The Lycanthrope's Lawyer

by Jason Rose

  “I don’t think it’s necessary. I believe you. Judge Prestegard, Judge Saleena, do either of you doubt the accuracy of the representations made by Advocate Valentine regarding Massachusetts law or the abatement ab initio doctrine?”

  “No, Judge,” answers Judge Saleena.

  Prestegard looks upset, but he shakes his head side to side in agreement with Judge Saleena. What the hell is happening? This shouldn’t be this easy. The last thing I expected was for Judge Tavar to assume control over the panel and accept my defense without so much as making me put up a fight.

  “Judges,” I interrupt, “I have an attorney appearing in human court in Boston right now. We’ve asked a judge there to sign an order vacating the conviction against my client. It should be signed this morning. As soon as the order is signed, my colleague in Boston will be emailing it to my associate here,” I point at Joycee, “she has a portable printer and can print copies for the Court. We should have it before we’re done today. Without a conviction in human court, Advocate Makki’s case falls apart.”

  “Advocate Makki, do you have a response?” prompts Prestegard, a look of desperation in his wide eyes.

  Makki freezes, and then spits out through clenched teeth, “My Lord, as an Advocate who serves on behalf of all Concordat citizens, and now having the benefit of this obscure human law brought to light by Advocate Valentine, I feel like I have no choice other than to withdraw the charges against Eirik Varulv.” The gallery erupts. It is difficult to separate the jeers from the cheers. It all melds together into a chaotic rumble.

  A high-pitched shrieking sound erupts from Judge Saleena’s throat, causing nearly the entire courtroom to cover their ears.

  Judge Tavar who seems unaffected by the sonic attack, raises his hand signaling Saleena to stop. “Thank you, Judge Saleena.” She nods and closes her mouth, shutting off the painful screeching.

  Tavar allows the room a moment to collect itself. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain quiet while in the courtroom. If you need to react, do it somewhere else.” Tavar looks over to his right at Judge Prestegard. He appears to be waiting for Prestegard to say something. After a minute passes, during which it becomes clear Prestegard is pouting and has no intention of saying anything further, Judge Tavar announces while shaking his head, “The charges against Eirik Varulv have been withdrawn. The case is dismissed. Court is adjourned.”

  I look down at Sinn, who’s still sitting in her chair beside me in disbelief. I want to ask her what just happened. What am I missing? I don’t. It would be disrespectful to the profession, to the Court, and to my opponent. Trials are for deciding issues, fighting battles, not questioning or celebrating outcomes—that’s what bars and appeals are for. A good lawyer is as measured and poised in their wins as they are in their losses. That doesn’t mean I’m not happy and/or confused about what just happened. I am. It doesn’t really make sense. I mean, I expected to win; I always expect to win, just not like this. I never expect the other side to give up so easily. This was so anti-climactic. I feel like I stayed up all night on the castle walls preparing for battle at dawn, and when the sun rose, it revealed an empty field—the army of bloodthirsty raiders fled during the night.

  This Advocate thing will take getting used to. In human courts, lawyers live to fight. They’ll fight unwinnable battles and take indefensible positions just because it’s Tuesday and nobody likes a quitter. Humans may not live very long, but we sure do burn bright. The same toughness, or possibly stupidity, doesn’t seem to apply to citizens. They seem to retreat at the first sign they might lose a skirmish. Maybe it’s a product of being long-lived, or of playing the long game? It’s something to ponder. Possibly something I can exploit. It reminds me of the scene in the movie Gattaca where Ethan Hawke, playing a less than genetically perfect human named Vincent, goes ocean swimming with his genetically perfect brother Anton, after not seeing him for many years. As kids, they often did this to see who could swim out the farthest and, because Anton was genetically superior, even though he was younger, he would always win. This time though, this time, Vincent is winning. Anton finally gives up, and shouts, ‘How are you doing this? How are you doing any of this?’ And Vincent replies, “I never saved anything for the swim back.” Maybe that’s also the key to winning in Concordat court. To be willing to fully commit. Pushing all your chips in at once and living with the results. Or maybe I’m overthinking it. I feel Sinn touch my hand, and it brings me back to the moment.

