by Sara Hanover
It would be correct to say that I had had quite enough of people wanting me deceased.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WAIT JUST A DAMN MINUTE
“DON’T TELL ME this is just another ploy to get the stone.” I brought up a handful of fire, but Carter reached out and absorbed it before I could even feel the heat.
Ignoring what I’d just stated, Carter said smoothly, “I was not aware that sentencing came before the trial, but I am aware that it should be commensurate with the crime. You’re not in any way advocating for a fair judgment.”
The Waterman opened and closed his mouth indignantly several times but didn’t get a word out as he was jostled back in the crowd. Hiram put a hand up. “He speaks truth. We are ahead of ourselves. I do, however, have evidence.” He reached back to a drawer in the sofa table that adorned the foyer, nestled in a little alcove leading to the stairs. He pulled a binder out of that drawer, and I recognized it as matching the binders of my mother’s dissertation. Banded to it were several disks. It looked as though Faith Hawkins had not carried out her secretarial duties.
My mother made a low sound deep in her throat. “He’s stolen my materials.”
The professor said nothing, but a tinge of heat rose up the back of his neck from his collar. I hid my smile, recognizing the signs of his irritation. Between Carter and our phoenix wizard, I felt safer than I had in weeks. Carter turned his head to one side, assessing Gregory closely, and then his mouth fell open.
The wizard looked back at him, to give a slow smile. My mother, however, hadn’t noticed a bit of the exchange, nor Carter’s startled response. She squared her shoulders. She glanced at all three of us, took a stance, and said to us, “I’ve been silent long enough. I’ve got this.”
She looked at Hiram and the crowd of Iron Dwarves ringing him. “Do you all believe that I have exposed your secrets to the modern world?”
Dark shapes rose and danced among the agitated crowd and fell back where they could barely be seen. Like the watchers on our street below our windows, they had sharp-angled and angry shapes. I shook myself a little, trying unsuccessfully to rid myself of the phenomena. I scanned Gregory’s and Carter’s faces to see if they noticed anything, but they showed no awareness. Was my Sight just particularly sensitive for this?
Hiram shook the binder. A female voice called from the rear of the crowd, “That speaks for itself.”
Mom gave a little nod to Hiram. “It does speak. Have you read it all the way through?”
He did not answer immediately before saying reluctantly, “Not entirely.”
“Then your evidence is incomplete. You should be ashamed of presenting that.”
Hiram’s cheeks reflected his heat. “I read enough!”
“Then tell me how you reached your conclusion.” My mother refused to back down.
“You list evidence of another world in proximity to your own. You cite examples in literature and song . . .”
“Poetry and plays, stories old and new, imaginings drawn from every culture. Imagination is the keyword here. Did I give nonfiction citations? Actual verifiable incidents?”
Again, Hiram hesitated. “I haven’t run across any. Yet.”
“Because there are none in my paper. And, Hiram Broadstone, if you had read my dissertation to its inevitable conclusion, you would know that I posited not that there was a real magical world, but that because of humanity’s dreams, fears, and hopes we created a world of magic to meet our needs. It weaves throughout our music, our tales, our paintings, our ingenuity, our writings . . . but we cannot prove it exists. We only want it to, sometimes in the small measures of magical realism and sometimes in great doses of popular fiction. Fiction. But my work is not presented as actuality. None of my footnotes and citations refer to concrete examples or witnesses of real magic. I could, if I wanted, gather a few.” She looked around the room and spread her hands. “I’ve been aiding and comforting and being friends with many of you this last year. Have I ever asked any of you to give me proof of who you are or what you can do? No, I haven’t.”
