a placating hand, trying to defuse the volatile situation. Before she had been able to restrain the clone, with remarkable stupidity, Jake had challenged him. Later, Vicki wondered if Jake had reacted as he had precisely because Dev intimidated him so thoroughly; she suspected it had been one of those arcane manhood things. Jake had snorted and sneered, “You don’t scare me, you perverted freak. Why even one woman would want something like you is beyond me.” It was, of course, absolutely the worst thing that he could have said given the current mood and frame of mind of the clone. She had not even seen Devian move; she had merely felt the displaced air that his motion created. The next thing that she had seen was Jake laid out flat, unconscious, on the floor at her feet.

It had happened so fast that Vicki had missed it entirely. Not a hair on Devian’s head had been disturbed; his breathing had not increased an iota. Having never seen the clone in action before, she had decided three things. First, he was utterly deadly and very, very scary. Second, he was incredibly sexy and so arousing that she had suddenly been soaking wet. Third, her earlier “you and what army” comment had been way out of line; he was his own fucking army. The slight noise of someone hurrying up the stairs had galvanized them both. Vicki had stiffened and Dev had stepped in front of her protectively. She had actually been expecting a couple of policeman, guns drawn, summoned by her neighbor. Instead – thank god – it had been Ian. His eyes had dropped to the unconscious Jake and then had shifted back to rest on Dev accusingly. “What did you do?” he had asked harshly. Vicki had stepped forward to defend the clone. “It wasn’t his fault, Ian,” she had contradicted, “Jake was being a real asshole. He provoked Dev.” She had felt Devian’s eyes turn to study her consideringly. Then, the clone had snorted, freely accepting the blame. “I lost my temper,” he had agreed, asking without any indication of repentance, “What should we do with him?” Ian had frowned, considering the options. “The easiest solution might be to take him to the safe house tonight,” he eventually had speculated, “We can’t afford to have anyone’s personal agenda screwing things up tomorrow.” Ian’s eyes had shifted to Vicki briefly, before returning to his brother. Had that message also been for her, she had wondered?

Ian had sighed. “I can get Brian to go to McCarty’s place to get his stuff tonight, I guess,” he had mused, “Then, Jake will be safe and sound, and we won’t have to worry about him tomorrow. If nothing happens, we can always take him back home tomorrow night.” Vicki had accurately assumed that Brian must be the Nottie that Ian had assigned to disappear Jake. Devian had looked at the prone detective and grimaced. “Alright,” he had agreed, “I think it’s going to take both of us to get him stowed away.” Then, he had sighed too. She knew that he had wanted to go back to the Observatory to spend the evening watching “Giant”; now, that would have to wait so that he could protect the idiot who had called him a freak. Ian had run a hand through his hair and murmured, “We’ll have to come up with some way to explain his absence at work tomorrow.” Vicki had piped up, “I can take care of that.” Two sets of golden eyes had shifted to her expectantly. “I’ll call in for him pretending to be one of his lady friends,” she had explained, “I’ll say that he asked me to let someone know that he’s going to be late.” There was a brief pause before she had added, “He’s had women call in for him in the past.” Ian had nodded, accepting what she had said at face value. “Okay,” he had agreed. Devian had eyed the petite doctor curiously, perhaps wondering if she had been one of the women who had made that call in the past. Then, he had shrugged dismissively. It was obvious that he had wanted to get going.

“Let’s get moving then,” Dev had said grumpily, “I want to get home.” Ian’s eyes had narrowed. “Hey!” he had hissed, “We’re in this situation because you couldn’t control your temper, little brother. You might want to curb that impatience and work with me here. Got it?” Vicki had been worrying about the cranky expression that was fixed on the clone’s handsome face. As she had watched, a muscle jumped in his jaw. She had tensed then, wondering if more violence was immanent. Instead, she had seen a fine tremor ripple through Dev’s long, lean form before all his muscles had seemed to loosen and relax. “Got it,” he had replied mildly, gracefully accepting his brother’s dominance – at least at that moment. Ian had nodded, pleased. “We’ll take the jeep,” he had said. Then, Devian had nodded. He had bent fluidly and, a second later, Jake McCarty had been draped over his shoulder. “I could come along to open doors and stuff,” Vicki had suggested hopefully. Dev had frowned but before he had been able to respond, Ian had shaken his head, saying, “Thanks but that’s not necessary. We can handle it.” She had known it was a long shot. She had not expected them to accept her help.

