by T. M. Cromer
The question brought her up short. She studied her feelings on the entire matter and found she couldn’t visit the sins of the mother on the daughter. “No. No, I don’t hate you. I feel horrible that your life will be tainted by her actions—and by mine. I only wish for your happiness, dear girl.”
“May I hug you?” Leonie’s tentativeness brought a swell of regret. There was a day when this young woman had run into GiGi’s arms with unrestrained joy as a small child.
“You never have to ask, Leonie,” she choked out, opening her arms to the beautiful soul standing in front of her. They embraced and cried for the past.
After a few minutes, they got their emotions under control.
“Well, that was a hen-fest! Who knew we had all those bottled-up tears?” Leonie exclaimed.
“I should thank you. That’s the most cleansing cry I’ve had in ages.”
Leonie laughed and linked arms with her. “Let’s go enjoy some good ol’ home-cooked dinner.”
“You mean home-conjured. Except for pastries, this crew doesn’t make anything from scratch,” GiGi said dryly.
22
“It’s time.”
Alastair’s voice broke GiGi’s meditation and went straight through her. The words started a ball of dread rolling downhill at a far greater speed than she’d experienced when she found out Ryker had turned himself in. Part of her wanted to avoid the tribunal all together. Another, larger part wanted to be front and center to protect her husband.
Rising, she walked toward where Alastair lounged against the doorframe of the attic room where the Thornes kept their family grimoire. She stopped in front of him and stared up into his handsome face. Alastair seemed ageless. If one looked close enough, his stunning sapphire eyes revealed so much of what he was thinking. Or perhaps it was only to her because they were siblings and because they had known each other the better part of a century. Maybe others looked at a face that was perpetually thirty-five years old and saw an impassive mask or a threatening countenance. They found it difficult to see the softer side of this man, the side his family and close friends were privy to.
“Don’t worry, little sister,” he said softly, tapping her nose as he’d done when she was a small child. “Ryker won’t die today.”
She desperately fought the wave of threatening tears. “Oh, Al. I’m so scared.”
“I know. But come hell or high water, Ryker leaves with us tonight.”
“I love you, brother. I know there was a short time there when things were rocky between us. Most of it was my fault, but I’ve always had a special place in my heart reserved just for you. For the day we would patch things up and be friends once again.”
His smile was bright with a hint of mischief. “I know that, too. Don’t think your posturing when I came for Morty last year scared me in the least. You’re a big softie, sister-mine.”
“Pfft.” She rolled her eyes, but his teasing did the trick and helped her firm her backbone for the trial ahead.
They took their time descending the stairs to the main level, tortured with thoughts of “what if.” If GiGi was thinking or feeling it, odds were her empath brother was too.
“Am I making it too difficult for you to be around me?” she asked in concern.
Surprise filled his face when he looked up. “No. Your worry is obvious, but so is your determination. One tempers the other.” He clasped her hand and give it a firm squeeze. “Neither Harold Beecham nor the Witches’ Council stands a chance against you, GiGi.”
She grinned. “They don’t, do they?”
Twenty minutes later, GiGi along with Alastair, Leonie, and Nash were seated behind the defendant’s chair. The council members filed in and called a moment of silence for the deceased Georgie Sipanil.
Harold Beecham registered surprise when he saw Leonie sitting beside Alastair. Hatred flared in his eyes as he met Alastair’s cold stare across the distance. No doubt, these two would have it out very shortly.
A side door opened, and a pale Ryker was led to the defendant’s table. He swayed slightly before sitting.
Something was off.
GiGi could feel it in her bones. She’d only left him a few hours before, and he had looked hale and hearty, if a little tired and world-weary. Currently, he was a bit gray around the gills. Her heart began to hammer in her chest, and she sat forward in her chair to study him closer. A glance to her left showed Alastair had noticed the change in Ryker as well. He looked as worried as she felt.
