by C. S. Wilde
I glare at Barry. His “consider yourself fucking lucky” is implicit, so we bow to the Queen, and leave through the arch.
To say that the gardens have been painted by God himself would be an understatement. Flowers of all kinds and colors bloom exactly where they are supposed to. A few plasma deer run around through the never-ending palette, as chirping plasma birds fly about, leaving behind their rainbow traces.
The suns start setting so tightly together, they form a horizontal eight, throwing the gardens into the most beautiful shades of orange and pink. Because of the light, the animals seem to be made of burning lava, hopping and flying about, as if little pieces of the suns fell upon Purgatory.
The Queen was right; this is out of this world. Of any world. I can’t believe something so magnificent is surrounded by ruins. How beautiful this place must’ve been before Shades destroyed it...But as perfect as this is, I can’t enjoy the view. John overrules every single thought in my head.
“Barry, what’s going to happen?” I ask. “Will she help John?”
“Beats me.” He taps his chin with his finger. “I understand the Queen’s reasons. Shades haven’t been good to the Lummeni, but not interfering ain’t right. It’s not what Evangeline would’ve wanted.”
“Seriously, who’s this Evangeline?” They all know who she is, and they all respect her, so she has to be their deity or something.
As if on cue, a bush with blue flowers twitches, releasing glimmering blue powder in the air. The powder forms a ghostly woman wearing a long dress—an angel made by a concentration of tiny blue stars. She smiles and walks around, stepping over the flowers gracefully, but never really touching them.
Barry looks as if he’s about to cry. “You said her name too loudly. She comes up when that happens.” He observes the woman, longing clings to him like tar.
“That’s the red-haired woman in your memories,” I mumble.
“No, it’s not.” The pain in his voice is tangible. “It’s a small part of her, left behind. Like that sword of yours.”
He takes a deep breath, head down, clearly trying to ignore the angel in the gardens. “Evangeline was the wisest of us all. She believed that we weren’t meant for isolation, regardless of how noble our goals were.” Barry offers a sad smile. “Enlightenment, she used to say, could only be achieved by helping those in need. That caused some bad blood between her and the Queen.” Barry glances at me, his eyes wet. “I fucking loved her, Santana.” He looks at the dancing woman. Their gazes meet and she blows him a kiss. “I always will.”
I’m filled with a newfound respect for Barry. “That’s why you said you knew what I was going through with John, back at the cave.”
He nods. “Evangeline believed we had to help Shades, guide them, but the Queen was too afraid to try. Many of us were, considering that Shades almost destroyed Lummenia. But Evangeline wasn’t, and she helped a lot of souls.” He sniffs. “I think that’s why she was the last of us to ascend.”
“Ascend?”
Barry points up to the sky.
Evangeline went to Heaven, and that’s a good thing, but I can understand Barry’s pain. When you love someone, Heaven is where that person is. It’s why I’d be a lot happier in Death than in Life, and it’s why Barry isn’t happy here, because Evangeline is up there.
Is this how I’ll feel once I return to my body? Fifty, sixty years of hurting before I die and meet John again? How can someone look forward to years of being incomplete?
I rest my hand on Barry’s shoulder and leave it there. It’s all I can do to show him support.
His attention remains trapped at the dancing woman in the gardens. “Evangeline sent you to me, Santana. She needed to remind me what being a Lummeni is all about.” He wipes a tear away. “It’s not about being scared, it’s about helping souls in need.”
Barbie taps her lips with her index finger. “Why did you end up in that post, watching Hitler?”
Barry hunches over, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “After Evangeline was gone, I tried to help some Shades. Didn’t always end up as I hoped; she was way more evolved than I was.” He sneers. “Guess I should’ve learned not to defy authority, huh?”
“Trying to help is better than not helping at all,” Barbie says.
He smirks. “That’s what Evangeline would have said.”
Evangeline’s ghost casts one last glance at Barry before she shines brighter, and then she dissolves into blue powder, puffing in the air.