As the Nottingham brothers had headed toward the freight elevator to take Jake down to the garage, Vicki had unlocked her door. She had turned back and waved a hand. “Night,” she had called, “Good luck with him. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dev had turned his head, frowning, wondering what she meant; Ian, on the other hand, had passed her statement off as a throwaway comment. “Goodnight, Vicki,” he had responded. Devian had shrugged and let it go. As Ian had pulled down the door of the freight elevator, Dev had called, “Night, doc. Thanks for introducing me to James Dean.” While the heavy door slid down, she had called back, “My pleasure,” stopping herself just in time before she had added, “Sparky.” Vicki had shaken her head. She had been about to make that mistake again. It was easy to do because the nickname suited him so well; Sara had really nailed him when she had tagged him with it. Vicki had snorted, shutting the door behind her and dropping her keys on the table by the door. What on earth had made her think of Sara “nailing” Dev she had wondered; that was an image that she would rather avoid. If she pictured the clone nailing anyone, she had thought, it was going to be her. Heading toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine, she had sighed deeply while she let herself play with that delightful fantasy for a while.

Now, it was the big day, and Vicki sat on stakeout duty. Her innocuous sedan was parked in an alley across the street from the Wolfram & Hart Building. Her two small suitcases rested on the back seat. She was ready. Albeit, she was a trifle guilty for giving her friends more to be concerned about on a day that was already set to be chockfull of dicey happenings; however, as they said, all was fair in love and war. She knew that if she allowed herself to be stuck in some nice, quiet safe house far away from Devian there would be no chance whatever of making him see her as a potential lover. Vicki was convinced that she needed to be right in the middle of things to stand any chance with him at all. She unscrewed the cap from the large thermos of coffee with which she had fortified herself, poured a hefty mug of the strong brew, and settled in to wait. A tap on the window next to her head woke her. “What the hell?” she thought disoriented. How long had she been dozing and what had woken her? She glanced at her watch. It was 2:00 in the afternoon. She had been asleep for about two hours. There was another sharp tap on the glass just behind her head. Vicki gasped and started. She turned her head quickly, expecting to find a policeman getting ready to write her up for parking in the alley. Instead, she looked up into very annoyed golden eyes. Her heart tripped. It was Devian. She nervously rolled down the window.

“Unlock the passenger door,” Dev said softly. His voice was flat, utterly inflectionless. It scared the crap out of her. As he walked around the car, lithe as a panther, she nervously pressed the button that unlocked the car doors. There was a dull, metallic snick as the locks disengaged and then he was sliding smoothly in beside her. His presence seemed too big for the small car. She suddenly noticed that he was dressed in black from head to foot. He was even wearing soft, black leather gloves. The clone looked very sleek and very deadly. She cleared her throat, desperately trying to come up with a viable excuse for her actions. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Vicki?” he asked with all the warmth of a glacier, “What game are you playing at?” She cleared her throat again; her mouth was suddenly dry. “I just wanted to help,” she explained, “I wanted to be an active part of the plan, not stashed away safely somewhere with some Nottie. I can help. Someone might need a doctor. I could come in handy.” As she watched, the beautiful, golden eyes softened a little, the barest hint of warmth creeping back in; the sensual lips twitched. “Well, you’ve really got Ian and Sara in a tizzy,” he replied, “Not to mention poor – what’s her name? Megan? You’ve created quite a stir. There’s speculation that the enemy staged a preemptive strike and kidnapped you for leverage.” Encouraged by the slight defrosting of his demeanor, she tried an ingratiating smile. “Is that what you thought?” she asked. Now, he gave her his devastating grin and her heart thumped hard in her chest. “I figured you were playing your own game,” he confirmed, “I told them that I’d find you. Once I got here, it took a good two minutes.”

Vicki’s lips thinned. Okay, she thought, so she wasn’t Mara Hari. She already knew that; did he have to be so smug, so male, about it? “I’m not going to meekly trot off somewhere safe just because you tell me to,” she challenged. He tilted his head, still grinning. “Did I tell you to do that, doc?” he asked. She frowned. No, he hadn’t, she thought. Why hadn’t he? “Okay,” she responded, “I’ll bite.” Her stomach fluttered as his eyes darkened and took on a cast that told her his mind was playing with her words. This was no time for a raging libido. She fought to get herself under control. “Why aren’t you consigning me to my boring safe house?” she asked, “Why aren’t you packing me off tout de suite?” He tilted his head and studied her before he replied, “Because we’ve run out of time and you’re in the thick of it now regardless. Might as well make the best of a bad situation, I always say.” She gave him her own quirky grin and asked, “Is that really what you always say?” The speculative gleam in his thick-lashed, golden eyes made something low in her belly quiver. He shrugged. “I’m the consummate opportunist, doc,” he pointed out, “You should know that by now.” She nodded. She knew it alright. She was counting on it rather heavily. “Good,” she replied, adding, “So, what should I do now?”

