Circles

By Lori

Part 3

November 17, 2000

I

Kenneth Irons sat at the breakfast table, sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper. Ian had joined him a few minutes earlier, but Kenneth wasn't ready to talk to him yet. Ian stood at attention, just inside the door, waiting for instructions.

"Sit Ian. Eat some breakfast."

His dutiful son did as he was instructed. Kenneth was still struggling to come to terms with Bruno Dante's death. It wasn't so much the death itself, but who had killed him. The how was also quite irritating. He knew neither Sara nor Nottingham had done it. Both were occupied, although Ian didn't have an alibi.

"Bruno Dante is dead," Kenneth announced, looking for a reaction.

"How?"

"His head was cut off by a sharp blade."

"Like a sword, master? Perhaps the woman living below Sara decided to take matters into her own hands."

"It's a good theory." Kenneth paused, considering his options. "Why don't we *ask* the witch to come visit us. Perhaps I can determine her guilt."

Ian bowed his head and backed out of the room. Kenneth smiled in anticipation. This woman could prove to be a worthy opponent.


II

Cassandra paced inside her apartment. Sara hadn't come home the night before. Several times Cassandra had gone up the fire escape to see a dark loft. Something had happened. An urge to try and locate Methos almost overwhelmed her, but self-preservation overcame the impulse.

She tried turning off all the lights, leaving only a few candles lit, and meditating. But the gods were silent. As she began her morning routine, a presence appeared inside her room. It didn't feel like another Immortal, but it was definitely an invader. She turned suddenly, brandishing her sword, and found Ian Nottingham standing, head bowed, before her.

"Alencon. What brings you here this morning?"

"My master wishes to see you."

He said nothing about her sword, which she lowered, but did not put away. "Is the wielder safe?"

"Lady Sara is in the hospital. She went after Tommy Gallo last night and sustained minor injuries. Gallo is dead," he added with obvious pleasure.

"Were you present?" Cassandra asked.

"I was close by, observing her prowess." Ian stood, eyes cast down. "My master awaits," he prompted.

"Let me get ready. Have a seat. It'll take me a minute."

Cassandra didn't glance back but walked steadily into her bedroom to change her clothes. Staring at her closet, she tried to decide the best outfit to wear to confront Nottingham's master. She knew without a doubt that this man was responsible for this timeline's corruption. He was playing with destiny, without conscience, only desiring power to further his own ambitions. Somehow he had changed the soul of Alencon from something pure to something perverted. Could she change it back, or was it irrevocable?

Deciding to play up her part as a witch, one who had lived centuries, she found a silk dress with a flowing skirt. It was elegant, yet proper for a day dress. Her wealth would be obvious and she hoped her self-confidence would make Irons uneasy. If her costume didn't work, she could always use the voice.

After brushing her hair and putting on the last touches of her make-up, she left the sanctuary of her bedroom. "I am ready, d'Alencon." The subtle reminder of his past life made his eyes fly to her face; then they dropped just as quickly.

"It would be best if you didn't mention that to Mr. Irons."

"Why?" Cassandra asked, curious. She would have thought that Irons would have figured that part out.

"He thinks he has full control of me. If you allude to Jeannette's perfect knight, my master might doubt me."

Now that was an interesting tidbit. Ian Nottingham was playing both sides of the fence. "Your secret is safe with me."

"I know. Shall we leave?"

Ian had a car waiting on the street. He opened the door and helped her inside and then drove her himself. They came to an imposing manor that sat on the top of hill. Several acres surrounded the house.

Irons was waiting for them in a large circular room, with high shelves of books, at least two stories tall, and a walkway to reach the higher story. There was a fireplace and several chairs.

"Hello, Cassandra. May I call you that? I don't seem to know your last name."

"I have many names, but Cassandra will do fine for now."

"You may call me Kenneth. I know we're going to become good friends, because we both have Sara Pezzini's best interests at heart."

"I do wish Sara well, but I am a servant of the Witchblade. I do as it commands. If it wants Sara healthy, I will lay down my mortal life for her."

"Do you have an immortal one?" he asked, too innocently.

Touche, Cassandra thought to herself. "I am a witch. I have lived many lifetimes; you might construe that as an immortal life."

"Did you know Joan of Arc?"

"I gave her the Witchblade when she was still a young girl. I did not have further direct contact with her. May I sit?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Of course, how remiss of me. Please make yourself comfortable."

His condescension was an obvious ploy, she observed thoughtfully. Cassandra glided over to the other chair and gracefully sat down. Ian went to stand in an alcove, almost hidden within the shadows. Irons' hawk-like eyes watched her every move.

"You expect me to believe that were really there?" he asked. "We're adults here. You can tell me your true interest. You want the talisman for yourself."

