by Cecy Robson
Position?
I exchanged glances with my sisters; they didn’t seem to know what Captain Pointy Teeth meant either. Taran shrugged. “Who gives a shit? Just say something.”
I waved a hand. “Um. Registered nurse?”
Judging by his “please don’t make me eat you before the proceedings” scowl, and the snickering behind us, I hadn’t provided him with the appropriate response.
He enunciated every word carefully and slowly so as to not further confuse my obviously feeble and inferior mind. “Position in the supernatural world.”
“We’ve tried to avoid your world.” I gave Taran the evil eye. “For the most part. But if you must know, I’m a tigress.”
“Weretigress,” he said as he wrote.
“I’m not a were,” I interjected defensively.
He huffed. “Can you change into a tigress or not?”
“Well, yes. But that doesn’t make me a were.”
The vamps behind us buzzed with feverish whispers while the judges’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. Not knowing what we were made them nervous. A nervous vamp was a dangerous vamp. And the room was bursting with them.
“What I mean is, unlike a were, I can change parts of my body without turning into my beast completely.” And unlike anything else on earth, I could also shift―disappear under and across solid ground and resurface unscathed. But they didn’t need to know that little tidbit. Nor did they need to know I couldn’t heal my injuries. If it weren’t for Emme’s unique ability to heal herself and others, my sisters and I would have died long ago.
“Fascinating,” he said in a way that clearly meant I wasn’t. The feather quill didn’t come with an eraser. And the judge obviously didn’t appreciate my making him mess up his book. He dipped his pen into his little inkwell and scribbled out what he’d just written before addressing Taran. “Taran Wird, position?”
“I can release magic into the forms of fire and lightning—”
“Very well, witch.” The vamp scrawled.
“I’m not a witch, asshole.”
The judge threw his plume on the table, agitated. Judge Malika fixed her frown on Taran. “What did you say?”
Nobody flashed a vixen grin better than Taran. “I said, ‘I’m not a witch. Ass. Hole.’”
Emme whimpered, ready to hurl from the stress. Shayna giggled and threw an arm around Taran. “She’s just kidding, dude!”
No. Taran didn’t kid. Hell, she didn’t even know any knock-knock jokes. She shrugged off Shayna, unwilling to back down. She wouldn’t listen to Shayna. But she would listen to me.
“Just answer the question, Taran.”
The muscles on Taran’s jaw tightened, but she did as I asked. “I make fire, light—”
“Fire-breather.” Captain Personality wrote quickly.
“I’m not a—”
He cut her off. “Shayna Wird?”
“Well, dude, I throw knives—”
“Knife thrower,” he said, ready to get this little meet-and-greet over and done with.
Shayna did throw knives. That was true. She could also transform pieces of wood into razor-sharp weapons and manipulate alloys. All she needed was metal somewhere on her body and a little focus. For her safety, though, “knife thrower” seemed less threatening.
“And you, Emme Wird?”
“Um. Ah. I can move things with my mind—”
“Gypsy,” the half-wit interpreted.
I supposed “telekinetic” was too big a word for this idiot. Then again, unlike typical telekinetics, Emme could do more than bend a few forks. I sighed. Tigress, fire-breather, knife thrower, and Gypsy. We sounded like the headliners for a freak show. All we needed was a bearded lady. I sighed. That’s what happens when you’re the bizarre products of a back-fired curse.
Misha glanced at us quickly before stepping forward once more. “I will present Mr. Hank Miller and Mr. Timothy Brown as witnesses—” Taran exhaled dramatically and twirled her hair like she was bored. Misha glared at her before finishing. “I do not doubt justice will be served.”
Judge Zhahara Nadim, who resembled more of an Egyptian queen than someone who should be stuffed into a powdered wig, surprised me by leering at Misha like she wanted his head for a lawn ornament. I didn’t know what he’d done to piss her off; yet knowing we weren’t the only ones hated brought me a strange sense of comfort. She narrowed her eyes at Misha, like all predators do before they strike, and called forward someone named “Destiny.” I didn’t know Destiny, but I knew she was no vampire the moment she strutted onto the dais.
I tried to remain impassive. However, I really wanted to run away screaming. Short of sporting a few tails and some extra digits, Destiny was the freakiest thing I’d ever seen. Not only did she lack the allure all vampires possessed, but her fashion sense bordered on disastrous. She wore black patterned tights, white strappy sandals, and a hideous black-and-white polka-dot turtleneck. I guessed she sought to draw attention from her lime green zebra-print miniskirt. And, my God, her makeup was abominable. Black kohl outlined her bright fuchsia lips, and mint green shadow ringed her eyes.
“This is a perfect example of why I don’t wear makeup,” I told Taran.
Taran stepped forward with her hands on her hips. “How the hell is she a witness? I didn’t see her at the club that night! And Lord knows she would’ve stuck out.”
Emme trembled beside me. “Taran, please don’t get us killed!”
I gave my youngest sister’s hand a squeeze. “Steady, Emme.”
Judge Malika called Misha’s two witnesses forward. “Mr. Miller and Mr. Brown, which of you gentlemen would like to go first?”
Both “gentlemen” took one gander at Destiny and scrambled away from her. It was never a good sign when something scared a vampire. Hank, the bigger of the two vamps, shoved Tim forward.
“You may begin,” Judge Malika commanded. “Just concentrate on what you saw that night. Destiny?”
The four judges swiftly donned protective ear wear, like construction workers used, just as a guard flipped a switch next to the flat-screen. At first I thought the judges toyed with us. Even with heightened senses, how could they hear the testimony through those ridiculous ear guards? Before I could protest, Destiny enthusiastically approached Tim and grabbed his head. Tim’s immediate bloodcurdling screams caused the rest of us to cover our ears. Every hair on my body stood at attention. What freaked me out was that he wasn’t the one on trial.
Emme’s fair freckled skin blanched so severely, I feared she’d pass out. Shayna stood frozen with her jaw open while Taran and I exchanged “oh, shit” glances. I was about to start the “let’s get the hell out of here” ball rolling when images from Tim’s mind appeared on the screen. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Complete with sound effects, we relived the night of David’s murder. Misha straightened when he saw David soar out of Taran’s window in flames, but otherwise he did not react. Nor did Misha blink when what remained of David burst into ashes on our lawn. Still, I sensed his fury. The image moved to a close-up of Hank’s shocked face and finished with the four of us scowling down at the blood and ash.
Destiny abruptly released the sobbing Tim, who collapsed on the floor. Mucus oozed from his nose and mouth. I didn’t even know vamps were capable of such body fluids.
At last, Taran finally seemed to understand the deep shittiness of our situation. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered.
Hank gawked at Tim before addressing the judges. “If it pleases the court, I swear on my honor I witnessed exactly what Tim Brown did about David Geller’s murder. My version would be of no further benefit.”
Malika shrugged indifferently. “Very well, you’re excused.” She turned toward us while Hank hurried back to his seat. “As you just saw, we have ways to expose the truth. Destiny is able to extract memories, but she cannot alter them. Likewise, during Destiny’s time with you, you will be unable to change what you saw. You’ll only review what has already come to pass.”
I frowned. “How do we know you’re telling us the truth?”
Malika peered down her nose at me. “What choice do you have? Now, which of you is first?”
Photo by Kate Gledhill of Kate Gledhill Photography
Cecy Robson is an author of contemporary romance, young adult adventure, and award-winning urban fantasy. A double RITA® 2016 finalist for Once Pure and Once Kissed, and a published author of more than sixteen titles, you can typically find her on her laptop writing her stories or stumbling blindly in search of caffeine.
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