by Cat Adams
Shouts and swearing erupted from the gallery behind me and I was suddenly very glad no weapons or magic was allowed in the room.
“While I might not have the power to change the prosecutor’s mind and press this case forward, I most certainly can take testimony from the experts already identified by both parties to satisfy myself that you are not a danger to yourself or others.”
Shit. This had taken a rather nasty turn. I might not go to jail, but there was suddenly the very real possibility I could still be committed and I might not be in a position to choose to return to Birchwoods.
“I will allow prosecution and defense ten minutes to confer with your experts. The question is whether Ms. Graves, in her current condition, can be a productive member of society without endangering the citizenry.” She banged a gavel on the bench while glaring daggers at me. “Court is recessed until ten thirty.”
Roberto leaned over and whispered next to my ear as the rest of the room erupted in chaos, “She’s already prejudiced against you. It’ll be easy to overturn it on appeal, no matter what she rules.”
My jaw dropped and my skin started glowing again. “And what am I supposed to do until then, Roberto? Sit in the cage like a good dog, hoping someone will spring me before they bring in the needle?”
He looked at me seriously, his eyes filled with pain. “I’ll do the best I can, Celia. You know that. Can we count on Dr. Scott’s testimony on your behalf? I know he isn’t your treating psychiatrist, but he has credentials Dr. Hubbard doesn’t, and from what I saw during depositions Ann Hubbard will make a terrible witness. You told me therapy has been going well.”
I bit at my lower lip, puncturing it with a fang and making myself wince. “I think you should call Dr. Hubbard anyway. Dr. Scott isn’t . . . happy with me right now.”
My apologetic look didn’t help much. Roberto sighed. “No. Never mind . We’ll go with Professor Sloan.”
Ten minutes goes really fast when you’re listening to people deciding your fate. Before I knew it, the gavel was banging again. I let out a little yelp, but I don’t think anyone other than Roberto noticed. “Mr. Rodriguez, you have ten minutes to make your case.”
A slender woman, dressed in an electric blue skirt set, approached the bench. She was not channeling Ms. Bush. Her heels were at least three inches high and the skirt length wouldn’t have been acceptable by my high school dress code. The witness bench hid most of the show, so all she offered the audience was a tasteful electric blue jacket and white shirt, with pearls, beneath shining auburn hair. Nifty.
Rodriguez apparently didn’t like being timed, because his words came out less smooth and polished than I expected. “Could you state your name for the record?”
“Jessica Marloe.”
“And what is your occupation, Ms. Marloe?”
“It’s Dr. Marloe. I’m a protective therapist at the California State Paranormal Treatment Facility.”
She was one of the guards at the state facility!
“Do you have any experience with vampires, Dr. Marloe?”
“I have studied vampires extensively and in a previous position worked on research into reversing the vampiric process.”
“Could you please tell the Court what success you had with that?”
“We had no success, unfortunately. Once a person is turned, the process always leads to loss of higher brain function and increasing violence until we’re forced to take measures to protect our other patients.” Meaning, they’re put down. I hadn’t been kidding with my comment about a cage and needle.
The testimony went no better for the remainder of the ten minutes and concluded with Dr. Marloe’s conviction that I was a ticking time bomb. I was sure I was done for. But I’d underestimated Roberto. He’d been taking notes the whole time Marloe was talking and stood smoothly when it was time for cross-examination.
“Dr. Marloe, have you ever treated a siren in your facility?”
She looked at him like he was an annoying fly. “No, of course not. There are very few sirens in existence.”
Now it was Roberto who raised his brows. “But surely you’ve read about other cases of sirens in state treatment facilities? Yes?”
She shook her head. “No. There’s never been a siren in a treatment facility.”
He leaned on the edge of the box. “Really? Never? Nowhere in the world? That seems odd, even considering the small population of full- and partial-blooded sirens. Why do you suppose that is?”
She turned on the icy glare. “I have no idea.”
“Could it possibly be because sirens are unique in their mental stability? After all, in order to manipulate a person’s mind, wouldn’t they have to have a great deal of mental strength and intelligence?”
“I . . .” She paused. “I can’t say one way or the other.”
He nodded and looked expressively at the judge before turning his attention to the doctor again. “In the course of your education, you’ve studied most manners of preternatural . . . creatures?”
“Of course.”
“Then are you willing to certify to this court that you’ve studied the physiology and psychology of sirens, even if you’ve never actually treated one or read about the treatment of one?”
Marloe made an odd face. “Well, I know as much as can be known. They’re a highly secretive society and international law prohibits infringement on their territory.”
“Because they can manipulate people’s minds, right? That is, after all, what this case is about.”
I bit at my lip again and let out a muttered swear when I tasted blood. Damn fangs. Where was he going with this?
“Yes, that’s correct.”
She was glaring at me as though daggers were going to shoot out of her eyes. Roberto noticed. “You don’t like my client much, do you, Doctor?”
Her chin went high and haughty. “I don’t even know her.”
“But you think the world would be safer if she was behind bars. Yes?”
Um . . . Roberto? You’re on my side, right? I struggled with everything I had not to move or show my panic.
“I do.”
