Kat Dubois Chronicles

by Lindsey Sparks

  “I’m fine.”

  I held up my hands to shield myself from his chilly tone. “Alright. Noted.” I laughed under my breath. “Forget I said anything.”

  “You got it.”

  I pointed at him. “See. That’s exactly what I mean. You’re acting weird—all cold and quiet and . . . and weird.”

  Nik raised a single, pierced eyebrow. “Sorry, Kitty Kat. I’ve just got a lot to think about.” His lip quirked into a faint smirk. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got your own shit to deal with.”

  I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing his face. Nik was sorry? He’d never apologized for his behavior before, not even when he broke my hand with his stupid At wall, or after, when he’d nearly killed me. Not even when he’d used his myriad of sheut powers to cloud my mind in an attempt to make me comply with his wishes.

  Something was majorly off with him—more than just him being overwhelmed by our current predicament—but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was Re still in control, just playing it off that he was letting Nik drive?

  I dismissed the thought. It was impossible. In Nik’s case, his eyes truly were windows to his soul—specifically, to which soul was in charge. Pale blue for Nik, moonstone white for Re. It was practically a law of physics.

  My stomach groaned with hunger. Absently, I rubbed the back of my neck, angling my head first one way, then the other to stretch the aching muscles. “Uh . . . I’m starving. I hope Anapa brings us something to eat before the trial. I think I’m getting a hunger headache.”

  Something that looked a hell of a lot like fear flashed in Nik’s pale eyes, and I froze, intrigued by the reaction. It was the most emotion he’d shown in hours. It disappeared almost as quickly as it showed up, making me second-guess whether I’d seen it at all.

  Nik leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “Maybe they want you hungry . . . weakened. Might be part of their strategy to lower your defenses.”

  I frowned, thinking his thoughts weren’t totally unfounded. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said, letting my hand fall back into my lap. My lip curled into a slight sneer. “I’m already not a fan of this High Council. They sound like a bunch of total douche-nozzles…”

  At the sound of that increasingly familiar crackle and whoosh, I stood and turned to face the doorless wall. An opening appeared seconds later, and Anapa walked into the room, accompanied by an unfamiliar Netjer.

  I looked at the new Netjer, scanning him from head to toe, then back up. I shifted my focus back to Anapa, raising my eyebrows. “Who is this?” I asked, pointing to the newcomer with my chin.

  Anapa glanced at the other Netjer sidelong, only for a moment. “This is Sian. He is here to ensure your safe escort to the trial chamber.”

  The trial chamber—so the “trial” was real, after all. Not that that clarified much of anything.

  I gulped. My throat felt dry, thanks to the hours I’d gone without access to any food or water. “I’m starving,” I said, succumbing to the sudden urge to put off the trial for as long as possible. “I don’t know how long you plan on keeping me here, but you’re going to have to feed me at some point, and water is pretty necessary for us earthlings.”

  Anapa bowed his head. “Of course. I’ll see what I can do.” As he raised his head, I caught the meaningful glance he sent Sian’s way. There was warning in his eyes. He didn’t trust the other Netjer.

  I frowned, forcing a quiet “Thanks.” I would have to watch what I said around this new Netjer.

  “Come,” Sian said. It was the first time I’d heard him speak. His voice was smooth like velvet and neither high nor low, fitting his androgynous appearance. Had Anapa not referred to him as a “he,” I wouldn’t have been able to peg his sex. “The High Council is ready for you, and it is not good to keep them waiting.” He started for the open doorway, clearly expecting me to follow.

  I looked at Anapa, then at Nik, and when neither offered me any guidance, I turned and followed Sian. Nik fell in step behind me, and a quick glance over my shoulder told me Anapa was taking up the rear.

  The doorway led into a long, wide hallway with polished pale marble floors and white walls. They were blank, devoid of any doors or windows, but there were benches made of dark wood every dozen feet or so. At the end of the hallway was a single door—the traditional kind, made of wood. Overall, the hallway had a very courthouse vibe, which seemed appropriate . . . but also strange, considering the hallway was in another universe.

  When Sian reached the door at the end of the hallway, he gripped the handle and pulled it open, giving me a view of what lay beyond.

  My eyes widened as I stepped through the doorway.

  The hallway’s appearance made a lot more sense, what with the very legitimate-looking courtroom I’d just entered. It was like something straight out of a movie, with only slight modifications. Row after row of wooden benches filled up the back half of the room, seating for anybody who wanted to watch the proceedings, and a single table with several chairs was set up beyond the benches.

  At the front of the room, there was a raised dais for the judge, or in this case the judges, like you would see at a congressional hearing. There were nine chairs in total, eight filled by Netjers, absolutely still and watching me with unblinking eyes, though the center seat—a throne by pretty much any definition—was empty. The Netjer High Council, live and in technicolor and scary as all hell.

  Gulp.

  Needing some way to redirect my anxious energy, I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my leather coat. The second my fingers closed around a very familiar velvet drawstring bag, my heart gave an excited thud-thump. My tarot cards. Anapa had brought them with my clothes.

