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Dreams	By : Chibimom Category: S through Z > Witchblade Views: 1014 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Witchblade, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dreams
- 1
Ian
was by his side, standing in his usual subservient pose, as Irons'
mind wandered. The fire crackled quietly as he drank his scotch,
plunged deeply in his heavily upholstered chair. The glass in his
hand was heavy and he was about to drop it on the floor. He'd had a
little too much to drink, which was extremely unusual for him.
Control was paramount and being tipsy left one out of control.

The
day had been dreadful. First, on his way to an important meeting at
Vorschlag Industries, the limo had broken down with a flat tire.
Though Ian and Julian, the driver, had it changed in record time,
Irons had paced back and forth outside the car, ranting and raving
about being late to his meeting with the State Senator from Alaska,
John Fredericks. He called his office and was patched through to the
Senator. Irons apologized for the delay; he hated being late and
hated having to apologize even more.

"Sir, we are ready
to resume." Ian spoke softly to Irons and kept his head down,
hoping Irons wouldn't decide to blame him for the incident. He had
been receiving a lot of undeserved blame lately. But that was part
of his job as bodyguard, servant . . . lapdog. His blood began to
heat. Ian opened the door, and Irons entered the vehicle. Ian sat in
front next to Julian.

"I want to be there 10 minutes
ago!"

The
Vorschlag building loomed beside them as the limo pulled in next to
the sidewalk in12 minutes flat. Irons scowled, as Ian opened the
door for him. Pushing past Ian, Irons hurried inside. Ian had to
walk quickly to keep up with his employer. He entered the private
elevator just before the doors closed. Irons motioned to him and Ian
allowed the retinal scanner to identify him, then gave the voice
command to take them to the 22^nd floor.

Halfway
up, the elevator came to a jolting halt. Interior lights flickered
as the elevator car dropped a foot, shaking its two
passengers.

"What the hell is happening now?" Irons
slammed his briefcase against the elevator wall as he nearly fell.

Immediately
Ian was on the phone to the security desk. His expression was grim
as he turned to face Irons, but he kept his head down and his hands
behind his back.

"There has been a security incident,
Master. Someone tripped an alarm in your offices. The elevators
automatically shut down until Security has checked out the
situation."

Irons
howled and rolled his eyes at this explanation and back handed Ian,
leaving a red mark on his cheek. A few strands of curls came loose
from Ian's hair which was pulled back into a tail.

"You
supervised the set up of this system! Why didn't you foresee this
scenario? My private elevator should run no matter what the threat!"
Irons was too livid to see the folly in his last statement.

Ian
was silent but braced himself for another blow and was not
disappointed. He had to get them out of this elevator before Irons
leveled all of his frustrations on him. Ian called Security again
and spoke softly for a minute. The elevator started up.

"Sir,
I had them start it. I will take full responsibility for your safety
while they are investigating the incident."

"Fine,
Fine," Irons nodded his head, knowing he was in no danger with
Ian by his side.

They reached the floor containing Irons'
offices. No one was in sight as Ian stepped from the elevator, Glock
in hand, keeping Irons behind him. The floor had been evacuated.

"Please
wait here while I check the offices." Ian quickly disappeared
and reappeared in 90 seconds. "The area is clean."

Irons
threw his briefcase down on the top of his desk and called Senator
Fredericks. His assistant answered and informed Irons that
Fredericks had other appointments and would not take any calls at
this time. He suggested Irons try tomorrow after Fredericks had
returned home.

Irons' face was red as he threw the cell phone
across the room barely missing Ian who was standing by the door to
the office. Ian didn't move a muscle or change expression.

Ian's
cell phone beeped and he listed intently for a few moments. He
walked over to Irons' desk, keeping his head down and his voice low
as he explained.

"The security cameras show that Senator
Fredericks’ assistant visiting the gallery while he awaited
your arrival, Sir. He attempted to touch one of the paintings and
the alarm went off, sealing the building. The building is now free
from the lock down and the employees are returning." Ian's jaw
tightened, expecting Irons to disapprove of the explanation by
striking him.

Irons sank into his supple, leather chair and
sighed heavily. Just then, the sprinkler system erupted and the
downpour soaked him and everything in sight. He sat there, glaring
incredulously at his bodyguard who was on the phone again yelling
over the noise of the water.

"Turn it off now!"
Ian screamed into the phone. He tried to shut down the system from
the control pad on the wall next to Irons' desk, but nothing
happened. Security finally had the system codes in and the water
stopped flowing. Oddly enough, the sprinklers had only come on in
Irons' office. Ian quickly ran through all of the other systems to
make sure there would be no other surprises.

Drenched, Ian
took off his heavy wool coat and laid it across one of the wooden
chairs. He hurried over to Irons and found him staring out the
window at the New York skyline. Quietly, too quietly, he turned and
walked into a large suite which included living area, bar, sleeping
quarters, bath and a large closet with dressing room. Irons picked
out a suit and undergarments and emerged dry and crisp, looking like
the past half hour had never happened.

Walking past Ian, Irons
glared at him with icy eyes. "Get my briefcase."

2

Irons sent Ian home, on foot, in
humiliation. It was a four-hour walk even at his brisk pace. A cold
December rain soaked him to the bone, taking no pity on his already
wet body. The heavy coat was thrown across his arm and he was left
wearing only a tee shirt, a medium weight wool sweater and wool
slacks. All were soaked.

A Starbuck's sign up ahead beckoned
him like an oasis in the desert. He stepped inside just long enough
to buy a Grande Cappuccino. The hot coffee warmed his insides as he
continued on his way. Even though he was miserable, the respite from
Irons was welcomed.

Irons'
limo pulled up outside the Ritz Carlton Hotel. Julian opened his
door and Irons went inside. He hoped Senator Fredericks would honor
the luncheon date he had just set up during the drive over. He had
to talk to Fredericks before his flight left at 4 pm.

After
much cajoling the Senator agreed to honor his luncheon date with
Irons. The maitre de led Irons to a secluded booth near the rear of
the dining room. Glancing over the wine list, he picked one out,
scowling. His wine cellar had a much better selection than this
place.

Irons stood up as the maitre de led the Senator to his
table. Irritation was transferred through the Senator's hand shake.
They sat and glanced over the menu. The wine arrived and the Senator
waived off any for himself. Damn, Irons mused, don't tell me this
man does not drink during business. They ordered and Irons retrieved
some documents from his briefcase.

"I want to apologize
for the incident at my offices today. Mr. Nottingham, my head of
security, has been over zealous in protecting the art gallery. While
there were some extremely valuable pieces in there, the system did
not have to be so sensitive. My offices need not be as fortified as
Fort Knox!" Irons laughed. Seeing no response from Fredericks,
he continued. "Mr. Nottingham will be properly dealt with."

Irons began to spread the papers over the table, "As
you can see, my geologists predict if we drill here," he pointed
to various places on a map, "and here, the likelihood of hitting
oil is 93%. We just need clearances to drill in this state park."

The
Senator looked over the plans and his eyes grew dark.

"This
is what you've been harassing me about for the last few months? I
cannot make this decision on my own. If I could, I would veto the
idea. Alaska has plenty of unspoiled land, but too many drilling
rights as it is and I would never agree to drilling that close to a
major city! Did you forget to check my record on this?"

Irons'
face turned red at the accusation. Fredericks got up to leave and
Irons added, quietly, "I would be willing to pay handsomely to
anyone helping me in securing drilling rights."

The
Senator turned and hissed, "Mr. Irons, you have more money that
you could spend in many lifetimes. However, my state is not for
sale. I will pretend you never said that." He quickly left the
dining room.

Irons sighed. That went well! He would just
have to try a few of the other tricks up his sleeve.

His
meal arrived and he ate quietly, scheming, making some notes into his
voice-activated recorder, and downing the bottle of wine by
himself.

He returned to his offices to find three maintenance
men still cleaning up the water and polishing an ebony bookcase. A
new computer was in place and Billy, the kid from IT, was reloading
Irons' personal/sensitive files from the thumb drive. Non-personal
files were available from the network back up. Luckily Billy backed
up Irons' files twice daily. Since the office was stark and
metallic, except for the one bookcase, nothing else was ruined. The
drawers in his metal and glass desk were tightly sealed and no water
intruded on his personal items. His favorite leather desk chair had
been cleaned and looked no worse for the shower.