He scratched the side of his nose lightly. “Doctor, isn’t it true that most fertile women who meet sirens hate them? Want them put behind bars or sent away?”
“Well, it’s not the way you say it—”
He pounced like a cat on a mouse, putting his face inches from hers in classic Perry Mason style. “Really? Because I could have sworn that my preternatural expert told me that sirens can’t influence postmenopausal women, or prepubescent children, or gay men, and that fertile women find them to be a threat. It’s an involuntary emotional reaction that causes the woman to work against the siren. Is that correct?’
Marloe looked at the prosecutor, the judge, the spectators, Roberto—everywhere but at me. Roberto prompted her, “Please remember you’re under oath, Doctor.”
She let out a frustrated breath. “Well, of course, there are exceptions to a siren’s influence. The siren’s psychic call primarily appeals to a certain demographic—”
Roberto kept talking, right over her. “Exceptions like men over sixty and men with vasectomies and even ordinary men who wear magically created charms that prevent them from being affected by that influence. Is that correct?”
She shrugged and shifted in her chair. Her fingers were nibbling at her skirt now and she was having trouble meeting his eyes. Her voice went soft. “Yes, I suppose.”
He stood up to his full height, turned toward the gallery, and spoke without looking at her. He ticked his points off on his fingers as he went. Marloe couldn’t see, but the judge could. “So, what you’re really saying is that Celia cannot affect all senior citizens, all young children, all gay men, all sterilized men, and around half of the women in this great big world. The remaining men might be affected by the Defendant, provided they don’t have a charm to prevent it, and the remaining women will actively work against her rather than do her bidding. Is that what you’
re saying?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper now, her eyes firmly on the floor in front her. I stole a glance at the prosecutor. His jaw muscle was bulging from clenching his teeth so tight.
The judge squirmed, clearly affected by Roberto’s argument. “The prosecution’s ten minutes are up. As are defense’s.”
“Your Honor . . . ,” Roberto began to protest. We hadn’t had a chance to put on our witness after all. But the judge cut him off with a glare. She stood up and picked up a thick file. “The witness will step down. Court will recess for thirty minutes while I consider the evidence.”
For the next half hour, I sat on my uncomfortable wooden chair trying to look inoffensive and harmless while conversations buzzed all around me. People were flat out calling one side or the other idiots. To add to the confusion, a flock of gulls had lined the window ledges outside the courtroom. They were just sitting, staring in at us . . . like tiny, white-winged vultures.
Finally the bailiff announced Jacobson’s return and we all stood.
She sat, we sat, and I waited, the bats in my stomach rising anew.
“The Defendant will rise.” Roberto nudged me and I stood as ordered. I did my best to hide my fangs under my lips and gave the judge my full attention, even though I was shaking more than a little. Please don’t send me away. Would tears help or hurt? It hardly mattered, because I was already crying.
“Ms. Graves. Your attorney gave a masterful performance here, clearly intending to sway me into allowing a known vampire, an admitted psychic manipulator, to go back into open society.” I was clutching the table so hard I was pretty sure my nails would leave marks. The baby food was inching its way back up my throat and the birds began to take flight, hovering outside the courtroom.
“And he managed it.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I felt my body partially collapse against the table. “While I’m still concerned about your . . . abilities, there’s a sizable portion of the human population you cannot affect. You’re not fully vampire, or human, or siren. Yet you currently have command enough of your body and mind to appear here, in full daylight, and at least look repentant. To commit you against your will would be the equivalent of locking up a clairvoyant who chose to reveal the future to people, or a mage who performs magic for pay.
“As much as I may loathe the result, your ability is biological and you quite literally”—she motioned toward the birds thumping against the bulletproof glass—“can’t help it. I find it rather disturbing just how very distasteful I find you, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve that reaction while in my court. Therefore, I have no choice but to believe that I’m biologically prejudiced against you, and will rule based only on the written record and testimony given today. I will recuse myself from any further proceedings involving you.”
She paused for a long moment, anger etching deep lines in her face. “However, know that this court will be watching you carefully. If you start to run amok or appear to be a threat to the general population, I promise you that you will be put away without a second thought. Is that clear?”
I nodded, feeling suddenly light-headed. “Crystal.”
And just that quick, the whole thing was over. On to the next case. A witch, I think. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. I wanted out of there, and the sooner the better. I wanted to find some fresh sea air and an empty beach so that I could calm my frazzled nerves. Unfortunately, there was a wide band of unhappy uniformed cops between me and the exit.
“Excuse us, Officers.” Roberto moved ahead of me, using his body as a shield between me and the angry men. He looked up at the lead officer, meeting his gaze without flinching.
The cop was a big man, six three or four, with the kind of build that you can only get with the benefit of serious weight lifting. He stood there, a solid wall of silent, blue-clad muscle. It was his partner, a smaller, blond man with harsh features and icy blue eyes, who spoke, addressing his words to me rather than Roberto.
“Graves, don’t think you got away with anything. It isn’t over. We’ll be watching you. You’ll screw up eventually. When you do, we’ll have you.”