Without waiting for an answer, she took a deep breath. “In short, just wait a damn minute before you accuse me of betraying you. I’m well aware that you knew of my husband’s heritage long before any of this. Did any of you take Potion Polly into your confidence and help her stand against those who accused that healer of witchcraft? Did you take her aside and tell her: we understand what you are, and what you’re doing, and you’re a member of our family, too? No, you let her drift without rules and aid. April Andrews rode a good luck streak that made her, for a short while, a wealthy woman of property. Did any of you stand at her elbow and tell her that a price would be paid, ultimately, for that luck, and it could be dire? Did you tell my husband, John Graham Andrews, the same? No. You kept yourselves apart and secret, kept the rules obscure and unavailable, and now—only now—do you reveal them, and expect us to understand what we’ve violated and that you anticipate punishing us. That is reality.”
A Timber Dwarf woman at Hiram’s elbow, her face twisted unhappily, spoke up. “It matters little whether fact or fiction if it is believed. It has the potential to destroy us. I believe we should treat this as we have always treated such threats. Extermination.”
“She’s right. It matters not her intentions but her deeds. That book will be the death of our peace, and probably of us as well.”
I searched for the speaker but could not quite locate her amidst the Iron Dwarves shifting back and forth in their anger and concern.
Darkness hopped in and out of them. It choked me a little as it approached, as if it had substance more than shadows. I didn’t want whatever it was touching us. I looked to Gregory and Carter to see if they noticed yet, but they did not seem to. What is it that they missed and I found?
“I understand your need for secrecy. Your worry and anxiety. But your response will only make things worse, if the worst happens. If you choose to run, you will be chased.” My mother crossed her arms over her chest. “Outdated thinking, if not downright murderous. That won’t stop publication. I’ve paid for it, and it’s been scheduled. There are two things that can happen: it can be published and virtually ignored by academia, which is more likely than you think, or I can withdraw it from publication, pleading mental illness or some such, and beg for an extension to rewrite and present another dissertation. I’d rather not do the latter, because there is good reason to believe I’d be fired and possibly have great difficulty ever being hired anywhere else, and I would like to have a future. But if you have us killed, the paper will still be published. I have duplicates of what you’ve been handed. There’s no stopping it at this point that way. I have you at a standoff, and I do trust that most of you have sense and fairness built into every bone of your bodies.”
I doubted it, based on what I’d been viewing. Not among the Broadstones, for which I thanked mercy, but many of the others. Someone had breached this branch of magic long ago, become entrenched, and now exerted whatever influences it could, and called for my death.
It might be because we’d broken unspoken rules, but it was just as likely that the maelstrom stone was coveted, and a reward had been set for its recovery—over my dead body. If it had to be that way, so be it, but there was no way I was going to let my mother die as well. I reached inside to center myself for an offensive spell, on edge for when I would have to detonate it.
“Lies and more lies. The paper is already being talked about at the university. There are plans to take it wider as a textbook. We’ll be revealed across the nation!” Then I spotted the speaker, none other than Faith Hawkins herself. A double threat, that woman . . . no, triple. Buried in the Society and University academia, and here in the dwarf clan.
“Totally untrue!” My mother raised her voice as I’d seldom heard her. The crimson beam of the Eye cut across the room in answer, but it had become impossible to know w
hat it responded to. Who lied? It did not point to anyone but everyone.
The crowd began talking among themselves, only Hiram silent, his gaze fixed on the two of us, his mouth a grim line. The foyer filled with the altos and basses of their tones, and the floor shifted as they moved restlessly. The entire house sounded with their weight and unease. They conferred and argued, grumbled and declaimed, and I could not read their expressions well enough to know if anything my mother said could make a difference. They judged her with every exchange.
