Vetare: Season 3, Episode 1
Author: Kate Swanson
Spoilers: Season #2. Takes place after the season finale.
Rating: PG-13 (sexual content)
Legal: All things related to “Witchblade” belong to Warner Bros., and Top Cow.
A big thanks to my beta-reader, Jessica,
who helped me iron out the wrinkles in this story.
She is an amazing writer in her own right, and helped me immensely.
It is impossible to love and be wise.
-Francis Bacon
Gabriel woke slowly, his head throbbing. He took a deep breath and turned over to check the clock. He swore as he read the blurred numbers: 11:11. He never slept so late! He flicked the covers back hurriedly and gasped in pain as the light pressure of the sheet burned his right hand. He looked down and noticed the rash again. He’d had it every morning this week, and it was always gone by mid-morning. If it didn’t clear up soon, he was going to have to go to the doctor or something. He took a quick look in the mirror and frowned at his drawn face.
It had been a week since Sara had found him passed out, and he’d felt strange ever since. She’d said it might be a virus going around, but he wasn’t so sure. It certainly seemed to be hanging on. He headed to the shower and let the hot water pour over him, noticing with relief that the burning in his hand subsided slowly, and the headache was almost gone. He turned off the water and stood for a moment as the steam cleared, hoping his head would clear with it.
It didn’t, quite, but he felt human enough to head downstairs and get to work. He had just finished cleaning up the disaster that Sara and Lucretzia had made of Talismaniac; now he was just waiting for two new display cases to arrive. He shook his head. He wished Sara would tell him the whole story. She had only said she’d come to see him and found Lucretzia at Talismaniac. They'd fought, Sara'd won...but Gabriel knew there was more to it. He strained to remember that night, but he only vaguely recalled the blond asking about weapons. He shook his head again as the headache returned. Dwelling on it accomplished nothing, and he had work to do, like unpacking the boxes in the storage room that had just come from Greece.
Talismaniac was a floor down from his apartment. The elevator was broken again, but he didn’t mind. The one story trip down the stairs seemed to rejuvenate him. Maybe it was just a virus.
He unlocked the door automatically and went to the answering machine. Two messages, one from Petya, in Bulgarian, the other from a buyer.
He called the buyer back first, a small time guy from Texas who liked shrunken heads and old skulls. It was boring, really, but it was that type of thing that paid the rent. It only took a moment to run the credit card number through and promise to send out the order the next day. That left Petya’s call, and Gabriel wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with that one right now. She was a sweet girl, and very attractive. Gabriel had even thought that maybe he was in love. Recently, though, his emotions had gone kind of haywire. Only last night, he had dreamed of Sara. It hadn’t been graphic, but the circumstances had been confusing and a little disturbing. Sara had been tied to his computer chair, which was strange to begin with, as he wasn’t much for the S&M crowd, and he had a suspicion that tying Sara up would not be good for his health. In the dream, he had watched himself lean over and kiss her, and in the dream, she had kissed him back. It had been sweet, enjoyable, and utterly confusing. All the feelings he’d hidden away had come boiling to the surface. He’d always tried to hide it, knowing she didn’t feel the same, but he’d loved her from the moment she’d walked into his life. He felt like he’d known her forever, like he was tied to her in a way that defied the constraints of life and death. Which was good, because he sometimes had the eerie feeling that he could die for her.
He shook his head to clear the disturbing thoughts and put the phone down. He had unpacking to do.
The boxes were piled high in the storage room. One of his contacts had given him a deal on some Greek shrines, but they hadn’t been sorted. Gabriel was puzzled to find that the first box had already been opened. His box cutter sat on the neatly folded top, and the tape was clearly cut. Huh. Was I sleepwalking or something? he wondered uneasily. It had happened earlier this week, too, a few times. Little things. An article he had been reading was on a page he didn’t remember getting to. Elvis’ velvet robe had been thrown over a chair when he usually kept it carefully hung.
Can you get Alzheimer’s this early? he wondered with a shaky laugh.
