by Harper Wylde
“Henri Gagnon. You have been charged with murder, attempted murder, treason, conspiring against mythologicals, child endangerment, child abuse, and assault. Councilman Ishida will now lift the wards surrounding you so that you can answer the charges and make any pleas on your own behalf to us at this time. Note that while the bonds on your person will be released, the barriers that surround this dais and this room will remain in full effect. There is no escape and, one way or another, you will answer for your crimes.”
When the Council had begun talking, I didn’t think they would startle me. Piss me off, hurt me, betray me with the easy revelation of my story—absolutely. Startle me? I didn’t think there was anything that really would. All of these years, and I hadn’t even known his name. The name that had haunted my dreams, made me cringe when I saw it on the page or heard it from the mouth of an actor or acquaintance, had all been as fake as the life we had been living. Would that fear change? Would the name Henri now evoke the same visceral reaction? Would the name Michael lose that?
I tried to focus on the man standing only a few feet from me, both afraid to look in his direction and yet, needing to see this all the way through. Due to the inference of the Council’s statement, I assumed an execution was upcoming. Part of me was thrilled at that idea. I had often imagined him being punished for his crimes against me, dreamt of him experiencing a fraction of the pain that he had put me through, living with the same fear I had. Still, a part of me dreaded the idea as well. If I pushed for his execution, watched it—or worse, enjoyed it—didn’t that make me just as bad as him?
He had clearly lost weight since the last time I had seen him. A frame that, while muscled, was always heavy due to alcohol, was now nearly emaciated. Though no marks were visible on his body, he held himself as if he was in pain—a posture I was very familiar with. His eyes were shadowed in a face that was edging towards gaunt and covered by a thick layer of stubble.
His eyes flitted first to the room surrounding him—a trapped animal looking for an escape route. Seeing none, he began searching for a sympathetic face in the audience that surrounded us. No one stepped up to his defense, calling for mercy as he so obviously anticipated. His eyes crossed my face briefly, and he looked away before any connection could be made. Was that fear of me? Or of the men standing sentry at my back?
Slowly, as if fighting a heavy weight, he straightened his spine and slowly met the eyes of each council member. “You’ve had me for days.” I reared back slightly, only barely managing to contain my reaction. They’d had him all this time? I’d been worrying for days needlessly. Killian was growling softly and my other guys were just as tense, striving not to radiate their anger and frustration.
“You know why I did what I did. You will use any excuse to take your fucked up idea of revenge. Get it over with. We all know why you’re doing it.” Michael began to rev up, and I couldn’t hold completely still, my muscles shaking as memories ran through my head. When he would rev up like this is when the beating would get extremely bad. “You all know that you’re not the protective body you pretend you are. You’re in this for your own selfish, twisted-”
I saw Councilman Ishida’s eyes narrow as the prisoner’s words cut off, but it was Councilman Lacroix who stepped forward to speak. “Enough. We did not remove your wards to hear your dribble. We removed them so you could make a request. If you do not have an appeal to make, we will sentence you now.” Michael—Henri?—remained sullenly silent as he stared at the councilman.
Damien stiffened beside me, his arms shaking as he appeared to force himself into calm. Damien, what’s wrong? Hiro’s words drew the attention of all the guys to our protective Gargoyle. While his stance before had been solid, he appeared to be struggling to stay on his feet and working hard to hide it from our audience. His skin—usually a lush olive—was now nearly grey with a thin layer of sweat covering it.
Damien! Ryder’s voice was worried. I’ll interrupt this, I swear to God. What the hell is going on?!
He knew him. Shock and despair were evident in the words. It’s why he was shielding so hard. He knew Michael.
Damn it, D, you’re not making sense. Kill growled.
Damien’s shattered and empty eyes met mine, wide and horrified. My father knew Michael. He’s known him for years. God, Nix, I’m so sorry.
I froze, my eyes locked on Damien’s. They knew each other? Damien’s father and Michael? One of the other Council members I could understand. That twisted Councilman Maldonado seemed as though he was cut from the same cloth. Not Damien's father, though, the gentle and protective father, the one whom Damien worshipped.
