“Ms. Davies, do you intend to insult us?” Foster said. “Open your eyes.”
“Sir, I can see through the illusion placed on the Blaze, and it blinds me,” I said.
“Huh,” said Foster. “All right. Proceed.”
“Do you swear the statement you presented this tribunal is true in every particular?” the attendant said.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Davies, what made you suspect Mitch Hallstrom of the murders?” Yamane said.
“It’s, um, in my statement, but the short version is there were a lot of little things that added up to him being suspicious. His selling stolen books to Abernathy’s, for one, and how no one seemed to know him or have seen him before two weeks ago, when the killings started.”
“He might just have been a thief,” Foster said.
“True, but I thought it was worth investigating.”
“So it was a guess.”
“That proved to be true,” I retorted.
“And you claim Mr. Hallstrom confessed to the murders, and to being in league with Ms. Guittard.”
“He intended to kill me to prevent me going to Lucia with what I’d learned and make it look like I was a victim of the serial killer. That confirmed his guilt as far as I’m concerned.”
“Malcolm Campbell shot Mr. Hallstrom.”
“I—yes.” The sudden change of questions dizzied me.
“Shooting you as well.”
Memory seized my heart in an icy grip. “Yes.”
“Could Mr. Campbell have intended to kill Mr. Hallstrom to prevent him revealing the truth—that it was Mr. Campbell who was his accomplice?”
“What?” I whipped around to look at Malcolm, but couldn’t see anything past the fire. “Of course not!”
“Campbell was near all the murder locations. He might have killed Ms. Guittard to ensure her silence.”
“That’s not what happened!”
“Can you prove it?” Yamane’s voice sounded tight, worried.
I breathed in to calm myself. Defensive exclamations would hurt Malcolm’s case. “Malcolm tried to save Hallstrom’s life. He needed Hallstrom to live to prove his innocence. And I think, sir, even you have to admit if Malcolm Campbell wanted someone dead, he wouldn’t be so ham-fisted as to fail at it.”
I heard someone chuckle, and wondered if I’d just sealed Malcolm’s fate by pointing out what a talented killer he was. And he’d only ever intentionally killed one person. “That is,” I began.
“We take your point,” said Foster, and I realized he’d been the one who laughed. “Any questions, Mitsuko?”
“I would like the option to recall Ms. Davies later,” Yamane said.
“Fair enough. You may take a seat, Ms. Davies.”
I turned around and fumbled my way back to the benches, trying not to remember that I’d had help the last time I’d had to leave the Blaze. I sat and opened my eyes in time to see Hallstrom, his hands bound, be led into the stone circle.
“Mitch Hallstrom,” Foster said, “you are accused of committing ten murders, including killing four magi. How do you respond?”
“I didn’t do it,” Hallstrom said. The Blaze went insane, lashing Hallstrom with fire. I couldn’t see his face, but he cringed away from the fire.
“Would you like to change your answer?” Yamane said.
“I didn’t—ah!—do it,” Hallstrom said. The Blaze roared soundlessly higher.
Something occurred to me, and before I could stop myself, I stood and said, “He’s trying to get it to kill him before he can tell the truth!”
Two attendants grabbed Hallstrom and pulled him, unresisting, out of the Blaze. “I think she’s right,” Yamane said. “This is an indirect confirmation of his guilt, but if we want details, we’ll have to try something else.”
“Siobhan Steele?” Foster said.
“She is acceptable,” Yamane said.
I glanced at Malcolm. I wished I dared sit by him, because he would answer all my questions, starting with who the woman with the romance novelist name was. But I didn’t want to see him look at me with that cold, indifferent gaze again.
Foster took out a cell phone and began texting. I was impressed. I didn’t think I even got service down here. I looked at Malcolm again. He sat with his arms folded across the bench in front of him, his head bowed as if in prayer. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I got up, furtively checking the reactions of the attendants in case this was forbidden, and crossed the aisle to sit beside Malcolm. “Who’s Siobhan Steele?”
