Circles

By Lori

Part 4

November 18, 2000

I

Cassandra entered the hospital room. Sara was sitting up in bed, looking much better. Her face had more color to it and her eyes were flashing with irritation.

"I'm here to bring you home," Cassandra informed the unwilling patient.

"You? I thought Danny or--"

"They're pretty busy at work with the Feds having overrun the department. I told them I'd take care of it, unless you'd like me to call Ian Nottingham. I'm sure he'd be very willing to escort you home."

"No thank you." She gingerly got up from the side of the bed, fully dressed, "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

Cassandra grinned at her enthusiasm. "We must wait for the wheel chair. You know the rules."

It took little time before the nurse came back with the required chair and an orderly to push it. Cassandra walked sedately behind.

The drive back to their apartment building was done in silence. Cassandra darted a few looks over at Sara, but she was quiet.

"Are you in pain?" the Immortal asked.

"Some," Sara reluctantly admitted.

"You know the Witchblade can help you. Healing its wielder is another of its abilities."

"Really?" Sara asked, but Cassandra could tell she was too weary to care. It was just one more obstacle to hurdle.

Cassandra helped Sara to her apartment, getting her changed out of the jeans and T-shirt into something more comfortable. Then she made Sara go to bed. "You rest now and regain some strength," Cassandra said, and without further prompting, Sara fell asleep.

Going down to her apartment to get a few things, Cassandra found a note from Methos. It asked her to meet him at St. Pat's at around one. They needed to talk. Hoping that Sara would be okay while she would be gone, Cassandra readied herself for the meeting with Methos. It was hard to believe that they were now working on the same side.


II

Kenneth watched the news. The reporter was trying to stick a microphone in Dominique Boucher's face as the lady was escorted to jail. The headlines were saying that she was a murderer. His little tip had paid off. They were able to find a connection between the idiot with one hand and the modeling agency. No doubt the man had told all he knew. Stupid woman. Dominique was no longer a threat to either Karen Bronte or Sara Pezzini. Sometimes things do work out for the best.


III

Instead of going back to the station, Jake decided to return to his apartment and talk to Methos. The Feds, including his mentor, had everything in order, so his presence wasn't required.

Methos was propped on the couch with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, watching the news about Boucher's arrest. Jake grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and joined him.

"Did you know that Boucher was after Sara?" Methos asked.

"No. Why would you say that?"

"Instinct. You told me about the picture you found in Karen Bronte's room. Karen was the roommate to the woman killed. Now Karen is missing, and you don't know where she is. Did Boucher know?"

"She said she didn't and the man admitted to trashing the place when he couldn't find Karen there."

"Therefore, Karen escaped or found shelter somewhere before she was killed."

"I follow you that far, but the rest?" Jake couldn't see any reason why Dominique would want to kill Karen, but then he remembered her fixation on
Sara. "Wait a minute." Jake told Methos what he had remembered.

"I think Karen Bronte has a connection to Sara; you just don't know what it is yet. You should show the picture to Sara."

"Yeah. When she gets out of the hospital. You going to visit her?"

"No. I can't do anything to help her. Taking Dante's head was to be my only contribution. I'm sure you can handle the rest."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Go back to Paris. I left in kind of a hurry. Joe's probably worried about me."

"You could stay here. I mean," Jake stumbled over his words, "I don't have an assignment anymore."

"I don't think so." Methos sounded emphatic.

"You did say there was a reason you came to New York," Jake tried again. "I can't believe killing Bruno Dante, a two-bit hood, was the reason for your trip."

"Maybe it was. I don't know. But, my feeling of impending doom is gone. Besides, you've got Cassandra here. If you need someone to take a head, ask her."

Jake eyes widened in shock. "I couldn't. I mean, I'd be--"

Methos laughed as he took another swig from his beer. "She is a little frightening."

"Are you going to talk to her before you leave?"

"You think I should?"

Jake didn't know how to answer.

Methos finished the bottle. "I'm going out for a bit. Don't follow me."

Jake stiffened. "Have I yet?"

"No. But I've told you I'm going to leave. You might think that's reason enough."

"I figure you'd lose me fast enough. And with that I'd lose your trust."

"Exactly." Methos put his bottle down and walked out the door.

Jake had to admit he felt tempted to see if he could follow the oldest Immortal without detection, but decided it wasn't worth it.