She’s gone, but she wasn’t here in the first place.
Barry stares at the spot, lips pressed together. Being without her is pure agony to him; anyone can see that.
I miss John’s wide smile and permanently damp hair. It takes all my strength not to cry as I remember him full of blood and barely able to speak. Will he ever walk in these gardens like Evangeline’s ghost? Become a memory? Just the thought makes me queasy. I won’t let him go to oblivion, even if it’s the last thing I do.
As twilight breaks, Tweedledum, or maybe he’s Tweedledee, walks to us and says that the Queen will see us now.
***
The throne room is littered with candles set in tall golden candlesticks, which fill a string of standards along the walls, flooding the chamber with flickering light. The Queen stands in the middle of a circle on the ground. It’s painted with undecipherable blue inscriptions that shine in the darkening room.
I wonder if I’m about to be sacrificed, but that’s nonsense. These are enlightened spirits.
“You have darkness in you, but also light,” The Queen says. “After tonight, we’ll see which will prevail. And if you succeed, you shall have our help.”
She leaves the circle and I take the cue to replace her.
“I don’t like this at all, Santana.”
“Me neither, Barbie.”
“Ma’am?” a deep voice comes from the dark end of the room.
My limbs turn to stone as a beefy Shade steps into the candlelight with its brown, shark-toothed smile. He’s accompanied by two female Shades, one at each hand. The women’s breasts and privates are covered in rough cloth, but that’s all.
“Gregory Paine,” I mumble.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
He looks like a professional bodybuilder, but when alive he was nothing like the bulky blue monster that stands before me.
I glance at the Queen and she shoots back anger mixed with delight. Her voice echoes in my head, “You will fail, Santana Jones.”
I know then that she hates me for breaking into her perfect fortress, hates me because I’m a Shade, because I’ve done bad things, and for a myriad of reasons I don’t even know. She might fool herself, thinking she’s evolved and pure, but the truth is that she’s layers of beautifully disguised rot.
Do not complain, Santana. This is a test and you will pass. Is it enlightenment she wants? Enlightenment she’ll have.
I open a wide smile and say, “Nice to see you again, Greg.”
24
Some of Greg’s green veins spread from his neck down his chest, a contrast to his pitch-blue skin. He’s much taller and wider than me. I bet he could easily lift me with one arm.
“Santana Jones, what a surprise.” He grins. “I thought all lawyers went straight to Hell.” Greg walks forward and enters the blue circle with his women. He’s about to hug me when I reach for Foxberry, so he stops a few feet away.
Barbie stands outside the circle with Barry, clutching Spritebreaker. Her dark blue skin has turned a bit pale, as if she’s about to pass out. I can certainly relate.
Don’t worry, Barbie. I’ll pass the test. All my senses sharpen as my Shade part does its magic. The smell of rotten eggs hangs in the air, and it comes from the giant Shade ahead.
“What happened to you, Greg?” I send the Queen a cocky glance that says “I’ve got this.”
This seems to faze her. Santana one, Queen zero.
Greg replies nonchalantly, “Died.”
“Oh, this?” He taps his bulky muscles. “I don’t know, ma’am. I woke up like this. Found myself a nice little pack shortly after. Can’t complain.” He smiles proudly, wrapping his hands around his zombie strippers. “You know me, I’m a pack person.”
Yeah, if you include killing your pack as being a pack person.
“That wasn’t nice, ma’am.”
Damn it, I’ve got to get a grip on this linking thing.
One of his zombie brides asks, “Baby, why are we here anyway?”
He nods to the Queen and she nods back regally. “This nice lady promised us some food and drinks. But something tells me that’s not all of it.” He turns to me. “Now, why are we here, ma’am?”
***
“What’s this?” I open the file Mr. Baker just dropped on my desk and examine it.
The client is clearly caught-with-the-smoking-gun guilty. Ever since Jebediah, I’ve been extra careful with my cases. I’ve been listening to my gut a lot more too, which isn’t wise if you’re a lawyer, but I did it to avoid situations like this. “Is there no one else, sir?”
