Halo Effect

by Annabel Chase

  The harpy kept a firm grip on him. “Emma, you of all paranormals understand how important it is to stand on the side of good. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good paranormals to do nothing.”

  “This doesn’t even sound like you,” I said. “Listen to yourself. The Phoebe I know would mock someone for paraphrasing Edmund Burke.”

  The spell’s hold on her seemed too strong now and I sensed I wouldn’t be able to convince Phoebe to let him go. As much as it pained me, I was going to have to resort to magic.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe. You left me no choice.”

  I pulled my wand from my waistband and aimed at the harpy, conjuring the freeze spell. Phoebe stiffened, unable to move. Florian wasted no time slipping away from her dangerous talons.

  “I have a spell like that,” Ember said. “Except I say ‘congelo.’”

  Florian observed the frozen harpy. “What do we do now?”

  “Can you help me relocate her upstairs?” I asked. “We need to lock her in her room until I can sort this out.”

  “What about the others?” Ember asked. “Won’t they be angry when they find out what you’ve done?”

  “I can safely say they won’t be angry,” I said, although that didn’t mean there’d be no retaliation. They’d just do it with a calm, creepy smile.

  “Do you mind if we move our stuff to your place until we leave?” Ember asked.

  “I think that’s wise,” I said.

  Florian hoisted the harpsicle over his shoulder. “I’ll leave her in her room and grab our bags.”

  “Tell Gareth I sent you,” I said. “You won’t hear his response, but you won’t want to.” I pictured the territorial vampire ghost whining about guests in his safe space, although I knew one look at Florian’s broad shoulders would soothe him.

  “Where are you going?” Ember asked.

  “I need to check on Octavia.” The formidable matriarch was the one I was most worried about.

  I bolted from the house and nearly tripped over Professor Wallis. He was on his hands and knees with his head stuck in the bushes.

  I jumped back. “Professor Wallis, what are you doing here?”

  “Following the tangi. I spotted one a few hundred yards away and tracked her to the house. I think she might have burrowed underneath the foundation.”

  “You can’t be here right now,” I said, urging him away.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we need to go. Now.”

  The professor’s disappointment was evident. “Is this something to do with the Minors? I saw the oldest one and her granddaughter earlier when they left the house. They didn’t seem bothered by my presence.”

  I had a feeling a nuclear bomb in the kitchen wouldn’t bother Octavia right now.

  “Did you happen to hear where they were headed?”

  “Into town,” he said. “That’s all I heard.”

  “Thanks, that helps.”

  “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Can I help?”

  “Not with this, but thank you for offering. There’s a family emergency and it would be best if everyone left them alone for now.” I hooked my arm through his and steered him away.

  He glanced longingly over his shoulder at the house. “How long do you think the emergency will last?”

  I sighed deeply. “I wish I knew.”

  The professor disappeared into the woods and I returned to my house to drive Sigmund into town. It didn’t take long to track down Octavia. Paranormals were pushing their way out of Brew-Ha-Ha at a rapid rate. Each one looked more frightened than the last.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “There’s a harpy inside with talons and she’s not afraid to use them.”

  A shivering elf gripped my sleeve in fear. “A pixie accused Henrik of messing up an order and she refused to pay. Some old harpy with excessive chin hair went nuts and has the pixie pinned to the wall.”

  Uh oh.

  I forced my way through the crowd that continued to spill out of the shop. By the time I got inside, the berserker, Octavia, and the pixie were the only three left inside. Octavia was in human form, with the exception of her talons which were currently being used to hang the pixie like a piece of artwork on the wall. Henrik’s eyes rounded when he saw me enter and he shook his head.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve come to see Octavia.”

  The harpy turned at the sound of her name and regarded me with a smile, as though I’d stumbled into the middle of a friendly game of bridge.

  “Emma, what a nice surprise.”

  I hovered by the counter, wanting to tread carefully. One sudden move could turn the pixie into scraps. “Octavia, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said in a cheerful tone. It was unsettling to hear the change from the harpy’s usual voice. “This criminal mastermind tried to steal a latte from this fine establishment. Henrik gave her an extra shot of fortitude, just as she requested, and she insisted that he was mistaken simply so she could get it for free.”

  “I told her it wasn’t a big deal,” the berserker said. “It happens sometimes, but she insisted on exacting some kind of warped vigilante justice.”

  I wandered closer to the deadly harpy. “I totally understand why you’d want to help, Octavia.” My gaze shifted to the pixie’s petrified face and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “You know me. Always trying to do the right thing. If anyone understands, I do.”

  “That’s right,” Henrik chimed in. “She saved the whole town, remember?”

  Octavia dragged her gaze back to me. “I do remember. You have a good heart, Emma. It’s what everyone loves about you.”

  “Not you,” I said, edging closer. “You think it’s hilarious that I try to help everyone.”

  New wrinkles formed over old wrinkles along her brow. “I do?”

  “You do. It’s not your style.” Slowly my fingers slid to my waistband to retrieve my wand.

  Octavia seemed to ponder my statement. “Maybe…”

  “Maybe you should let the pixie go.”