IV

Cassandra slipped through the front door of St. Patrick's Cathedral, feeling the presence of anther Immortal. The crowd was huge, and it took her several moments to find him seated in a pew almost in the front of the church. He turned and looked at her, and for a very long second, she was back in the dusty tent, ready to do her master's bidding. Then she straightened her spine and walked confidently towards the monster that had haunted her dreams for three thousand years. Pulling her coat around her legs, she slid in next to him.

"Did you meet Irons?" Methos asked her, without preliminary small talk.

"Yes."

"Is he the cause of this corruption you mentioned before?"

"Definitely. He's a very rich and powerful man, and he's using his position to orchestrate events and people. Irons killed the previous wielder and had her body cryogenically stored. He's using her tissues to both prolong his own life and to clone humans, wielders in their own right. He wants to control the Witchblade."

Methos' jaw dropped. "Sara is a clone?"

"Yes. Of Elizabeth Bronte. Not only that, but Ian Nottingham is also a genetically engineered man taken from Irons and Elizabeth's DNA."

"Didn't you say that this Nottingham is Alencon?"

"Yes. A very different kind of perfect knight."

"He was never perfect. He was a pompous braggart."

Cassandra laughed. "And a rival for Jeannette's affections. I can see it now."

"What do you suggest we do about this Kenneth Irons?"

Cassandra stared at Methos. "You're asking my opinion?"

"You're the one who met him. Do we kill him?"

"I warned Irons that if he keeps up his present course, I see no way around it but reverse time all the way back to before he was born. I would have to do it."

"This would negate Elizabeth's and Sara's life."

"Yes." Cassandra waited, knowing that Methos would soon see the impact upon his own life.

"Kronos would be alive again."

"Yes," she repeated, although this time there was a tremor in it.

"But we'd remember what has already occurred, right? We wouldn't make the same mistakes?"

"I don't know. We're talking about a whole century. You might not recall as much as you did this last time, because the Witchblade needed your help. The second rewind would negate the discordance, thus your help wouldn't be required."

Methos swallowed thickly. "You won't do this except as a last resort, right?"

Cassandra let out a breath she hadn't even known she was holding. He wasn't going to stop her. She looked at him with new eyes. "Only as a last resort," she agreed.

"Then let's hope Irons backs off. Do you need me to do something?"

"No. I intend to stay in New York City, get a job here and stay close to Sara in case she needs my help. The police captain is dead; you took his head?" she asked, hoping that he was responsible and there wasn't another Immortal around.

"Last night. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"It was. Irons is beside himself with worry because he doesn't know who did it. He thinks he's in control of everyone, yet a death happened out of the blue. It was quite amusing to see his reaction."

The two ancient Immortals sat in the church pew staring in front of them, each lost in their own thoughts, but no longer feeling threatened by the other.

"Well, if you don't need my help," Methos broke the silence, "I think I'll head back to Paris. I sort of left in a hurry. MacLeod is bound to be worried." He gave a sheepish grin.

Cassandra was amazed at the difference between the Horseman from her memories and the Methos that sat next to her. MacLeod had been right. Or maybe he was just a miracle worker. Methos truly cared about her Highland child. "Yes. You can leave. I've got everything under control here."
Methos stood, getting ready to leave. "If you do reverse time, the next time I see you, you might be in MacLeod's dojo, chasing me with a sword. Remember, I don't want to kill you now and I didn't want to kill you then, either."

Cassandra nodded, but didn't know how to answer. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Methos still looked troubled, but he nodded back and left.

Cassandra sat in the pew and waited until his presence was a mere whisper. Then she slowly opened her mind and let the gods speak to her. At first there was nothing, then she felt a soothing, comforting feeling settle over her. They were happy with her decision. Wait, but be ready to act. She felt at peace.


V

Sara woke up to an empty apartment. Cassandra had left some stuff there, but she was gone. The Witchblade on her wrist was a glowing mass of swirling red light. Was she in danger? No. It was nothing like that.

Sitting up, she felt her head swirl, like the stone in her bracelet. Following instinct, she took the bracelet off, clutched it in both hands and held it to her chest. A warmth settled in her body, spreading from her chest, outward. Her eyes were squeezed closed, concentrating.

