by L. A. Banks
Using two forefingers, Sir Rodney waved toward the silver platters that had been held in the Shadow Wolf section. Murmurs broke out, but even the gavel was so curious as it pirouetted to see that it failed to bring the courtroom to order.
“Can you tell the court what this is, Captain?” Sir Rodney said, whipping off the silver domes and purposely setting the silver dangerously close to the baron and Buchanan.
“It’s human evidence gathered by an impartial and supernaturally ignorant party,” Sasha said, her gaze scanning the entire room. “NOPD has no idea what species these hairs come from. They think it’s a dog or a wolf. But I think it’s rather ironic that basic human forensics could show that the hair in bag one—which came from the Dumpster where they found that young male college student—belongs to an infected Werewolf female in the Southeast Asian Clan.”
Sasha waited for the barks and growls to die down. “Isn’t that right, Lei? We could easily take a strand of your hair, run it next to this one, and find a genetic match because this belongs to your mother.”
“My mother has been dead for decades,” Lei said coolly. “We all know that she was slaughtered at the hands of the North American Shadow Wolf Clan, which contributed to the tensions between our Federations.”
“Call her to the stand and make her say that crap in front of the book,” Sasha growled.
“In a moment,” Sir Rodney said calmly. “But first, can you describe the other evidence?”
“Yeah, gladly,” Sasha said, whirling on the platters. “In bag two, the human authorities took a hair sample from a window—it’s from an auburn female wolf, who was in the window of the teahouse men’s room. That’s the way she exited, they believe. I’d lay bets that if we took a hair sample from Dana, it would match up.”
Buchanan was on his feet with his daughter. “Now just you hold on,” he bellowed. “My daughter ain’t no infected flesh-eater!”
“No, she’s not,” Sasha said coolly, making the spectators’ heads pivot between her and Buchanan. “But she is a wolf traitor.”
Dana instantly shape-shifted. Only the Fae archers perilously pointing silver arrows in her direction stemmed an attack.
“You’d better watch your mouth so close to a full moon with four-to-one clan odds bucking up against you,” Buchanan warned. “Them’s some serious odds, since you’re a betting woman by your own admission.”
“If you match the hair sample found in the window of the teahouse,” Sasha said as calmly as possible, ignoring Buchanan and addressing the crowd now, “you’ll see the same hair on that as the pants that were left in the bathroom . . . after the enchantment spell. Takiyama found the needle that Shogun used to draw blood, but she didn’t find the pants. Why?” Sasha waited a moment and looked at the bench. “He went in a stall to do that blood draw, and he probably tossed the needle in the john where it floated back up—Vampires could still smell that blood to ridiculous parts per billion. But the pair of khaki pants . . . he put those in the larger bin on the way out the door after he’d changed.”
“What has any of this got to do with my Dana?” Buchanan threw up his hands. “I fail to see the relevance of—”
“She went after the pants.” Sasha pointed at Dana then whirled on the baron. “Then she gave them to the Vampire Geoff Montague, who put them in Hunter’s path to start a wolf war—all so he could have an open wolf hunt against both Werewolves and Shadows in order to gain back cartel control of the UCE!”
Again the courtroom erupted. Dragons blasted aisles with treacherous plumes of flames and archers released warning shots until a strained peace settled among the boxes again.
“You’d better have damned good proof for these allegations,” Baron said in a hissing threat.
Sir Rodney offered another casual Gaelic shrug. “The proof is easy enough. Human DNA testing can match up hair strands and tell if somethin’ came from Lei’s ma.”
“But you are missing a very crucial point,” the baron remarked coolly with a smirk. “These proceedings wrap up tonight—the time to bring forward such evidence has elapsed.”
“It takes weeks, sometimes, to get that kind of accurate forensic data,” Sasha argued as Vampires sat back in their booth and smiled. “The truth demands time!”
“You have run out of time,” the baron repeated with emphasis.