Malcolm didn’t even twitch. “She is a powerful bone magus aligned with neither faction. They will ask her to induce Hallstrom to answer their questions.”
“I’ve heard about that. Is it…I don’t know, admissible in court?”
“The laws of the tribunal are not the same as the non-magical court. And a bone magus can’t compel a particular answer, merely make the subject relaxed and compliant. Mrs. Steele will make telling the truth feel pleasurable. It is in some ways the reverse of what the Blaze does.”
“Mrs. Steele? She’s married?”
“Magi are allowed to marry, Helena. Where else would little magi come from?”
He sounded just like himself, and it eased my heart even if he was having fun at my expense. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Mr. Steele is not a Warden. Theirs is an interesting marriage.”
“I didn’t know that was even possible. Wardens marrying non-Wardens.”
“It is rare, and difficult, but they seem happy enough.”
The doors opened, and I turned around to see a round-figured woman who looked exactly like Imelda Staunton as Dolores Umbridge, down to the coiffed hair. She walked down the aisle, placing each foot as deliberately as if she were crossing a pond. “Michael, Mitsuko,” she said, and the illusion was destroyed, because she had a Southern drawl that sounded cut with honey. “What would you like? Compliance, or compulsion?”
“Lowered inhibitions,” Yamane said.
“Easy enough,” Steele said.
Hallstrom broke free from his attendants and made a rush for the door. More attendants came out of nowhere and tackled him, picked him up and manhandled him back to the front bench, where they forced him to lie flat. I stood to get a better look. Steele walked away, turning her back on Hallstrom. “Relax,” she said to the air, and Hallstrom went limp. “That’s better. Now, you’re proud of what you’ve done, aren’t you? And you want to tell us everything so we’ll know how clever you’ve been. You don’t have to speak, but if you want to, we’ll all listen.”
I couldn’t see more than Hallstrom’s arm and leg, but I heard him breathing deeply, not quite panting. “Mr. Hallstrom, can you hear me?” Yamane said.
“Yes.” Hallstrom sounded normal, not like someone in a drug haze.
“Tell us about the murders.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Yes, you do. You’re proud of what you did.”
“You know, not many wood magi are capable of what I did,” Hallstrom said in a conversational tone.
“And what is that?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Then let’s talk about Ms. Guittard,” Foster said. “You knew her, didn’t you?”
“She’s a bitch,” Hallstrom said, still in that conversational way. “Didn’t want to admit I knew what I was doing. She shouldn’t have tried to take over.”
“What happened when she did?”
“People died. Just not the ones who were supposed to. And she lost the sanguinis sapiens the first time. So sloppy.”
Foster sucked in a breath. Yamane said, “So Ms. Guittard killed someone by harvesting their magic?”
“Yes. She shouldn’t have done it.”
“I agree. That was your job, wasn’t it?”
Hallstrom nodded. “But I’m not supposed to say.”
“Why magi?” Foster said. “Wouldn’t ordinary humans have been safer?”
“It was ordered by my Nic
ollien masters,” Hallstrom said. “They wanted Ambrosites dead.”
Malcolm sat up straight beside me. Yamane took a step back from Foster. Foster said, “That’s a lie.”
“It’s truth,” Hallstrom said. “They said, start a war, and I said, how soon?”
“There is no conspiracy against Ambrosites,” Foster shouted.
“Calm down, Mike, I believe you,” Yamane said. “You wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“But there are those who might be,” Malcolm said.
“Shut up,” Foster shouted.
“He’s right, sir,” I said. “There are Nicolliens who were happy for an excuse to hunt Malcolm. Just as there are Ambrosites who would love to be able to destroy Nicolliens. Couldn’t there be a faction of Nicolliens within the faction?”
“Impossible,” Foster said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Mr. Hallstrom,” Yamane said, “who gave you those orders?”
“My masters.”
“Their names?”
Hallstrom shook his head. “I don’t know their names. I haven’t earned that privilege.”
