by Dima Zales
“Ladies and gentlemen, please,” Kit yells eventually. “The proceedings are not complete.”
“Who was her employer?” Vlad is on his feet, ignoring Kit’s call to order. “That’s more important than—”
“I think he’s in this very room,” I say, and the green of the stone confirms my statement.
The room falls into a dead silence, and I take another slow breath. This is when the stone could’ve shown me to be a liar, but it did not. The truth is, I have a theory as to who Beatrice’s employer is—but I’m obviously not sure, which is why I used the strategic word “think” in my statement. Luckily, it seems to have worked.
Of course, if my theory is wrong, it will undo the advantage I’ve gained.
I palm Beatrice’s phone in my pocket and take it out, making sure my suspect doesn’t realize I have the phone in my hand. The other Council members might see it, but they wouldn’t know how it’s relevant.
“Who is he?” It’s amazing how scary Vlad’s gorgeous face can be. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have thought it possible.
“How is this relevant anyway?” Chester asks, and I detect worry in his question.
I surreptitiously scan Beatrice’s recent calls and zero in on a contact named “Jester.” It sounds close enough to be a nickname; my suspect does like speaking mockingly and in general looks like a guy who’s into making jokes at other people’s expense.
Crossing my fingers, I dial the number.
As Beatrice’s phone connects to cell towers, I realize that a million things could go awry even if I’m right. The Council could have a “no cell phones during proceedings” rule. Or my suspect could’ve forgotten his cell—or not charged it.
The theme song from The Walking Dead rings out in the room.
It’s coming from Chester’s direction.
I theatrically raise the phone above my head. “In my hand, I have Beatrice’s phone,” I quickly rattle out, and the stone shines green, confirming my words. “I just dialed her employer, and Chester’s phone started ringing.”
The stone shines green again.
I was worried the stone wouldn’t come through. After all, this could be the phone of at least seven Councilors who sit next to Chester. But the stone knows I believe Chester was giving Beatrice orders, and it must know I finally recognized his voice, so it confirmed my words.
“How dare you!” Chester puffs up with outrage, but quickly deflates when Vlad glares his way. If a look could unman someone, Chester would already be squeaking falsetto.
Darian stands up and reveals his face. He looks radiant in his victory. “Ladies and gentlemen. The Plaintiff Chester’s hypocrisy seems to know no bounds. He isn’t a Herald, so if he spoke the word ‘Cognizant’ to this Beatrice, a person outside the Mandate, he was in effect abusing the exception to the Mandate that the Council enjoys. And an argument can be made that he broke the Mandate altogether—”
“Beatrice was a Cognizant,” Chester says. “Speaking to her about us doesn’t break the Mandate.”
“If you weren’t on the Council, you wouldn’t have survived such a conversation,” Vlad says. He sounds like he’d be very happy if Chester died by hemorrhaging blood from every orifice—like what almost happened to Ariel when I was questioning her.
“I think we should dismiss the charges against Sasha and have another set of proceedings,” Darian says gleefully. “This time, we should discuss Chester’s actions.”
“What I did or didn’t do doesn’t have any bearing on these proceedings,” Chester grits through his teeth.
Vlad regards Chester with disgust but says, “He’s right. Why don’t we all vote.”
“Please, everyone,” Chester says. “Think about what you’re—”
“We’ve heard enough from you.” Vlad’s voice booms throughout the room with such malice that Chester and half the attendants, myself included, whiten.
Kit clears her throat uncomfortably.
“I apologize for my outburst,” Vlad says to her. “Please speak.”
“Everyone in favor of leniency, stand up,” Kit says solemnly, and I hold my breath.
The last time they took this vote, I was sentenced to death.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In my vision, only a few of these people stood up to save my life.
Now, however, as though preparing for a standing ovation at my great oratory skills (and lack of fainting), everyone but Chester stands up.
I can’t believe it.
I beat the stubborn future after all.