"We're
out of here now, Sir." The maintenance supervisor was glad he
didn't have to face Irons often. He didn't think he could stand his
employer's icy glare on a daily basis. They gathered up their
cleaning equipment and left.

Billy was soon finished also and
rose from a second leather chair. "That should take care of
everything, Sir. If you have any problems, let me know right away!"

"Thank you, Billy. I now appreciate the interruptions
you make daily." Irons attempted his best smile, but it still
turned into a smirk as he sat down.

"Thank you, Sir."
Billy left the office.

Irons pulled out his cell phone and
called Ian. "Where are you?"
"I am an hour from
the mansion, Sir." His teeth chattered slightly from the cold
and he hoped Irons did not pick up on it. The cold and rain made his
whole body shiver. He would have been warmer if he had been
instructed to run home, but he was told to walk.

"Your
coat was drenched?" Irons felt a fleeting pang of guilt for
making Ian walk home in the freezing rain. "I want you to catch
a cab for the remainder of your trip."

"Sir, my
punishment needs to be completed," Ian said. He knew he had
failed Irons in the set up of the office security system. The
punishment was his to endure. "However, if I may be allowed to
jog the rest of the way . . ."

"Yes, Nottingham, you
may. When you arrive home, take a hot shower to warm yourself.
You'll do me no good if you come down with something." Irons
terminated the call.

An hour later, Irons decided there was
really nothing more to accomplish at the office so he called for his
limo. He was walking down the stairs toward the street when he heard
something whiz past his ears. The sidewalk was hard and cold as he
hit the ground rolling. Julian appeared at his side, brandishing a
Beretta, looking toward the area from which the shot came. Several
more rounds were fired at them and he fired back while pushing Irons
into the car. In a crouch, Julian circled the car, got in and sped
away.

Irons
was shaken. He had been shot at before but Ian had always been there
to protect him. Having a bodyguard who could catch bullets in his
gloved hands tended to make him feel safe. Ian would not have allowed
the gunman to live long enough to fire the second round. Why was it
he had sent Ian home? He buried his face in his hands.

Speeding
through the city streets, Julian backtracked and turned onto many
different side streets to be sure no one followed. Running several
red lights nearly caused a couple of accidents, but Julian expertly
avoided them.

Irons sat in the back trying to regain his
composure. The attempt on his life left him outraged.

"Mr.
Nottingham, shots were fired (pause) no he wasn't hurt, just shaken
up," Julian spoke into his cell phone. (Pause) I'm fine too.
We'll be there in 15 minutes."

Ian met the car as it
pulled into the garage. Julian quickly gave Ian all the details of
the incident. Ian's jaw set clamped down in fury.

"I'll
take over from here," Ian said. "Thank you for saving Mr.
Irons' life. Please help Mr. Irons inside."

Julian
nodded.

Ian disappeared in an instant before Irons could
instruct him otherwise. Who would dare attempt to kill Irons? If he
had only been there. He knew it had to be the White Bulls. No one
else but the police would dare fire on Irons in broad daylight in a
very public place. Irons had terminated his association with the
group a few months ago. Their current leader did not want to be in
Irons' back pocket. Ian went inside to get his weapons and a dry
coat. Ian sped off in his black BMW before Irons entered the great
room.

_________________________________

Irons' dark
assassin returned home in three hours. Wet, cold, but successful in
his task, Ian entered the mansion. In sharp contrast to the weather
outside, the great room was warm and inviting. Ian took both of his
dark coats and carried them to the laundry room. They needed to go
to the cleaners. Irons' coat was already in the cleaning basket. The
dirt on the coat nearly seared Ian's hand as he touched it. His eyes
tightened. Everything had been 'taken care of' now, but he should
have been there when it happened. If he could only perform his
duties to his Master's expectations, he wouldn't constantly be
incurring his wrath. He wouldn't have been sent home like a
worthless dog. He would have been at Irons' side. Julian's training
kept Irons safe this time. What about next time?

"I am
sorry I was not there, Master." Ian voice was plaintive, his
stance subservient.

"I'm
the one who sent you home. You have nothing to be sorry for."
Irons looked up from his comfortable leather chair after finishing
the last glass of wine and pushed the empty bottle back into the
bucket. "Fetch me a glass with ice and the Scotch, my pet."
He removed the already loosened his tie.

Ian
blushed. He hated being called 'pet'. The crystal glass tinkled as
he handed it to Irons and stood next to his chair.

Irons
filled the glass once and threw back the contents. The smooth liquid
slid down his throat warming it along the way. He threw back a
second, third, and fourth before he allowed himself to sip the
contents, to savor the smoky taste.

Ian's hand resisted only
slightly as Irons reached for it, removed the glove and gently raised
it to caress his cheek. Ian's hand was soft, but strong and smelled
like the rich leather which always encased it. Ian steeled himself.
He very seldom came in contact with anyone's flesh, and he felt
hollow at the implications of this intimate touch. Irons released
Ian's hand and he quickly put on his glove.

Sometime later,
the bottle of Scotch was three quarters empty when Irons dropped his
glass to the floor, asleep. Ian carried him upstairs and carefully
removed his clothes and dressed him in grey silk pajamas. Irons
mumbled something unintelligible and stroked Ian's hair which was
still damp from his hot shower. He fell back to sleep when Ian
covered him with the vivid blue velvet comforter.

Taking his
place at the doorway, Ian settled in for the evening. He had already
been up for 60 hours. Another 8 would be easily endured. Ian kept
his head up and gaze level. His right hand held on tightly to his
Glock and in his left hand he gripped his katana. No one would harm
his Master tonight.

3

Irons'
mind raced, not able to grab onto a single thought, a single image.
Intoxicated dreams are often like that. His mind finally reached out
and pulled him into a familiar setting.

Ellswood, the country
manor, stood at the top of a distant hill. Its grandeur could be
recognized even at this distance. Kenneth found himself on a small
but powerful chestnut Arabian gelding. The horse was side stepping
nervously, but he was an excellent horseman. The foxhounds were
baying loudly; their quarry's refuge in a hollow log would not last
much longer. He looked to his father, astride a large gray
stallion.

"Father, can't we please let the fox go?"
He didn't want to see the fox shot by the hunters. It wasn't fair.
They had chased the poor thing for many miles and it had to be near
exhaustion. This was not his idea of fair play.

Sir Geoffrey
Irons looked over at his son, of 12 years and frowned. A fox hunt
was all about rounding up the vermin foxes and killing them; in a
civilized way of course. Kenneth's large blue eyes pleaded with him
and he acquiesced. The boy had a kind soul, taking after his
beloved, departed wife, Jane. Kenneth must be taught that life is
not fair and one must fight for everything lest it is taken away.
But, for today, the fox need not give up his life for that particular
life lesson. Geoffrey called to the others to bring in the hounds;
there would be no killing today.

Riding
quietly back to the manor, Kenneth knew this was his last fox hunt
for quite awhile. In three days he was to travel to France to
continue his education. While looking forward to the adventure, he
would miss his father and his friends. He was well liked and had
many friends among the Lancashire elite.

A stableboy took the
horses from father and son and they entered the manor. The main
house was opulent but tastefully decorated. The home was light and
airy inside. Jane had hated dark dreary mansions with heavy dark
tapestries and furniture. The furnishings she chose, while not in the
height of style, were true to her desires.
Geoffrey could not
believe she had been dead for over four years now. It seemed like
yesterday. A beautiful portrait of her hung above the grand marble
staircase which faced the entryway. Geoffrey was glad he had
commissioned the painting before her death. They were opposites in
appearance; he was dark complected with raven black hair and Jane a
shimmering white blonde with the fairest of complexions and intense
sapphire eyes. Kenneth was the male image of his mother.

The
two went to their rooms and removed their hunt attire. The red
jackets and black hats were set aside for the maids to tend to.
Kenneth kept his white breeches and white ruffled shirt, but added a
gray jacket as he went downstairs.

"Becky, what's for
dinner?" He ran into the kitchen.
"Roast pig with
apples and carrots." Becky knew this was one of Kenneth's
favorites. She loved the boy as her own and was trying to fix all
his favorite dishes before he left for France.

Kenneth hugged
Becky and ran back into the house. Another maid was setting the
formal dining table with the best china. He ran straight into
Phillip, the butler.

"Master Kenneth, your father does
not approve of you running in the house. It is not gentlemanly."
Phillip held him at arms length and straightened the collar on his
shirt. "I suggest you go quietly to the dining room and wait
for your father. I am on my way to announce dinner."