“Not a thing,” Devian drawled, “Just do exactly what you were already planning. I assume that you were going to wait for us to come out of the building and then follow us to the command center. Right?” Vicki looked sheepish. It annoyed her that she was apparently transparent to him; she didn’t like being read that easily. “Right,” she confirmed. He tilted his head again in that characteristic gesture. “I wouldn’t expect a very pleasant reception once you arrive,” he warned her, “Ian is really pissed at you. He doesn’t take kindly to people who screw around with his plans.” She met his gaze; then, fell into it, feeling like she were drowning. “Are you mad at me?” she asked breathlessly. He shrugged negligently and replied, “I’m just the hired help, the muscle. It wasn’t my plan that you screwed up. Personally, I always appreciate a bit of initiative. It keeps life interesting.” Vicki felt her pulse pounding in her groin. It was all she could do not to clutch one of his long-fingered hands, yank off the glove, and guide it down where she needed it. She made a soft, strangled sound and he asked, “Are you alright? You look flushed.” She was flushed alright, Vicki thought. She was having a bloody, erotic meltdown right here in her sensible sedan. “I’m fine,” she squeaked. He nodded, accepting that. His eyes shifted to quickly glance at his watch. “I have to go,” he said.

The clone started to turn toward the door and Vicki grabbed his hand. The soft leather of his glove was cool under her fingertips. His head swung back toward her, one dark brow raised questioningly. “Be careful,” she admonished him, “Don’t take any foolish chances. Come back safe and in one piece.” A faint smile tempted the corners of his lips. “Which piece?” he asked. She smiled in spite of her fear for him. “Smart ass,” she chastised him, then decided to take a chance, adding, “Want a kiss for luck?” Starved for physical contact of any kind, Devian was not about to refuse it. “Sure,” he agreed, leaning toward her. He had been expecting a relatively chaste peck on the cheek or lips; he got a lot more than he had bargained for. Capturing his bearded jaw in her small hands, Vicki held his face still while she kissed Dev passionately. Dizzy with desire for him, she pressed her lips firmly against his; her arched tongue acting like a tiny battering ram to gain access to his mouth and plunder it. For several seconds, Devian was so startled by the onslaught that he didn’t respond at all. Then, he got over his shock and decided that he might as well enjoy himself. It wasn’t Sara kissing him. He didn’t feel the complete emotional conflagration that accompanied the Wielder’s slightest touch, but Vicki was pleasant enough. And a hot kiss was not, after all, an ordeal. Facetiously determined to suffer through it, Dev kissed her back, lips parted, tongue tangling with hers.

When Vicki moaned and tried to crawl on to his lap, however, Devian quickly put a stop to their impromptu necking session. He gently pushed her back, holding her still as she clutched at him, panting, eyes shut. “We can’t do this now,” he said gently, “It’s not the right time. I have to get into that building. I’m sorry.” She finally opened her eyes and pulled back, cheeks flaming. She had lost control of herself and she was embarrassed. Head down, she mumbled, “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab at you like that. God, what must you think of me?” Dev put his finger under her chin and lifted her face. When she got up the courage to look at him, she saw that he was wearing that wicked grin again. “I think that you’re a great kisser,” he told her, “What else did you expect me to think?” She managed a weak smile and he cast a worried glance at the building across the street. “I have to go. Something is wrong,” he said, all business again. Less than a second later, the clone was out of the car and moving. A second after that, he was gone from her sight.

