“Disabled? What could that mean?”
“You know, disabled—hurt, ailing, not whole, injured.” Justice smirked at me. “It means one in their party is unable to climb the courthouse steps due to some sort of malady, injury, or illness.”
My nerves were short as it was without my own attorney thinking I was a complete idiot. “I know what the word disabled means, but what does it mean for the case?” I said. Justice shrugged and did not answer.
The doors of the courtroom slowly opened, causing the clerks and deputies to try to look even busier to avoid eye contact with Feminera the Wicked. In she strode, an unfortunate mix of leprechaun and satyr, her hooves clomping loudly on the floor. Justice had told me that leprechauns typically made excellent divorce attorneys—what with their aptitude for finding pots of gold. A shock of red curly hair framed Feminera’s scowling face and draped down over pink silk robes that ended barely past her bulging hind end. Her legs were not those of a goat but of a leprechaun, but coated with so much red fur that I thought she was wearing some sort of crimson tights. I saw then she did not have hooves after all, but wore high wooden platform shoes to elevate her diminutive stature. Her beady green eyes bored into my skull as she glared first at me then at Justice, who gave her no reaction but acknowledged her presence with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Feminera,” Justice finally said when she had finished clomping to her counsel table, his even tone not conveying the hatred he had for the redheaded nightmare beside him.
“So good to have you back,” Feminera answered with a well-executed sneer. “It is going to be a pleasure to take your heart again.”
“Dear, dear Feminera,” he said. “I did not have a heart to begin with, so only your shriveled, dark, lonely one is at issue here.” He looked at her bare left hand. “Still alone I see.”
She made a face at him and dropped her papers on the table. I started to chuckle, but then heard the strangest squeaking sound as the courthouse doors opened once again. Someone needed to oil those doors, I thought. Then I saw what was causing the squeaking sound and felt my blood begin to boil. Into the courtroom came Bloodsucker Number One. Her gaudy patterned robe was nearly as short as Feminera’s, but her sneer was far superior, for when she made eye contact with me it was as if she was smelling the most odoriferous flatulence ever emitted from a mortal or immortal body. Trailing behind her was a toothless, balding, and nearly dead Martin the Navigator, easily over 120 mortal years old, being pushed by one of Bloodsucker Number One’s lackeys in some sort of wheeled wooden chair, which was the origin of the squeaking. He was draped in a simple white tunic, with bare, bony arms and legs jutting out in all directions, making him look like a skeleton.
“Well, that explains the disabled thing,” Justice remarked. “It is always funny when the mortals think they are part of our long-living club. That guy is more worm food than top of the food chain, though.”
There were bandages covering his neck, hands, and legs, and I realized that Bloodsucker Number One must have been injecting him over the last century with some of her blood to extend his life. He was now a mere shell of a man, but in his dead eyes was a spark that gave evidence of his guile. A conniving intelligence still resided in a body that was hanging onto life by the slimmest of margins and, thus, cheating Death’s precipice. As he reached Feminera’s table, Martin made several groans and moans and one audible passing of wind. Turning his head with great effort, his blurry gaze roved around the courtroom until his bloodshot orbs found me. “Daddy,” he said with a toothless smile and a wink before dramatically falling into a deep and sonorous sleep.
The faerie deputy snapped to attention and played a long series of notes on a brass horn, holding the last one for dramatic effect. “All rise—hear ye, hear ye,” he boomed. “May this honorable Immortal Divorce Court come to order.”
I rose to my feet and looked at Justice, who was impassive as always. I glanced at Bloodsucker Number One’s table and saw Martin come out of his stupor. “Order?” he mumbled loudly to no one in particular. “Cheese, please, and some fine Genoa salami.”
The deputy ignored him and continued his introduction. “Please remain standing, for I present to you the Great Decider, the Breaker of the Bold, so bow down now and fear for your gold, for here is the greatest head magistrate of this time and any other . . . Gulth Scorn.” The deputy blew on his horn once again, and with a great swishing of robes and flashes of gold, in strode Gulth Scorn, Head Magistrate of Immortal Divorce Court. He looked ancient even for a demon, his stony countenance striated with wrinkles and veins. But his eyes were as clear and black as a moonless night and concealed all evidence of emotion in their shadowy depths.
“Here again, are you,” he said, regarding Bloodsucker Number One with the barest hint of disdain.
He continued to scan the courtroom, paying me little attention. His eyes went to Justice, then Feminera, and then back to Justice again. “I knew you would come back eventually, Mr. Justice,” he said. He looked over at Feminera and Bloodsucker Number One again. “I just wish it wasn’t today. Well, at least you are not here on that business between the Lord of the Underworld and his former beloved. I do not have on my fireproof robes today.”
“No, Your Honor,” Feminera said. “We have just a simple alimony and child custody matter to resolve.”
The Head Magistrate looked at the clearly mortal Martin—happily drooling in his chair—and the two vampire litigants. “Feminera,” he threatened. “You had better not be wasting my time with that thing in yonder chair. That is a nearly dead mortal over there if my nose does not deceive me.”
“Of course not, Your Honor, and yes it—I mean he—is a mortal,” she replied.