"Yes,
Sir." Kenneth replied quietly, and walked slowly to the dining
room.

4

Ian
turned to watch as Irons tossed in his bed. He walked to the side of
the bed and carefully pulled up the comforter that Irons had thrown
aside. He was having a dream, but Ian saw no reason to wake him.
Waking him might bring anger and punishment. Irons was growing
calmer, but his Rapid Eye Movement (REM) hinted that he was in a deep
dream state.

Returning to the doorway, Ian took up his post.

_______________________

Kenneth
had been at school in France for three years now. He visited his
father at Christmas and for a few weeks during the summer, but they
now centered his life on the Continent. He had learned everything a
gentleman should know: music, literature, art; also things a man
should know.

His older friend, Raul, instructed him in lessons
of the heart. Raul introduced Kenneth to the young woman who would
take his virginity. She was a cook's cute daughter from a house in
the outskirts of Paris. Raul instructed her to be gentle with the
younger boy as it was his first time. She giggled and stepped into
the stable where Kenneth was waiting, nervously.

Kenneth was
beginning to lose his nerve, when the woman walked in. He nearly
drooled as she slowly removed her clothes. She reached her arm
around Kenneth's neck and pulled him into the straw and kissed him.
Unbuttoning his pants she reached in and stroked his erection.
Kenneth gasped and nearly came right then. She moaned and straddled
her hips above him, grinding, teasing. Holding onto his hips, she
pushed down, enveloping him in wet tightness. Groaning, Kenneth
bucked up into her. Riding him, lustfully, her movements became
faster. Kenneth sloppily kissed her and devoured her breasts. Soon
after it started, it was over. He burst inside her, sending
sensational shock waves directly to his brain.

He
lay there, spent, while Raul tossed a few coins into the girl's hand
and sent her on her way.

"Well?"
Raul asked, stretching out on the straw beside Kenneth.

"That
was definitely better than when I do it myself," Kenneth
laughed, buttoning up his pants.

The
lusty exploits of Kenneth Irons were soon well known throughout
Paris. Even Raul couldn't keep up with him. Kenneth quickly moved
on to 'good girls', daughters of Paris' elite. He was quite the
charming seducer of gentile young ladies as well as frustrated wives
of the rich, whose husbands traveled extensively. Occasionally he
would be caught, but his money could buy both outraged fathers and
deflowered virgins.

Kenneth
also discovered that he enjoyed men nearly as much as women. It was
easy to find young boys with hairless faces and bodies who were
willing to be seduced for a few silver coins.
As a result of his
nightly exploits, Kenneth often had to defend his honor in fencing
matches. His athleticism and grace won him most of his matches;
determination won him the remainder. Kenneth never lost.

Late
one dark night, Kenneth was on his way back to school after spending
the evening with Raul and his mistress, Michelle, when three men
grabbed him. They dragged him into an alley which stank of urine and
vomit. Fear rose in his throat. He heard rats skittering along the
walls and his boots slid through . . . he didn't want to think about
it.

"Let me pass, or you will be sorry." He tried
to sound older than he was and unafraid. His hair shined softly in
the yellow gaslight that illuminated the end of the alley.

The
men laughed as they held him still in the muck while one of them tore
Kenneth's clothes from his body.

"We hear you like boys."
The largest man dropped his pants and began to caress Kenneth's ass.
We'll see if you like grown ones!"

Real
fear welled up in him now. "I can pay you any amount you want
if you just stop this now!"

"We
don't want money, we want your tender ass." With that the man
plunged into Kenneth sending searing pain throughout his being.
Agony. He screamed, but the other men covered his mouth. They
forced him to his hands and knees as they brutalized him. Each took
a turn, ripping his insides until he bled. Bites up and down his
back oozed drops of blood. One of them grew hard again and attacked
Kenneth's mouth. Gagging, he bit down hard, sending the man howling,
holding his crotch. Big mistake. They kicked and beat him until
Raul, having heard Kenneth's initial scream found his friend, entered
the alley and fired his pistol. The men fled, but Raul hit two of
them.

"My God, Kenneth," Raul cradled Kenneth in his
lap as he removed his coat and wrapped it around the younger man.
"It will be all right."

Kenneth sobbed
uncontrollably. Raul retrieved his pants and helped him into them.
Kenneth did not want to return to school so Raul took him to the home
of his mistress.

"Raul, what happened to Mr. Irons?
Come in and lay him on the bed." Michelle filled a large basin
with hot water from the pot which always hung in the fire.

Together they cleaned Kenneth's wounds. Raul took a bottle
of brandy and swabbed the bite marks on Kenneth's back. He lurched
up and cried out, but Raul's strong hands kept him on the bed.
Michelle gently wiped the blood down the backs of his legs, and he
cried out again, this time in shame.

"Please, no . . ."
Kenneth murmured. He tried to wiggle away from her touch.

"Mr.
Irons," she said, "I have seen many a male ass in my life.
While yours may be rather nice, it's still an ass."

Raul
laughed loudly and Kenneth managed a slight smile. As his body raged
in pain, his mind vowed to find his rapists and deal them slow
deaths. He fell asleep as Michelle cleaned his face.

5

Irons
thrashed in his bed, remembering the horrid deaths he and Raul
bestowed on the three rapists. He moaned and Ian glanced his way,
but Irons was soon still again.

___________________________

Kenneth
grew cold after his rape. He seldom gave of himself; always took.
His became ruthless in his business endeavors. Money his father sent
him was invested in cargo ships that sailed to America. He could
undercut other maritime merchants and still his investments would
return ten folds. America beckoned to him, but there were still
things to see and learn in Europe. And there were still a lot of
liquor and sex to be had.
One evening when Kenneth was returning
late from hours of drinking and whoring, one of his teachers, Mr.
Alverado, caught him by the arm as he was entering the school's
sleeping quarters.

"Mr. Alverado," Kenneth's speech
was slurred and he stank of sex and spilled beer.

"Irons,
you are a disgrace to this school. The other teachers may fear your
father's money and power, but I do not. I will not allow a graduate
of this school to bring shame down upon it. You will be graduating
in a few months, so now is the time to take action."

He
started pulling at Kenneth's arm, leading away from the dorm
entrance. Kenneth tried to free himself, but Alverado was too
strong, his long fingernails bit into the boy's wrist. He dragged
Kenneth around the back of the school and on toward the small chapel
at the edge of the property.

"Oh,
we're going for a few Hail Mary's?" Kenneth muttered, laughing.

His optimism left him as Alverado dragged him to the front
doors of the chapel. Unlocking the large, heavy doors, he pulled one
open. The hinges screamed in protest at the intrusion. They
obviously hadn't been opened in quite some time.

"Where
are you taking me?"

Kenneth
kept tugging at the strong hand that wrapped around his wrist, but it
wouldn't budge. He couldn't see anything, but felt a rope tying his
hands behind him and shoving him into a pew.

"You
will spend the night here, repenting your evil ways. In the morning,
I will bring you a visitor who is anxious to meet you."

Alverado
pulled Kenneth up off the pew and led him to the back of the chapel,
There he tied the rope to a chair which was bolted into the floor.
After he was satisfied that Kenneth could not escape, Alverado left
him in the dark.

Kenneth would not give his teacher the
satisfaction of crying out. But he wondered what a monk would want
with him. He was angry and tried to loosen his bonds, but grew tired
and eventually fell asleep.

6

The
next morning Alverado and another man approached Kenneth. Light
peeked through the dirty windows barely lighting the tiny church.
The smaller man was a monk, his head and face obscured by a dark
hood.
"This is Mr. Irons," Alverado introduced the monk
to the boy. "Mr. Irons, this is Brother Samuel."

Alverado
untied Kenneth's ankles and was thanked with an attempted kick to his
groin.

"Do that again and you will be bound and gagged,"
Alverado warned. He turned back to the monk and they began to speak
quietly.

Kenneth could hear very little. His wrists were raw
from being bound throughout the night and he was cold. His temper
was about to flare again, but he fought to control it. It had no
effect on Alverado. Sighing, Kenneth listened carefully, trying to
pick up on the conversation between the two men.

"Well,
is he the boy foretold in the prophesies?" Alverado and Brother
Samuel looked carefully through a large book before which Kenneth had
not seen the night. The book was very old; the pages were brittle
and the monk took great care to turn them.