I had the distinct feeling that, although he’d read part of the manuscript that day he’d sat at our kitchen table and after it had been delivered to him, the trial had not been his idea. We did have a friendship, and it was that strong. I watched the crowd around him, looking for someone insistent, someone traitorous. Someone had been the instigator, the perpetrator of ill-action, someone who had to be wreathed in darkness wrought by Nicolo or worse. Goldie had warned me days ago, and I’d nearly forgotten. I saw one face that stared at me belligerently. It shocked me to see a transparent, oily black shroud like the one I’d banished from Malender wrapped about the squared form, but when I returned that stare, they shuffled back into the crowd, unwilling to be seen. A vampiric shroud, Malender had told me. Steptoe had confirmed it. A coffin that ate its wearer from the inside out, renewing itself constantly as the being inside shrank and shrank . . . Malender had only survived because he seemed to be a demigod, and I’d showered him with salt. It seemed not quite visible to the dwarves, for no one reacted to it, but I knew what I’d seen: a horrible imprisonment that drew upon the life and soul of the prisoner to keep itself strong and functioning. I knew I had the instigator. Now to call her out and see if I could force her true colors to show. She’d kept herself hidden for months, perhaps even years. Time to reveal her for what she was. Before I could do that, however, trouble bubbled over.
Someone called out, “Lies, all lies. Humans lie, we know that.”
My mother drew herself up straighter. “Did the Eye of Nimora judge me? Did it?” I couldn’t see her face, but I knew her piercing blue gaze swept the crowd. “I’m sorry that you can’t value my friendship as I have valued yours. But I won’t stand silently while you threaten my daughter and me.” She turned on one heel. “Nor, I believe will Carter Phillips or the man you know as Meyer Gregory but who was once known to me as Brandard. I will not threaten you with the powers of a phoenix wizard or a sun lion as you’ve threatened me, but I do have friends and allies. If you unjustly find us guilty, you won’t be able to impose your sentence.”
Havoc broke out. Gregory reached for my mother’s elbow and turned her aside slightly and she managed a small smile at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
“Madam,” he said solemnly, “you and yours have always happily surprised me.”
I took advantage of the pause to point out the woman who, unsuccessfully, tried even more forcefully to move toward the rear of the pack. “There are not many Fire Dwarves, I believe, but I name that one as traitor.” Her determined shoving to get out of sight gave her away, or perhaps it was that cloud over her. No matter. I saw her, and she couldn’t hide from me. “She’s the one who helped the Eye of Nimora be stolen by elves and tried to frame Goldie Germanigold. She misdirected Mortimer Broadstone to his untimely death. She’s lied to all of you. And, unless I’m greatly wrong, she is servant to a dark master.”
She flared up as I thought she would, but I had been prepping my ice spell quietly while my mother spoke, and I let loose even as she did. Dwarves scattered. Hiram did not hit the floor, but he did duck as he swung about. Hail peppered the hallway as she burst into fire. The blaze died away with a hiss, wreathing her in smoke. She bared her teeth and tried to push her way free of the gathering.
“Jocosta Flintridge. Stand your ground.”
The young woman did not, shoving her way out of the press, and took to her heels to the back of the house. I let Scout off his lead, saying only, “Trail.”
He took off, and I ran after.
Hiram did as well and caught me for a step or two. “Don’t,” he warned. “Justice waits for whoever goes out that door!”
He fell behind, unable to match my speed, and I had no idea what he meant until I burst out onto the driveway and saw Jocosta halted, her arms up to protect her face, Scout afraid to come closer, as Malender stood and uncoiled his great whip of razors and flame.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION
“STAND,” COMMANDED MALENDER, “for you are filled with crimes unbowed to justice. That is my job, and I will have it.” His declaration sounded overly formal, but then Hiram must have called him in to deal with a guilty verdict. The scourge coiled about his booted feet, its orange glow reflected like small suns on his black leather pants, his shirt opened at his throat, and his wavy hair seemed slightly blown back from his face from a wind that did not touch me. His presence filled me with fear that I had not felt around him for seasons. He did not look at me, however, his bright green gaze fixed on poor Jocosta who looked as though she might melt into ashes right there on the drive. “You have been judged.”
“No! Not me. Her,” and Jocosta flung her hand to point in my direction.
His body did not move, but his glance did, taking me in, and returning immediately to her. “They called me here, but I have no need to rely on the judgment of Iron Dwarves. I know sin when I see it. Punishment is mine to give out.”