Vicki ran one shaking finger across lips that still tingled from his kiss. “I want that boy,” she thought, “I want him in the worst way.” Sitting alone in the car now, she struggled to rein in her hormones. She figured that Devian must have gotten some flash of danger through his connection to Ian and Sara. That meant that the trouble they had been expecting had, in fact, materialized; the shit had hit the fan. She knew that she should keep her wits about her in case they needed her help. A residual shiver danced through her from head to toe. When all this was over, she thought, when everyone was safe and sound and setting up housekeeping together in their little hidey hole, she was going to finish what she had started with Dev. He might love Sara but she didn’t think her friend would allow herself to take two men to her bed, and Ian had been there first. Maybe if she distracted Dev long enough, gave him something else to think about every time Sara and Ian were together, she could shift the clone’s affections. At the very least, perhaps she could worm her way into them enough to garner a little corner just for herself. She nodded, thinking that Devian was worth the trouble; well worth it. Then, she stopped her mind from drifting and locked her attention on to the building across the street. Vicki sighed, wishing that she could see what was happening behind that blind, concrete and steel façade.

Sara and Ian had gotten to the Wolfram & Hart Building at 2:45, fifteen minutes before the scheduled reading of the will. They were immediately ushered into the expensively furnished office suite of one of the senior partners of the infamous law firm. Kenneth Irons had, after all, been a very important man and his estate was worth billions. As he sat waiting for the ritual to begin, Ian held Sara’s hand tightly and, in his head, went through the diagrams of the building that Devian had stolen. They were both jumpy. The Witchblade had been swirling and heating on Sara’s wrist all morning even though it had not drawn her into a vision. At this point, she would have welcomed a vision because then they might have had some idea of what to expect. In unison, their eyes shifted to the door and then they looked at each other, Sara with a raised brow. Dr. Immo had entered the room and had quietly taken a seat as far away from them as he could get. Watching the old man fidget under his gaze, Ian wondered whether any long lost relative would make an appearance. Irons had a sister, Aribeth, who lived abroad on the continent – but she hadn’t been back to the States in years. If she ever did come back, it would be too soon for Ian. That was a complication that Ian did not really anticipate. The brother and sister had not been close and Aribeth Irons had her own life and her own fortune. Still, such a development could certainly precipitate the formless unease that they were both feeling.

An antique grandfather clock at the side of the room struck three and a distinguished-looking, older man came in and went directly to the large, cherry desk that dominated the room. He sat down behind it and folded his hands in front of him. Ian squeezed Sara’s hand and she turned her head to follow his eyes. The two doors that provided the only access to the room were now shut and being guarded by extremely large creatures that looked like some sort of human-demon hybrid. The law firm was notorious in certain circles for its supernatural connections; which was almost certainly one of the main reasons that Kenneth Irons had selected Wolfram & Hart as his attorneys. Sara’s eyes widened and the stone in the Blade on her wrist roiled with scarlet currents, as if in reaction. The room suddenly seemed darker and Sara noticed that a minion was walking to each of the windows and drawing the heavy drapes across them. She leaned toward Ian, her shoulder resting against the muscular solidity of his. “What is this?” she whispered. She felt his shoulder hitch slightly in a shrug. His sharp, golden eyes kept moving from one place to another, one person to another, never still. It was as if he were trying to see everything at once. “There,” the man behind the desk said, “I believe that we’re ready to begin now.”

In the ringing voice of a professional orator, Irons’ lawyer began reading the Last Will and Testament of Kenneth Irons. After he got through the standard legal mumbo jumbo, it was really quite simple. The entire estate and all its environs had been bequeathed to a single person apparently. Sara’s hand gripped Ian’s hand convulsively. He leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, “Follow my lead.” The lawyer read more legalese, building the suspense with a flourish and finally stopping just before naming Irons’ sole heir. The air seemed to shift, as though a door had been opened; however, a quick glance told Ian that both doors were still closed and guarded. With the drapes drawn, the light was so dim that an army could have concealed itself in the deep shadows of the room. The lawyer stood, ready to deliver his coup de grace, and they both tensed as the name of Irons’ heir rang out in the tense silence: “Kendall Irons.” Sara’s head swung around to flash a bewildered look at Ian. “Who?” she asked him. Ian was frowning at the distinguished lawyer. “I have no idea,” he murmured back, turning to look at her, “I never heard of him.” Ian returned his gaze on the mouthpiece behind the desk. “What was the point of bringing us here?” he asked, “Am I supposed to know who this ‘Kendall Irons’ is? If neither of us inherits, then we have no reason to stay. Are you finished?”