Roberto’s smile was as warm and friendly as a hungry shark. “I must have misunderstood you, Officer”—he glanced at the man’s name pin—“Clarke. What you just said sounded suspiciously like a threat. You wouldn’t be planning to harass my client, would you?”
The crowded courtroom fell so silent you could hear Clarke’s harsh breathing. He said nothing, but his expression was answer enough. He looked murderous, his jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.
Roberto continued, “Understand, Officer, if you and your men harass my client, we will have you up on charges.”
No one answered. There was another long, tense moment of silence. A standoff. Neither side willing to back down. It was the judge who broke the stalemate. With a gesture, she stopped the witch hearing and signaled for the bailiff, who headed in our direction. As if that were a signal, the cops turned as a unit and filed out of the room. As the last man passed through the door, the courtroom erupted into noise and chaos.
“Sorry about that,” Roberto said softly enough that only the bailiff and I could hear.
“Not your fault.” I forced myself to give him a smile. “Nothing we can do about it, either.”
“We can if they harass you.”
I sighed. “Only if we can prove it. And honestly, how far do you really think we’d get?” I felt and sounded tired and more than a little bit bitter. Roberto might have kept me out of captivity—for now—but there was no way I was out of danger.
The bailiff had moved off and the judge was pounding her gavel. Time for me to get out of here.
“I have another case,” Roberto said. He reached his hand out for me to shake. I shook it, told him “thanks” one more time. “If you need me, you’ve got my number.” He walked away briskly, heading for his next client. I hurried into the hallway myself, hoping to join my friends and family.
I am a big, bad-assed bodyguard, with vampire fangs and siren abilities. Is it wussy of me to admit that I wanted to be held? Because I did. I wanted Bruno, needed to feel his arms around me, to hear him to say it was going to be all right. I knew, logically, that everything had changed, that I could never get my old life back. But I wanted it just the same.
The door was still swinging shut behind me when my gran pulled me close, hugging me as tight as she could. “Oh, Celie, thank God! When I saw it was a woman judge I was so scared! But my prayers were answered. It turned out all right.” She squeezed me tight enough to cut off my breath. For such a tiny woman, she’s strong, in every way. My eyes stung, but I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I held her close.
“They caught the shooter from the Will reading,” Gran said.
My eyes widened. “No! Who was it?”
“They don’t know yet, but he’s in custody and they’re bringing in mages to interrogate him.”
It was great news. Warren and Emma both hugged me, then Warren excused himself explaining that he’d promised to let Kevin know how things turned out. Since no cell phone use was allowed in the courthouse, Warren wanted to immediately head outside and call his son.
It would have been nice if Kevin had come to the hearing, but I understood why he couldn’t.
I half-listened as Em and Gran started talking about taking me to dinner. I was looking for Bruno. He was here. I knew it—I could sense his magic. It slid over my skin like liquid silk, making all the little hairs stand up.
But where was he? Turning slowly, I began searching in earnest, finally finding him standing next to his brother Matteo, the priest. I smiled at them and started to hurry over, my steps faltering when I saw the expressions on their faces.
Matty came forward first. He pulled me into a fierce hug. I barely had time to hear his whispered, “I’m sorry, Celia. I really am,” before he let me go and strode toward the exit at a speed that was just short of a run.
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“Matty?” I looked after him for an instant, then turned to Bruno, who had sat down on a bench in a shadowed alcove not too far away. He didn’t look up, just sat there, head in his hands. “Bruno . . . what’s wrong? We won.”
I stopped about eighteen inches away, afraid to come closer. Why didn’t he say anything? Why wasn’t he looking at me?
He looked up just then and my heart fell to my feet. His expression was so lost, pain etched deep in his features.
“What’s wrong?” I came closer but didn’t touch him, knowing somehow that I shouldn’t.
There were voices behind me. The others were coming. I could hear them.
Bruno gently took my hand and led me into a small meeting room usually used by attorneys to meet with their clients. He pulled a ceramic disk the size of a quarter out of a pant pocket. Setting it on the floor at the doorway, he muttered a soft incantation under his breath. A wave of blue-white light spread out in a perfect circle with us at the center. I could feel the power of it like pressure in the air and I found myself working my jaw, trying to get my ears to pop. All of the ambient noise in the hall was just gone, as if I’d stepped into a soundproof booth.
Maybe I had.
“Bruno?”
He still wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead he sank into a chair and gestured for me to sit opposite from him.
My throat was tight. I barely dared to breathe. I sat.
“I love you, Celie. I always have. I always will.” His voice cracked. Tears filled my eyes and the world grew blurry.
“You’re everything to me. You always have been . . . since the day we met.” He meant it. I could feel the intensity of it.
He looked at me then. There were tears rolling down his cheeks. Big, tough Jersey Italians aren’t supposed to cry, but he was crying and his voice was a hoarse croak.
“I went back to Jersey, to tell Irene it was over, that I was taking a new job and moving to L.A. to be with you.”
I couldn’t speak. I hadn’t known there was someone else, that he’d had to make a choice between me and anyone. My chest was heaving as if I couldn’t get enough air, my heart pounding as though it would explode. No. Not explode. Break. My heart was breaking. He’d never mentioned another woman. You’d think she would have come up in conversation.