"I have worn it. But, I am not a true wielder. It recognizes my power and uses me as such." Cassandra crossed her legs, straightening the skirt portion across her knees. "What about you? Do you feel cheated because you can never wear it?"

"Like you, I have put it on, but never wielded it."

"And you live?"

"Like you," he repeated, "only to serve."

Cassandra considered his words. "How long did you have it in your possession before it chose Sara?"

"For a few decades. During World War II, a woman by the name of Elizabeth Bronte wielded it. When she died, it came into my hands."

Cassandra's eyes closed as a vision crowded out everything else in her mind. She saw Kenneth Irons killing his lover and putting her, or rather draping her, on a chair. Pictures flashed by showing scientist and doctors removing tissue samples and experimenting on them. "How old are you?" she asked, a contemptible suspicion coming over her. His eyes looked older than his mere forty or fifty years.

Kenneth paused, then answered. "Around a hundred. The one brush with the Witchblade has granted me immortality."

"No. It could not," she answered in assuredness. "You would need to be constantly wearing it to stop aging. Or merging a wielder's blood with your own. Have you turned to cannibalism to prolong your life?" Disbelief echoed in her tone of voice.

Irons did look taken aback. "I assure you that I am not eating a past wielder."

"But you are consuming her. Doctors are making injections for you--but they won't work forever."

"Are you clairvoyant as well as a witch?"

"I think they go hand in hand. I admit to having the gift of prophecy. I can see the future, the past, and sometimes a new way to look at the present.
Now I begin to understand," she said, quietly, mostly to just herself.

"Understand what?" His face had more lines and his hands were clenched at his side. Even Ian was looking up at her.

"The corruption in this time line. Things went terribly wrong, and Sara had to reverse time. I can see a discordant wave that ripples outward, affecting everyone in its wake with you at its epicenter." She shook her head, bringing her attention back to Irons. "However, the problem didn't come from a wrong choice of hers, but rather from the meddling you have done." Anger at his arrogance made her jump from her chair and tower over him. Using the voice she compelled him, "Did you use the former wielder's tissues for anything else than prolonging your own life?"
Kenneth Irons went rigid in his chair. His jaws clenched, and his fists now grasped the arms of his chair. Her eyes bored into his, compelling the truth from him.

"I first made Ian." The words were reluctant, but they flowed. "I used my own DNA along with Elizabeth's to create him. There were some mistakes made, but our third version was by far the best." Kenneth glanced over at Ian, with pride in his eyes.

"Tell me more," Cassandra commanded.

Irons was powerless to resist. "Next we made Sara. A direct clone of Elizabeth. I had planned to raise her, make her mine, like I did with Ian, but she was taken from me."

A vision of Lazar with an infant girl flew through her mind. "I see. Lazar took her and placed her out of your reach."

"It took ten years before I could locate her residence, but *he* guarded her well."

Cassandra smiled. "Lazar could do no less. A double corruption. Sara has much to battle." Reluctantly, she released Irons from her mind control.

"Impressive," Irons remarked, although his eyes were hard.

She instilled a light note to her voice. "I did tell you I was a witch. That is just one of my powers." Cassandra waited, to see if he would add anything, but he was silent. "Well, this has been a most informative chat, but I must leave. I want to visit Sara at the hospital."

Irons rose, as if suddenly realizing that all control had been snatched away from him and he couldn't figure out how it had occurred. Cassandra rejoiced in his discomfiture.

"Did you know that Bruno Dante is dead?"

Cassandra made her face look blank. "Am I supposed to know this person? I don't believe I've made his acquaintance."

Irons gave two quick sighs. "He was murdered last night, while Sara was battling Tommy Gallo."

"Murdered how?" she asked, hoping that Methos had taken care of the problem

"Decapitation."

Cassandra was careful not to let the satisfaction show on her face. "How unusual."

"Nottingham tells me that you have a sword and wield it well."

"I do," she agreed. "But if I wanted him dead, I wouldn't need to slice off his head. I'm a witch; I'd just tell him to lay down his gun and I'd shoot him. A sword is not much of a weapon against a gun." She had hopefully put a kink in his conclusions. "I can't say it was a pleasure."

"But it was," he assured her.

She bent and picked up one of his hands to shake it, taking a quick glance at the wrist in case a Watcher tattoo was present, but instead found the double circle on the other side. Using her finger, she traced the one circle and then the other. "Light and dark, coexisting, intersecting, then making its own path away, yet only to return once more for a confrontation," she mumbled half to herself.

"The Witchblade's mark," he informed her. 'Do you have one?"

She could see the sly look in his eyes. "No. Old age makes those kinds of things fade away. Ian, could you take me home?"

Irons nodded to the look Ian cast over at him.

As she walked out of the room, she turned and addressed Irons again. "The corruption may be too extreme for this universe to continue. If this is true, the next time reversal will negate your birth." Her warning echoed in the large room.