“My dear boy,” responded a cool voice from a dark corner of the room, “We have barely begun.” Sara felt Ian’s body go rigid beside her. Ian fought the strong desire to relinquish his will that the mere sound of that familiar voice brought forth. His hands balled into fists as he squinted toward the shadowy corner of the room. An errant wisp of light reflected from the pale hair of the tall man standing there. Ian felt Sara’s warm fingers slip up to grasp his forearm and squeeze it reassuringly. In the void that had suddenly opened beneath his feet, she was a steadying anchor to the new reality of his life. He took a deep, calming breath and put steel into his reply, “I know what you are,” Ian said, his eyes shifting briefly over Dr. Immo who still sat quietly across the room. “I owe you nothing,” he continued, glaring at the still figure in the corner, “You have no claim on me. You can keep his fortune. I don’t need it. Just let us go to live our lives in peace.” The tall shadow in the corner loosed a deep, amused chuckle and admonished, “Ah, Ian, Ian.” He used the tone of a father correcting a beloved but errant child, adding, “I’m afraid that I can’t do that.” As if some silent signal had passed, the lawyer relinquished his place behind the desk and disappeared into the shadows of the room. Simultaneously, Kendall Irons stepped forward into the light.

Sara gasped softly. As Dev was Ian, but was not; Kendall Irons was, of course, Kenneth Irons, but was also not. The tall, impeccable man who now took his place behind the massive, cherry desk looked like Kenneth Irons in his absolute prime. As was the case with Devian, however, the differences came from the angle at which the body was held, from the way that the head was turned, from the intent behind the eyes. It was a subtle but crucial variance; the uniqueness of one individual from another. Sara narrowed her eyes. As jaded and twisted as Kenneth Irons had been, he had always held a tiny spark of humanity that had given him the slightest edge of ambiguity in her mind; perhaps it had been his rare, gentler feelings toward Ian. She sensed none of that conflict in the incarnation before her. Kendall Irons was not in the least conflicted. He was pure, unadulterated evil. “Who are you supposed to be?” Sara asked him rudely. He gave her a smile that could have frozen lava. “Why I am Kenneth Iron’s nephew, of course,” he explained with exaggerated patience, “The son of his only sister Aribeth. If the rumors are true, that makes sweet Ian there my nephew; though, he is, as we know, only Kenneth’s bastard.” She felt Ian tense slightly beside her in response to the calculated insult. Kendall’s smile broadened. “I assume the fact that my lineage is both legal and unimpeachable, is the reason that I inherit everything. My parents were married.” Sara snorted. “Your parents were Dr. Frankenstein over there and a test tube,” she sneered. The smile dropped from his face as if it had been sliced off with a knife.

“Not unexpectedly, your ill breeding once again asserts itself, Sara,” Kendall hissed, “Why the Witchblade chose a Wielder who is essentially urban trailer trash is quite beyond me. That is an error that I intend to rectify without further delay. You will find that I do not have the patience of my predecessor.” Now, he had really pissed her off. “And how do you plan to do that?” she asked, “You may have just inherited more money than god but people know where we are and they will ask questions. You can’t just make us disappear. You aren’t above the law.” The clone laughed, obviously enjoying himself. “Still, you do have – what’s the word? – spunk?” he asked, “And you are deliciously naïve, Detective. When you have enough money and power, you can do anything or hire someone else to do it for you. You, Ian, and anyone else that proves to be an inconvenience will most assuredly disappear. The official story will be that evidence has emerged linking Ian to my dear uncle’s murder. Rather than face capture, he and his lover and co-conspirator – that’s you, Wielder, in case you weren’t able to keep up – have flown the coop, gone on the lam, whatever other colorful euphemisms your pedestrian mind can conjure. You will have disappeared without a trace.” Sara frowned. “The police department…,” she began. Only to have Irons interrupt her. He finished her statement by adding, “Are well paid and in my pocket. Oh, not at your level, my dear. At a much higher level, where the real decisions are made.”