He dismissed the thoughts uneasily, and got to work. A large portion of the shipment was pottery, and hardly worth the money he’d spent to have it shipped. Most pieces would go to a middleman who dealt with museums and small time collectors. A few were rare enough that Gabriel kept them. The occasional idol, for instance—Zeus and Hera, and one of Ares, the god of war. The third box held something unexpected—a necklace made of gold and set with an emerald the size of Gabriel’s thumbnail. The stone was unfaceted and tapered into a tear-shape. Gabriel searched through the box for more, finding an idol of Aphrodite and some carefully fired incense holders. Aphrodite…Aphrodite… Gabriel racked his brain as he looked at the necklace; the wave shaped forged gold, the huge emerald. It came to him, finally, and with a thrill of excitement he ran to get his index of magical talismans. The pages were yellowed with age and the cover was carefully maintained leather. It was well used, and worth it’s weight in gold. What information Gabriel didn’t have firmly entrenched in his head was in that book.
He flipped carefully to Aphrodite, and there it was, the third entry. A black and white drawing depicted every nuance of the artifact he held in his hand. He read hungrily, even though he now remembered the story.
Aphrodite, Tear of
This necklace is reputed to be a powerful love talisman. It was originally forged by the Greek god Hephaestus for Aphrodite’s daughter, Harmonia. Hera, in a desire to hurt Aphrodite, cursed the necklace, bringing death to Harmonia. However, the writings of Aeneus, King of Rome, tell of the same necklace imbued with a different power. In his account, he claims that Aphrodite wept emeralds on the necklace and one embedded itself there. This emerald is said to hold the “gentle love” of Harmonia, imbuing its wearer with the same. Aeneus reportedly gave the necklace to his second wife, Lavinia, who fell deeply in love and married him soon after the gift was given.
The necklace was said to be buried with her, and was not used again until much later, when her grave was robbed in the late second century. Reports by Christians indicate a stream of blatant rejections of wives to husbands, probably as the necklace was passed around and ladies fell in love with the next men they saw, wreaking havoc in palaces filled with male servants. Finally, the necklace was found to be the culprit and shut away by priests.
The talisman was reported stolen in 312 A.D. Though the thief, a pagan priest, was put to death, the necklace was never recovered.
This talisman was the reason he was willing to root in boxes for hours on end. Selling it would pay rent for the next year…hell, probably the next five! With a triumphant grin, Gabriel exited the dust-covered room to find a soft polishing cloth. He’d clean it up and take a picture to put on the website. What a find!
* * *
Sara leaned back in her chair and yawned. She was still catching up on sleep since the rash of murders last week. The deaths had resolved since CyberFaust had been shut down, but the Captain still had the homicide team on alert. There was no way Sara could tell him that she had taken care of the problem.
She suspected that the alert would be off soon. The station had been so quiet in the last few days that it was hard to believe that there had been a problem at all. The murderers were all in for psych evaluations, Irons was out of commission, and Ian Nottingham had been remarkably absent from her peripheral vision. Lucretzia had disappeared, but Sara judged by the size of the bloodstain in Gabriel’s hallway that she wouldn’t be coming back. Other than the holes in one of Sara’s favorite sweaters, there was very little to remind her of recent pivotal events. If only Conchobar would wake up, there might be some light at the end of the tunnel.
The only other person—well, the only one on my team, she amended with a wicked smile—who didn’t seem to be fully recovered was Gabriel. Irons had taken something out of him that he seemed to be having trouble getting back. Sara was a little worried about him. He didn’t have any real memory of the possession, and Sara hadn’t had the heart to tell him how he—his body, she corrected herself—had betrayed her.
She spoke suddenly. “Hey, Danny?”
He looked up from his paperwork and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It looks like you’ve got everything together here, I think I’m gonna split a little early.”
“Oh, yeah, leave me with the paperwork!” He gave her a long-suffering look and shrugged. “Yeah, go ahead. No point in both of us being here with nothing to do.”
Sara smiled at him as she got up. “Thanks, Danny. Your turn next time, okay?”
“I’ll take you up on that, Pez,” he promised as she threw on her jacket and slipped out the door.