Her subconscious noted that her front door had opened and someone had walked in. There was no threat, so she ignored it. She had utter confidence that if the intruder had meant her harm, the Witchblade would have told her. Instinct was still guiding her, but then she saw the same woman in her mind, the one with the perfect chignon and old -fashioned blouse.

"Sara. You learn fast."

That woman was replaced by another. This one still looked like her, like Sara, but was dressed in a knight's armor. She too had a wound, bound, but still painful. She was praying to God. The Witchblade was healing her too, not totally, but enough so she could continue her mission. "You are needed, Sara," the female knight told her. "You can not stay hurt. Your friend is leaving you. You need to take him to the airport to say goodbye. You need to be there."

Sara jerked away, flinching as her stitches pulled.

"Easy, Sara," Cassandra comforted her. "Using the Woman's Glove, while making us strong, also makes us weak."

Sara took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I keep having people talk to me in riddles. I understand only half of what they say."

"Do I talk in riddles?"

"Yes. How can something make us strong also make us weak?"

"Do you not feel strong when you wield the Witchblade against your enemy? He was firing his gun at you, which you repelled easily. Yet, if you come to depend upon it, you lose the edge of confidence in your own ability, thus you become weak."

"I don't like feeling that rush of power. I felt like I could cut down ten Gallos and not break a sweat. I wanted to kill him. I wanted it so bad, I could taste it."

Cassandra opened Sara's shirt, revealing the twin circles. "Do you know what that is?"

"A birth mark."

Cassandra smiled. "Yes. It is. In a way." She traced the first circle. "This is the circle of light. It represents all things pure and good in this universe." Cassandra traced the other circle. "This one is the dark. Dark emotions, like wanting to kill. Revenge, the hunger for retribution. These are the things represented by this circle. Do you see how they connect, intersect one another. As a wielder you will tread the dark circle or the light. But they always meet at some point. You can be an evil person who does good,"

Cassandra stopped, a puzzled look on her face, then she smiled again. "Or a good person who sometimes uses her power for ill. No person can be entirely good or bad. You are human, not a god, and let me tell you, gods make their own mistakes."

"I am justice." Sara spoke aloud. "I have been granted this gift to wield justice in this world."

"Yes, although others will try to use you, bend you to their will. You must be strong."

Sara felt a peace descend upon her. Every person must tread a dark or light path; hers just had farther-reaching consequences. "I think I'm ready for this challenge."

"Good. How is your shoulder?"

"It hurts, but not as much as before. I think I can get up and do some stuff tomorrow."

"I'm sure you can."

"Are you staying with me all night?"

"No. I wanted to teach you how to heal, but you managed that quite well on your own. If you want I can leave."

"I think I would prefer to be alone, if you don't mind."

"You don't have to say anymore. I understand the need to mediate. Remember, I'm just a phone call away. Call, even if you only want to ask me a question."

Sara was glad as the door closed and was left in solitude. The voices inside wanted to talk to her. An audience, even Cassandra, was an unwanted distraction.


VI

Ian Nottingham walked out of the bakery carrying a small round cake, in a white box. His hands shook slightly, despite his wish that they'd stop. It seemed that he had no control. Excitement warred with fear as he made his way to Sara Pezzini's apartment. Opting for the stairs instead of fire escape,
he walked the final steps to her door.

Just outside, he listened, and could hear her heartbeat. It was steady, but not so slow as to indicate sleep. Dropping to one knee, he opened the box, pulled out the cake and lit the candles. Sweat beaded on his forehead, which he wiped with the back of his gloved hands. Realizing that his hands were still gloved, he removed them and stuffed them in his pocket. If he had the chance to touch Sara, he didn't want the leather barrier between their flesh. Picking up the cake, then standing, he hesitantly knocked on the door.

He could hear her move. Would she answer? Would he have to open the door himself?

It opened, and she stood there. A nightgown flared around her body, and she wore a look of curiosity on her face. She wasn't mad. She wasn't repulsed.
"Happy birthday, Sara," he said quickly, wanting to keep her slightly off guard and thus receptive to his friendly overtures.

"How did you know?"

"I was there when you were born. It is imprinted upon my soul."

She backed up and he walked in, carrying the cake to her table. The candles were still burning.

"Are you going to make a wish?" he asked, breaking the silence.

She looked at him. "You're the only one that's remembered. Even Danny hasn't phoned."

"I expect he's busy. Make your wish," he told her eagerly, reveling in the magic surrounding him.