“How do they give you your orders?”
Hallstrom was silent. “Mr. Hallstrom, answer,” Foster said angrily.
“I just know,” Hallstrom said. “I wake up and it’s there in memory.”
Yamane drew in a startled breath. “Dream speaking,” she said. “A myth.”
“Apparently not,” said Foster. “You’ve never met your masters in person?”
“No.” Hallstrom’s voice was tight, the words forced from his lips.
“He’s fighting it. We need those names,” Foster said.
“A question for another time,” Yamane said. “Under different circumstances. Mr. Hallstrom, how many did you kill?”
“Eight. There were meant to be twenty.”
“I’m satisfied,” Yamane said.
“I’m not. Malcolm Campbell still committed murder, and he should pay the price,” Foster said.
Yamane let out an exasperated breath that told me they’d had this argument already. “Do you really want to tell our people they’re not allowed to defend themselves when aggressed on?”
“We have only Campbell’s word that he didn’t attack first.” Foster sounded petulant, like a child denied a treat.
“Amber Guittard was complicit with a group who wanted to start a war,” Yamane said. “She was hardly an innocent victim.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Mr. Foster, I will submit to any punishment you and Ms. Yamane agree on,” Malcolm said, standing. “I ask only that you consider what will happen when it becomes known what Ms. Guittard did. I will become a martyr to the cause of those looking for a fight, and then there will be the very war you both wish to avert. That I wish to avert.”
Foster glared at Malcolm. “The words of a coward.”
“No, sir, the words of someone who wants to see this Long War won by the efforts of two sides working together, not lost by factions tearing each other apart.”
Foster and Malcolm stared each other down. Foster looked furious. Malcolm was his usual unflappable self. Finally, Foster spat a blistering curse and turned away, stumping back to throw himself onto his throne. Yamane followed him at a more sedate pace, seating herself like a queen. “Return Mr. Hallstrom to custody,” she said. “Mr. Campbell, if you’d take your place within the Blaze?”
Malcolm stood and passed me to stand in the stone circle. “Mr. Campbell, you stand accused of killing Amber Guittard. How do you plead?”
“I killed Ms. Guittard in self-defense.”
“Did Ms. Guittard attack you?”
“She did, with a knife.”
“Why did she attack you?”
Malcolm shifted and clasped his hands behind his back. “I confronted her with evidence that she had killed two people and had a connection to someone who’d killed several others.”
“Why did she use a knife against a steel magus?” Foster said.
“I believe she panicked. She was too intelligent to have chosen that weapon deliberately.”
“Could you have subdued her rather than kill her?”
“I tried.” Malcolm lowered his head briefly. “I believe she chose death rather than capture and questioning. But that’s just a supposition. I have no evidence for it.”
“Very well.” Yamane turned to look at Foster. “What do you say?”
Foster kept glaring at Malcolm. Finally, he said, “You acted in self-defense. I say you’re free to go.”
I gasped loudly enough that I drew the Archmagi’s attention. “Sorry,” I said.
“I have no further questions,” Foster said. “Mitsuko?”
“I caution you both not to tell anyone what you have learned here,” Yamane said. “Rumor will run wild anyway, and the truth will get out no matter how quiet we try to keep things. Don’t let that be an excuse for either of you to spread word of Hallstrom’s confession. We will find out it was you, and we will make your lives hell. Understood?”
I nodded. Malcolm inclined his head gracefully. “Then go, with our thanks,” Yamane said.
I followed Malcolm through the antechamber and into the long, mirrored hall. There was no attendant this time, and we walked side by side in silence. I had a million things I wanted to ask him and couldn’t think of a way to begin. Inanely, I said, “I’m glad you’re free, but…”
“What?”
“If we can’t tell anyone what Hallstrom said, how are you going to explain your freedom?”
Malcolm sighed. “I trust Archmagus Yamane to spin the story in a way that exonerates me while giving the Nicolliens no excuse to fight. Which means throwing Ms. Guittard’s name to the wolves in some way. We will have to stay silent, and learn what that story is, and then support it.”