  The courtroom is clearing, but there are still quite a few people ambling about. I look over and give Wilson another prearranged hand signal and then I start packing up. Joycee rolls up the projector screen and grabs her rolling cart with the portable printer. Sinn grabs her bags. The three of us quickly make for my rune gate. Wilson follows with Adrian and his team in tow.

  Sinn told me that sometimes after big cases, Advocates hang around in the courthouse, like bullies on a school playground after the final bell. Some chat with friends and colleagues; others use the time to torment, recruit, or gain leverage over those they deem weaker. There are a lot of Advocates in the building. Advocates I’d like to meet and speak with. While many of the other twenty-three Advocates are potential allies and sources of information, each also represents risk. Advocates are some of the most powerful, dangerous, and unpredictable beings on the planet. Having them all in the same room, at the same time, intermingled with humans, citizens, and a handful of mixed and weak bloods, is like locking a pack of hungry wolves into a barn with livestock. Healthy fear might prevent the wolves from attacking each other, respect for Concordat law might save the citizens, but god help the livestock. And unfortunately, humans and weak bloods are the livestock, and it’s not a crime to slaughter the livestock. And if my assessment of the crowd that gathered for this trial is correct, it’s a lean time to be a wolf. Lots of mouths to feed and not a lot of vulnerable food sources. If I were here alone, I might work the room; a certain amount of personal risk is acceptable. Unnecessarily risking my team is never acceptable. Best to get the human members of my team out of here as quickly as possible. When we reach the gate with my personal rune atop it, I grasp the silver engraved door handle and pull the door open to my office. We all pile through as quickly as we can and the door slams shut behind us.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Friday Afternoon

  “How did my father really die?” The Lycanthrope is shouting and trying to get to me. Red is standing between us, playing peacemaker and struggling to hold Adrian back. Despite Red’s size, it’s clear he’s not Adrian’s match. Adrian’s other soldiers are fanning out in the office, taking up defensive positions in case their boss decides to throw down. My team was first through the gate. Sinn, Joycee and Wilson have already taken positions behind desks which I know have hidden weapons, weapons that are likely loaded with silver bullets. Wilson takes pride in anticipating situations and preparing in advance. None of my team is openly brandishing a weapon; they know better than to escalate the situation, but they are prepared. If something goes down, our survival hinges on striking hard and fast, and my team is ready.

  Fighting six werewolves in the close confines of my office isn’t really ideal. Not only is there the potential for me or a member of my team to get killed or injured, there’s also the near certainty that my office will get wrecked. I can’t emphasize enough how hard it is to get blood out of wooden floors. If it sits there, even for a second, it discolors the wood and you must sand and refinish the entire floor to restore it. Or so I’ve been told. I saw a lot of crime scenes during my time at the public defender’s office.

  “Adrian, you need to calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! You got my father killed!”

  “You said it yourself, he was already gone. And we didn’t kill him, the guards did. You saw the news report.” While technically true, we might as well have killed him. We definitely engineered his death. It isn’t something I am proud of. I wouldn’t have done it without fi
rst confirming his spirit was gone and there was no way to put it back. I realize there’s a razor-thin moral edge that I’m balancing on here, the sacrifice of a single soulless werewolf in exchange for avoiding a supposed war. It sounds like a utilitarian justificatory wet dream. Still, it was a choice, one that six months ago I never would have been able to make. It’s funny how a duel to the death with a vampire and discovering the world’s full of terrifying monsters will change your world perspective and reset your moral compass.

  “You didn’t have to fucking kill him, that was my father!” Red is laboring to keep Adrian away from me; his breath is labored from the exertion. Fortunately, Adrian is losing steam. Some of the fight is leaking out of him; sorrow is rushing in to replace it.