I’m safe.
“Leniency it is,” Kit says ceremoniously. “Vlad, can your Enforcers protect her until she undergoes the Mandate Rite?”
As though in answer, Gaius walks into the room with a dozen black-clad figures. They must be Vlad’s Enforcers. Did he summon them telepathically, or can he text in secret better than a teenage girl?
“The Rite should commence right after the next proceedings,” Darian says after everyone sits back down.
The hooded figures around the room nod approvingly.
“Wait,” Chester shouts, increasingly desperate. “How did you get on that TV show? Was Councilor Darian involved with it in any way?”
The room falls silent again.
Gaius said this type of accusation wouldn’t happen today, but I guess Chester has nothing left to lose, and since he doesn’t seem to like Darian, he wants to drag him down too.
I wouldn’t mind ratting out Darian—he clearly set me up for something that could’ve ended my life—but Gaius raises his sunglasses and looks at me. In his eyes, I read a reminder of the earlier threat to Ariel, should I blab about his and Darian’s involvement.
“Answer.” Chester’s voice is hoarse now.
A strong hand touches my back reassuringly, and then there are fingers on the back of my neck, sending hot chills down my spine. In the next moment, the polygraph-exam jewelry comes off.
I guess I’m officially off the hook, and whatever Chester is demanding from me is not part of my proceedings.
“Thanks, Nero,” I think to myself. Out loud, I answer, “I got that TV show based on my merit as an illusionist. I met Darian for the first time during these proceedings.”
Since the stone isn’t around my neck, no red glow highlights my lies.
“You may go,” Kit says and waves her hand over her face the way she did during my vision. Instantly, her face changes to mine—which I take as a compliment, especially since this Sasha looks much more confident than I feel.
“Just one second,” I say, trying to be as brave as Kit’s version of my face.
Everyone looks at me with renewed interest.
“I’ve puzzled out a few things based on the context of these conversations,” I say slowly. All this attention is peaking my adrenaline once more. “Am I right to think that after I fall under this Mandate, I’ll be unable to speak about certain subjects?”
“You’ll learn all the details later,” Kit says in my own voice.
“What about my magic?” I ask.
“The Mandate will forbid you from displaying your powers to the public, if that’s what you mean,” Vlad says, and for the first time, I hear something like empathy in his voice—an emotion that seems foreign to those vocal cords.
“She means her tricks,” Darian says, and for a guy who should owe me big, he doesn’t sound supportive enough at all.
“Yes. I do mean my effects,” I say. “I understand that going on TV is a no-no, though not fully why that’s so, but what about other situations? I have a job where I perform at a restaurant. I may wish to have a show in Vegas one day—”
“Anything that can be perceived as supernatural powers will be forbidden,” Vlad says, the earlier hint of kindness expunged from his voice.
“Even if it’s fake?” I can’t help asking.
“The Mandate is as much about people’s reactions as your intentions or methods,” Darian says. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to find yourself
another hobby.”
A hobby.
Did he just call my life’s dream a hobby?
Nero’s hand touches my back again. He and I had a big fight once, after he insulted me by calling my mentalism a hobby, so he probably knows I was about to give this room a piece of my mind.
His touch reminds me where I am, and I realize speaking back would be a very bad idea. I just got away with my life, and now I’m basically telling them Chester was right about me.
I inhale, trying to calm myself. I know I should be grateful for keeping my life, but I feel like someone just told me that Fluffster died. And a bunch of kittens. And a bunch of puppies. And maybe Felix too.
“I just wanted to clarify, that’s all,” I say as placatingly as I can. “I don’t plan to disobey. Now that everything is clear, I’m ready for my Mandate Rites, or whatever.”
Gaius takes this as his cue to walk up to get me.
As soon as we leave the room, he says, “You’re either the bravest or the dumbest person who’s ever faced the Council. I can’t believe you kept speaking after being dismissed—and risking your hide over stupid tricks.”