Behind her, the main doors to the chamber opened, admitting Sebastian Drake. He looked breathtaking and regal in his official council robes. GiGi frowned at the yellow sash draped around his shoulders. He met her confusion with a half-smile and a wink then joined Ryker at the table.
Leaning in, she lowered her voice to ask Alastair, “Did you know he intended to represent Ryker?”
“I had a good idea,” he murmured in return. He gestured with a slight tilt of his head toward the long, curled table at the far side of the room. “I don’t think Beecham did, nor is he thrilled at the prospect.”
Sebastian popped the locks on his briefcase, took out a thick file, and closed the lid, but not without GiGi catching a glimpse of the items for their upcoming ceremony. He’d agreed to smuggle the needed tools into the hearing, knowing the wards on the room would make it impossible to conjure what they needed. Sebastian had chosen a case deep enough to hold the candles, herbs, and spell book they needed. Also visible had been a blood-stained dress. Trina’s dress unless GiGi missed her guess. She noted he didn’t lock the case again and sighed her relief. The items they would utilize would be easy to get to when the time came.
Next, her coven sisters entered. She was surprised to see Tildie amongst their small number. Across the distance, their eyes connected. Apology was in Tildie’s soft brown eyes. GiGi smiled her understanding and forgiveness. The presence of these four women meant they would have her back if push came to shove tonight.
A last-minute commotion sounded behind her, and GiGi shifted to look over her shoulder. Suppressing a bubble of inappropriate laughter, she stared on in admiration of Spring’s use of the decrepit-old-lady disguise GiGi had used on more than one occasion. Spring’s new form was less than five-feet tall, with mismatched, thick knitted socks sagging just below her mid-calf-length floral dress. She looked wider than she was tall, and her faux, enormous breasts looked unbound and hanging close to her waistline. Her lavender hair was styled short and stuck up in tuffs as if she’d just woken up. Based on the wrinkled dress, that might have been the look her niece was striving for. Her handbag was a throwback to the last century and looked to weigh as much as Spring. Currently, she used it to swat at a guard trying to hurry her and her veiled companion to their seats.
“Back off,” Spring snapped in a crotchety voice, allowing the dentures to slip and slide around her mouth. “You damned young people! Always pushing, always prodding. I’ll stick my size-eight shoe right up your one-oh-five if you touch me once more, young man!”
Swat! Spring swung her purse and nailed the man in the stomach, causing him to grunt. “Now back the hell off before I sic my sister Gertie on you.” She nodded to the black-veiled figure beside her. “You don’t want none of that!”
The lace material was so thick, it was impossible to distinguish a face.
“She’s in mourning, the poor dear,” Spring declared to no one in particular. “Let us pass.”
Not a soul stood in their way, and one gentleman in the front abandoned his seat for the two elderly women.
GiGi bit her lip and squeezed her brother’s hand in order to contain her laughter.
“She’s given you a run for your money with that disguise. Who do you suppose Gertie is?” he murmured the question in her ear.
“If I had to guess, Summer, but really, I’m clueless.”
“No, not my daughter. I’d know if it were her. I don’t think it’s a Thorne at all.”
She cut him a sharp glance. “What do
you mean?”
“The energy is different.”
They didn’t have time to converse longer as the hearing was called to order and the trial began.
Beecham stood and sneered at Ryker. “Ryker Gillespie, you’ve been charged with the murder of Councilwoman Georgie Sipanil. How do you plead?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Ryker responded in a calm but unsteady voice.
The courtroom exploded in outraged cries and appalled gasps.
Councilman Smythe slammed his gavel to restore order.
“Ryker’s sick,” GiGi whispered to her brother. “Look at the sweat coating his forehead.”
She made to stand, but Alastair placed a restraining hand on her arm.
“Wait.”
Leonie leaned around Alastair to address her. “Dark magic.”
Two words GiGi dreaded above all others.
Nash entwined his fingers with hers. “Stay calm, Aunt GiGi.”
“Calm?” Disbelief dripped from that one word as gently as water over the edge of Niagara Falls—not at all. In fact, her response was just shy of a shriek.