She headed for Gabriel’s, planning to check on him and then maybe head over to the hospital. Conchobar hadn’t even blinked in the last week, but she kept hoping.
Her knock on Gabriel's door was answered more quickly than she had anticipated, and she smiled. “I’m glad to see you up and about. You feeling okay?”
He opened the door to let her past, unable to suppress a grin. “Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good today.”
She searched his face, concerned that there were still bags under his eyes. His grin faded to something guarded as she brushed his hair away from his face to check the lump Lucretzia had left there. She brushed it with concern and he winced. “I’m sorry,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It looks better though.”
* * *
Gabriel turned away, plastering a smile over the confusion. He had thought…he didn’t know what he had thought when she’d touched him like that. His skin tingled where her fingers had been and his heart beat painfully with empty anticipation.
“I woke up with a headache,” he told Sara, covering his confusion, “but it’s already gone. I’m feeling better.” He was still flustered as he pointed her to the seat next to the computer. “Have a seat. How about you? Are you feeling okay?”
She shrugged, looking a little puzzled. “Yeah, I’m okay. A day like all days, you know?” She sat down slowly, still watching him.
He smiled. She had that effect on him. “Yeah, I hear you. I just wondered…I know the fight with Lucretzia wasn’t all sweetness and light. Legend always tells of blood and betrayal when the Witchblade is taken from its rightful wielder.” Trust me, he pleaded silently, but her answer disappointed him.
She shrugged. “Well, it hurt, if you must know, but I’m doing fine. Got the ‘Blade back.” She pointed absently at the bracelet and changed the subject quickly by picking up the Tear of Aphrodite from beside the computer. “Now here’s a pretty piece. Stone’s a little uneven, but I’ll bet it’s worth more than I am.”
Gabriel’s right hand started to itch as he watched her twirling the pendant. Her eyes matched the green of the emerald. An idea slowly formed in his mind. What if I gave it to her?
No, it was crazy. He could never manipulate Sara like that.
But, would it be manipulation? Or would he just be helping things along? You see how she looked at you when she walked in the door? The concern? She cares about you, Gabriel. She wants to be with you. It would only be a little push.
But then, why not let things come in time? Why resort to magic? Talismans were notorious for creating more problems than they solved. The Witchblade, for example. Did he really want to bring anything more down on Sara?
But that little voice in the back of his head went on. What harm can gentle love do? You will only make her happy. You know how hard it’s been, having her Irishman in a coma…relieve her of that pain. Protect her from those that might use her. He saw a flash of her surfer partner, Jake, and another of her constant shadow, Ian…somebody. Nottingham. That guy gave him the creeps. Protect her, Gabriel. You have that power—use it. For her.
Gabriel shrugged at Sara. “Actually, I was thinking of giving it to you.”
She raised her eyebrows and turned the pendant so he could see it. “This thing? Are you serious? ‘Cause it looks like real gold to me.”
He smiled, cringing inside. Was he doing the right thing? “Well, it is, but it’s low grade. Not really my caliber of stuff. But it is…” protection… “...a talisman of protection. I figure, hey, you can use all the protection you can get, right?” His smile was forced, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, thanks, Gabriel, that’s sweet!” Her look was grateful, but puzzled as she clasped the necklace under her hair.
Gabriel didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t what happened next. The Witchblade started to glow blood red and Sara gasped as she fell forward on her knees.
Oh, god, he thought, it’s fighting the talisman! How could he have ignored the protection of the Witchblade when he’d thought up this crazy idea? How had he forgotten that it was a part of her now?
The Witchblade clicked out and Gabriel stumbled backward. Oh, god, Sara! His chest tightened as he watched the silent struggle. Sara was suddenly covered in armor and the Witchblade was extended in all its very sharp glory.
“Oh, shit,” Gabriel muttered, holding very still.
Just as quickly, the armor slid back until the Witchblade was a bracelet again, but the stone glowed, giving the entire room a reddish cast. What did I just do? Gabriel wondered frantically. Sara looked up, finally, and her eyes glowed brilliantly red. Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry.
"Gabriel..." She breathed his name with a tone he had never heard from her before. It was wonder, awe and…lust?