“Even so, won’t you still be in danger from Nicolliens trying to execute judgment?”
“Probably. I think it’s best if I disappear for a while. The idea of fighting a series of endless battles, in the Palaestra or on the streets, wearies me.”
“But—” I stopped, and Malcolm stopped with me. “But I don’t want—”
“I think what either of us wants is irrelevant,” Malcolm said, and walked on. I hurried to catch up to him, biting my lip against tears.
22
I curled into the corner of my couch in my pajamas, cuddling my tub of rocky road ice cream like a baby. On the television, Cary Grant and Irene Dunne faced off. I took another bite of rocky road ice cream, savoring the mix of flavors and textures. I knew The Awful Truth well enough not to need the sound, and the distant street noises were calming to my soul.
I’d left Malcolm at the atrium of the tribunal building. We hadn’t said anything to each other the rest of the way, and now I was kicking myself for all the things I hadn’t said. I had a feeling he was punishing himself for how all of this had gone down, for killing Guittard and hurting me and basically getting away with it. I should have said something. I should have at least told him I forgave him for shooting me. And now he was going to vanish, and I knew he’d said “for a while” but I was certain it was more likely to be “forever.”
I’d made quite a dent in the tub of ice cream, but it wasn’t soothing my spirits. Mostly it was just making me sick. I slid off the couch and took it to the kitchen, where I dumped it back into my chest freezer to lie with its brothers until I needed it again. I washed my spoon and dried it and put it away, too. I’d come home from the tribunal and cleaned my apartment until it gleamed and you could eat your dinner off any surface you liked. Now I had nothing to do but sit and stare at one of my less-favorite Cary Grant movies until I could justify going to bed. It was Irene Dunne’s fault. She always sounded frivolous no matter what role she was playing.
I settled back onto the couch and propped my head on my elbow. There was good old Ralph Bellamy, playing the hapless goody-two-shoes again. I always felt sorry for Bellamy in this movie, where his only crime was falling in love with s
omeone who didn’t love him back. That seemed especially poignant now.
Distantly, I heard a knock at my door. Judy. She was the only one with a key to the store, but usually she called before she came over. I checked my phone; no calls or texts. Weird. I got up and padded barefoot down the hall to the door. “Why didn’t you—”
It was Malcolm.
He was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt and had a backpack slung over one shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t call first, but I still haven’t replaced my phone,” he said. “May I come in?”
“How do you keep getting in here?”
He smiled. “The back door is attuned to me, in case of emergencies. I should have asked your permission before I did it.”
“I don’t mind. Come in. You—you’re leaving town.”
“I am. But I realized I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
My heart began beating too rapidly. I sat on the couch beside Malcolm and paused the movie.
“The Awful Truth,” Malcolm said. “Poor Ralph Bellamy.”
“That’s how I feel about it. She plays him for a fool.”
“Not on purpose. She just doesn’t know her own heart.”
Silence fell. Malcolm settled his pack at his feet and leaned forward. “I’m sorry I shot you,” he said quietly. “Please forgive me.”
“I forgive you.”
His brow furrowed. “As easy as that?”
I looked at his face and decided if he was going away forever, I had nothing left to lose. “I love you,” I said, “and that makes it easy to forgive.”
“Helena, no. You have a boyfriend—”
“I broke up with him last week. It was a huge relief. I should never have dated him because my heart has always belonged to you.”
Malcolm closed his eyes and drew a huge, shuddering breath. “All I have ever wanted is to protect you. I had no idea I would need to protect you from myself.”
“I understand.”
He opened his eyes, dark and full of pain. “I don’t think you do. There you were, trapped, a gun to your head, and I had to choose—kill Hallstrom and go on the run forever, or take the harder shot, spare Hallstrom’s life so I could be exonerated, and injure you, risk having you hate me forever. I can’t help feeling I made the selfish decision.”
The Book of Mayhem Page 24