“No one as good as you.”
“Is the plea on the table?”
“Nope. He wants full acquittal.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Do I have a choice?”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
With hands forming a triangle under my chin, I politely stare at him, showing I’m not happy with his decision.
Mr. Baker snorts. “Don’t think that will work on me.” But he can’t maintain eye contact. I’m breaking him and a part of me is squeaking like a happy squirrel.
“Look kid,” he says with annoyance, because he also knows I’m winning this. “There’s a fine line between factual guilt and legal guilt. It’s all about what the prosecution can prove. You’ve defended shoplifters, drug dealers, and a rapist. What makes this different?”
I swallow dry when he mentions Jebediah so casually. “It’s murder, sir, and the prosecution has built a very strong case.”
Mr. Baker shrugs. “Just prove reasonable doubt and you’re good. You’ve done it countless times before.”
“I know that. It’s just,” I trail off. We’re talking about murder. It’s hard to defend a guy who is factually guilty of it. For a second, I wonder if I’m in the wrong profession, but if I were, I wouldn’t be so damn good at what I do.
“Why don’t you ask for the client’s version of events instead of pushing for the truth?” Mr. Baker says. “You’d be much happier.”
“Meaning ignorance is bliss?”
“Meaning if you can’t handle some bad guys, you’re free to go do administrative work at the DA’s office. Of course, you’d earn abysmally less than you do now. Should I call and recommend you?”
And the table is turned.
“No, sir,” I croak, eyes still locked onto him. “As I’ve told you in my interview, I’d never work for the DA’s office.”
“I’ve always wondered why that is.”
“Is it relevant to the case?”
He frowns. “No, but it is to me.”
Damn it. When Mr. Baker wants information, he’s like a famished dog with a bone. “It’s personal, sir.”
“I’m not asking this as your boss.”
Then as what? A friend? I guess it’s no secret he took me under his wing, and a part of me feels grateful for it, even though I don’t need anyone’s protection.
Inhaling a sharp breath, I blurt—only because there’s no other option, “The DA was processing a case related to one of our neighbors, so a prosecutor dropped by for an informal interview. My dad was a bit drunk, and three days later, social services came knocking on our door.”
Hopefully Mr. Baker will get the drift and let the subject go, but he crosses his arms. His expression tells me to go on.
“We had gone through a family tragedy. Of course Dad had a hard time, but he never stopped being the best father a girl could ask for.” I try hard to maintain a poised tone. “The prosecutor caught him in a moment of weakness, that’s all. They almost took me away from him.”
Mr. Baker looks at me with patronizing eyes. When he sees I have nothing to add, he says, “I’m sorry for what happened to you, kiddo, but everyone makes mistakes. We both know that better than anyone else. The DA is no exception, trust me.”
My lips flatline as I dodge his gaze.
“Yeah, you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “If you ever need to, you know where I am.”
Seeing the soft side of Mr. Baker must be rarer than spotting a two-legged unicorn, yet there it is. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”
“I know.” He pushes the file over the desk. “Win this one and you get what you’ve always wanted.”
My jaw drops in shock. “Junior partner?”
“You heard me. And you know what that means.”
I’ll be able to pick my cases.
The wrinkles on the corners of Mr. Baker’s mouth reveal a strange sadness as he says, “You know, you remind me a bit of myself when I was your age.”
“Are you going that low?” I say playfully. “This case must be worse than I imagined.”
Mr. Baker lets out a mellow smirk. Then he leaves.
***
A rosy complexion, hair dark as night. A few strands fall upon his face, adding to his natural charm as he peers at me behind searching brown eyes. His beard has been carefully trimmed into a goatee. Even wearing orange overalls, Greg Paine looks unbelievably handsome. He appears to be quite the catch: rich, young, but freaking dangerous.
I sit on the chair, my best stealth mode on. “Mr. Paine, my name is Santana Jones, and―”
“You’re very beautiful, Ms. Jones.”