The phone on the desk rang loudly. With an apologetic glance, Irons’ attorney crossed back to the desk and picked up the phone. “Yes?” he asked, annoyed, “I told you not to disturb me.” He frowned and glanced over at Kendall Irons. “Alright,” he said sharply, “Put more people on it. Find the intruder.” The lawyer hung up the phone and before he could speak, Irons said expectantly, “Yes?” The lawyer nervously cleared his throat and said, “One of our more unusual alarms has been tripped, although none of the normal safeguards were penetrated. We have an intruder; moreover, we have one who is apparently invisible and extremely adept at getting past most obstacles.” Before Irons could speak, Dr. Immo stood and hissed, “It is the clone. It is Devian. I warned you.” His voice trailed off and he stood there, wringing his hands. Irons eyed the doctor with a curious mixture of annoyance and disgust. “Yes, doctor. You did indeed warn me,” he spat out softly, “Now, get yourself under control and be of some use to me. How could he be invisible?” Immo spread his hands, looking rather flummoxed. “I don’t know,” he replied, “There is nothing in his genetic structure that might cause such an anomaly.” Irons snorted. “Thank you, doctor,” he snarled dismissively, “Ever helpful, as always.” Seeming to shrink back into himself, Immo dropped down into his chair. Irons lowered his head, appearing lost in thought. Ian gripped Sara’s left hand tightly and gave it a quick squeeze, their prearranged signal to get ready for action. Her eyes dropped to the quiet bracelet on her other wrist and she said a silent prayer that the Blade would be there for her when she needed it.

Kendall Irons lifted his head. His features were set and his eyes were hard as granite. He had obviously come to a decision. “We can delay this no longer,” he barked, adding, “Now. Take him now.” Several things happened at once. The Witchblade morphed into a short sword and Sara dived at the guard holding the nearest door. Ian launched himself forward, directly at Irons. The dark room filled with the spastic, incandescent beams of several strobe lights. Sara had annihilated the first guard, skewering him through the gut, and was turning to dispatch the second one when Irons quiet voice stopped her, “Move another inch and I will kill him. I no longer need him, after all, but I suspect that you do.” She turned her head and froze, sword halted a quarter inch from the chest of the second guard. Ian lay on the floor; eyes open wide and unblinking, body jittering eerily with convulsions. Irons knelt beside him, holding a wicked-looking dagger to Ian’s jugular. It had just nicked the skin and a tiny stream of bright blood ran slowly down Ian’s neck. “Put it away,” Irons commanded, “Do it now.”

Sara sighed, resigned, and the Witchblade retracted into its bracelet form with a crisp, metallic snick. “Take it off,” the clone ordered. Sara shook her head, the defiant smile on her lips warring with the worry in her green eyes. “Sorry,” she replied, “I can’t do that. Since the Periculum, we’re sort of welded together. It doesn’t come off. I’m surprised that you didn’t know that.” The ice blue eyes narrowed as he considered whether or not to believe her. He resolved the conflict with a mirthless smile. “Then, that’s your misfortune, my dear,” he told her, “Because it means that you’re in for a great deal of pain before you die. Fortunately for me, your hand is removable.” Irons glanced at the remaining guard and said, “Take them to the holding cell that has been prepared. You will have to carry Nottingham. Modulate the frequency of the light to keep him incapacitated, but not to kill him. Not yet. Do it now.” The guard jumped to obey. It slung the still-twitching Ian over its massive shoulder and gingerly stepped around Sara. It wrapped one massive hand around Ian’s neck. “Have a care, Wielder,” Irons said softly, “That thing has orders to snap Ian’s neck at your first sign of resistance. Do we understand each other?” Sara glared at him. “Yes,” she barked. Indicating that she should lead the way, the creature ushered her out of the room with the oblivious Nottingham draped over its shoulder.

When the door closed behind them, Irons turned to Dr. Immo and asked, “Will the strobe lights work on the clone?” The doctor shook his head. “Devian inherited Ian’s genetic enhancements,” he explained, “But the light control is accomplished through his conditioning. The clone cannot be controlled with the strobes.” Irons cursed, slowly and methodically. Finally, he asked, “How can the clone be controlled?” Immo sighed. “I don’t know,” he replied, “This is what I tried to tell you; both you and Kenneth. Devian has not behaved as we predicted since he was first decanted from the tank. He is unpredictable; a wild card. I do not believe that he can be controlled. He does as he pleases.” Irons stared off into space, his pale blue eyes blank, speculative. “Yet he is helping them,” he mused, “He puts his own life in jeopardy to infiltrate this stronghold and rescue them. Why?” Immo shrugged. “Perhaps that is not what he is doing at all,” he suggested, “Perhaps we have misread him. Perhaps Devian is doing what he has done from the beginning – playing his own game.” Irons sat behind the desk, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “Yes. Perhaps he is,” he agreed, “Let’s find out.” He launched himself up from the desk and strode toward the door, indicating with a single flick of his imperious hand that Dr. Immo was to join him. Immo stood. Hurrying to catch up, he fell into step behind his new employer, like the good and faithful sycophant that he was.