“But we have not run out of testimony,” Sir Rodney said appearing unfazed. “I’m sure we could call Dana up to ask her if she went to the teahouse and stole the pants, or if she actually gave them to you trying to cut a side deal for herself around Lei.” He sighed and began walking while raking his hair. “But the lady could just plead the Fifth, as Bear Shadow just did, as could you, Baron . . . and we most certainly won’t be able to get Lei to testify against herself or her brother. Hmmm. I don’t suppose a father would go against his daughter, so Mr. Broussard is out.”
“Therefore, I guess that wraps up the case,” Baron Montague said with a smirk.
The boxes went wild, but following Sir Rodney’s calls and the gavel’s shriek, entities gradually sat down again, straining to hear what would happen next.
“I have to ask the man who is going to the gallows—that’s only right. We heard from the lady . . .” Sir Rodney glanced up at Hunter.
Hunter stood and held out his wrist, eyes rimmed in amber, furious and unafraid.
“Tell us, sir, answer yes or no,” Sir Rodney said as the book positioned to take the harsh scribbling of the wand. “Have you now or ever in your life eaten or savaged a human?”
Silence echoed; no one breathed. “No,” Hunter rumbled.
All eyes turned to the book, which didn’t burn. The courtroom was again out of control.
Sir Rodney raced down the aisle. “Do you know who did?”
“Yes,” Hunter said flatly. “Lei’s mother. She’s not dead and she’s still in the bayou, infected. That’s not hearsay; I saw her.”
“Strike the testimony!” the baron yelled above the din. “Speculation—he never saw her!”
“How would you know, unless you were there?” Hunter shouted. “Like you were when you lured me and my blood brother, Shogun, into mortal combat!”
“Order, order!” Buchanan shouted, grabbing the screaming gavel and pounding on the bench. “These are some serious charges that can’t be substantiated, because some of these people have an agenda and shouldn’t be allowed to take the stand!”
Dana had transformed back and was dressing amid ogling spectators, but Sir Rodney was striding up the aisle to where Dugan sat.
“I, as the captain of the Fae guards, can call martial law among my people,” Sir Rodney said with an angry smile. The courtroom went dead silent. “You’re right; there are many that I cannot call, despite what we are beginning to see as a pattern of lies and backroom deals. But I can call a Fae tribunal member and under our enchantment oath of truth—which he unwittingly took from me while walking to court during a leisurely stroll—he has to tell me and this court what happened. Don’tcha, Dugan? I want ta know about the deal you cut with the baron, and how you delivered Vampire-doctored meds to Hunter at your B and B without him knowing . . . how you know the Vampires are playing both ends against the middle to get the wolves to war—and you know Lei’s demon mother is eating humans in teahouse gardens and leaving young boys in Dumpsters! Ya even gave Lei a spell that she could pass on to ’er demon ma to breach the shadow lands, did ye not? That way she could ambush Shadows. No more lies, you ’ave shamed our Parliament. The spell-casters gave you up—tell me, man, outta ye own mouth before I shoot you meself for such treason!”
A black bolt from the Vampire boxes hit Dugan in the chest, splintering it to burn his heart and cook it before the rotund Elf could even open his mouth. Werewolves were over the divide with Shadow Wolves. Fae archers were no longer neutral as they targeted fast-moving Vampires. Dragons kicked over seating sections, snapping at Vampire vapor mist. The gavel ran away screaming as the book slammed shut and the wand spiraled l
ike a missile to find the old crone and tell.
The battle raged in the great hall, then spilled down the marble front steps and into the swamp. Bloodshed splattered on the trees and ground cover as fierce hurling bodies in a blur of chaos broke branches. It was all-out, full-scale war—Vampires against wolf packs with irate Dragons caught in the crossfire and vexed Fae lending aerial support from treetops.
Shotgun shells flew, claws and teeth slashed. Plumes of bats took to the air only to be scorched by Dragon fire blasts. Transforming Vampire bodies were caught by silver arrows as they came out of the vapors. Phantoms fled the scene. But Sasha was looking for Lei. This was personal.