She stood slowly and walked toward him. He backed away, unsure of the look in her red eyes. He was suddenly against the wall and she kept coming, pressing her body along the length of his. “Sara?” he asked, his voice trembling as she molded herself to him. She kissed his neck softly and his entire body quivered at that light touch. “What’s the matter, Gabriel, don’t you like it?” She laughed at him, soft and erotic…and completely unlike her.
He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the sensation of her lips on his throat despite himself. She kissed him hard on the mouth and then nibbled gently. His body was responding, but he was scared, not so much of her as for her. “Sara?” he repeated hesitantly, and she took the opportunity to explore his mouth with her tongue. Her hands were suddenly ripping at his shirt, under it, caressing his chest, his abdomen, and then struggling to get lower.
Her bare hands brought him back to himself like ice water. This was not Sara!
He fought to get his hand between them, and accidentally brushed her breast. She sighed with pleasure and eased back just long enough for him to grab the talisman and pull.
Her reaction was instantaneous. She fell back and the red gleam faded from both her eyes and the Witchblade.
Gabriel took a hesitant step toward her, and was relieved to see a puzzled look in her eye. “Are you okay?” he asked quickly, forestalling any questions.
“Me?” she asked. “Umm…yeah, I’m fine. I must have just faded out for a second. Sorry.” She shook her head and focused her clear green eyes on him. “What was it you were saying about the talisman? Something about protection?”
“Umm, yeah,” he said, looking around desperately. His eyes lit on a white pendant in one of the glass cases. He looked down at the necklace in his hands for her benefit. “Huh, this is the wrong one. I meant, ah…this one.” He made his way to the case and lifted out a carved white dragon. “Yeah. I know it’s a little bulky, but you should be able to slip it under your shirt or something.”
She took the talisman and slipped it over her neck. Gabriel tried not to breath an obvious sigh of relief.
Sara looked into his eyes. “Thanks, Gabriel, that’s really sweet of you.” She stepped over and kissed him on the cheek before he could step away.
There was silence for a moment, and then she said, “I’m really glad you’re feeling better. I was starting to get a little worried.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, opening the door for her. “I feel good. Don’t worry.”
She turned as she reached the hallway. “It’s my job to worry, Gabriel. You can’t change that!”
“I wouldn’t want to,” he told her sincerely as he closed the door.
He heard her footsteps fade as he slid down the back of the door, shaking. He was scared, exhausted and horrified. How could I do that to her? How could I even think it?
He got up as soon as his shaking legs would hold him and made a call to a dealer. “Yeah, I’ll be up soon. Stick around, it’ll be worth a good commission.”
He got the assent he wanted and nearly ran out the door. The sooner the necklace was out of his hands, the better.
* * *
Irons was furious. Normally, he could have forced the boy back and let the talisman take Sara. But he was weakened from the confrontation on the astral plane, and he was only able to take control of the body when it was unconscious. At least he was able to watch through Gabriel’s eyes and plant ideas, but it frustrated him endlessly to be impotent at vital moments, like when Gabriel had torn the talisman from Sara’s neck.
Irons wasted no time now that the boy was sleeping. He had damage to undo. He picked up the phone and dialed.
His errant servant answered quickly. “Father?”
Irons’ voice was pure honey. “Very good, Ian. Meet me at the Renault Plaza. We have an errand to run.”
“Yes, father.”
“And Ian?”
Silence.
“Be sure you’re not seen. We wouldn’t want to tip off your lovely blade wielder before we’re ready, would we?”
There was a pause. “No, father.”
Irons noted the pause and spoke softly. “Remember where your loyalties lie, Ian, or I shall be forced to remind you.” Gabriel’s wide lips tightened under Iron’s control. Ian had had too much time on his own. Irons didn’t need him getting ideas.
He rubbed the familiar scars on his right hand absently, faintly concerned. Something might need to be done.
* * *
Ian put the cell phone away and tucked a blanket carefully under his comatose master’s chin. The body’s breathing was soft and steady. It was hard to believe that no one resided there anymore. Ian felt a certain tenderness, looking at him like this. This Irons would never hurt him or berate him. This Irons would only sleep peacefully under Ian’s watchful eye.