He shook his head. “Call your first witness,” he snarled.
Bloodsucker Number One took the stand and smiled at the Head Magistrate, who ignored her. The deputy brought over a crystal globe that contained a raging fire within it. “Place your hand on the perjury globe,” he said. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or risk incineration in the tenth level of Hell?”
I looked at Justice quizzically. Justice leaned over to me and whispered, “The perjury globe didn’t apply with Hades, of course, but rest assured, you don’t want to go to the tenth level of Hell. Ninth? Not so bad. Tenth . . . unbearable even for the likes of me.”
Bloodsucker Number One made a big production of placing her hand on the perjury globe. Not even the barest vestige of fear in her bearing, since she probably had a vacation villa in the tenth level of Hell. “I will,” she said, smirking at me.
“You may proceed,” the Head Magistrate said.
Feminera did not waste any time at all with her questions and went right to the heart of the matter.
“Is Martin the son of you and Sirio Sinestra?”
Bloodsucker Number One looked over at Martin, who smiled back at her lovingly, which caused him to go into a major coughing-and-farting fit with the effort. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, he certainly is our little guy.”
“And you and Sirio Sinestra were married?”
Bloodsucker Number One curled her lip into an even thinner quivering bit of flesh. “Yes, we were,” she said, dabbing at her eye to catch a crocodile tear. “That is, until he left me!”
I could not believe what I was hearing. “This is an outrage,” I hissed in Justice’s ear. “An absolute outrage!” The Head Magistrate looked down from his bench disapprovingly, and Justice kicked my shin under the table, which took me by surprise but did cause me to shut my mouth. Of course I left her, I thought, I left her with Martin’s swollen member inside her rear end. How could she be saying these lies? Sure she was female, and evil, and manipulative, and deceitful, but I really wondered . . . Where was she going with this?
“No more questions,” said Feminera.
“Your witness, Mr. Justice,” said the Head M
agistrate.
Justice looked a little alarmed. I could tell that he knew something was not right, and clearly my counselor did not even know what Feminera had planned.
“You are a vampire, correct?” he said to Bloodsucker Number One.
“Yes.”
“My client, Sirio Sinestra, he is a vampire, too, correct?”
“Yes.”
Justice got up and stood in front of Martin the Navigator. “And this wretched creature, that you claim is your son together, is without question a mortal, correct?”
“Yes, he is,” Bloodsucker Number One agreed. “A mortal, but a sweet boy . . .”
Justice was getting into his rhythm. “You would agree that it is impossible for two vampires to beget a mortal child?”
“Yes, I would agree that is absolutely correct.”
“You would concede that Martin is not the fruit of your union and could not ever be the fruit of any union between you and Sirio Sinestra?”
Bloodsucker Number One smiled at him. “I would concede that.”
Justice looked down his nose at her. “And it is also true that you and Mr. Sinestra never had a wedding ceremony in a church, mosque, or any other designated holy place built to celebrate and make official the sacrament of marriage?”
“Yes, that is true,” she said.
Justice leaned forward. “You and Mr. Sinestra never appeared in front of an emperor, king, queen, major or minor demon, or any other various sundry member of mortal or immortal royalty empowered to declare you married, did you?”
Bloodsucker Number One sat back and thought for a moment. She grinned nervously, baring her teeth. “No,” she agreed. “None of those.”
I could not believe she would drag me here for this utter ridiculousness. Justice was doing an amazing job. There was no way this could end poorly for me. I could not wait to get back to the bar for a celebratory drink with my fabulous attorney.
“I have no more questions for this witness,” Justice said. Nothing appeared to be bothering him. My attorney was in complete control of this poor excuse for a trial. Nothing could go wrong now, I thought.
“Feminera,” the Head Magistrate queried. “Do you have more questions?”
“No, Your Honor,” Feminera replied.
“All right, I have heard enough,” the Head Magistrate said. “Feminera, I am going to see you in my chambers after this hearing. I cannot believe you have wasted my valuable time with this drivel on my last week on the bench. And the mortal is stinking up my courtroom to the high heaven that he is trying to go to this very minute. I may have to suspend your law license for this preposterousness.”
“But, Your Honor,” she protested. “I have more witnesses. If I may have some latitude, all will be clear in but a moment.”
An eerie chill descended upon me, and it felt like the air was heavy as I struggled to breathe. The Head Magistrate peered down at Feminera. “Get to it,” he commanded. “And make it quick.”
Feminera glanced back at the courtroom doors, but they did not open for her witness. She wiped a bit of sweat from her brow and made a big show of shuffling the papers at her table. The courtroom was deathly quiet, except for the increasingly labored breathing of Martin, who appeared to be now quite comatose. A string of drool ran from his quivering bottom lip to the arm of his chair, but no one at his table appeared to notice or care.
“Feminera?” The Head Magistrate tapped a thin finger on his bench. With his long, sharp fingernails, it really looked like he had talons. But that was probably my overactive imagination at work.
Justice stood up. “Your Honor, we move for a dismissal of this sham of a proceeding.”
“As you should,” the Head Magistrate said, reaching for his gavel to do just that.