  “You told me you needed to win no matter what the cost. I gave you what you wanted. You get to keep your crown. All is right in the world.” This entire dance, I’ve held my ground. I wanted to run, that would have been the dumbest thing I could have done. You can never show fear to a client; they will rip you apart. In the instance where your client is a werewolf, that might literally happen.

  Adrian pushes Red off and falls back into a chair. His hands are covering his eyes and working hard to keep the light out.

  Seeing the tide has receded, I shift with it. “I’m sorry for your loss, I really am. Although I didn’t know your father, it’s clear he meant a lot to you. But you need to get up, stop feeling sorry for yourself and find the person who is actually responsible for killing your daughter.”

  One thing they don’t teach you at law school is that being a good lawyer is more than just being knowledgeable in the law and a good arguer. A good lawyer must be a chameleon, sometimes a good listener, sometimes a good coach, sometimes angry, sometimes sad, sometimes empathetic, sometimes a jokester, and sometimes you gotta be a dick. You must be whatever it is your client needs at that moment. You don’t get to be the you, you want to be; you have to be the you, you need to be. A few moments ago, Adrian needed a target to blame, and now he needs a swift kick in the ass to get him back on track. Nobody said this job was easy; it’s not. It never was and it never will be.

  Adrian starts to cry, not just a little, but enough where his team starts to give each other uncomfortable looks. I’m not cry-shaming him; men should be able to cry. I’ve even been told that sometimes seeing a man cry can be sexy. This isn’t one of those times. This is an uncomfortable wailing cry. After about five minutes, Adrian stops sobbing, stands up and walks towards me. Red moves to intervene; I shake him off.

  When Adrian reaches me, he says, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you.” After a few moments of awkward silence, in uncomfortable proximity to one another, during which friends would probably hug, he finally asks, “You wouldn’t mind opening a gate for me back to my cabin? I need some time to think. Time to say goodbye.”

  I nod.

  “Will you make sure my team gets back to where they need to go?”

  I nod again. Sometimes a simple gesture says more than any number of words.

  “Thank you.” His head drops down in resignation. He is a beaten man, one who needs some time to figure things out.

  I walk over to the wall and draw a door and a handle with my magic Sharpie. I reach into the wall and pull the door open to Adrian’s cabin in the woods. Adrian nods and then steps through the gateway. Red makes as if to follow him, Adrian raises his hand and shakes his head no, pulling the door closed, and leaving Red trapped back in Oakland with the rest of us.

  “Open another gate,” demands Red.

  “No. If he wanted you to come with him, he would have invited you. Leave him be. At least for now. Isn’t there a pack gathering tonight? You can see him then. I’ll make sure he gets there.”

  “It got canceled. The challenge against him was withdrawn after the case against his father was dismissed.”

  The quizzical look on my face must have spurred him on because Red holds up his cell phone. “I got a text message.”

  I nod. “Who made the challenge in the first place?”

  Red’s eyes burn with anger. “Kane.”

  “The Mahi pack leader?”

  “He’s a coward. Too afraid to challenge Adrian to one-on-one combat, as honor demands.”

  “Do you think he’s the one that engineered this whole thing? Killed Adrian’s daughter?”

  “Not by himself; I don’t think he has the resources to pull it off. Definitely doesn’t have the pull to get Advocates working on his behalf. He may be the face of it, but he’s not calling the shots.”

  “If not him, who?”

  “I don’t know, Advocate, you tell me.” I can’t help but smile. I like Red. He’s straightforward. Even when he was trying to mislead me, he never actually lied to me. He’s also fiercely loyal to Adrian, another trait I admire.

  “All we know is that there a conspiracy against the Lycanthrope, and Kane, Makki, and Prestegard are all involved somehow. What’s the common thread? What’s the end game? If it’s just to overthrow Adrian, why not just kill him? There’s a piece to this puzzle we’re missing. What is it?”

  “It’s your job to figure that out,” replies Red. “You’re the Advocate. I’m just a security guard.”