She found Lei locked in mortal wolf combat with Dana, savaging the weaker wolf while Buchanan fought through an ambush of Vampires yelling no. Sasha dropped her right hand into the palm of her left to get dead aim to blow Lei’s head off. Then a whiff of demon-wolf made her turn.
A huge claw swipe missed Sasha by mere inches. She tumbled backward just as Lei dropped Dana’s limp body on the ground and hurtled forward. In the frenzy, the demon-infected Were reared back and swiped again, her goal to gore Sasha, but she caught Lei in the gut. Entrails splattered the swamp floor. The demonic female hesitated a second. Shock, pain, remorse flitted through her twisted expression, and then fury replaced it. A second was all Sasha needed to find the bull’s-eye that should have been found years ago. The demon’s head snapped back, then oddly a second shell blew open her chest. Sasha scrambled up to see Silver Hawk standing ten feet behind her and slowly lowering a shotgun.
“Just to be on the safe side,” Silver Hawk said.
Sasha nodded and looked down at the glassy-eyed Lei, and then put three more silver bullets in her skull. “Just to be on the safe side—before there’s more hell to pay.”
CHAPTER 20
The injuries were severe and the fatalities many, but as the unified wolf Federations walked side by side with the Fae and The Order of the Dragon to the safety of Sir Rodney’s enchanted camp, everyone felt a sense of quiet victory—the Vampires had been defeated in this battle.
Currently, there was enough evidence to convict Baron Geoff Montague and sentence him to death by daylight, if they ever caught the rat bastard. However, the Vampire estates in the region would be seriously taxed to make restitution to every family that had suffered a loss. There was also enough evidence of foul play to keep the Vampire Cartel from a leadership position at the UCE Conferences for many, many moons to come.
But despite the short-term victory, Sasha’s mind was on the long-term view as she studied Hunter’s solemn profile. The Shadow pack for the North Country was followed on the march to Sir Rodney’s castle by members of the Southeast Asian Werewolf Clan, and after them all other regional Werewolf clans. Hunter was the only living relative of alpha status who was related by blood to Shogun. It was the way of the wolf—to die by honor as a warrior, if the contagion hit.
She grieved for Hunter as they all quietly processed to the place where Sir Rodney made the damp earth a cobbled path. They would walk through the town gaining curious stares, and this battle at UCE court would go down in infamy. Yet at this very pressing, intimate moment, a man who cast a large shadow—not just from his spirit, but also from his very huge heart—had to take the life of the brother he’d just found, just battled, just infected, and now would invariably lose.
The drawbridge lowered. She watched a bloodied, muddied Hunter walk across it, back straight, eyes forward. The military couldn’t have asked for a better soldier, if they’d ever been aware such existed. Pedestrians and town entities stepped aside, watching the blended army file toward the castle. Gnomes sounded the alarm until they realized that Sir Rodney wasn’t being held hostage, but was walking in complete lockstep with the front line.
Castle doors swung open, and guards seemed to sense where everyone was going. An echoing howl filtered out of the dungeon the moment the doors were unbolted.
“I’ll go alone,” Hunter said, stopping the group.
Silver Hawk shook his head. “Protocol is to be observed whenever possible. Tonight we saw how the absence of that can make men monsters. One witness from the Werewolf Clan—the clan that will lose a man. One witness from the Fae—to be sure all is done in decency and order. One other than the blood relative to be the shooter, so that this pain is not bonded to the relative’s soul forever. Two more from the heartbroken one’s clan to hold that relative up and help carry the body home. And if you have the good fortune to have a mate, your shadow should be there. This is how it has been done since the beginning of the Great Spirit’s time, since the dawn of wolf time on earth . . . and since the contagion has been our plague.”
They watched a member of Shogun’s family step forward, his eyes glassy but his chin lifted with pride. “I am a cousin. I will step up.”
Hunter nodded and looked at Sir Rodney.
“It is my honor,” Sir Rodney said, accepting a crossbow from one of his rear guards.
“Let me be your shooter,” Silver Hawk whispered, placing a hand on Hunter’s shoulder.
Hunter simply nodded as Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow stepped forward.