She paused, taking out the plates. "I don't know what to wish for."

"True love? Happiness? It's what I wish for every day of my life."

Sara met his eyes, puzzled, but she didn't inquire further. She closed her eyes and Ian let his longing burst out of his eyes. As she blew the tiny flames out on the two candles in the shape of a three and a zero, Ian repressed his feelings once more.

She took a knife and cut them both a piece. Ian sat at the table staring at his cake and fork.

"Aren't you going to eat it?"

"When I'm done, are you going to kick me out?"

This time Sara, looked at him directly. He wanted to meet her eyes, he really tried, but they fell of their own accord.

"We could watch TV? You do watch TV, don't you?" she asked.

"Sometimes, if my master is also watching it."

"You need to get out more." She took a bite of her cake. "So you were there when I was born?"

Ian stiffened, but answered. "Yes. I was four." He remembered the day with shame. Ian had not wanted her birth, for he saw it as a division of his father's affections. Sara was the female, the heir apparent to the Witchblade. He was just the experiment. That was when he decided to try on the Witchblade. His own jealousy, his own arrogance told him that he could wield the Witchblade better than any girl. It ended up costing him a father's recognition, and a sister who might have come to love him.

Yes, he did put on the Witchblade, yes, it didn't kill him, yes, it caused his father to come and rescue him, but it also gave Lazar time alone with the baby to take her far away. From that day forward, Ian became a slave, not a son.

"So young," Sara said gently. "What happened?"

"Fate. Destiny. Separation." Ian took another bite of cake, his hand now visibly shaking.

The phone rang, and he jumped to his feet.

"Easy, Nottingham. It's only the phone."

She went to answer it. He heard her tell the person on the other end that she would be glad to take them to the airport the next day. Yes, she had been hurt, but was feeling better.

Ian took steps retreating towards the door. He couldn't take it anymore. The pleasure in her company compounded by the misery he felt because of his actions thirty years ago, felt more painful then any beating he had endured under his master's hand.

"Goodbye, Joe." She hung up the phone but he was already running down the stairwell.

"Nottingham? Where'd you go?"

He was on the street, dodging people in frantic rush to escape his own feelings.


Nov 19, 2000

I

Kenneth Irons waved goodbye to Karen Bronte as Ian drove her to the airport. It was time to pay a visit to Dominique to ensure that she left Karen alone. At least in jail Dominique wouldn't have the opportunity to avoid him.

He was shown into a room that had a glass barrier with phones on either side. Dominique was brought in wearing the drab prison garb. She saw him sitting there and immediately lost the arrogant tilt to her head. He picked up the receiver on his side. She did likewise.

"Hello, Kenneth. You've seen the news?"

"I have the Bronte girl safe," he told her. "You cannot harm her anymore."

"What do you care?" she asked, bitterly.

"Why do you care?" he returned. "She is only a blood heir, nothing more. Not a destined wielder. She is too soft, too nice," he said with mockery. "It would reject her in a second. You know this, so why did you want her dead?"

She remained silent.

"Was it to bring the real wielder to you?" He laughed. "It didn't work. Fate conspired against you, or should I say the Witchblade engineered fate. For some reason it didn't want you to challenge her."

"I need it, Kenneth. I'm starting to get old. I see more and more lines on my face. After wearing it that one time, I haven't aged. I stayed young and beautiful and important. Now, my beauty is fading and men don't--"

"It would never return to you, my dear. Sara Pezzini is the destined wielder, and there is nothing either of us can do. Time must continue on its present course. The Witchblade protects its own, even from you."

"Can't you get me out of here?"

"Yes," he paused, noting the expectant look cross her face. "But I won't. This is your punishment for trying to use Karen Bronte to get the Witchblade from Sara. You have lost." Kenneth put the phone down and walked out. Dominique could do nothing from inside a jail cell.


II

Sara accompanied Joe and Maria Siri to the airport. It felt like she was losing a big part of her past, with Joe moving so far away.

"Don't worry, Sara. We'll keep in touch. There's the phone and the Internet anytime you need to talk."

Sara let her sunglasses slide down her nose as she looked at Joe. "It won't be the same, though."

She waited as they checked in their baggage and then they meandered through the concourse toward the gates. As they got to security, Sara flashed her badge and they let her through with the Siri's. Every step seemed to make them further apart.