"I'm not sure.
The next Protector of the Witchblade should not have been born yet.
But there are similarities. The prophecy says to look for a knight
of darkness from the Celtic Iles. An iron man comes to France to
garner knowledge and to seek guidance in matters concerning the
Witchblade. It has been lost to us since the time of Joan, but will
be reclaimed. To its wielder it will bring great power. Power to
conquer the world. Or release it from its shackles. But only a
woman can harness its powers."

What
rubbish, Kenneth thought. Was he supposed to be the 'man of
darkness'? They'd best release him soon. He would tell his father
of this injustice and the school would be closed. He shut his eyes.
Father would buy the school just to close it. And he would have the
pleasure of putting a sword right through Alverado's heart.

The
monk came near Kenneth and studied his features. "This boy is
light haired and pale skinned, not dark like the prophecy
reads."

"He has a dark nature. He drinks and whores
and starts fights in town. He brings shame to the school and his
father's name"

"A vision in a dream brought me here
to see this boy, Samuel said. "There must be a reason."

Kenneth wanted to see the book. Wanted to see what this was
all about.

"May I see it?" Kenneth asked motioning
his head toward his wrists which were still bound behind his
back.

"Try anything foolish . . ." Alverado
warned.

"I just want to see the book." Kenneth was
released and he walked over to the altar to look into the pages.

Its
illustrations and golden script were magnificent. Obviously, the
writers of this book had been highly skilled. Kenneth knew he had
never seen anything like it and he had seen many valuable books in
his lifetime. He carefully turned a few pages when he came face to
face with an illustration of a magnificent gauntlet. Jewels studded
its length and just behind its talons, a large ruby-red stone swirled
with yellows and violets. This was the Witchblade? Next to the
gauntlet, was a drawing of a modest silver cuff embedded with the red
stone in its center. What did this mean?

The pages revealed
illustrations of women through the ages, each wearing a form of the
bracelet. And, always, by her side a man whose face was obscured in
shadows. Alverado and Samuel watched in excitement as Kenneth paged
through the book in wonderment.

This was insane! Suddenly, he
looked up at the two men with a scornful look.

"You think
that I am supposed to know where this weapon is?" He scoffed.
"I have never seen it before these illustrations. Let me go,
now!"

Samuel closed the book and picked it up.

"Mr.
Irons must not be the protector of which the book speaks."
Samuel said.

"Now, Alverado, I will kill you for my
honor. Tomorrow, noon, I challenge you to a match with blades. The
match is to be to the death." Kenneth turned and walked quickly
out of the chapel.
_______________________

Irons
whimpered quietly in his bed and Ian glanced back at him. He was
still covered so Ian didn't disturb him. The liquor had given him a
fitful sleep. Just another reason, Irons did not allow Ian to drink
alcohol. He would abstain anyway, too often witnessing the
consequences of over indulgence. The heavy watch at the end of his
silver chain showed 2:36 am. A lot of night was still left. Ian
cleared his head and resumed his stance.

7

Five
years after Kenneth killed Alverado in the sword fight, he was still
searching for the monk with the Witchblade manuscript. He sent
telegraphs by land and cables by water, but to no avail. No one had
seen Samuel or the book Kenneth described.
At 25, Kenneth was a
tall, slender, but powerfully built man. He wore the finest tailored
clothing and kept his blonde hair slicked back which was the fashion
in 1915. Europe was in the throes of war, and this Great War
partially curtailed Kenneth's search for the monk.

Sir
Geoffrey disapproved of his son's obsession with this monk and his
ancient relic. He wanted Kenneth to come home and attend to the
affairs of the estate. Geoffrey was not well; a minor cough had
turned deadly and he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Kenneth sent
terse letters informing his father that he had no intentions of
returning to the manor. Much of the manor's staff left in fear of
contracting the disease. Becky stayed on to take care of Geoffrey,
feeling a sense of duty; she really had no where else to go. None of
the other households would hire her because of where she came from.
No one would risk bringing TB into their homes. Sir Geoffrey passed
on within the year.

Kenneth had not been home in six years and
he had no intention of returning now. He sold the manor and gave
Becky a sum of money intended to keep her in modest style for the
rest of her life. He had loved Becky like a mother. The others were
let go with nothing for their years of service. Kenneth had grown
cruel.

Information about the Witchblade always seemed to be
just one step ahead of him. He found illustrations in ancient
Egyptian papyrus', paintings of women brandishing the blade in
grandiose cathedrals as well as small country monasteries. Many
books had references to the gauntlet. Every reference found was
purchased, whatever the cost. Once purchased, he shipped the items
back to his offices in London. There, teams of highly paid
translators tackled the texts researching every nuance of language
and illustration.

No one could, or would, tell him where the
actual blade could be found. As the War ravaged Europe, Kenneth
sailed to America to take up residence in a beautiful penthouse
apartment in New York City. Acquiring a munitions plant, Kenneth
secretly sold weapons to the Germans, adding to his vast fortune. He
handled the details himself, to limit the number of people he needed
to keep his secret. Government officials who sniffed too closely
were easily bought off. Kenneth had no loyalties.

Kenneth
built a beautiful manor outside the City to allow him a respite from
city life. He worked directly with the architectural firm in
designing his future home which was to include a large garage to
house his growing collection of automobiles. A stable was built, but
the horses kept there would be for recreational use and not
transportation. Much of the stone and other building materials were
imported as well as the rare woods and marble which graced the
interior. Crystal chandeliers and other fixtures were hand blown
locally by an internationally known artist. Modern plumbing,
electricity, and telephones rounded out the convenience
requirements.

The completed mansion was understated in its
elegance. New York's elite could not wait for Kenneth to host his
first party in his new home. And they were not disappointed. The
shimmer

of
gowns and tuxedos danced off the chandeliers and crystal framed
mirrors in the Great Room. A fire raged in the fireplace, adding to
the warm atmosphere as the guests slowly got drunk.

All the
while, Kenneth was bedding the wife of New York's mayor. Besides
being a wealthy businessman, he was also known for his dalliances
with other men's wives. They were both beautiful and safe. His
money allowed him to buy any errors in judgment he might make.

Left
with memories of his savage rape, his damaged psyche sometimes craved
rough sex. Willing partners of both genders could easily be bought
for his passion. Exerting pain on others titillated him and
receiving pain made him feel alive. He grew to be a cold man.

_____________________________

During
the '20s, Kenneth became restless. His investments in scientific
endeavors were paying off with new medicines to help fight diseases.
A not quite so accidental development of a drug, eventually called
penicillin, allowed him to control business and world leaders across
the globe. The general use of the drug would not occur for another 20
years after its development by another scientific team. Limiting its
use to secure 'business deals' earned him tremendous amounts of money
. . . and enemies.

Kenneth hired his first bodyguard, Karl,
a husky German who was deadly with both his hands and his guns.
Laura, Kenneth's long-term mistress lived in the New York penthouse.
He was not in love with her. Laura looked pretty on his arm when he
needed a companion for business dinners or parties. Kenneth also
used her as a tool to banish his frustrations when needed. Laura's
physical needs were taken care of; lavish wardrobes spending money,
and acceptance by New York's society elite kept her satisfied. Her
own sexual escapades were allowed as long as she was discreet.

The
underworld of opium and dark sex called to Kenneth. He never relied
too heavily on the drug, never became addicted, but did become
addicted to the sex. Part of Karl's duties were to secure appropriate
sexual partners. Women, girls, men, boys, it didn't matter, as long
as they liked pain. Occasionally the orgies would last for days.
Then Kenneth's money cleaned up the filth.

Finally, he grew
tired of Laura. When he entered the penthouse one evening and found
her with a new lover, Kenneth so was enraged that he beat the man
nearly to death. Turning on Laura, he backhanded her, knocking her
to the floor. She was still naked and sobbing when Kenneth icily
told her to get out, that very night; her things would be packed and
sent to wherever she wished. He never wanted to see her again, and he
didn't.

Business now took up most of his waking hours.
Kenneth invested much of his money in his own companies, and hoarded
cash in vaults throughout the U.S. A distrust of banks kept him his
fortune after the Crash of 1929. Sensing turmoil in Europe, again,
Kenneth increased production at his munitions plants.

His
speculative purchase of mineral rights around the Arabian coast,
during the mid-'30s brought critical admonition from financial houses
around the world. No one laughed when Kenneth's drilling company
produced two of the largest oil deposits ever found. Building a
refinery in the states, provided thousands of jobs for the unemployed
during the Depression, enhancing his image as an emerging
philanthropist.