There could be a mistake, Damien. Trust Theo to try and logic us out of the situation. Don’t overthink it yet. You could be misunderstanding what you’re seeing. Let us help you with it. Now is not the time. Compartmentalize. If it is true, he cannot know that we know. All of you. Hold your walls and keep them up. You know they always look for cracks. Don’t give them one.
“Henri Gagnon. You chose not to plead your case. No one here will speak for you. This Council judges you as guilty. You are sentenced to death.” Murmurs of approval sounded from the crowd, and I swallowed back both the disgust and the glee that rose like bile in my throat. I hated myself.
Councilman Maldonado rose from his seat, the elegance of his tuxedo not able to hide the savage anticipation in his movements or the feral joy of the smirk that crossed his lips.
“Councilman Khan.” Ryder’s speaking voice, rather than his mind voice, surprised me enough that I turned to look at where he had moved forward, drawing the eyes of the gathering to him. “As citizens, we honor the decision of the Council; however, we do have a plea.”
“You wish for leniency?” The shocked question came from Councilman Ishida.
Ryder shook his head, spreading his hands in a flowing gesture. “I ask for leniency, not for the convicted, but for Nix. She has already witnessed enough in the way of violence in her life. While she cannot—and would not—choose to be spared from all violence in her future, as her friend and a party more versed in the laws and traditions of our culture, I request leniency on her behalf in the method of execution.” He shot a glance at Councilman Maldonado when his growl began to build. “It is tradition under our law that crimes of this order be punished under the old laws and without mercy to the extent of pain or time of death. I ask that the Council override this decision. Please allow Councilman Williams to complete the execution. His method is clean and has no true outward signs of violence. It would be a better psychological step for Nix than seeing the…” He paused as if trying to find a word that was emphatic, yet respectful “… the carnage of other methods.”
Councilman Maldonado was shaking with anger, his glare on Ryder. Surprising me, it was Councilman Rahal who stepped forward, laying a restraining hand on the Manananggal’s arm. “The boy is correct, Santiago. While punishing her abuser will give her some sense of completion for that stage of her life, doing so in an incredibly violent manner and forcing her to watch it will not help anyone. Our goal is to protect our people, that includes protecting them from emotional discomfort as well.”
Councilman Maldonado’s lips were drawn back tightly over teeth that had begun to elongate, but he did not resist his friend’s hand. He allowed himself to be led back to his throne, though he appeared unable to prevent the rolling snarl from spilling continuously from his lips. When he turned around and took his seat upon his throne, his eyes were pure darkness. It was Councilman Williams’ turn to step forward, drawing my gaze. His tux was cut tighter than the rest of his companions, the material slicker and more defined. He moved with grace in it, apparently feeling no restrictions from the tight fabrics, severe cut, and formal attire. “Henri Gagnon. I do not take a life easily. It is one of the duties of the Council, and one I will perform. This death is a far easier one than the one you deserve. Be grateful for that.”
He stepped from the dais, striding until he was face to face with Michael
—no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t think of him as Henri. I remained frozen where I was, knowing I was required to watch, wanting nothing more than to run. Why did I have to leave one world full of violence only to find myself in another? Michael tried to avoid the slender hands that reached for his chin to no avail. Their grip on him was firm and sure as Councilman Williams turned him until their eyes met. They stared into each other’s eyes for a minute, then two, like lovers who had been apart for years. Then, without a sound from either, Michael slumped to the floor. I clenched my hands into fists, wanting to pierce the skin with my nails, let the pain center me, but not wanting to draw the attention of an already hungry Manananggal.
Councilman Lacroix stepped forward, an air of disappointment in his posture, a small resigned smile on his lips. “Justice has been enacted. Our laws upheld. Go in peace, friends.” He lifted his hands in a gentle gesture of farewell and returned to the dais. The crowd happily obliged his instructions, slowly streaming out, a laughing, chattering, cheerful mob who acted as though a life hadn’t just been ended right before their eyes.