  “Yeah just a security guard. Right. You keep telling yourself that.”

  “Tell me,” he asks, changing the mood of the room, “how did Eirik really die?”

  I look past Red over at Wilson who’s still holding position behind his desk. Everyone other than Red and I seem frozen in a stand-off. Nobody wants to be the first one to relax their guard or back down. We may all be working together, but that doesn’t mean we're all on the same side.

  I consider Red’s question for a moment. The more I think about it, the less I feel like telling the truth. In this case, I don’t think it helps anybody. Do the details surrounding Eirik’s death really matter? He’s dead. End of story. Telling Red will not make anything better. It’s not going to take the future nightmares away. Neither Wilson nor I had it in us to kill Eirik’s body ourselves. Taking a life, an innocent life, isn’t a small thing. And no matter what anyone tries to tell me about Eirik Varulv being evil, or his soul being gone, it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse. Eirik’s soulless body was a complete blank slate. A living creature with no hate in its heart. A true innocent, the same as a newborn baby. So, we took the chickenshit way out and let somebody else do the dirty work. Wilson put a plastic gun in Eirik’s hand. I opened a gate to just outside the walls of the prison below one of the guard towers. Wilson pushed Eirik through the gateway, leaned across the threshold and fired a shot into the tower near one of the guards and then pulled the gate door closed, sealing Eirik on the other side, and we let fate take over. “You heard the news reporter.”

  Red smirks. “Keep your secrets. Can you open a door to the Winnipeg airport? We have a plane there; we can use it to go wherever we need to go.”

  I’m not great on Canada’s geography, but I remember Cinnamon telling us that Winnipeg was the nearest major city to Adrian’s cabin. Red is loyal to a fault and is likely planning on going directly to his boss’s cabin to make sure he’s all right. Who am I to interfere? I did what I could, what I thought was necessary. I bought Adrian a little alone time to grieve, but I can’t keep his people away forever. He is a King after all and Kings must rule . . . and put up with overprotective handlers. It’s kind of a package deal.

  “Sure, you got to do one thing for me, though.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Friday Late Afternoon

  “What did you ask Red to do for you?” asks Sinn.

  All the wolves left about an hour ago. I did what Red asked and gated them all to the Winnipeg airport. I suspect they’ve already made it to Adrian’s cabin. Wilson and Joycee bounced shortly thereafter. Wilson wanted credit for the abatement ab initio idea; I neither confirmed nor denied his assistance had anything to do with my recollection of the legal principle. The fact is, if Wilson hadn’t pointe
d out that Eirik was staying in the same prison as that famous football player, the one who was convicted of murder, and then committed suicide, thereby potentially preventing the family of his alleged victim from using his criminal conviction as evidence in their wrongful death claims against his estate, I wouldn’t have thought to apply the principle here. In a roundabout way, Wilson deserves some credit and a bonus. I’m thinking about just buying him a Tesla, not telling him and pretending I bought it for myself. The look on his face when I pull up to the office in a Tesla, toss him the keys, and ask him to park it for me, will be worth the excessive cost of the car. The look he gives when I tell him it’s a gift will be cool too, just not nearly as satisfying.

  The office is now empty, except for Sinn and me. I’ve been seated at my desk, catching up on some paperwork while she’s been working on her computer. Her question about what I asked Red are the first words she’s said to me since court. It’s safe to say that despite our moment, things are still awkward between us.

  “I told Red that he needed to make sure Adrian set up a trust fund for Rodrigo Ruiz’s wife and young child. It was the right thing to do. Adrian owes them at least that much. God can sort out the rest of the debt.”

  Sinn hesitates and then in a determined voice, the voice she uses once she’s made up her mind about something, says, “Take me out to dinner tonight. A real date. I want to try, Colt. I’m trying.”

  My heart lifts up and slams itself against the inside of my chest. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard pretty words than, I want to try, Colt. I’m trying. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”