"Maybe we should have said goodbye at the car," Maria suggested, obviously uncomfortable with the tension.

"No. I need to say goodbye. The two of you have been like parents to me since Dad died. What kind of surrogate daughter says goodbye in a car and then drives away like it was just another day?"

Maria nodded, then slung her arm around her husband, unknowingly making Sara feel more alone than before.

They came to an intersection, when Sara thought she saw the back of Ian Nottingham's head. He seemed to be escorting a young blond woman towards customs and the international flight gates.

"Excuse me for a minute, Joe." Sara took off jogging, clutching her shoulder where the stitches were pulling. The Witchblade tingled on her wrist. Suddenly the vision of the girl with the dark hair cropped up, urging Sara to go faster.

Nottingham suddenly stopped and pivoted, gazing directly at Sara. The woman next to him did the same. She was beautiful. The tiny stab of jealousy was completely suppressed.

"Sara, you shouldn't be out so soon after getting hurt." The concern in his eyes was apparent, but so was embarrassment.

The Witchblade was alive, urging Sara to ignore Ian and talk to the woman. The woman gaped at her in stunned bewilderment. "Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Sara Pezzini."

"Karen Bronte," she responded, looking somewhat dazed. "I'm sorry I'm staring, but you look just like my grandmother. I never knew her, but she was a legend in our family."

"We must hurry if you are to catch your flight," Ian urged, pulling on Karen's arm.

"Why does she have to leave?" Sara asked, knowing that this woman was a piece of her puzzle. After finding out she was adopted, then going through the agony of being disconnected from the family with whom she had always identified, now she had a chance of possibly finding out something about her ancestry. It couldn't be an accident that it was Iron's pet that was making Karen leave town.

"I really do need to leave," Karen acknowledged. "I'm starting a new job in Paris."

"A new job?" Sara questioned. "Did Kenneth Irons find it for you?"

"Yes," Karen acknowledged. "He's been such a help. Listen, give me your phone number, and once I get settled, I'll call you."

Sara brightened at the idea. She took out a piece of paper, and wrote down her address and her number. "Here." She handed it to the other woman.
Nottingham seemed anxious to get moving. "I'll see you later, Sara."

"Thank you, Sara," Karen responded after sliding the paper inside her pocket. "I look forward to getting to know you," she smiled, looking genuinely glad.

Sara turned away and slowly made her way back to the Siris.

She never saw Ian Nottingham skillfully remove the paper from inside Karen's coat.


November 20, 2000

I

Ian opened the limo door. Kenneth Irons slid out of the parked car and without a glance in Ian's direction went to stand near a crop of trees in the Fairview Cemetery. Ian shut the door and followed his master respectfully, three paces behind.

Bruno Dante was being laid to rest with the full pomp and ceremony due to a respected police captain. Sara, in her dress uniform, was standing between her partners, Danny Woo and Jake McCarty. Ian let his eyes feast upon his lady. Despite her injuries, she looked magnificent.

"Yes, Ian." Kenneth broke into his daydreams. "She *is* striking. A woman in the full bloom of her beauty and power, but there are so many of those. What is it, do you think, about Sara Pezzini that has attracted the Witchblade?"

Ian bowed his head further, but his eyes remained on the wielder. "Her courage. Concealed vulnerability." His words escaped before he could stop them. The regret flashed across his face.

"It's okay, Ian. I don't begrudge you your passion. Sara is able to invoke that in most men, even me at times." Kenneth laughed condescendingly. "But never forget. We must learn how to control her."

"Even with Cassandra the witch lurking nearby?"

"You don't really believe that, do you? There are no such things as witches, although I think she has tasted the Witchblade's power."

Ian disagreed; she was a witch, of sorts. He had witnessed her mind control abilities as both observer and participant. His thoughts naturally regressed back in time to when Joan of Arc had been at the height of her powers. With Sara's form in front of him, his mind instead saw Jeannette at the crowning of King Charles. Her exaltation at her accomplishment was written all over her face. At that time, Joan of Arc was at the height of her power and popularity.

Faces of other wielders passed before his eyes. Each reigned supreme at one point in her life and then fought tenaciously to achieve the same glory once more. Some did, others didn't. Would Sara be able to harness the Witchblade and truly make it a part of herself, or would fate and circumstance destroy her in the process? Then the most horrible thought of all: would his master's machinations induce the witch Cassandra to reverse time so that none of them would exist?