I won’t lie, receiving a compliment from a man this handsome feels good. But I stare back at him, showing no emotion whatsoever. “I’m not here to play, Mr. Paine.”
He crosses his arms and his long-chain handcuffs clang against the chair. “I thought Mr. Baker would be defending me.”
“Mr. Baker has trusted me with the job.”
Greg eyes me up and down as if I’m some sort of merchandise. “You’re barely out of your diapers. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“You’re three years younger than me. I want a real lawyer.”
“Trust me, Mr. Paine. I’m quite real.”
He observes me thoroughly for a moment, disbelief written all over his face. After a while, he says, “Fine. Let’s give it a try, ma’am.”
He’s obviously mocking me because of my age, but I hide my annoyance. Hiding emotions is kind of my specialty.
“Mr. Paine, your situation looks bad.”
He offers a sly smile. “You can call me Greg.”
I open his file, and the picture of a dead woman stares back at me. Her hollow dilated pupils gawk into the camera. Her skin is flour white, lips the same color, but there are splashes of red on her cheeks, probably from when her chest burst open. A hole coated in clogged blood pierces through the place her heart used to be.
I slide the picture in his direction. “Why don’t you tell me your account of what happened?”
“Fine, I have nothing to hide. I shot my friend Jenny.” He lingers at the woman’s picture. “It was self defense.”
“Were you having relations with your friend, Mr. Paine?”
His mouth gapes open. “Beg your pardon?”
He’s pretending to be offended. I can see it in his sharp eyes, but I have no time for whatever silly game he’s playing. I cross my hands over the table and say, “Were you fucking your friend, Mr. Paine?”
He seems surprised for a moment, then opens a delighted smile. “My oh my, do all lawyers talk like that?”
“Mr. Paine, my time is precious.”
“Yes,” he exhales. “We fucked from time to time.” He chokes up, as if he’s about to cry. “That night, we both got wasted.”
I pull the m
edical report. “Cocaine and alcohol?”
“Yeah.” His voice trembles as he goes. “Jenny found out I was sleeping with other girls, I mean, we weren’t exclusive. I thought I had made that clear. She took a kitchen knife and lunged for me.” He takes a deep breath. “I acted on instinct. I knew where we kept the gun in the living room, so I went for it.” He stops in an emotional break, the muscles on his face shaking. “I told her to back off but she didn’t stop. I had no choice!” A tear forms on his eye and he wipes it quickly.
“So you shot her three times in the chest,” I add.
He nods slowly, as if he’s focusing on fixing something broken inside him.
“Mr. Paine, Jenny sent her father a message from her phone the day she died. Do you know what the message said?”
He shakes his head, eyes as big as a poor little puppy.
“It said, and I quote, ‘I’ll get the money we need. I’m going to Greg’s now. Things will work out. I’ll see you soon. Love you.’” I say this staring at Greg.
His glare darkens, his lips tightly pressed. “That bitch.”
I can’t disguise my amusement. “What happened to the crying baby from a moment ago?”
“As if that would have worked on you.” He shrugs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, ma’am.”
I want to run and only stop once I’m miles away from this born and bred psychopath. I’m suddenly very aware we’re alone in this room. Thank heavens for the cuffs around his wrists. The same cuffs that will be gone after I’m done with this case.
“Jenny was blackmailing me,” he blurts.
Ignorance is bliss, right? Maybe I should stop asking questions, go with what I have, but goddamn it, I can’t. “Why, Mr. Paine? And this time, skip the lies.”
“She found out something about me that I had to keep secret.”
“Which was?”
He winks at me. “If I told you I’d have to kill you, ma’am.”
I close the file and put it back inside my briefcase, then stand up. “I wish you good luck in your trial.”
“Hey, wait!” He stretches his hands to me, but the long cuffs hold him. He glances at the door. The guard glares at him, ready to jump in. “I’ll tell you. Just sit, okay?”