A
small but well equipped laboratory was built in Atlanta in 1936 to
experiment with duplicating animals using only a few of their cells.
The best research scientists were hired and vast amounts of money
went into the research. His labs duplicated a frog in 1943.
Duplicating mammals, and perhaps someday humans, seemed within the
realm of possibility. This research was very important to Kenneth
and he poured more money into it. Discovery and mapping of silky
strands of a substance nicknamed 'The Twisted Ladder of Life',
eventually led to a rabbit named "Bunny" which was an
identical copy of her mother. Selfishly, this achievement was kept
secret as Kenneth's team now worked to duplicate a human. After
WWII, German scientists with questionable credentials were added to
the payroll to help with the project.

Yet he was still
restless. Even the richest man on earth can feel bored. There had
been no news on the Witchblade for 15 long years, despite the vast
numbers of people he dedicated to the search. His vast fortune could
buy him anything on earth . . . except the Witchblade. He became a
bitter man.

8

Irons
woke suddenly, his eyes wide, disturbed at how vivid this dream was.
Ian was immediately at his side, kneeling on one leg, asking if Irons
needed anything. An unexpected shove sent Ian sprawling. Ian
frowned, knowing his Master could not see his expression in the
darkness. He checked his watch again . . . it was only 3:27 am.
Would the night never end? Irons turned on his side and fell asleep
again.

_____________________________________

One
afternoon in late 1940, Kenneth received a phone call from one of his
detectives, Matthews, in Geneva. An SS officer by the name of Stolz
had recently confiscated a collection of priceless art, out of
France.

A generous bribe gained Matthews access to the
inventory sheet. The collection included a painting of Joan of Arc,
in battle, wearing a strange gauntlet, listing #16, and a silver
bracelet embedded with a large ruby, listing #26. The collection was
on its way to Berlin by rail. Kenneth instructed Matthews to follow
the collection and use any amount of money needed to view the pieces
himself.

Elation filled Kenneth's being as he quickly made
plans to fly to Europe. He had citizenship in the U.S., Canada and
Great Britain and kept his Passports current. The U.S. passport
seemed to be the best choice since the States hadn't entered the war
yet. Large bribes quickly bought him Visas to Switzerland and
Germany. His own Lockheed Vega could be readied within the hour.
This was it . . . he'd been waiting his entire adult life for this
discovery and he would be in Berlin in four days. The Germans could
name any price for the artifacts and Kenneth would pay it. He could
almost feel the gauntlet in his hands as he called for his assistant
to pack two suitcases for him.

The plane ride was long and
exhausting even with all the added luxuries. Reviewing the many
documents collected through the years, Kenneth's blood rushed. He
couldn't sleep. The weather was not cooperating and the plane rocked
and bucked, making Kenneth nauseous. Refueling in Nova Scotia,
Greenland, Scotland, and Paris, the plane made its final landing,
thankfully, in Geneva. A quick cab ride to the train station, and
Kenneth boarded the First Class car. A steward carried his luggage
and showed him to his compartment.

Exhaustion
brought sleep. When he woke, 13 hours later, the steward had put
away his things. Starving, he ordered dinner delivered to his
compartment. After eating, he lay back on the bed, the train's
rolling movement and loud whine beckoned to him back to
sleep.

Matthews met him at the train station in Berlin at 4:30
pm. the following day. Exiting the train brought Kenneth face to
face with his first uniformed German guards. A particularly fouled
mood one studied his passport and visa, accepted the 100 U.S. dollars
tucked in the pages and allowed him through.

A driver
carried Kenneth's bags to the car Matthews had hired, at considerable
expense. Such luxuries as limos were just not available due to the
war.

"Mr. Irons, I have just learned that the collection
has not left the warehouse since its delivery three days ago."
Matthews said as the car drove off. The streets were filled with
soldiers and tanks

Tell
me what you saw. I want every detail. Iron's was breathless in
anticipation.

Matthew's
description of the gauntlet was exactly as the manuscripts had
depicted. Joan, on horseback, her right arm encased in a heavy, armor
gauntlet set with jewels and vicious talons which held her fingers.
At the end, a sword emerged from just above the talons. The actual
bracelet had been shown in many different forms, so Irons was not
concerned when Matthew's described a small, delicate twisting of
silver holding the large ruby-red stone in its center.

Checkpoints
every couple of blocks made the journey to his hotel slow and
slightly disturbing. Of course the War was full blown here and the
signs were everywhere. Irons was glad he could use his American
credentials for the trip.

Much
of the hotel had been taken over by the SS, but it still serviced a
few civilians. Speaking perfect high German, Irons checked in and
retired to his suite. He tipped the bellboy and concierge heavily in
case he needed discreet help in the future. Matthews would be
staying in one of the suite's guest bedrooms.

Sitting
back in the large comfortable sofa, Kenneth beckoned Matthews to sit
next to him. A silver tray of sandwiches and fruit graced the
cocktail table and an opened bottle of wine peeked out of a standing
silver wine bucket next to his arm. Kenneth poured the wine and
handed Matthews a glass.

"I have not been able to arrange
for you to see the items, Sir." Matthews voice grew quite as he
sipped the wine. "Whisperings hint that the collection is for
Hitler himself. However, an SS officer Stolz has his eyes on the
bracelet for his mistress. That is all I have found out."

"If
the bracelet is genuine, it will be mine." Kenneth's voice left
not doubt that he would do anything to obtain the Witchblade.

9

It
was too late. The witchblade already graced the wrist of the lovely
green-eyed brunette waltzing around the dance floor with Officer
Stolz. Kenneth had paid for this extravagant party in the hotel's
ballroom. Even during war time, the profligate use of money can
fetch a legion of gilded Society attendees. And German
Officers.

The green-eyed beauty's name was Elizabeth Bronte,
an American, who had obviously stolen the heart of this SS officer.
Or his dick. Looking quite handsome in his tuxedo, Kenneth walked
onto the dance floor and cut in on Stolz.

"May I have
this dance?" Kenneth bowed and smiled his biggest smile, his
blue eyes flashing.

Stolz was not happy, but handed Elizabeth
off to the party's host and left the dance floor.

"Are
you an American? Elizabeth asked. "Your accent is hard to
place."
"I have lived in America for a great many years,
but I was born in Britain. I left as a teen to be educated in
Europe, so my accent is a combination of many locales." God she
was beautiful. She was wearing a lovely gown of emerald green brocade
with pearl seed stitching across the bodice. It was low cut in front
allowing Kenneth a generous view of the tops of her breasts. Best of
all, she was wearing the silver bracelet with the ruby red stone.

The band finished the waltz and immediately began another.
They whirled around the floor oblivious to the hoards around them.
As they danced, the stone began to swirl in shades of blood red and
sun yellow. Kenneth had a difficult time keeping his eyes on his
dance partner and not on her bracelet.

"What brings you
to Berlin, Mr. Irons? It's not the safest place to be with the
war."

"I came in search of an art relic, one that
has been missing since the time of Joan of Arc." He left that
cryptically dangling, staring again at the swirling
stone.

"Oh?"

"Yes, a magical gauntlet
which has protected and destroyed as far back as the dawn of written
history. Perhaps before." Kenneth watched closely for her
reaction. Did she know the object of his desire was there, swirling,
on her wrist? He reached out his fingers and barely brushed over the
swirling stone. His hand jerked back in pain as blisters quickly
formed on his finger tips; the Hell Stone had burned his flesh.

"Excuse me, Miss Bronte," he winced in pain and led
her off the dance floor. "I must attend to something."

Almost running, Kenneth bound up the hotel stairs, forgoing
the slow elevator, and rushed into his suite. He yanked the bottle
of wine out of the ice bucket and plunged his hand into the icy
water. Damn, it hurt. His touch had been a grazing one. What if he
had tried to remove it from her arm? Would he still have his hand?

The overstuffed upholstered chair beckoned and he sank down
in it. Halfway around the world he had journeyed and he couldn't
even touch the witchblade? He closed his eyes and sighed.

Of
course, the witchblade legend says the blade can only be worn by a
woman. A woman born into a long line of wielders, one generation to
the next. Even if the blade had not surfaced between generations,
there was always a wielder born. Elizabeth must be the latest born
to wield the blade.

But, why? What was an American society
girl going to do with such a gift of power? Did she even know what
she had? Doubtful. Removing his hand from the ice, he wrapped it in
the towel next to the wine bucket. The pain had lessened, but his
fingers were badly blistered.