There was a great commotion outside the courtroom, audible through the thick courtroom doors. What or who could be causing all the noise?
Feminera exhaled, looking quite relieved. “Ah, my witness has arrived,” she said. “We call His Excellency, Pope Pius II,” she said.
“The Zombie Pope!” I burst out. “What is he doing here?”
The deputy shushed me with a glare and pointed to his sword. Faerie glare aside, I was about to find out why the Zombie Pope was there. The courtroom doors opened, and in shuffled Pope Pius II, the Zombie Pope. His papal robes were surprisingly clean despite the flakes of skin that fluttered off his arms like a squall of snowflakes as he flung invisible holy water at the assorted adoring masses that only he saw in the courtroom. Old habits die hard, apparently, even when you are half dead. After a short eternity, Pope Pius II reached the counsel tables and thrust both his arms in the air, sending a blizzard of skin flakes in every direction. Zombie-strength skin moisturizer had not been invented yet. “Bless you,” he said. “Bless all of you.”
Justice stood with an exasperated sigh. “Your Honor,” he said. “We object to the witness testifying. Case law is replete about the inherent unreliability of zombie testimony.”
Feminera had stood when Justice did and waited patiently for the Head Magistrate to look in her direction. “Your Honor, Pope Emeritus Pius II is no ordinary zombie. He is a pope even in his death, or half death as it is, and thus, he is fully competent to testify about his papal actions. It does not matter if he is a zombie or not. His papal status supersedes that.”
Justice shook his head in the negative. “That argument is flawed,” he said. “The law is clear in that a zombie brain is just as addled as one who has imbibed too much wine. Pope or no pope, Pius II is still a zombie with a zombie brain and, thus, should not be allowed to testify.”
The Head Magistrate thought for a moment. “I will allow the pope emeritus to testify,” he said. “But his testimony shall be limited only to any official papal actions he has performed as a pope, and I, as the trier of fact, shall give his testimony its proper weight, considering, though he is a pope, he is also a zombie.”
After Pope Pius II was sworn in, he took his seat at the witness stand, and Feminera approached him.
“How many days has it been since your last confession?” he asked, sending the deputies and clerks into a silent tizzy.
“Now that is funny,” Justice whispered to me. “The answer is forever.”
“I am not here for a confession,” Feminera said.
“Then why are you here in the confessional?” Pius II looked generally perplexed.
“Pope Pius, I am here to ask you some questions,” Feminera continued.
“You don’t have one of those meaning-of-life questions, do you?” Pius II said, causing the clerks to bury their heads deeper into their desks, and even the Head Magistrate cracked a smile. “Because that is something,” he said, pointing skyward, “only a higher power can answer.”
“I am here to ask you about something you did as pope,” she said.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Pius II said. “Go on, get to it, I have a lot to do today.”
“In 1469, you were being held captive by Pope Paul II in Rome, yes?”
Pius II nodded. “That is true.”
Feminera pointed first at her table then at me. “And these two vampires seated at each counsel table are the ones that freed you?”
Pius peered at each counsel table. “Not the demon, but the other gentleman, yes. And right, the lady sitting next to the dead body. They were a lovely couple. I was very happy to marry them.”
“Marry us?” I said. “You did no such thing. We freed you from Pope Paul II was all we did!”
Justice glared at me as the Head Magistrate and the entire courtroom all looked at me. “Sorry,” I said. “Carry on.”
Feminera rolled her eyes. “So, you say you married them?”
“Yes, I did. Right outside the church where I was held captive,” Pius II said. “Gave them a papal dispensation for Isabella and Ferdinand
, and right after that the nice vampire lady gave me a papal certificate of her marriage to the vampire over there, and I signed that too.”
As Pius II spoke, Feminera had retreated to her table, picked up a document, and shown it to Justice. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and steam was definitely coming out of his ears. “What is it?” I hissed at him.
“You are married to her, you idiot,” Justice retorted.
What? How could that be possible?
Feminera handed the document to the Head Magistrate, who nodded and handed it back to her. “Is this the papal certificate of marriage you did for them?” she asked.
Pius II took the certificate from her and looked it over. “Yes, yes, it is,” he said.
Feminera handed the certificate to the clerk. “Your Honor, we move the certificate of marriage into evidence.”
“Objections?” the Head Magistrate asked, looking at Justice.
Justice stood. “Your Honor, this certificate was issued when Pope Pius II was a zombie. He had no idea what he was signing. She got the certificate by guile, subterfuge, and deceit.”
The Head Magistrate looked back at Justice. “He sounded pretty clear as to what he just testified about. One hundred plus years later, his zombie brain still knows he married them. The only one that doesn’t seem to be aware he is married is your client, and he is married to her. Look, his signature is right there plain as day. As to guile, subterfuge, and deceit, all your client had to do was read the documents he carried with him all the way back to Spain from Rome. I find they were married, and thus, the divorce papers she filed this morning are valid, and I find her grounds for divorce for abandonment to be valid and will reserve my ruling on her just compensation until later on in the hearing. Now, let’s get on with this travesty and get to child custody. ”
My Ex-Wife Said Go to Hell Page 6
