I refused to speak, but God, I wanted to. I could feel the lies scritching against my brain, burrowing in with needle-like legs to prick at my fear and frustration. The worst part was where he was right. I had used Jaesung and Krista as a shield from the Guild, and I hadn’t been willing to help the Guild until Jaesung was taken. But he had my motives all wrong. He made me sound like something that slithered from one dark, slimy indecency to the next.
“Most of you in this room are not Enforcers. Most of you haven’t experienced what it’s like to watch one of Lochly’s hounds rip out a friend’s throat, so he can use her blood to attack you. I’ve watched d’Argent do just that. Not to mention her cousin. The man who slit Enforcer Isaac McNichols’s neck to the spine while leaving Helena d’Argent untouched. The fact that she’s protecting that murderer should infuriate you all.”
“I don’t know where he is!” I snapped.
“The Council did not recognize Helena d’Argent’s right to speak,” Sorcerer Erebus said, over a wave of noise from behind me.
Enforcer Randolph’s hand appeared on my elbow. “Quiet, girl. You don’t speak until he’s done.”
I ground my teeth and glared at Ritter, who shook with raspy, weak laughter.
“Her worst crime, however, is sanguimancy. It’s been documented for thousands of years that the use of blood magic is corrupting, and anathema to the very nature of magic. Once the barrel is broached, it cannot be untapped—no one who uses sanguimancy can stand to live without its power. Like an addict, they will escalate to higher and higher crimes to satisfy the bloodlust.” He licked his lips, but the noise that came out of him next was a wretched cough. He shook with it, and a minute later, he was leaning forward, eyes streaming as the two Enforcers strode forward with spells and water.
Fury coiled up inside me. He might have been legitimately hurting, legitimately coughing from inhaling smoke, but I saw what he was doing. His presence alone inspired sympathy and fear—the fear that this would be the fate of anyone who crossed a sanguimancer, as Ritter had.
At last, Ritter seemed to collect himself. He shook his head at the offer of more water, and bent to dab his streaming eye on his arm.
“D’Argent has admitted to using sanguimancy. Enforcer De Vries and I watched her commit this sin as if it were nothing, simply because she wanted credit for the capture of sanguimancers. It’s clear she’s used it before, and she will continue to use it, further corrupting herself until she thinks of nothing but blood and power. Until she has taken over the role of the man who raised her, and given his power the d’Argent gift.”
At the description of Gwydian as “the man who’d raised me”, I took a step back. Rage swelled into my fingertips. Shock and the tight grip of Enforcer Randolph’s hand on my arm were the only things that kept me from swarming forward to punch Ritter across the intact half of his face.
“Dampeners won’t stop her!” Ritter shouted over the rising din. “Sanguimancy doesn’t draw on internal power! Immobilizing her, as I have been immobilized, will not prevent her from casting spells. Holding her is not an option. The only certain way to protect the innocent from a sanguimancer more powerful than Gwydian Lochly, is to put his d’Argent apprentice to death! I counsel escalation to tribunal.”
I vanished into my anger. For a moment, my vision tunneled and all I could do was stare at Ritter and imagine tearing into him with teeth and claws. Gwydian hadn’t been my mentor—he’d been my abuser. The thought that people might imagine I wanted to be like him made me want to throw up, or scream.
But I couldn’t do either of those things. I had to stand here and quietly stare at Ritter as an army of Sorcerers whispered behind me, deciding whether or not they believed him.
The two Enforcers returned, unlocked the wheels of Ritter’s chair, and rolled him back. I relaxed slightly, but immediately tensed up again as they drew the chair down to the end of the Council’s table and locked the wheels.
Sorcerer Erebus stood again, his thick brows drawn low. “The Council of Twelve hears, and considers. We further recognize Enforcer Sebastian De Vries, firsthand witness to the crime. It was his report which alerted us to her crime, and he who Escorted Sorceress d’Argent from Minnesota to Baltimore.”
This time, I didn’t turn around. I knew who was walking up the aisle, and I didn’t want to see the lightning blue of his eyes, or the granite coldness in his face as he walked to the front of the ballroom. Still, my ears strained for the sound of his footfalls, and my body went tense as he approached. I didn’t know if I wanted to hit him, or if I wanted to run.
Whatever he said, it would carry weight. At least, if his last name meant half as much as they said it did.
He passed me, performed a sharp, graceful bow to the council, and stepped directly in front of me. He met my eyes.
Was this simply how it was done in the Guild? Witnesses spoke their story in front of the accused, close enough to smirk, and close enough to be punched for it. Maybe that was part of the challenge.
“I’ve worked with former Enforcer Ritter for a year,” he began, voice deep and edged with something serrated. How did I always forget how low it was? It still surprised me every time. “He’s always been sloppy and impulsive. He’s always been ruthless. I mistook that ruthlessness for moral clarity and decisiveness, but that interpretation was false. His ruthlessness is born from hatred, the kind that is blind and unquestioning and unwilling to bend in the presence of contradictory evidence. For a man who hates blood magic so viciously, he is remarkably eager to kill. That thirst for blood led him to betray the Guild, and betray me—his partner, whose back he’s watched for a year.”