A knock at the door prompted
Kenneth to shout, "Who is it?"

"Matthews."

"Come
in."

Matthews entered the room with a black bag. He
looked at Kenneth's towel-wrapped hand and knelt down next to the
chair.

"I keep this around for just such occasions."
The bag spilled its contents onto the floor.

"I didn't
know you had an M.D. after you name," the remark was snide, but
Matthews ignored him.

"A person in my line of work needs
to be ready for anything." Finding the cream he was searching
for, Matthews drenched the blistered finger and wrapped sterile gauze
around it. A little tape kept the dressing tight.

"You
know, Mr. Irons, I actually saw a small whirl of smoke rise from the
stone as you touched it. It doesn't seem to like you."

"I
don't give a damn!" Kenneth screamed as he rose from the chair
and began pacing the room.

"I've
waited too many years to allow it to get away from me now. I can't
understand why it has chosen that girl! A long time ago a
monk told me that I might be this generation's protector. If I'm
supposed to protect that girl, why won't the blade let me touch it?"

The phone rang and Matthews answered. He motioned to Kenneth,
"It's for you."

He grabbed the received angrily,
"Yes?" Then, his voice softened. "I am so sorry Miss
Bronte. I suddenly remembered an item of business that needed
immediate attention. (Pause) No, I'm fine. Just a little tired
from my long trip. (Pause) I apologize profusely for my hasty exit.
I hope you will continue to enjoy the party. (Pause) Tea? But what
of Officer Stolz? (Pause) You're sure? (Pause) Fine, tomorrow, 4
p.m. the Hotel Café. I'll send my car . . . If you insist.
Please stay and enjoy the party." He hung up, thoughtfully.

"She
wants to see me tomorrow." Pointed fingers, as if in prayer,
held his chin. "Perhaps I can discover what she knows about the
bracelet."

"Or maybe she'll find out what you know.
Be careful."

"Always, Matthews, always."

10

"Matthews,"
Irons cried out as he sat up in bed, his breathing rapid. Ian leapt
to his master's side, kneeling beside the bed. Irons grabbed Ian's
strong hand and held it to his face.

"Master?" Ian
didn't quite know what to do. He lifted the glass of water to Irons'
lips and the older man knocked it away, shattering it against the
cherry paneling. Ian let Irons hold on to his arm and dropped his
gaze. He would wait for instructions.

"You
look so much like her," Irons whispered as he stared into Ian's
face. His free hand reached out to stroke the beautiful face
kneeling beside the bed. Ian blushed, but kept his eyes lowered.
Irons could feel the heat rising in Ian's cheek.

Irons
lay back in the bed and began to dream again. His grip on Ian's arm
tightened, forcing the bodyguard to remain kneeling at his
side.

______________________________

The
night's silence was shattered by the sound of shooting, followed by
sirens. Kenneth woke and went to his bedroom window, pulling the
heavy drapes back slightly so he could see. Matthews burst into the
room brandishing a PPK.

"I
don't think you'll need that in here," Kenneth continued to
stare out the small opening. It sounds like all the action is many
blocks away." He let the drapes fall back into place.

"The
'action', sir, has a tendency to move quickly." Matthews looked
at his watch. It was 3:45 am. He quietly replaced his gun in its
holster and walked to the window.

The sirens continued to
scream as Irons poured himself a glass of water. The party ended
around 1:30 and Irons hoped his guests had arrived home safely.
Especially, Miss Bronte.

Silence came about 20 minutes later.
Both men returned to their beds and slept for a few more
hours.

________________________________________

Miss
Bronte stepped into the Café at 4:10 later that day. She was
wearing an attractive business suit and hat with a feather. The
Maitre de showed her to Kenneth's table. Standing, he took her
gloved hand and kissed the back of it. The Maitre de helped her with
her chair.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Elizabeth removed
her gloves. The witchblade bracelet began to glow. "Traffic was
terrible and more checkpoints were set up overnight." She
glanced at his bandaged finger. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh,
just a slight cut, but you can't be too careful." Kenneth
paused before continuing. "My associate and I were awakened by
sirens and gunfire. I have to keep reminding myself there is a war
going on."

The waiter brought a silver pot of tea and
two slices of apple strudel.

"Hmmm," Elizabeth
sighed, smiling. "No scones. Strudel is just not the same, but
we're lucky to have something sweet. Sugar is nearly non-existent to
Germany's citizens now."

They sipped their tea and
nibbled at the strudel. Kenneth had been scheming all day about how
to get the witchblade away from her, but held on to his calm
demeanor.

"That is a most interesting bracelet, Miss
Bronte. Where did you get it?"

"Hans gave it to me.
Uhh, Officer Stolz. It came from a collection which included a
painting of Joan of Arc. She is wearing a similar stone, but it is
embedded in an armored gauntlet. I'm sure it's not the stone from so
long ago, but I like it. It seems to change colors according to my
mood."

Kenneth's heart leapt. Calming himself, he took
another sip of tea. He had to handle this carefully so as not to
frighten here away.

"May I see it?"

She began
to remove it, but he protested.

"No, just let me look at
it on your beautiful arm." Kenneth took her arm as she held it
out to him. He wasn't going to get burned this time.

Twisting
her arm slightly he gazed into the stone. It began to swirl
violently in hues of blood-red and yellow and white. He suddenly
felt a rush of desire. Blue eyes widened with lust.

"See?"
Elizabeth pulled her hand away, embarrassed, recognizing the look in
Kenneth's eyes. The swirling slowed and then stopped. "I just
don't understand it. It does the same thing when Hans is near."
She smiled again, her green eyes lowered, "Perhaps it's
cursed."

Kenneth
had no doubt, but attempted a laugh. God! Get control of yourself!
"Well, if St. Joan wore it, it certainly did not bring her good
luck!"

The both laughed.

"Would you be
interested in selling it? I would be willing to offer a handsome
sum. I have been searching out ancient religious relics and would be
extremely pleased to add the bracelet to my collection. I could add
it to some major pieces on display at the Midtown Museum in New
York." Kenneth held his breath and his chest tightened. He
could have made a better pitch, but it was out now.

"Oh,
Mr. Irons, I'm flattered, but this was a gift. I just couldn't sell
it." She looked down and stroked the bracelet. It was no
longer swirling. "After the war, I would like to find its
rightful owners."

Kenneth swore softly, wrote an
extremely generous, seven figure amount on the back of his business
card and offered it to Elizabeth. "Perhaps this might change
your mind. Do discuss the offer with Officer Stolz. It might help
the German army in its war effort?"

A coy smile crossed
Elizabeth's lips as she stood to leave.

"Your offer is
extremely generous. I will discuss it with Hans; he may want to
discuss it with his superiors. Good afternoon, Mr. Irons." She
quickly retreated from the table.
Kenneth felt very smug. He
could almost see the bracelet in its case in New York as he finished
his tea.

11

Two
days later, Kenneth received a written message from Elizabeth. The
messenger waited outside his door, expecting a response. The lacy
parchment had her initials at the top. Her handwriting was simple,
but flowing.

"Mr. Irons," the note began. "Hans
Stolz spoke with several high level officers and they would like to
speak with you over dinner regarding your kind offer. I will send a
car for you tomorrow at 8 pm. Please RSVP via the
messenger."

Kenneth delivered a quick acceptance note
using hotel stationary to the waiting messenger and tipped him
heavily.

Should he take Matthews with him? Or Matthews' gun?
A sudden taste of fear lodged in his throat. He could be done away
with and his body never found. He shook his head, loosening the fear.
No, not if they wanted the money. Arriving with a gun would not be
wise. He just had to trust
Elizabeth.

___________________________________

The
agreement was $30 million; a lot of money even for Kenneth. He would
get the bracelet and wire the sum into a Swiss account. And . . .
they guaranteed him safe passage out of Germany with the
bracelet.

There was one problem . . . Kenneth had not seen the
bracelet turn into the gauntlet. Was he buying the genuine
witchblade? He couldn't ask for a demonstration or the Germans might
realize what they were about to sell . . . a weapon with massive
powers. Even so, he was confident it was the genuine article.

Around
1 am, there was a knock at his door. Still up, he answered and was
surprised to find Miss Bronte on the other side. She had a serious
look on her face.

"Please
come in," he said as he ushered her through the door.

She
swished into the room and whirled around to meet his gaze.