III

The first thing Jake did upon waking was to call his mentor at the FBI. He used Methos' cell phone, hoping that the White Bulls wouldn't be able to trace it. He informed them of the tape and that he now had proof. He was instructed to make copies and that a courier would come and pick them up. Jake would take his own copy to Sara. He'd keep it a secret from the rest of Homicide until she decided what she wanted done with it.

After showering and eating some breakfast, he went to work. Methos was still sleeping and didn't move a muscle as he got ready. Jake would bet every last dollar that the old Immortal was not sleeping, he just didn't want conversation. That suited him just fine.

When Jake arrived at his desk, Danny was pouring over some files. "I just can't get a handle on this," he complained, tossing a manila envelope across his desk. "My instincts are telling me that Karen Bronte is in danger, but I can't find anything to support my suspicions."

"Why don't we go over and talk to her again," Jake suggested. "Maybe she's thought of something that'll shed some more light."

Danny agreed, and they left the precinct and drove to her apartment complex. As they walked to the elevator, the superintendent was waiting for them. "You made excellent time. I just called two minutes ago."

"What happened?" Danny asked.

"Karen Bronte's door is wide open and the place has been broken into. It's a mess."

"Is she there?" Jake asked, realizing that Danny's instincts were right on target.

"No. It's empty." The super escorted them to the apartment. Several of the residents hung around in the hall.

Jake and Danny entered, both whistling in disbelief at the mess.

"It's been thoroughly trashed," Jake commented, gazing around him.

"You know, I don't think our perp was stealing anything or even struggling with Miss Bronte," Danny thought out loud.

Jake had to agree with the assessment. "It looks like a temper tantrum."

"Look here, these holes in the wall, kind of like what a punch would look like if you had a hook or something instead of a hand. I noticed a mark like this in the snow, but I was attributing this to a missing foot or leg. What if it was a hand, and the perp used this peg, prosthetic thing to prop himself up as he arranged the bones."

"And here," Jake finished off the reasoning, "he was mad so he punched in the wall and destroyed everything he could lay his hands on."

"Look, here's that picture of her grandmother that looks just like Pez," Danny pointed to the picture lying on the ground, the glass in the frame shattered. He turned to Jake. "We need to talk to Dominique Boucher again. Either Miss Bronte is in protective custody by someone or she's all alone on the street, facing a killer by herself."

More police officers arrived. Danny gave them what little information they knew and left for the Boucher's modeling office.

She was sitting at her desk, frowning at them, when her secretary showed them in.

"I don't have a lot of time. One of my models is home sick--"

"Which one, Miss Boucher?" Jake asked, curious to see if she'd mention Karen by name.

"What is it you want?"

"Do you know where Karen Bronte is?" Danny asked. "Is she the one who's sick?"

"Don't you have a partner?" she demanded. "You two men were here last time, and I was under the impression that the detective in charge was Sara Pezzini?" Her voice sounded a little forced, like she was under a lot of stress.

"Detective Pezzini is not in charge, we are," Danny responded then dug for the information again. "Do you know Miss Bronte's whereabouts?"

"No, I do not. I would imagine she's in the dressing room with the other models getting ready for the shoot."

"Could you call down and verify her presence or accompany us there?"

She let out a deep sigh. "Why isn't Sara Pezzini on this case?"

Jake was getting irritated with her obsession with Sara. "She was in a shootout last night and she was injured."

"First blood," the Boucher woman whispered under her breath.

Jake and Danny exchanged puzzled glances at the weird phrase. "Pardon me?" Danny asked.

"Nothing." She picked up the phone and called. "I want to speak to Karen." There was several seconds of silence; then she hung up. "She didn't show up this morning. Do you know where she is?" Dominique glared at them.

"No. Her apartment was ransacked, but she is missing."

"She might have stayed at a boyfriend's house last night."

"Do you have a name?" Jake asked eagerly, hoping that this was the answer.

"I don't know about my models' private lives. How badly was she hurt?"

Jake groaned, knowing that the Boucher woman was referring to Pez, not Miss Bronte. "She was knifed in the shoulder. She'll be fine in a few days."
Jake and Danny met each other's eyes again, silently agreeing that this wasn't getting them anywhere. "Can we talk to the models?"

"Yes, of course. I'll take you down."


IV

Kenneth stayed in his chair after Ian and the witch left. He was still in a state of shock. His iron control had always been a source of pride within him, but this woman had shattered it. He could tell that she could read every thought that flitted across his mind, and that unnerved him.

"Mr. Irons?" A woman's voice spoke tentatively at the doorway.

"Come in, Miss Bronte. I trust you slept well?"

"Yes. I want to thank you so much for giving me sanctuary last night."

"I told you, my dear, if you ever found yourself in trouble, my door is always open."