Ian left the bedside reluctantly and sped to the plaza where his true master waited. He was careful, as he had been instructed. Not even the shadows knew of his passing.
“Father.” It was strange to bow to this unkempt body, short and stocky, so unlike his master. He fought to keep the disgust from his face even as he lowered it in subservience.
“Come, Ian,” Irons said, and walked to a decorative alcove. Ian followed, keeping his head down. He felt the hand coming, and braced himself, but Irons only grabbed his chin and lifted it. Ian's eyes met the large brown orbs Irons now inhabited. “You have trouble, don’t you, Ian? Trouble with this form?” Irons’ voice was deceptively gentle, sweet. Ian knew him too well to be lulled.
“You are my master, my father. It doesn’t matter what form you hold.”
The smile was completely Irons. “Good. Very good. Be sure to remember that, Ian. In one form or another, I will always be here.” His gaze turned sharp and his hand tightened on Ian’s chin as he whispered, “You are mine, Ian. Forever. Should your loyalty waver again, I shall have to consider you a failure. I don’t tolerate failure, Ian." He met Ian's gaze with blazing eyes.
Ian schooled his face, his body, relaxing carefully, letting nothing betray him. Irons released him suddenly and he pulled his head down, staring at his master’s shoes. They were decidedly not Armani.
Irons changed the subject abruptly. “Come, we have a talisman to retrieve.”
Irons directed him as he drove in silence. For so long he had wanted Irons back. Training from birth had led Ian to follow orders, and suddenly there had been no orders. It had been confusing and strangely difficult. He had longed for guidance and direction, tried to bluff his way through with orders and dominance. But he had felt inadequate, had longed for a master again. And now that he had his master back, he was just as confused as ever.
Irons spoke. “Left here.”
They stopped in front of an old tenement building. Stone chips and glass bottles littered the cracked walkway as they made their way up the three front steps.
Irons waved Ian away and then knocked. “Give us a moment, Ian.”
Ian was in the bushes as the door opened, and was still as Irons spoke. “Hey, Shane. I wanted to stop by to pick up that “Tear of Aphrodite.”
Ian's superior hearing made out the muffled reply. “Gabriel, man, what are you talking about? You asked me to sell the thing for you.”
Ian could hear the anger starting to build as his master spoke. “I know what I told you, Shane, but I changed my mind. I want it back.”
“I’m sorry, man, I just sent it out. There was a quick hit with one of my regulars and I sent it out this morning. You said as soon as possible. I thought you’d be happy.”
Irons’ voice was poisoned and precise. Ian tensed. “To whom did you sell it?”
Shane’s voice was puzzled. “I don’t know, this guy in California. Gabriel, you told me to sell it. I’ll have your commission in a week.” Ian heard him take a step back. There was fear in his voice. “Maybe less. Gabriel, man, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Irons’ voice was flat. “Ian.” Ian jumped over the railing in a bound and stood stock still next to Irons, knowing it looked as if he had appeared out of nowhere. Shane’s jaw hung loose as Irons spoke. “Find out where Shane has put my talisman, and take care of the problem.” His hand flickered in Shane’s general direction and he walked back to the car, leaving Ian alone with the young dealer.
Shane abruptly tried to pull the door closed, but Ian stopped it with a finger. “I wouldn’t do that.” He stepped forward, into the apartment. “Just tell me who you sent it to.”
The boy shuddered and Ian smiled, showing his teeth. As he took a menacing step forward, the information spilled out. “Here’s…here’s the email address!” He fumbled through some papers on a desk. “Here’s the mailing address. Look, it’s all here. I’m sorry, okay, he told me to sell it!”
Ian didn’t speak as he guided Shane up the stairs to the attic. They stopped in front of an ornate stained glass window. Ian's face was empty as he gazed into Shane’s eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said, his hand like steel on the kid’s arm. “Death is only a doorway.” He pushed Shane backward through the stained glass window and watched blandly as it exploded in color. Specks of blood and stained glass shone in the sunlight and created a mosaic against the sky; then they were gone. Ian stood for a long moment at the window, then pulled the glove off his left hand. He drew his palm slowly across a shard of glass still in the window frame, needing to feel pain. His blood ran thick over the glass and he watched with detached sadness. He felt nothing.