I glanced at Ritter and saw him shifting in his wheelchair, clearly uncomfortable with the presence of De Vries, and the note on which his statement began. De Vries kept his eyes on me, watching my face with such an impassive expression, I wondered if he even saw me.
“There were details missing from Ritter’s explanation. The sanguimancers we pursued in Duluth were alerted to our presence by Ritter himself, forcing what might have been a capture into a deadly conflict. At the time of d’Argent’s use of sanguimancy, her mentor, Enforcer Eric Herrera, was under heavy sanguimantic spellfire and had just lost his shielding. d’Argent used blood already spilled from one of the attackers to disable the sanguimancer’s shield, at which time I was able to neutralize the threat.”
I was a little confused. I could feel my palms going sweaty, my breath going short as De Vries talked. He wasn’t exactly skipping over the details, but he was at least being fair. He didn’t have to include the details about Eric. I still wasn’t happy to have him in front of me, but as long as he told the truth...
“When it comes to our world and our laws, d’Argent knows less than a child of six.”
I bristled. There was the De Vries I’d been expecting.
“She went into this conflict undereducated and under-trained, without the tools to help her partner in a way that was both effective and lawful. She simply reverted to the tactics she witnessed most of her life. While reprehensible, this reaction is also...understandable, given the heightened stakes.”
He didn’t exactly shift from one foot to the other, but there was a twitch at his hands—a sort of deepening of his presence that buzzed uncertainly in my senses.
“Isaac McNichols was one of the few men I honestly consider to have worked at all times in the best interests of both the Guild and those it serves and protects. I was present when the murder scene was discovered by the Enforcer team. It was clear at the scene that d’Argent had fought her cousin, who operated under the same enslavement spell that compelled her under Lochly’s influence. I may blame her for indirectly contributing to the situation which led to my friend’s death, but I do not believe her to be complicit.
“I believe her to be honest in her desire to shed her former life. Two days ago, she willingly turned herself over to the Guild and has acted in cooperation with us since then, including when under attack. T
hat attack was carried out by Enforcer Ritter, who led a band of rogue sorcerers into a violent attempt on d’Argent’s life in the presence of mundanes, firing spelled bullets at both myself and d’Argent.
“During that attack, d’Argent’s first action was to cast a shield on a mundane cashier. She had many opportunities to transform and run, but she stayed and fought until every vigilante was neutralized. Sanguimancy notwithstanding, she has proven herself to be a compassionate and very misguided person. I counsel leniency.”
I wasn’t sure how to handle this information. I stared at De Vries, who stared back, brows drawn and eyes unreadable. I didn’t think he’d noticed that shield on the cashier, and I certainly wouldn’t have imagined it meant something to him.
One of the Councilors stood.
“Enforcer De Vries,” she said. “Your report indicates you believe Sorceress d’Argent acted unnecessarily. Could you have neutralized the sanguimancers without resorting to sanguimancy?”
I almost sighed, because he’d already told me his answer to this one. His arrogant, superior answer.
“Yes,” De Vries said. “At the loss of Enforcer Herrera’s life.”
“A loss which, by our laws, would not have been considered preventable.”
That’s when I saw it—the slight flex in De Vries’s neck, like he’d just swallowed. Like he was struggling.
“Sorceress d’Argent was not prepared to accept that loss, nor was she trained to do so. I believe Enforcer Herrera brought her into the field prematurely, therefore, I counsel leniency. I also counsel a reprimand to Enforcer Herrera, but I suppose that is a separate issue.”
The councillor sat down, seeming satisfied with this answer.
I didn’t know what to feel. I was confused that he was asking for leniency, and confused that he seemed to have some small amount of sympathy for my situation. I was also pissed off, both on my own behalf, and on Eric’s. It was supposed to be a reconnaissance investigation, and when it got messy, De Vries and Ritter were supposed to be our backup.
“The Council of Twelve hears and considers. Enforcer Sergent Sergio Randolph. Do you have a statement or a question.”
“A statement,” Randolph said, behind me.
“We recognize your statement, so long as it’s brief.”
De Vries pivoted, bowed to the council, and strode to the opposite end of their table from Ritter. Enforcer Randolph took his place. I’d been staring upward for De Vries, but now I was looking slightly down. This was definitely a weird way to have a trial.
“I’d like to confirm Enforcer De Vries’s assessment of d’Argent’s cooperation. She’s provided me with information regarding likely tactics her cousin might be using to hide, and cooperated with our request to remove her shapeshifting ability as a show of good faith. I counsel leniency. And several years of strict instruction.”
He returned to his place behind me.
“The council hears and considers,” Sorcerer Erebus said. He sent the paper on its final pass down the table, and when it returned to him, spent a moment studying it. One moment stretched into two, then a full minute. I shifted my weight, glancing over at Deepti to see if she was looking at me, but she was leaning over, speaking to another councilor.
I’d expected talk to break out behind me, but there was nothing but the soft, oceanic sound of nearly a thousand people breathing in staccato.
Soon, they’d call up Eric, and Eric would speak for me. If the two counsels of leniency hadn’t worked, maybe this one would.