“It’s an art form.” I stare at the ancient corridor around us. It could easily belong to a medieval castle. “Illusionism was my future.”
“You don’t need parlor tricks,” he says. “You’re a real seer.”
His words actually make me feel worse about my fate. My new powers would’ve been a huge boon to my career as a mentalist. I could’ve pretended to be fake when I’m actually real. Then again, this is what many of my spectators already suspect to be the case, no matter how much I deny being psychic, so maybe it’s not such a clever idea after all.
Still, as we walk, I fantasize about a show I’ll never get to do. A show where I could’ve combined real psychic powers with all the methods of deception at my disposal.
People’s heads would’ve exploded in wonder.
Then another performance-related fact hits me.
I’ve just faced a group of hostile strangers without having a panic attack. That means I could probably do a show for a friendly group of strangers, except now I’ll be forbidden to do so—
“This is where the Rite will take place,” Gaius says, and I see we’ve reached the end of the dungeon-like corridor.
The room in question looks like a medieval torture chamber, only with the Rack and the Iron Maiden devices removed to keep up with the times. There is a big stone slab in the front of the room that looks like it has been recently used for human sacrifices. Behind the slab is a set of organ pipes—because it’s the perfect instrument to play when you’re ripping out people’s organs. Facing the slab are rows of stone benches, and it’s easy to picture a horde of excited sadists sitting there, enthralled by watching the agony of the hapless victims.
“Take a seat.” Gaius gestures at the nearest bench.
I sit down. The bench is cold and unyielding. Maybe it was also designed as a mild form of torture.
“What happens now?” I ask. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“That depends.” Gaius places his foot on another bench and adjusts his sunglasses. “If you don’t piss someone off so they call off the Rite altogether, you should be protected afterward, and have a Mentor to boot. Your survival chances will be even better if Chester gets kicked off the Council.”
“Do you think he will get kicked off?” I ask, and make a pact with myself to be on my best behavior, at least until the Rite is over. “And if they forgive him, what is the risk?”
“He’s a politician—slimier than a cross between a slug and an eel. All of them, but Chester in particular, would make that guy on House of Cards seem like a saint.” He says this admiringly, and I get the sense he himself would love to be on the Council if he could—and that he’d fit right in. “If I were you, I’d hope Chester loses Council privileges,” Gaius continues. “Then he’d be harmless to you.”
I frown at him. “What is Chester’s beef with me, anyway?”
Gaius shrugs. “Chester is a probability manipulator. His kind don’t like seers in general, but he hates them on a personal level—especially Darian, the seer he holds responsible for his wife’s suicide. So he was likely trying to get at him through you.”
I blink uncomprehendingly.
“Darian prophesized that Chester’s werewolf wife would be the cause of their daughter’s death,” Gaius explains, “so the mom took a drastic precautionary measure.”
“Okay...” I can’t even wrap my mind around that, so I focus on the more relevant topic. “But why would killing me hurt Darian?”
“I believe Darian has big plans for you, plans that must be part of some future he wants to bring about,” Gaius says as his phone dings a text message alert. He looks at it, smiles, and replies impressively quickly. His thumbs move with supernatural speed—something that doesn’t surprise me after everything I’ve seen.
“Whatever that plan is,” he continues, putting away his phone, “Darian clearly needed your powers supersized, so he set up that TV performance for you. Chester must’ve figured this out and tried to thwart Darian’s ambitions.”
“I see.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Do you think Chester will get kicked off the Council?”
“Boss will be gunning for him, that’s for sure,” Gaius says. “He’ll want to make an example for anyone else who’d make a deal with the necros.”
I nod. Vlad sure seemed really pissed in that meeting.
Pissed because he hates necromancers.
And I vaguely recall that vampires hate necromancers.
Between the blood licking and this bit of info, I can’t help but draw the only possible conclusion. “Are you and Vlad vampires? Or is it impolite to ask?”