  The shock must have shown on my face, and I made an effort to school my features. Was this a sign that Anapa was actually trying to help me? Was this his response to my demand that he tell me whose side he was really on? I clung onto the hope that despite the fact that he’d dragged me into this mess, he had my back. That maybe, just maybe, I could trust him. He hadn’t lied about there being a trial, after all . . .

  Sian led us to the table and chairs arranged near the front of the room. I stood behind the middle chair, and Nik went for the chair on my right, Anapa the one on my left. Sian continued on to the far side of the room, where he took up a stance with his back to the wall, his hands clasped before him in what was very distinctly a guard pose. If I was stupid enough to attack the High Council, he was ready to shut that shit down in a heartbeat.

  Before we could take our seats, the Netjer sitting in the chair to the left of the throne stood. At that point, sitting seemed kind of disrespectful. And for once, I was kind of trying to impress. Or at least play the part.

  A live wire of tension, I shot Nik a sideways glance, wishing I could reach out and take his hand. But I wasn’t willing to give such a blatant display of weakness, so I kept my hand to myself, curling my fingers into a fist instead.

  “Katarina Dubois,” the Netjer said, female from the sound of her voice, though much like with Sian, her short hair and elongated alien features made it difficult to tell. “You have been brought here to stand trial as a representative of your universe. Do you come here free of will and in good faith?”

  To my ears, the sounds coming out of her mouth were complete and utter gibberish, but somehow my brain seemed to understand what she was saying. It was disorienting enough that it took me a few seconds of staring at her expectant face to remember that I was supposed to respond.

  “Uh . . .” I licked my chapped lips, though my tongue was dry and sticky, making the action pretty much useless. “Yeah?” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I do . . . come here of free will and good faith.”

  Ish. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.

  “Very well,” the Netjer said. “Let us begin.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Be seated,” the Netjer spokeswoman said.

  I pulled out the chair directly in front of
me, the chair legs screeching on the hardwood floor. The sound sliced through the silence in the room, making me cringe.

  My cheeks lit on fire. “Sorry,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. I sat and ever-so-carefully scooted the chair in, managing to achieve minimal screeching. Nik sat on my right, Anapa on my left.

  “Sian, please remove the do-not-disturb order on this construct,” the head Netjer said.

  The sound of shuffling and whispers filled the room behind me. Dreading what I would find, I turned slightly in my seat, peeking over my shoulder. Behind me, the room seemed to have expanded, gaining a second and third level, like we were in a theater rather than a replica courtroom.

  As soon as I saw just how many Netjer spectators this trial would have—a relative shit-ton—I turned right back around, fingernails digging into the underside of the seat of my chair. What was this—the Netjer version of Judge Judy?

  My heart thudded in my chest, and I sank lower in my chair, wishing I could just disappear. But I couldn’t. It was pretty clear that all of these people—these Netjers—were here to see me. I could hear them whispering about me. I was a curiosity. An enigma. A novelty. I was a creature to them, not a person.

  “To begin,” the Netjer spokeswoman said, addressing the crowd behind me, “I would like to thank the revered Anapa for doing the hard work and research required to create this construct. As you all know, any time the High Council assembles to determine the fate of a troubled universe, we try our hardest to ensure that the representative of the universe is treated justly and fairly. We are, above all other things, civilized and compassionate. Undue suffering is never an option.”

  I leaned closer to Anapa and whispered into his ear. “How is it that I understand what she’s saying?” Because the only two languages I knew fluently were English and Middle Egyptian, and the sounds she was making sure as hell didn’t belong to either of those.

  “I built a translation mechanism into the construct,” Anapa said, his voice barely audible.

  I waited for him to say more, because his explanation was more or less gibberish to me, but when it was apparent that he was finished, I turned my attention back to the Netjer High Council. I supposed the how didn’t really matter, so long as I could understand the Netjers and they could understand me.

  “And for the remainder of the trail,” the Netjer spokeswoman continued, “please keep your audio muted. Any disruptions will result in immediate expulsion from the construct. Absolutely no exceptions.” She settled a stern look on the spectators. “The Mother of All intends for this to be an exemplary case. The decision made here will set a precedent for all such cases regarding unbalanced mature universes going forward.”

  Oh, shit. Back on earth, it usually wasn’t a good thing for the defendant when a judge decided to “make an example” of someone. I was already nervous, but now I was petrified.

  “Those of you allowed admission to this trial should feel honored,” the Netjer spokeswoman said. “You are witnessing history in the making.” She lifted both hands, palms up, signifying for everyone else to stand as well. “Please rise for the Mother of All. May her justice be fair, her mercy deserved, and her wisdom received with an open heart.”

  The door at the back of the courtroom creaked open, and I turned to see the new arrival. The Mother of All sounded like kind of a big deal. I’d yet to hear anybody refer to her by anything other than her title—Mother of All—which made me think she thought pretty damn highly of herself. I had the impression that she was in charge around here, even more so than the High Council. If the Netjers were gods to my people, it seemed that this “Mother of All” was god to them. I wasn’t sure what that made her to me. A mega-god? Or über-god? Or just big-G God?

  For seconds, nobody passed through the open doorway. The audience of Netjers watched on, attention rapt and expectant.