“Until we are one with the shadow lands in spirit, my pack brother, I will always stand with you,” Bear Shadow said in a low rumble.
“And I,” Crow Shadow said, crossing his chest with his forearm.
Sasha didn’t need to be asked. She came near, her gaze holding Hunter’s for a moment in silent understanding.
No one spoke; they all just waited for Hunter to begin walking. Wall torches sputtered as bodies went by, but the group didn’t flinch away. Bone-weariness, post-battle fatigue, and heavy spirits just made them trudge forward through the labyrinth. Guards stood as they approached the central area and saluted Sir Rodney. Execution—and remorse that it had to be done—was in everyone’s eyes.
“Sir, is it time to move the prisoner to court?” the lead guard asked, seeming confused. “The holding spells and chains can be activated and . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked into the eyes of those standing around him. “Just here, not with Vampire witnesses then, sir?”
“Never with Vampires gloating witness to a wolf death,” Sir Rodney said, his voice angry and tight.
The guards who had stood up and abandoned their cards when the execution team entered backed away.
Sasha’s gaze tore around their faces. “When did you take off your kerchiefs?”
“Milady?” a guard asked, confused.
“Wait, wait,” she said, circling the group. “When were you able to breathe in here? It was wretched before.”
“No disrespect to the heartbroken family,” another guard admitted, “But aye, it was terrible.”
“It’s not now.”
“Sasha,” Hunter said quietly. “I don’t want to do this, either, but he knows why we’re here, he can smell the silver and is hiding in the blind of destroyed furniture.”
The lead guard nodded. “Maybe milady should go up to the great hall?” He peered around. “The poor bastard has been begging for raw meat for the last two hours and might have finally passed out. The only thing I’d know to do, short of opening the cage, is to move him with the vines and pull him to the bars—then do it.”
“Hold it—you said he was begging for food?” Sasha said, moving toward the cell. “Since when do full-moon-insane demon-infected Werewolves have a conversation about what they want for dinner?”
Nervous glances passed among Fae and wolves alike. Sasha ran to the bars and began yelling Shogun’s name.
“Send in the vines and knock that debris away—everybody hold your fire.”
Her fingers wrapped around the silver-coated bars. A vine pushed aside a fallen table and privacy screen to reveal a naked man curled in a ball with a spill of silky onyx hair tangled about his dark bronze shoulders. The figure was dirty but very, very human-looking. The horrible demon scent was gone, albeit the stench of dead deer and a body’s rejection of it remained�
��but by comparison that was manageable. Sasha watched Shogun draw in stuttering breaths with tears in her eyes. “Nobody shoot,” she said repeatedly, quietly, reverently as Hunter’s arm slid across her shoulders. “Just nobody shoot . . .”
EPILOGUE . . .
With the Fae as hosts, the party in the castle could last a week, a month, or longer. There’d be funerals, to be sure—that was part of the process adding to the bard’s songs tales of triumph and tragedy, wailing tears and raucous laughter. Time to love, and cry, and recall, and retell the story until it was burned into the collective memories of all the groups that had fought side by side.
The fallen were reverently remembered, the living cheered. Food was ridiculously plentiful, and somehow rooms continued to annex themselves or contract in the castle to accommodate whoever stayed or left. There was no judgment, just a sort of free-for-all of experience. The Vampires had missed the party of the century—all at their expense, of course. And maybe it was a foolish thing to do, but Sasha thought it only fitting that those who’d wondered at the stars and had heard myths and legends and fairy tales as children should just for once get to see what all the hoopla was about. Maybe meet some real Fairies, who actually did tell the best tales.
Of all the new friends she’d met along the way, she owed Sir Rodney an incalculable debt for having her back and for allowing her father and human squad to hang out while on leave to take it all in. It was a pure delight to see their faces, to see Doc and Clarissa nearly swoon when they’d discovered their synthetic DNA had worked. The hospitality was amazing.
Yet with all that, watching death in the bayou had a way of making one throw caution to the wind and not want to wait to give people peace of mind. She saw how important it was to help people laugh when they could, let them love when they could, and pay them homage when you could.