"This
transaction must not be completed!" Wild green eyes glared
straight through Kenneth as she paced around the room.

"What
do you mean?" Anger filled his voice. "Everything has
been arranged! Payment will be made tomorrow!" He grabbed her
hands.

Suddenly the bracelet was gone and an armored gauntlet
with evil looking talons and a long blade chinked into place on her
hand. The blade touched Kenneth's throat.

"Money will
not be transferred and this blade will not become yours!" A
tiny rivulet of blood ran down Kenneth's neck staining his silk
shirt. She pulled back on the blade slightly.

Was this the
same woman he had meet just two days ago? He couldn't believe
it.

"Mr. Irons, I have to tell you something. I don't
want to, but I doubt you will let this drop without an explanation.
Please sit."

Kenneth sat on the sofa, wiping the blood
with the sleeve of his shirt. Suddenly the blade chinked back to the
delicate bracelet on Elizabeth's wrist.

"Mr. Irons,
Kenneth, I am entrusting you with my life . . . and the lives of many
Allied forces," Elizabeth began. (Pause) "I work for the
British government. I obtain sensitive information from Stolz and
deliver it to my British contact. During my work, I managed to
obtain access to the secret Enigma codes, so British Intelligence can
translate German communications. Stolz is involved with this
project. I volunteered to do this before the gauntlet found me.
There is still more that I can do here."

"I
am the wielder and the witchblade protects me. It has been lost for
generations, but my blood legacy brought me here. Legends tell of a
human protector, but he hasn't found me yet." She paused before
continuing, "You must not give the Germans $30 million; nothing
would stop them in their quest to rule the world."

Stunned.
Mouth agape. Rage building. "I also have a destiny!"
Irons said. "Mine is to own the blade, use the blade. If I
cannot use it myself, I will control the person who can." His
eyes said more than his words. "I will have you and the
witchblade!"

Matthews
quickly stepped out of the shadows and covered her mouth and nose
with a cloth. The ether did its job and she slumped into Kenneth's
arms in a few seconds. The witchblade swirled, but he made sure he
didn't touch it.

"Get the car. We're leaving
tonight!"

12

Surprisingly,
Matthews slipped the bracelet from Elizabeth's arm. Just in case the
Germans searched them along the route, the bracelet was hidden in a
secret compartment in Matthew's shoe.

Pretending
Miss Bronte had passed out from drinking, they had little trouble
boarding the train to Geneva. Matthews used his fake Swiss passport
and visa. He had several, but thought this one would serve him best
on this trip.

No
one bothered them in the First Class coach. Kenneth told the steward
not to disturb them.

Matthews fretted over when the Germans
would discover Miss Bronte missing. She lived with Stolz, but she
had her own bedroom. Not that it prevented them from sleeping
together. After all, she was a spy. Where else to obtain
information, than in the afterglow of sex?

The two men took
turns sleeping and keeping Miss Bronte 'company' when she woke.
German guards went through the cars once checking passports and
papers before the reached the border. Kenneth kept his nerves in
check. Elizabeth said nothing, as Matthews kept a gun behind her
back.

At the Swiss border, their papers were checked again
and this time, their luggage was searched. Nothing inappropriate was
found, following sizeable bribes, and the train rolled on into Geneva
on time.

________________________________

New
York greeted the three travelers with cold blowing rain, as the plane
landed. The limo drove through the black night as Kenneth gazed at
the witchblade resting in the crystal box purchased in Geneva. It
continued to swirl, angry that it was being kept from its wielder.

Elizabeth spoke very little during the trip. In Geneva,
Kenneth had allowed her to send a brief message to her British
contact that her spy days were over. She was on her way to America.
Of course they had not allowed her to mention that the trip was
against her will. She was so angry at Kenneth whisking her away from
her sworn duty; the loss of the witchblade was only secondary. Her
arm was the only place it belonged and Kenneth could not keep it from
her. She just had to decide what to do when she did take it
back.

Pulling into the driveway of Kenneth's mansion,
Elizabeth was taken aback. Rich he was, but this estate was
unimaginable! Kenneth escorted her inside and the servants brought
in the small amount of luggage they had.

Matthews accepted the
offer to remain as Kenneth's bodyguard. The salary offered was good
and he didn't want to return to Europe while the war was
raging.
Elizabeth became a prisoner in the huge mansion. She was
not allowed to leave without Kenneth's approval and Matthews'
accompaniment. She wanted for nothing but her freedom.

The
bracelet was returned to her wrist, but she could not make it work
against someone who was not threatening her. Easily removable now,
she barely felt that she was its possessor.

Scientists studied
the bracelet but it remained a mystery. The metal was nothing they
had ever seen before and the stone was not a ruby, but an unknown
geologic substance as well. None of their instruments could crack,
scratch, or injure the metal or the stone. It was an enigma of its
own.

Elizabeth's dislike of Kenneth deepened, even though, he
tried to make her happy; tried to be charming. Gifts and exotic
trips meant nothing to her if she were not free. They spent long
weekends together, when he could be away from his business, aboard
his yacht. But, nothing made her happy. And he would never let her
go. Could never let her go as long as she was bound to the
witchblade.

Her sleep was never peaceful. Visions of past
lives . . . or were they dreams of others' existences? They
tormented Elizabeth. Women appeared from different time lines to
show her the powers of the Witchblade. The battles it had won, the
defeats it allowed. They warned that the blade was fickle, deserting
its bearer in her time of greatest need. The visions were often
scrambled, showing Elizabeth that time was not static, was not set,
but fluid. She did not fully understand these dreams and they
tormented her. Once these dreams began, the witchblade did not allow
itself to be removed from her wrist.

Through the months,
desire for Elizabeth began to envelope Kenneth but she spurned his
advances. By the look in his eyes, she knew his lust grew stronger
every day. Kenneth liked young women and teenaged boys; they came
and went regularly, trying hard to satiate him. The better they
performed, the more he paid them. They all left him wanting more.

Kenneth's desire for the wielder burned his senses, fueled
his passion. One night, he found her door locked and he laughed.
Surely she did not think that would keep him out? Elizabeth woke to
see Kenneth looming over her bed, his blue eyes brilliant with light
from within. Grabbing her harshly, he pulled her to her feet. She
was startled at his nakedness, but surprised he hadn't come for her
long before this. The witchblade was swirling furiously on her arm
as he ravaged her mouth. Unless the witchblade responded in her
defense, she dared not fight him. Swirling reds and yellows were its
only answer. Did this mean the witchblade wanted him here? Suddenly
a change came over him. He gently unbuttoned her silk gown, kissing
her along her neck and shoulder. The gown slid to the floor and her
knees buckled. Could this man be her protector?

Elizabeth
parted her lips and allowed his tongue access to her wet mouth. He
groaned and rubbed his erection against her stomach. For the first
time, Kenneth's eyes roamed her body. Gently, pushing her back onto
the bed, he nibbled at the base of her beautiful neck, sucking on the
wound, lapping at the trickle of blood. Pulling back, she shivered
at Kenneth's blood-covered mouth. A slight din rapidly turned to
loud roaring in his ears when he sucked more blood out of her warm
neck before moving away from the wound.

Her nipples tingled
under his tongue. She began to writhe. Scenes of lovers through the
ages danced behind her eyelids as she began to kiss Kenneth's neck
and chest. Laughing, he found her wet secret place and plunged a
finger in deeply. Crying out, her hips rocked forward, and she
called out his name. He lifted her up, drawing her hips to his and
buried himself deep within. Waiting a moment for her body to accept
him, he began to move. With each thrust he hit her pleasure spot,
eliciting throaty groans from deep within. She whimpered when she
came, her inner contractions around Kenneth sent him to his to his
own orgasm. Both collapsed on the bed and he rolled off her and
immediately left her room.

Gasping, Kenneth stumbled into his
own bed chambers and clawed his way to the bathroom. The red flush on
his face was throbbing as fast as his heart was beating, his mouth
still smeared with blood.

"Matthews!"
His cries were loud though he could barely catch his breath. The
floor reached up and pulled him down, images of time never ending,
whirling in his mind. Bodily reflexes took over and curled him into
a ball. Scenes he did not recognize, scenes he did. They all spun
through his mind. Unknown times, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, Joan,
then nothing. In each time a handsome dark haired man was at the
wielder's side. A confidant, a lover, a betrayer. This man was not
Kenneth. The sounds and images pulsing, pounding through his brain.
Sobbing, Kenneth covered his eyes with his arms.