Ian swallowed thickly, then let his eyes feast once more upon the woman from his dreams. At least he had today. He had no business wishing for more.


II

Sara walked into her apartment, worn out from the ceremony. Dante was buried, minus a head. Gallo was dead, a confession linking him to both her father's and Maria's murders. The White Bulls had been disassembled, thanks to Jake and his FBI friends. Everything had been tidied up, except her life. It was still a mess. All through the funeral, she kept having flashes of another funeral, this one featuring Danny as the corpse. It was the time reversal Cassandra had alluded to. Something had happened that caused Danny's death, but Sara had prevented it this time around. What could it have been?
How was she ever to tell the difference between reality and her imagination? All her visions seemed so real.

"The Witchblade is real." She spoke aloud, stroking the metal bracelet, feeling its warmth flow into her palm. "I'm real," she added.

Ian stepped out from the shadows. "Believe in the Witchblade, Sara. It believes in you."

His entreaty struck a nerve, a loose memory. She looked own at her wrist and saw the swirling colors, hypnotizing her. When she looked up again,
Nottingham was gone.


Epilogue

Methos entered Le Blues Club and took a seat at an empty table. There were only a few patrons, but it was still early. Joe was up on stage, strumming his guitar, although no one paid him any attention. Bar keepers were busy wiping glasses, stocking shelves and filling snack bowls. The few people who were seated, nursed their drinks and talked to their companions.

Only Methos was alone. A waitress came over to take his order. He asked for a pitcher of beer and a glass. Joe seemed to have a sixth sense, for when Methos spoke the word beer, the old Watcher looked up and let a wide grin cross his face. Unfortunately, it was chased away by a scowl as Joe set his guitar down and made his way over to the table.

"Where in the hell have you been?" he asked grumpily.

Methos felt glad to be home. It was nice being missed. "I thought you'd know. Don't you Watchers record everything?"

"How could I record--" Joe paused as a thought occurred to him. "You were with that other Watcher? The one you were looking up in the database. Who was it?" he asked impatiently.

"It doesn't matter now. It's all over." A warm fuzzy feeling came over him. Not only did Joe miss him, but Jake hadn't reported his presence.
Realistically he had to concede that McCarty didn't write anything in case he was found to be in collusion with one Immortal in the death of a second Immortal. That went against all the Watcher rules. That got Methos into wondering who was recorded as taking Bruno Dante's head.

"But where'd you go?" Joe asked again, refusing to be put off.

"Had to take care of something." Methos decided to throw out a bone. "It concerned Cassandra. Would you believe we worked together for the greater good of the world?"

"You were looking up Cassandra?" Joe sounded outraged. "You told me--"

"Relax. Cassandra was a surprise. Believe me, I was quite shocked to run into her. I really did look up a Watcher."

"Who?" Joe demanded.

Methos was unsure whether to tell him the truth. Part of him rebelled against the thought, but another part was worried that something might happen to Sara, and Jake might need to contact him again. Going against habit, he replied bluntly, "Jake McCarty." Then he abruptly changed the subject. "How's MacLeod? Been in any trouble lately?"

Joe obviously sensing that Methos wouldn't be more forthcoming, answered the question. "He's been helping Amanda find a teacher for Nick Wolfe."

"That's good, as long as he doesn't look in my direction." Methos took a swallow from his beer. "Why don't you go play some more? Maybe something a bit more upbeat. After all, I just saved the world."

Joe grunted, and went up to the stage and resumed playing. Methos smiled in satisfaction. Nothing beat drinking good beer, and listening to his friend play some excellent music.

~Fin~

Return To Fiction By Title

Author's notes:
1. Joan of Arc was referred to by different names depending upon the source. She was called Jeannette in her home village and Jehanne at the French court. Many of the books I consulted referred to her as both Jeanne and Joan. For simplicity's sake, I have decided to call her Jeannette throughout this story to avoid confusion and make it a smoother read.
2. The main resource I consulted for Joan of Arc facts was the book: Joan of Arc by Herself and her Witnesses. Regine Peroud. 1969. Merrie Gail was a godsend when it came to some of the little things to make it sound more realistic.
3. Sara Pezzini's birthday is listed as November 18, 1970 in the comic book canon. I decided to borrow that tidbit.