  She retracted her talons and the pixie slid to the floor, her teeth chattering.

  “You should go,” I said, giving the pixie a pointed look.

  She didn’t wait around to ask questions. She simply bolted for the door, her wings buzzing nonstop.

  “You’re right, Emma.” Octavia appeared shellshocked and I wondered whether she realized how close she came to harming the innocent pixie.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “It isn’t my style.”

  Relief washed over me. “I’m glad you came to your senses, Octavia. This isn’t like you.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’m not a good paranormal at all. I intimidate others and I inflict pain on those who don’t deserve it. I’m terrible to my own family.” Her eyes met mine as her talons slid back into place. “Maybe I should do something about me.”

  Fear shot through me and I took aim at the harpy, using the same spell I’d used on Phoebe. Octavia froze in place. I was glad that I had the presence of mind to use the freeze spell instead of blowback. If I’d have slammed the aging harpy against the wall, I wasn’t sure I’d live to see another day.

  Henrik whistled from behind the safety of the counter. “Spell’s bells, Emma. That was intense.”

  My shoulders sagged as the energy drained from my body. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “What now? Should we get the sheriff in here?”

  It seemed like the right move, especially because I promised Astrid I’d stay out of dangerous situations.

  “Would you mind getting a message to her?” I asked. “I have somewhere I have to be and I can’t miss it.”

  “No problem. You’ve done your part.”

  “The spell will wear off within the hour.” If only the other spell would wear off, too. Whatever it was, the magic was designed to stick.

  “Then I’ll make sure the sheriff gets here before then,” he said.


  “Tell her Octavia is under a spell. It might be best to hold her in a cell until it passes.” I shuddered to think how angry the harpy would be to discover she was behind bars. Still, it was for her own safety as much as anyone else’s. “And put her on suicide watch.”

  Henrik glanced warily at the harpy. “You really think?”

  “She’s not herself,” I said. “We have to take precautions.”

  Who knew being good could take such a dark turn?

  Chapter Seventeen

  I felt awful about being late for Ansell’s trial and hoped the ogre didn’t think I was abandoning him. The last thing he needed was another blow to his delicate self-esteem. Even worse, the judge presiding over the case was relatively new to Spellbound. Although she seemed reasonable, showing up late wasn’t an ideal first impression.

  The upside was I wasn’t far from the Great Hall. The downside was I didn’t have my file with me. Thankfully, I’d studied the information backward and forward.

  I can do this, I told myself.

  I raced into the courtroom. “I’m so sorry I’m late. There was an emergency situation.”

  Judge Batten squinted at me. “Involving loss of life? Because that’s the only reason I can think of for being late to my courtroom, Ms. Hart.”

  “Yes, loss of life was definitely an issue.”

  Rochester, the prosecutor, cast a sidelong glance at me. “Everything okay?” he mouthed.

  I nodded and sat beside my client. Although the wizard was my opposing counsel, he and I had worked enough cases together to develop mutual trust and respect.

  “I’m sorry, Ansell,” I whispered. “There were circumstances beyond my control. I promise it won’t reflect poorly on you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ansell said. “I’m an ogre. I already reflect poorly on me.”

  I patted his wide shoulders. “It’s going to work out. I feel it in my bones.”

  He grinned at me. “Is that your legal opinion?”

  The judge kicked off the proceedings and I fell silent. Although it was hard to focus on the case with thoughts of Octavia and Phoebe swirling around my head, I had no choice. Ansell Howard deserved my full attention.

  Ansell’s boss was the first to testify. Don Yates looked exactly as Ansell had described him. He swaggered to the witness box with a smug expression and settled in like he owned the place. I noticed that the witness box had been altered slightly to accommodate the centaur’s frame so maybe he did feel like he owned the place.

  “Please state your name for the court,” the judge said.

  “Donald Dustin Mortimer Yates,” he said.

  Ugh, even his name was awful. “And your occupation?”

  “I’m the president of a company called Mini Meow,” he said.

  Rochester moved closer to the witness box. “How would you describe your relationship with the defendant?”

  “I’m his boss. That means I tell him what to do and he does it.” He had the audacity to smirk at my client. As nonviolent as I was, I completely understood my client’s need to punch his boss in the face.

  “How would you characterize the defendant as an employee?” the wizard asked.

  “Stubborn. Argumentative.” Don shrugged. “A general pain.”

  Ansell flinched at the centaur’s description.

  Rochester asked for a summary of events leading up to the defendant’s violent outburst.

  “It was completely unprovoked,” Don said, “but that’s the risk you take when you hire an ogre.”

  I heard a quiet moan of outrage from behind us and turned to see one of Ansell’s co-workers, Violet. I almost didn’t recognize the elf. She wore a hooded cloak that obscured most of her face. It was only because she was seated directly behind me that I could see her. It saddened me that she was the only friend from work to show up in support of Ansell, but I understood their reticence. Don seemed like the kind of paranormal who would hold a grudge for perceived disloyalty.

  “You’re up, Ms. Hart,” the judge said.

  “No questions, Your Honor.”