“Annika,” He motioned for me to come forward, which meant we all went because the guys wouldn’t leave my side—for which I was grateful. I gritted my teeth, upset and ready to go home, but I forced my legs to move, avoiding looking in the dead part-blood’s direction. I swallowed down the bile that had risen, worried about what they could want with me now and confused about Damien’s proclamation just minutes earlier. I needed to get him out of here before all hell broke loose. I was mad, upset, confused, and scared out of my damn mind as I stood before the imposing Council seated on their thrones. Damien’s father turned his attention in our direction, and I made sure my wall was in place to block him from picking up on my distrust. I felt Damien tense—nearly shaking—as he stood an inch behind me near my right shoulder. I just needed to get through this and get us out of this room—away from this island. “The Council has spoken regarding your living arrangements.” We all tensed more than we already had been—if that was even possible. I hadn’t expected them to have convened so quickly about the matter. I thought I might have months, or at least weeks before they called me back to talk about this again. Panic swirled inside of me as I waited for this last slap across the face. “We have decided to let you remain with Damien, Hiro, Ryder, Theo, and Killian.” Relief swamped me, and I gave them as serene a nod as I could. I wanted to pat myself on the back for my acting skills—amateur as they may be. It was the best I could manage given everything that had already taken place within this room. “However, changes must be made to ensure your safety going forward. This threat may be passed—this fire snuffed out—but there are always others lurking in the smoke.” My mouth was drawn tight as I nodded again, wondering if he could be one of them. I tamped down the thought immediately. Not only did I not want to risk the Council finding out about my traitorous thoughts, but I didn’t want Damien to pick up on them either. Not now.
However, it was Councilman Williams who spoke next, his voice hard, demanding that we listen and heed his orders. “The boys have, to this point, refused help in creating barriers around their house. If you will consent to a barrier and continued use of extra protection for you, the Council will consent to Annika staying in your home. She is under your protection.” He eyed each one of the guys, and I shivered from the threat his eyes posed. I’d seen him kill with those very eyes. The proof was lying in a crumpled heap just a few feet behind me and to my left.
“We consent,” Damien spoke for the group.
“If anything happens to her, it will be on your heads.” Councilman Rahal’s words were clipped as he let their weight settle in. “She is not only a rare mythological shifter, but she is also a female of breeding age. As she is the only phoenix shifter we know about, she is extremely valuable to our society. We try to keep shifters from going extinct, and your species is precariously close to that edge… Do you understand what I am saying Nix?” I appreciated his use of my preferred name, but I hated the words coming out of his mouth. I nodded my agreement though because there wasn’t any other choice.
“With that in mind, we would like to extend an invitation to Nix to be our guest at our upcoming Gala to be held in a few weeks. Your attendance is required—all of you.” Williams waited for our agreement. I wasn’t sure what was so crucial about the Gala, but luckily I’d have time to ask the guys. I’d get to stay with them. We had time. As the Council dismissed us, I turned the wrong way and caught sight of Michael.
“Let’s go home.” Hiro’s voice was soft in my ear. I pulled my attention back to my guys, away from the body that was sprawled like a broken mannequin on the floor. Killian and Ryder framed Damien, their touch on his shoulder and back a light, but solid presence. Theo and Hiro mimicked the posture, framing me as we withdrew from the room.
I reached out to take Damien’s hand, our fingers intertwined as I met each of their eyes one by one. “Yes, let’s go home.” I wasn’t sure what our next step would be, what Damien had seen, or how I felt about being part of a world that revelled in death; whatever would happen next, though, would happen together, and that’s what mattered. I would keep our family strong, no matter what the cost.
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading Hidden in Smoke!
We hope you enjoyed it!
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About Harper Wylde
Harper Wylde is an emerging author who lives in the countryside of Pennsylvania. As a wife and a mother of two young children, she spends her days chasing after little people and making crazy notes about story ideas all over her home. As a serial entrepreneur, Harper also dabbles in photography and graphic design…but has found that her favorite occupation is the one she’s doing now—writing fantasy and paranormal romance. She loves coffee, cooking, chocolate covered pretzels, and characters with hidden strength and endearing flaws! To connect with Harper, follow the link below to Facebook where you can join her author group and stay up to date on sneak previews, teasers, and new releases!
About Quinn Arthurs
Quinn lives in temperamental Ohio. She is a book devotee, a caffeine addict, an absolute klutz, and a worn out mom. She tries desperately to squeeze out the crazy stories that are always playing in her head between constant emergencies at work and home. At least her kids are always a willing audience for her insane ramblings while they're still little! Please stalk her on Facebook by clicking the icon below!