He cleaned the window carefully before he left. Now was not the time to leave calling cards for the detectives. He would bide his time. He would keep all of his masters safe.
* * *
Irons swore when he saw the mailing address Ian handed him. “Rashid,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I cannot go against him. Not now.” He tore the paper in a fit of anger, and then suddenly, he was still. A smile grew on his face and he felt Ian tense in response. His smile widened. “We have time, Ian. After all, I am now in acquisitions. I will find a talisman to restore me to my rightful place.” He leaned back against the leather seat and closed his eyes.
Ian pulled the car away from the curb in silence, careful not to glance back at the silent carnage or his deceptively young master.
He dropped Irons off at Talismaniac as he was ordered, and then drove on to Vorschlag. He contemplated the conversation between Irons and the dealer, Shane. What could Irons want with the talisman? A talisman with Aphrodite’s name on it…suspicions lurked with an unfamiliar edge to them.
Ian had to know. He checked on Irons’ body only briefly before heading to the library. It wasn’t organized as he would have chosen, but then, it wasn’t his. Nothing here was really his.
He worked carefully with the old manuscripts, reading each of them as quickly as his extensive skills would allow. He made his way through the shelves quickly and neatly, replacing each scroll and book precisely. The manuscript he was looking for was found behind a wooden bookend. He pulled down the bookend and held it absently as he read the careful script. It was a translation of a Roman monk’s journal. Much of it was religious nonsense that Ian had no use for. He understood his gods, and they were nothing like the omnipotent Christ that this man had worshipped. No, his gods were at turns cruel, petty and oblivious. They were worked in red stone and smooth skin.
The writings suddenly got interesting as the monk described a talisman, “The pagans call it the “Tear of Aphrodite.” The writings went on to describe the talisman's effects, and Ian's chest tightened with emotions he couldn't name.
It seemed Irons had changed the rules regarding Sara Pezzini. Ian had long been accustomed to the fine line he walked between the two of them as they warred. But somehow, this was worse.
An image came, unbidden, of Sara and Irons, limbs naked and entwined. Happiness lit Sara’s face as she stroked Irons’ white hair. Ian shuddered, involuntarily crushing the bookend in his hand and reopening the gash he had so carefully given himself earlier. Blood soaked the inside of his glove. This time, the pain came, sharp and immediate, and he welcomed its familiarity.
* * *
There was a strange red tinge to the world, but Sara ignored it as she looked at Gabriel. How had she never noticed how perfect he was? She stood slowly, watching emotions flicker over his face. His skin glowed like alabaster, shining from within. He backed away from her and she was impelled to follow. She watched his hair, cool highlights in a warm sea of sienna, and longed to feel it soft against her body. She was breathing in the intoxicating scent of him, pressing herself against him as he backed into the wall. She was lost in his eyes, wide and innocent, and then her gaze dropped to his neck, smooth and soft, begging for her touch. She gave in, kissing him gently, hearing his angelic voice call her name from afar.
Need overwhelmed her, and her hands explored, finding firm muscle under his shirt, wanting more. She needed him like she had never needed anything or anyone before; she could think of nothing else. Desperately she tore at his clothing, kissed him hungrily, needing to be closer to him—
Sara woke suddenly with a gasp. Oh my god, she thought, shaking her head. She threw her blankets off and walked slowly to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror as she ran cold water. Her face was flushed. What the hell was that? She asked herself. She thought guiltily of the kiss they had shared a little over a week ago. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I’ve never thought of him like that—he’s just a kid, right? She laughed nervously, shaken by the strength of the dream. She remembered his lips, soft against hers, and dampened the thought quickly. She looked at herself sternly in the mirror. “Pezzini,” she told herself firmly, “you have got to get yourself a date!” She splashed cold water on her face and sipped out of her cupped hands. Feeling a little calmer, she went back to bed.
It took her most of an hour to get back to sleep.
FINIS
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