Ryker twisted to face her. His weary smile tried to relay he was okay, but she knew his struggle to keep from passing out was real.
Pressing a balled fist against her lips, she nodded her understanding. Remaining seated when all she wanted to do was rush to his side was the hardest thing she’d done to date.
“I love you,” she mouthed.
He grinned, and for a second or two, he looked less haggard. “Hagasaurus,” he mouthed back with a wink.
It was enough for her to steel her spine, as she imagined he intended.
Sebastian stood, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Dear Councilmen and Councilwomen, what Mr. Gillespie means is ‘not guilty.’” He looked down at the handwritten note Ryker had just handed him and smirked. “Not guilty, but Harold Beecham can still go fuck himself.”
Laughter rippled through the room, ranging from titters to all-out guffaws—the latter being Alastair. GiGi herself found it difficult not to laugh. The profanity from the proper Sebastian Drake was amusing.
Beecham slapped his hands on the wooden surface in front of him and snarled his fury.
“I will not be disrespected in my courtroom!” Harold raged.
“Your courtroom?” Councilman Smythe questioned the outburst with raised brows and gestured down to the purple sash he wore. As acting head of the Witches’ Council, he was clearly in charge. “I believe this is the entire council’s legal chambers, Councilman Beecham. I suggest you control yourself so we might proceed with the hearing.”
GiGi touched the tanzanite stone on her wrist, and Quentin’s telepathic response was immediate.
“You summoned me, my glorious queen?”
She nearly rolled her eyes at this flirting.
“As you young uns say, shit is getting real here in the chambers. Ryker looks as if he’s been poisoned. Will you have my medical bag ready?”
“I’m on it. Has the gas been released?”
GiGi glanced at the wall clock above the curved table.
“Three minutes and counting.”
“I’m prepared, and your plan B is in place.”
“I saw the coven arrive. Thank you, dear boy.”
“I’ll always have your back, Ms. GiGi.”
The warmth of his response moderated the chill that had set up residence in her soul upon first seeing Ryker’s overall gray aura.
“Councilmen and Councilwomen, we intend to prove to you that Mr. Gillespie is not only innocent of the crime of murdering Georgie Sipanil, but that one of your own members is directly responsible in not only her death but in that of Trina Gillespie. This person was behind the kidnapping of a young witch and exploited her mother’s magic to use against a well-respected and powerful family of our community.”
Speculation ran rampant in the frantic murmurs of the observers. All eyes turned to the Thornes, who had all remained silent and watchful.
GiGi didn’t imagine Harold’s loss of color, and she reveled in his nervousness. Across the distance, she met his hostile glare with one of her own.
“This is ridiculous!” he blustered. “They are going to try to turn this farce on me.”
“I don’t believe anyone mentioned your name, Councilman Beecham,” Sebastian said dryly. “With the exception of Mr. Gillespie telling you to go fuck yourself.”
Ryker looked directly at her. He pointed behind his hand to Sebastian. In a loud stage-whisper, he said, “I like him.”
GiGi bit the inside of her cheek to prevent her giggle.
“We’d like to present our first evidence,” Sebastian continued. He reached into his briefcase and withdrew five gas masks. Handing one each to Alastair, GiGi, Leonie, and Nash, he then put one on. He looked at Ryker, anticipating his question. “It’s better if you’re out for this next part.”
From the corner of her eye, GiGi saw Spring place a cloth to her nose and mouth. She nudged the person next to her to do the same. The hiss of the gas coming through the air vents was distinct. Looks of panic crossed the faces of those around them, and a few quick-thinking individuals raced for the exit. Since the room was warded against teleportation, they knew the main double doors were their only means of escape. Except, those double doors were locked from the outside by Knox Carlyle. They were well and truly trapped.
With the exception of the four coven members who had brought their own masks thanks to GiGi’s warning, the courtroom visitors dropped where they stood. GiGi winced as some fell harder than others. She, along with Alastair, Nash, and her friends, rushed to magically heal any head wounds or scrapes. At most, their fellow witches would wake to a slight headache from the gas hangover.