  Rochester raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  As far as I was concerned, the less Don spoke, the better. All he did was use his answers as an opportunity to bash my client. I’d let Ansell do the talking when it was his turn.

  “The prosecution would like to call Finnegan McCarthy to the stand,” Rochester said.

  I shot the prosecutor a quizzical look. I didn’t recognize the name.

  “Objection,” I said. “There’s no Finnegan on the witness list. I don’t even know who that is.”

  “I filed to amend the witness list this morning,” Rochester said. “You didn’t see it?”

  I inhaled deeply. No, I didn’t because I was too busy dealing with other issues when I should’ve been focused on today’s trial. Too many irons in the fire, as usual.

  The judge seemed sympathetic. “It was a last minute addition. If you need a few minutes to prepare, I’ll allow it.”

  “Yes, thank you, Your Honor.” I dropped into the chair and looked frantically at Ansell. “Who’s Finnegan McCarthy?”

  Ansell chewed his lip. “A phoenix I met in anger management class a couple years ago.”

  “Why would he testify today on behalf of the prosecution?”

  Ansell’s expression crumpled. “Because there was almost an incident.”

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten in my head. “What kind of incident?”

  “It ended up being nothing. I guess they want to make a mountain out of a molehill to make me look bad.”

  That didn’t make me feel any better. I’d have to do my best with what I had.

  The phoenix took the stand. He wore a black suit that made him look as though he was headed to a funeral. Maybe it was his only suit.

  “Just so you know, Your Honor, sometimes I have trouble controlling my emotions,” Finnegan said.

  “I guess that anger management class needs to be reworked,” I muttered.

  “And what does that mean?” the judge asked.

  “I won’t hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Finnegan said.

  “We’ll get you in and out of here quickly, Mr. McCarthy,” Rochester promised.

  “Carry on then,” the judge said, visibly irritated.

  Rochester stood. “Mr. McCarthy, please tell the court how you met the defendant.”

  Finnegan glanced at the ogre. “Anger management class a couple years ago. We were both in there after two arrests for anger-related incidents.”

  “And you both completed the class?” Rochester asked.

  “That’s correct.” The phoenix seemed pleased with himself. “Got a certificate and everything.”

  “And have you and the defendant continued to socialize since then?”

  “Yes, we get together at the pub every now and again.”

  Rochester glanced in our direction. “And how has the defendant’s behavior seemed to you? Has he mastered his anger issues?”

  “Objection,” I said. “The witness is not a behavioral expert.”

  “No, but he completed the same anger management class and understands what is expected from them,” Rochester said.

  The judge nodded to the witness. “Go ahead and answer the question, Mr. McCarthy.”

  “For the most part, yes,” Finnegan said, “but there was an incident in the parking lot of The Horned Owl where he almost punched a werewolf. If it weren’t for me holding him back, it would’ve ended in a third arrest.”

  “Objection,” I said, popping up from my seat. “Speculation.”

  “How long ago was this incident?” Rochester asked. “Maybe not long after you completed the class?”

  “It was about a month ago,” Finnegan said.

  I made a concerted effort to disguise my disappointment. I thought Ansell had gotten his anger under control ages ago and this case was an unfortunate one-time incident. Finnegan’s testimony could blow my whole defens
e.

  Ansell slid a sheet of paper over to me and I glanced at the handwritten notes. Apparently, the ogre had been busy during his former friend’s testimony. I scanned the notes and continued to listen to the exchange with half an ear. There were a few items here I could use to our advantage. As Rochester asked a couple more questions, I mentally ran through a list of possible questions that might help my client.

  “Your witness, Ms. Hart,” the judge said.

  I rose to my feet and adjusted my blouse before approaching the witness stand.

  “Mr. McCarthy, I understand you’ve fallen on hard times recently,” I said.

  The phoenix lowered his gaze. “I lost my job a couple months ago and it’s been tough finding another one.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How have you managed to keep afloat?”

  He met my gaze. “How do you mean?”

  “I mean how have you managed to pay your bills? It’s my understanding that you struggled to make ends meet when you were gainfully employed, so it begs the question—how have you managed to pay your bills?”

  The phoenix scowled at me. “I don’t like the implication.”

  I raised my eyebrows in mock innocence. “Mr. McCarthy, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Objection,” Rochester said. “The witness’s financial status has no bearing on this case.”

  “It does if the witness is so hard up that he’s taken money from my client’s accuser and agreed to testify today,” I said.

  The courtroom burst into a cloud of noise and streaks of red began to color Finnegan McCarthy’s face.

  “Uh oh,” Ansell said. “He’s gonna blow.”

  I swiveled toward my client. “What do you mean?”

  “Everybody take cover,” Ansell shouted.

  Red and gold feathers shot out from Finnegan’s body in every direction and flames erupted around him.

  Ansell and I hid under the table, but I couldn’t resist watching the spectacle.

  “Is he seriously going to burn himself to ashes right on the stand?” Rochester asked, cowering under his own table.

  “Hey, you’re the one who called a phoenix to testify,” I said. “Maybe if you hadn’t rushed him in at the last minute, you’d have known he was volatile.” I turned to Ansell. “You’ve seen this happen before?”