I thought I knew what he had planned, and although I had run after to catch Jocosta, I didn’t want to see her flayed alive with the scourge. And I certainly didn’t want that deed to be on Malender. As terrible a being as he could be, I’d never sensed evil in him. “Let her go, Malender.”
“She deals with untruths that bring death. She deserves the justice that I am intended to deliver.”
I could see the shroud about her. Could smell its rank and oily odor. Could almost feel it as if I touched it, greasy and slimy beyond measure. Surely Mal could as well. If he did, he would know instinctively what it was that drove Jocosta to her crimes because a similar shroud had enveloped him for decades.
The deity looked at me again. “You have brought me back to my true self. Do you regret that?”
“Regret freeing you? Never. But can’t you see that she’s as possessed as you were? That Nicolo has his hooks in her?” The air shuddered about me at the sound of the vampire’s name. I shouldn’t have said it; I knew that too late now, but how else to tell Malender without saying it? My throat suddenly went dry, and I lost what other words I would have added. So I brought up my salt spell, and—with a few passes of my hands and a choked word or two that might not be enough—I dropped the cloud over Jocosta Flintridge.
He stepped back hastily, having been deluged before and not enjoying the sting. His whip hissed and spat as the flames ate bits of excess crystal bouncing about the driveway.
As for Jocosta—it buried her up to her neck, after having appeared over her and cascading down and around her, and she began to weep. Whether in pain or fear, I couldn’t tell, but I felt sorry for her. Her wails filled the air. I knew the caustic effect the salt had on her shroud and how she must be blistering as it ate away her binding. Did she miss it as well? Would being expunged that way destroy her as it had almost destroyed Malender once?
I put a hand out toward Mal. “Help her!”
“She would have seen you dead.”
“She couldn’t help it; she was too far gone. Can’t you do something?”
“I am Justice.”
“Justice is not worth it without mercy,” I told him. “Maybe your world is filled with absolutes, but mine is pretty . . . wibbly-wobbly.”
His brows rose in his elegant face. “Wibbly-wobbly?”
“Yes!”
“And what might you mean by that?”
“Nothing is all black or all w
hite. There are shades of gray everywhere.”
“This is where many humans go wrong. They misjudge their errors. This is why a being like myself must exist.”
“Everyone needs mercy as you needed it once. I believed in you. You scared me to hell and back, but I believed in you.”
“I owe you a life-debt. Very well.” He stepped close to Jocosta, his boots crunching on the salt, and his gaze locked onto her pale, tear-soaked face. “Your life has been begged of me. Do you understand?”
I backed up a step. “I didn’t ask that of you,” but Jocosta’s response overrode mine.
She whispered, “I can see again.”
Had the vampire blinded her to everything but his will? Perhaps. I didn’t know what she meant, but I could hear the change in her voice.
“I asked if you understood what Tessa Andrews wants of me.”
“M-mercy.”
“I am not inclined to offer it.” Malender bowed his head a moment, a stray lock of hair falling onto his forehead. He seemed to be contemplating.
I became aware that Carter stood at my left elbow and the professor at my right. “Be careful,” Gregory warned. “He is borne into his full powers now and not amenable to mortal persuasion.”
Carter disagreed. “He has always listened to Tessa. Or at least had a dialogue with her.”
Malender lifted his head and looked toward us. He gave a nod of acknowledgment and recognition before adding, “You would both be wise not to interfere with me.”
Did I want to see the deity of Justice brawling with my sun lion and phoenix wizard? No, I most certainly did not. It could very well turn into a scorched earth battlefield, and I don’t think Mal had any idea that the Wild Hunt ranged not far from Hiram’s backyard and might be pulled in as well. It would be a war of supernatural powers such as the modern-day world has never seen. No, I didn’t intend for this to be any sort of a last stand for any of us. I ventured, “That life-debt.”