She crossed to where Ryker was slouched, fast asleep in his chair.
“I think he’s been poisoned,” Sebastian said softly, concern and indecision weighing heavily in his tone. “I’m not sure if his blood will work for this spell now.”
“I can separate the poison from the blood when it’s extracted from him,” Leonie told them. “I just need a few things from my mother’s shop.”
“Please hurry. We only have about fifteen minutes to pull this off,” GiGi encouraged.
Leonie raced for the door with Nash hot on her heels. They rapped on the door in a pattern of short and long knocks. Knox responded immediately and disengaged the locks.
GiGi cradled Ryker’s head to her breast and stroked his thick, dark hair. “If you die on me, babe, I’m not honoring your no-dating moratorium. I’ll start dating right away.”
She didn’t realize she was crying until Sebastian gently brushed the moisture from her cheeks.
“He’s not going anywhere, GiGi. I promise.”
The sincerity in his eyes made GiGi feel marginally better.
“Thank you, Baz.”
Dropping a kiss on Ryker’s forehead, she moved away for Alastair and Sebastian to position him on the ground. She had to look away when her brother drew a long, wicked-looking knife from the briefcase.
“Can’t I just plunge this in Beecham’s heart and be done with this mess?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Alastair Thorne,” a shaky voice spoke from the gallery.
They all stared in astonishment when Georgie Sipanil removed the black veil from her person. Spring grinned, and the slipping dentures broke their immobility.
GiGi rushed to the frail older woman. “We thought you were dead! The video… the trial…” She shook her head as she trailed off.
“It will take more than Harold Beecham’s thugs to do me in, young lady.”
She smiled at Georgie’s use of “young lady.” It had been many years since she could claim that status.
“How is my boy?” Georgie asked as she limped to where Ryker rested.
“Why didn’t you come forward and spare everyone this mess?” Sebastian demanded, ignoring her concern for Ryker’s condition.
“Would you lik
e to answer that, Miss Thorne?”
Spring shrugged. “Previous to Ms. Georgie’s attack, she had contacted Knox. She told him she was worried about Harold and had asked if he would come round to see her that day. I decided to go with him to finally meet the legendary Georgie Sipanil. When we showed up, Harold’s men were following through on their orders.” She shrugged. “We were able to subdue them all. That’s when Ms. Georgie came up with the idea to fake her death. It was to see exactly who was behind her attack.”
“That’s why I couldn’t reach either of you the night Beecham sent his little army after Ryker and me,” GiGi deduced as she checked Ryker’s pulse.
“We weren’t purposely ignoring you. We were just otherwise occupied.” Spring smiled and shoved the dentures back in her mouth.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Georgie slapped Spring on the shoulder. “Get rid of that horrid disguise already.”
“How did you get Beecham’s men to go along with this plan?” Alastair asked after he stopped laughing.
“Hypnosis,” Georgie said simply. “I come from a long line of skilled mesmerists. Now, enough of the explanations for the present. What’s happened to him?” She pointed to Ryker. “He didn’t look well when he entered, and he looks more ghastly with each passing second.”
Alastair’s expression was dark and forbidding. “Our cousin, Leonie, believes it is black magic on Beecham’s part.”
“Harrumph! Perhaps I should let you stab that rotten S.O.B. and be done with it,” Georgie muttered. “Miss Thorne told me you initially intended to bring the entire council and these horrid spectators to the Otherworld to speak with both Trina Gillespie and myself. It will be a lot safer to bring Trina here since I’m not deceased.”
“Isis has granted us permission to do what we need. She’s claimed Beecham is upsetting the balance.”
Georgie grimaced in Alastair’s direction. “Then explain to me why she doesn’t smite him already?”
“You know that as well as I do, dear Georgie. She won’t go against Fate’s design.” He clasped her hand and guided her to a seat. “Tell me true, how bad are your injuries?”