Gaius chuckles—so hopefully he isn’t mad. “It would be impolite to ask someone under the Mandate before your Rite, as they’d risk death if they answered. But, lucky for you, I’m one of the Heralds and can thus educate an uninitiated Cognizant like yourself.”
“Okay.” I fold my legs under my butt in the hope of getting more comfortable on the stone bench. “So are you, or aren’t you?”
“It’s not a big secret,” he says. “Yes. All of us Enforcers are vampires. We have useful skills when it comes to covering up messes, persuading humans, subduing errant Cognizant, and the like. But I fear you might have preconceived notions about what a vampire actually is, based on your human upbringing and all.”
“Oh? So you don’t drink blood? You’re not the undead?” More sarcasm seeps into my voice. “You’re not a creature with pale skin and fangs, with a fetish for black clothing?”
“Well, no, we’re those things.” He takes off his glasses, exposing his icy eyes. “We just don’t care about garlic and silver, and we care even less about religious symbols. And we sure as hell don’t sparkle.”
“Great. You’ve got all the good parts and none of the weaknesses of the vampires of myth. Are you impervious to stakes too?”
“Now this line of questioning is impolite. It sounds adversarial, like you want to know how to hurt us.” He grins at me, exposing his fangs—which tells me he can bring them out at will. “We’re just members of the Cognizant, like everyone else. We start off alive and turn into vampires when we die.”
He’d probably consider a question about whether they require an invitation to enter a home impolite as well, so I don’t ask. Besides, I got the distinct impression that he and Vlad do need my permission to enter my apartment.
Analyzing vampires like this makes my head spin. Though I’ve already accepted them into my paradigm, a part of me had denied it until this moment. Actually, I think a part of me will deny it until someone dies and turns into a vampire in front of my face, then drinks my blood, and maybe does something else vampy—like turn into a bat, assuming that they can.
“I suggest we talk about something else,” Gaius says as though he read my mind—another power the vampires might have.
“Sure,” I
say. “I was wondering… Why did you help Darian during my TV debacle? Given your earlier threat, I assume you didn’t act in the official Enforcer capacity.”
Gaius’s forehead creases. Is he trying to compete with Vlad in broodiness, or is glowering something they teach you in Vampire 101?
“When you really want something to happen in the future,” he reluctantly says, “it’s useful to have a powerful seer owe you a favor.”
Before I can question him further, there’s a sound of footsteps, and Ariel enters the chamber. In her hands are a bottle and a phone.
“You’re okay,” she says, and the relief in her voice reminds me of how big of a danger I managed to dodge. Or possibly dodge, pending Chester’s fate and this Rite business. “Your injuries—”
“I took her to one of our healers,” Gaius interjects. “Can’t say who, though—Council secrecy and all that.”
Ariel and I drove in different cars on the way here, and I guess she didn’t get a healing treatment like I did. Yet she looks completely fine. More than fine, in fact. She’s glowing. If our periods weren’t synced, I’d wonder if she’s pregnant. Is it Gaius’s vampire blood? If so, how the hell does that work? Nanotech?
“Thank you,” Ariel says to Gaius with genuine gratitude.
She comes up to me and hands over the bottle. It’s vanilla-flavored Ensure—a meal replacement drink. My stomach rumbles, so I uncap the Ensure and take a swig. I must really be ravenous because the drink tastes more like a delicious milkshake than a bland mix of corn maltodextrin and lecithin.
“Why am I on a liquid diet?” I ask after swallowing another sip.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t eat before the Rite at all,” Gaius says, and Ariel gives him a narrow-eyed stare.
“Why?” I take another gulp and give each of them a worried look. “Does it hurt?”
“She can’t comment on that.” He points at Ariel. “But I can.”
He stands there looking smug, clearly determined to make me sweat.
I take another sip in order to show that I don’t care either way, but my heart rate is increasing. There’s only so much I can withstand in one day, and I went over my limit back in Vegas.