"I know you did. I just never thought I'd have a maniac trying to kill me."

"No. That was not something I considered either. Did you have breakfast?"

"Someone brought in a tray with some coffee and toast." She paused, frowning. "What's going to happen next? Did you call the police?"

"No. They are so busy and they haven't even made any headway on your roommate's death. I have a better idea."

She looked at him eagerly.

"I have some connections with a Paris designer. It would be my pleasure to set you up with a job there. What do you think?"

"Paris? Me? Gosh," she stumbled over her words. "That's more than I ever thought."

"Good. I'll call Dominique and make sure she understands my position in all this. Don't you worry, she'll rip up your contract with little fuss. I
guarantee it." He gave a feral smile.


V

Sara lay half-way between sleeping and wakefulness. Then again, she thought ironically, she had been that way since the Witchblade had claimed her six days earlier. So much had happened in such a short time.

Every time she closed her eyes, visions assaulted her senses. Sometimes they were of the distant past, sometimes they seemed to be from a past that hadn't occurred. Mourning Danny at a cemetery was frequent one. While she cried, she knew that Gallo was responsible for Danny's death, yet, Gallo was dead by her hand, and Danny was still alive.

That brought a whole new set of emotions to the front. She had stabbed Gallo with a sword that had grown from her bracelet. She didn't understand how the bracelet could change from one form to another, each day bringing something more horrifying.

"Don't agonize so," a voice told her in her head.

Sara looked at the woman speaking and thought that she must be looking into a mirror, except for the neat chignon and crisp white blouse.

"I am of your blood and wielded the blade before you were born. You must not fear your weapon but use it wisely. It has much to show and teach you, if you are willing."

Sara didn't know what to say. "I killed a man with a sword."

"A fitting end to a monster," the woman told her. "You live in a world where there is much evil and much good. Use the tools you are given in your fight. The tools may reside within other people or within the Witchblade. Don't be afraid," the voice faded, and Sara fell into a light sleep.

"Circles of light and dark. You are the intersection; both have their uses," the voice spoke deep within Sara's subconscious.


VI

Jake walked into the hospital and found his way to Sara's room. He had come from the station and everything there had been in an uproar. With Dante dead and no clues as to his killer, everyone was going wild. Jake found he couldn't take it any more. He did know the killer and was afraid his mannerisms might give his guilt away.

At least he had an excuse to leave. They had gotten an anonymous call identifying who had murdered the model. Danny and Orlansky had gone to arrest a man who had only one hand; the other was a prosthetic. Jake volunteered to visit Sara since Danny would be busy for some time. It also made a good excuse to talk to her in a semblance of privacy about his answering machine tape. She still didn't know about it.

He entered her room and found her dozing. Taking a chair beside her bed, he waited a few minutes. Soon her eyes opened, as if sensing his presence.
"Hi, Jake." Her voice sounded groggy. "Thanks for coming to my rescue last night." She shivered.

"Hey, that's what partners are for. How did you connect with Gallo, anyway?"

"I went to talk to the Boucher woman and he was waiting for me in my car."

"Well, your ploy to get your conversation taped worked like a charm. I've got the whole thing."

Her eyes lit up. "Everything?"

"Yes. I made some copies and sent a couple to the Feds. I've still got the original. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Arrest Dante and all his minions."

"Hasn't anyone told you? Bruno Dante is dead." Jake waited while she digested the information.

"Dead?"

"About the same time you and Gallo were having your talk in the subway station."

"Dead?" Her face looked pinched, as if she were in pain.

"Yes." Jake wished she'd show some relief, or something to assure him that she understood what he was saying. "What do you want me to do with your tape?"

"Whatever. You and the FBI handle it. You don't want me mucking it up, anyway."

"This doesn't sound like you, Sara."

"Hey, what can I say. I'm not myself and haven't been all week. I trust you to bring them all down."

Jake smiled. "Oh, I promise to do that."

She closed her eyes and Jake felt dismissed, but he had one more thing to add. "By the way, we solved the murder of that model. Would you believe it was Dominique Boucher who had her killed? Turns out that the wrong woman died. The killer was supposed to do her roommate instead."

Sara nodded, indicating that she heard, but her eyes didn't open again.

The nurse walked in. "She's heavily sedated, sir. It's hard for her to have long conversations."

"Okay, Sara. I'll come back and visit you later." Jake left.


VII

Sara heard Jake leave, but the vision of Dante getting his head cut off by a sword would not leave her. She knew she hadn't been anywhere near Dante when he had died, but what a terrible death. Lightening shot out from his neck, putting his attacker in shadow, but Sara could still see his outline, but not who he was. No matter how much she pressed the Witchblade for an answer, it wouldn't tell her.

The woman with the chignon spoke. "It will only reveal what you are ready to see."




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