Matthews
appeared in the bathroom doorway, eyes wide as Kenneth trembled on
the floor. Elizabeth, a robe clutched tightly around her, stared over
the bodyguard's shoulder.

"Sir!" Matthews wrapped
Kenneth in a large towel and helped him to his bed. Once under the
warm comforter, his breathing began to slow and his flush
paled.

"I'll call the doctor," Matthews reached for
the phone on Kenneth's night stand.
"NO! No doctors."
Kenneth breathing was almost back to normal when he reached out for
Matthews' arm.

Elizabeth and Matthews looked at each other
grimly as they watched in disbelief, at the transformation happening
before them. Kenneth's face slowly began to soften, 55 years of
lines and discoloration fading, his skin growing taut. Wisps of hair
began to fill in his receding hairline, streaks of gray returned to
pale blonde. In a matter of a few minutes, 25 years of aging were
turned back.

"Oh, my God!" Matthews stumbled away
from the bed in terror.

Elizabeth took Kenneth's hand and
whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "The legends are
true . . . the wielder's . . . my . . . blood brings youth and long
life . . . to . . . my protector. Who are you?"
Elizabeth dropped his hand and turned to run from the room.

Kenneth
caught her arm and rose from the bed.

"What happened?"
He looked from Elizabeth to Matthews. Fear and silence held their
faces.

Kenneth got out of bed and went back into the bathroom.
The full length mirror told a story he could not believe. Touching
his face, his hair, his body . . . he had been in good shape for a
man of his age, but now . . . he looked 30 again.

Turning
slowly, he read the shock in Elizabeth's eyes. Obviously she hadn't
known the extent of the gauntlet's powers; the mystical powers of the
witchblade, the wielder and the wielder's blood.

13

Ian
was growing tired; the night was proving to be a long one. It was
now 6:30 and Irons was still restless, still dreaming. Tight fingers
around Ian's arm retreated a couple of hours ago, but he remained
kneeling by his master's bed. He had left Irons' presence only once,
to relieve himself and splash cool water on his face. Hope was not a
big part of his life; however, Ian did anticipate a few hours of
sleep for himself once Irons was up and around. Ever alert, he
continued to kneel beside his sleeping master.

_____________________________________

Through
the years, Kenneth fell in love with Elizabeth and gave her her
freedom. Now, no longer his prisoner Elizabeth stayed on; she had
nowhere to go. Her blood kept him young but she grew despondent.

The noted scientists hired to discover the life force powers
of the witchblade and Elizabeth's blood had come up empty handed.
However, their research into mammal duplication led to the cloning of
a human in the late 50s. The baby was incubated completely outside a
host mother; but, unfortunately, she only lived a few hours. They
made many attempts before the first child lived more than a few
hours. With the steady influx of money into the project, the life
spans of these duplicates kept improving. Three months was the
longest for the first hundred attempts. Complete success at cloning a
human would not occur until the 1970s.

One day, in late 1958,
Kenneth found a note sitting on his desk in the library. Inside, it
read:

"The
witchblade is now yours, I hope the next chosen wielder has more
fortitude than I in keeping it away from you." signed
'Elizabeth'

Kenneth
roared and ran up the steps to her room. Lying across the bed,
Elizabeth's eyes were closed as if in a peaceful sleep. Beside the
bed was an empty bottle of sleeping pills.

"Elizabeth!
Damn you!" Kenneth shook the limp body. "Matthews!"

When
Matthews appeared, Kenneth told him to call the doctor. It was too
late, but he couldn't stand the thought of her being gone. He
realized that he had been in love with her from the beginning.
Burying his head in her hair, he sobbed and stroked her cooling face,
rocking her.

The
doctor arrived in 10 minutes. Elizabeth was cold as he examined her.
Kenneth felt his heart tighten and darken. All his emotions were
retracted inside him. The love of his life was gone. Never would he
allow someone to tear open his heart again. Oh, yes, there would be
companions, sexual exploits, but he would never love someone again.
Never.

"Dr.
Immo," Kenneth said quietly, "I want her body taken care of
immediately. There cannot be any further tissue damage."

Kenneth took the bracelet from her arm. It popped off easily
now that its wielder was dead.

The young doctor cocked his
head at the grieving man, realizing his work was coming to its
biggest test.

"Yes, Sir." Dr. Immo called for his
assistant to help him with Elizabeth's body.

Once in the
cryo chamber, Kenneth sat by her side for several hours. She looked
so peaceful. In a few days, Immo would attempt a small transfusion
of Elizabeth's chemically enhanced blood to see if it still carried
the life force Kenneth so desperately needed.

While waiting
for the transfusion, and without thinking, Kenneth slid the bracelet
on his own wrist. It immediately transformed into the gauntlet, its
red stone swirling madly. Agony like he had never felt before,
ravaged his arm and his mind. The same legends Elizabeth had seen,
played across his senses, but with more blood, more gore, more
hopelessness. His arm burned and streaks of what seemed like
lightening bolted from the fingers of the blade. Kenneth screamed
and pulled at the gauntlet but couldn't get it off his arm.

Dr.
Immo watched in horror but dared not touch him. Writhing on the
floor, Kenneth continued to scream as visions of fire, ice, wind, and
rain ravaged his mind. Removing the gauntlet was impossible; it was
melting into his flesh. Then, suddenly, the pain ceased and the
blade flew off Kenneth's arm, returning to bracelet form before
landing with a clink at the other end of the infirmary.

Dr.
Immo rushed to Kenneth with bandages and burn salve. They were
unnecessary. The doctor watched as the seared flesh of Kenneth's arm
returned to its light ivory color. Two white entwined circles were
all that remained of the ordeal. The physical pain was
gone.

Matthews appeared when he heard his employer screaming.
He found Kenneth backed up into a corner, trembling, and muttering
incoherently. Immo had wrapped a blanket around Kenneth, gave him a
sedative, then helped Matthews take him upstairs to his bedroom.

The ordeal left him shaken for several weeks. He had proved
to himself that only the witchblade itself can choose its new
wielder. How long would it take to find a new one? Tightly shutting
his eyes, Kenneth laid his head back against the leather chair in
front of the fire. A transfusion of Elizabeth's blood along with
some chemicals Dr. Immo had worked on, seemed to satisfy Kenneth's
needs. Aging continued to be stalled.

He ordered Dr. Immo to
continue the duplicating research using some of Elizabeth's cells.
Kenneth knew one day he would have her back . . . in one form or
another. He had loved her . . . Perhaps, if he had told her, she
would not have been desperate enough to . . . Perhaps he would travel
to Europe. He needed to get away. The 60's were ahead and maybe he
would find a new wielder in Europe. The blade had rejected him, but
he would never give it up. Someday, the right woman would come along
. . . and he was a patient man.

_________________________________

"Uhhh,"
Irons sat up and slid his feet onto the floor. Ian reached for the
blue silk robe and helped Irons into it as he stood up. It was 8:30
am.

"I'm so cold," teeth chattering, Irons sat in
one of his chairs.

Ian put his Glock back in its holster,
adjusted the thermostat in the bedroom and got an extra blanket from
the closet, wrapping it around the shivering man. The sun was out and
Ian opened the drapes to let it shine in.

"Master, you
had a difficult night. Were your dreams unpleasant?" Ian stood
in front of Irons, eyes cast down, his dark hair loose around his
face.

"I . . . my past, Ian," Irons pushed himself
out of the chair and pulled Ian's chin up to look into his face.
"Thankfully, the memories . . . they are fading now." His
voice softened to a whisper as he spoke. "We will find the next
wielder, Ian, we will." Hazel eyes met blue as Irons released
his grip on Ian's chin. The young man's gaze returned to the floor.
Kenneth could tell Ian was tired, though nothing in his stance
suggested it. The young man has been on guard all night.

"I'm
going to shower now. I have another pawn to play in the Alaskan
deal." Irons stripped off his pajamas and headed into his
shower. He stopped at the doorway and turned, his eyes an icy blue.
"I am displeased with your work yesterday, Ian. I expect better
of you today or I will be forced to exact severe punishment. Do you
understand?"

"Yes,
Master."

Sighing, Ian walked slowly to his own quarters.
Irons would probably demand another 20 hours of him. He could do it
easily and more, if necessary. It was what he had been trained for.
It was why he existed. It was in his blood.

end
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Dreams