At last, Sorcerer Erebus stood, pressing the piece of paper onto the table. “The Council of Twelve has reached a majority decision, twenty-six votes to ten in favor of escalation to tribunal.”
The crowd behind me erupted, and I stared at the Council table in confusion. They hadn’t let Eric speak! They’d sworn to let him speak. Then my math skills kicked in, and I realized that it wouldn’t have mattered. Even if every councillor had voted leniency in the last round, it still would have been twenty-six to twenty-two. I still would have lost.
I was going to Istanbul, where my only chance of survival was a lifetime of power-dampener tattoos and Guild scrutiny. Istanbul, where I’d be treated exactly like they’d treated Gwydian. Like a monster.
Chapter 30
jaesung
We stashed the unconscious vigilante in a bathroom and used fingerprint to unlock his phone, then change the access. We jogged east through the city, heading toward the address Eric had given us for Enforcer Randolph, all the while following locations noted in a string of texts and shared GPS maps.
“It would have been nice of them to drop a pin,” Krista huffed, clutching at a stitch in her side. “Be like: ambush here.”
I snorted. “That would require them to know what route the Guild’s going to take. My guess is there are several routes the Enforcers have prepped, and they’re going to do simultaneous runs to confuse anyone who might want to attack Helena.”
“Jesus, she’s not the president,” Krista said.
“Nah, just a dangerous, high-profile criminal with a combination of sanguimancers and vigilantes hell-bent on taking her out.”
Which wasn’t encouraging, but whatever. There was no turning back at this point.
“Okay, okay, I gotta stop!” Krista said, her footsteps slowing behind me. I halted, skin and lungs buzzing with heat, just as she bent double over her knees. “Fucking cardio…I hate it. God, I hate it.”
Frustration welled up in me, twining with the tight thrum of anxiety. We did not have time to rest right now.
I had just opened my mouth to say so when the phone in my hand vibrated, and a new message popped onto the screen.
Avery failed to report. Hound is on the move. Northern track.
I sucked in a breath. Hel’s trial was over. My phone didn’t have any new messages, so Eric must have been too closely observed to risk texting us himself.
I opened the vigilante’s GPS. We’d found the maps earlier, laying out prospective routes where the vigilantes had confirmed Guild Enforcer activity, and I selected the northernmost. It ended a few blocks away from Enforcer Randolph’s row-house.
“That’s the ambush point,” I said. God, it was a ten minute drive from here, through Baltimore traffic. No way we’d get there on foot. Well, not on two feet. I looked up at Krista, and she must have seen the despair on my face.
“Go,” she said. “Wait, no. Back here—” she motioned me toward a narrow gap between apartment buildings, and I followed, already tearing off my jacket.
I kicked out of my tennis shoes and grabbed off my shirt, even as Krista dug in her bag for the ferrous sulphate capsules. I’d eaten as much iron as I could cram into my body the last few days, but that pill would keep me going later, when transformations burned through my reserves.
“Can you run fast enough to-”
“I’ll have to.”
I tossed back the iron pill and swallowed it dry. Then, stripped down to boxer-briefs and smelling the day-old trash in the alley, I called up the image of that wolf, reflected back at me in a half-frozen pond. I felt the build of that howl, the primal call of something with a deeper root than humanity itself.
I fell, bones searing into shape. An itching ripple of fur shuddered from my skin, and before I could even think about how fast it was happening, I was on four paws, and every sense was knife-sharp.
“Tired?” Krista asked, crouching.
Yes. Like I’d just finished a hard training session. But I had enough energy to fight. I shook my canine head, and she snapped a heavy orange collar around my neck. Hopefully, it would fool most people that caught sight of me long enough to keep them from calling animal control.
She held out the nylon go-bag. “In case we get separated,” she said. I took it in my teeth and looked up at her.
Krista looked torn, but she put her hand on my head and scrubbed between my ears. Her hair wasn’t even orange to my canine eyes. More yellow. “I’ll catch up. You know the route?”
I wuffed an agreement, then took off.
The bag made it hard to run at full speed, but I managed a steady lope, startling the walking population and earning a few shouts out car windows. I didn’t care. I followed the street names, moving east, devouring the asphalt with massive paws.
Even if I hadn’t memorized the map, I would have known I’d arrived at the ambush spot the instant I smelled the ozone. It came from the buildings on my right, a long, brick facade broken only by blocky front stoops and peeling window frames.
There weren’t any convenient alleys here. My only cover was the line of cars parked along the sidewalk. If I were going to guess, the vigilantes would look for high ground.
I kept tight to the cars and slunk low, scanning for the telltale glow of magic. A ramshackle wooden pergola on top of one row-house suggested some kind of terrace above. The rusting fire escapes jutting from the building’s profile made a decent access point, if you had a way to jump.
And the vigilantes did. I saw the vague residue of a spell gleamed the sidewalk beneath one of the fire escapes, and if I were to guess by the sharpness of that ozone smell, the vigilantes were right above it.
I heard the car before I saw it, a rumble in the near-distance. Flattening myself to the asphalt, I belly-crawled beneath an SUV. There were cars parked ahead and behind, cutting off my line of sight.
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