  I glanced at Anapa. He was so stiff and tense that he was visibly trembling.

  Jesus. Who the hell was this chick?

  Not a Netjer, that much became all too clear when she finally entered the courtroom. And she certainly didn’t look like a human or a Nejeret or any other type of life-form I had ever seen in my life. She was generally humanoid shaped, like the rest of us, but there the resemblance ended.

  The Mother of All was angelic and waiflike, her skin rigid and glittering like millions of cut diamonds, and her eyes shone with a deep, multifaceted violet that reminded me of amethysts. She wore a gossamer, multilayered gown that floated and fluttered around her as though she were underwater. Her long, straight hair seemed to be pure, spun silver, and it trailed behind her as she glided up the aisle to the front of the room.

  As the Mother of All passed each row of benches, those gathered to watch the trial bowed their heads and covered their faces with their hands. When she reached our table, both Anapa and Nik did the same. But not me—all I could do was stare.

  The Mother of All paused at the edge of our table, turning those amethyst eyes on me. “You are Katarina Dubois,” she said, her voice a chorus of whispers and sighs that nearly brought tears to my eyes with its beauty.

  “I —” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m her—Katarina Dubois,” I finally managed to say, my voice sounding harsh and grating compared to hers.

  The Mother of All scanned me, those amethyst eyes trailing down the length of my body, then right back up. “What a curious creature you are. How fascinating . . .” She studied me for a moment longer, then turned away without another word and continued on her way up to the raised dais to join the High Council.

  Like everyone else had done, the members of the High Council bowed their heads and covered their faces with their hands as the Mother of All drew near. Only when she was seated in her throne did they uncover their faces.

  The Netjer on her right, the one who’d been speaking earlier, raised her arms, palms down. “Be seated, all.”

  I started to do what she said.

  “Save for you, Katarina Dubois,” she added.

  I froze halfway down to my seat.

  “Come forward,” she said. “We wish to question you.”

  I remained frozen for another second or two, working on getting my shit together internally before facing this panel of imposing figures. I’d dealt with a lot of higher-up Nejerets back on earth, but these people were on a whole other level. Now that I’d seen her, this Mother of All chick was like—I didn’t even know what. Greater than a Netjer, obviously. I’d been right about that. But what did that make her? What was she? What kind of a being surpassed a Netjer?

  Isfet, I supposed, but she was hardly comparable to a Netjer; she was another thing entirely.

  Ready as I ever would be, I scooted my chair back. The chair legs screeched on the hardwood floor once again. I cringed at the irritating sound but held in my apology this time. I made my way around the table, shooting a furtive glance first at Anapa, then at Nik. Their guarded expressions did nothing to soothe my jittery nerves.

  With a deep breath, I turned away from them and made my way forward. I stopped in the center of the open space in front of the table, directly in front of the Mother of All. My hands felt awkward, like I hadn’t had them my entire life. I had no idea what to do with them, so I opted for stuffing them back into the pockets of my coat. The familiar feel of the velvet drawstring bag eased my anxious nerves, just a little.

  I inhaled deeply, letting out the breath long and slow and only shaking a little. “What do you want to know?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The High Council wanted to know pretty much everything, it turned out.

  They asked me about me—about my childhood, about losing my mom, and about the role I’d played in averting the whole Re-Apep crisis that Lex had been integral to. They asked me about my people, both Nejerets and humans—about our history, our culture and traditions, our current civil war, and what I thought that struggle would mean for the future of Nejerets and humans alike. They asked me about things that seemed so irrelevant
to all of this, like religion and technology and my day-to-day life. They asked me how humans were able to survive fully aware of their own mortality.

  On and on, they asked me an endless stream of questions, each one seeming more nonsensical than the last. I was hungry and thirsty and tired, and I had to pee. My head throbbed, and my saliva was tacky from talking for so long without anything to drink. I actually wanted water, not bourbon or even Cherry Coke, which was pretty damn unusual for me.

  “And when you enter your resting mode—sleep—you have experiences?” the Netjer on the far left asked. “Dreams, I believe they’re called?” If he already knew all of that, why was he asking me about it?

  I combed my fingers through my hair, pausing at the base of my skull to rub the ache that was only settling in deeper. “Yeah . . . but why does this matter?” I blurted before I could stop myself. “What do sleep and dreams have to do with anything?” I moved my hand forward to rub my temple. “I thought this was supposed to be about my universe . . . about the imbalance and all that shi—stuff.”

  Behind me, Anapa cleared his throat. It was a warning.

  Leave it to me to lose my cool at a time like this. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, closing my eyes as I regathered my quickly fraying nerves. “Why am I here?” I asked, opening my eyes and turning my attention to the Mother of All. “Because it can’t be to ask me about things as inane as dreams.”

  The Netjer sitting to the right of the Mother of All straightened in her chair. I was no expert at reading Netjer expressions, but my gut told me that she was pissed.

  I suppressed a smirk—nervous habit.

  A musical giggle filled the courtroom. It was coming from the Mother of All. It was the first sound she’d made since speaking to me when she’d first arrived.

  I was so surprised that I took a step backward.