“If she don’t come out of it on her own,” the visitor was saying, “we’ll have to help her.”
“Help?”
The tone in Debra’s voice got Sarah’s attention. She turned slowly to see who had come into her room.
Sutherland stood not far away, observing her.
“Yeah,” he said. “Help.”
Debra moved to stand between the two of them. “What kind of help?”
“I won’t hurt her, but she’s gotta be able to speak when the Tribunal convenes. It’s only a few hours away, and you don’t seem to be gettin’ anywhere. Entrancement’s our only option, short of violence.”
“Entrancement?” Sarah laughed, surprising herself as much as she did them. “That won’t work on me. I’m immune.”
“Immune.” Sutherland approached, leaving Debra no choice but to move out of his way unless she intended to physically block him. “That’s quite a boast, young lady.”
Boast? Yes, maybe she was boasting. She felt an intense satisfaction at the fact he could not control her with his mental powers, and wanted to rub his face in it. How odd, that the first feeling she experienced would be this.
“Try me.” She raised her eyes to his.
He gazed at her, and his pupils dilated. There was a sense of something prying, seeking entrance, but she had made her mind a long, curving wall of glass, too smooth to grab hold of, too thick to breech. He frowned.
“How?” he asked.
“Practice.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and was again surprised. Not only had she felt something, but she had not even bothered to try hiding it. This worried her, and she wanted to climb back inside her blanket of silence, but it seemed smaller than it had before, as if it wouldn’t quite cover all of her now.
“Looks like entrancement won’t be necessary after all.”
The vampire gestured to Debra, who reluctantly stepped out of the room. He sat in a chair next to Sarah and gave her a considering look. “They’ll want you to testify soon. Tonight, maybe, for sure by tomorrow. Will you be able to answer questions?”
Sarah turned away from him. Things were coming back into focus, and it made her uncomfortable. She curled herself into the armchair, unconsciously mimicking a fetal position. “What is this Tribunal thing? Is Vanessa on trial?”
“Yes, ma’am. Killin’ the heir to a Monarchy is a very serious crime.”
As the comforting fog slipped away, Sarah began to shake. She had not needed to conceal her feelings for several days because she simply hadn’t felt them. Now, she returned to the discipline she had learned during her years of slavery and took a breath, willing herself to appear calm. “So you do have laws.”
“Sure. They ain’t as bureaucratic as yours, though. Our justice is quicker.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we don’t waste time with a bunch of appeals, and we don’t wade through miles of red tape.”
Sarah looked out the window. “What do you want from me?”
He said nothing, perhaps waiting for her to turn her attention back to him, but she kept staring out the window until he finally answered, “They’ll come to get you when it’s time to hear your testimony. Just tell ’em the truth.”
Sarah nodded. She leaned her head against the windowsill once again, and after a while, he went away.
When they led her into the auditorium, she saw seven vampires on the stage, sitting behind a long table. They all looked cold and serious, some frowning, some thoughtful. There weren’t many people in the audience, perhaps forty at most, scattered around a space meant to hold at least five hundred. In the front row she spotted Vanessa’s crayon-yellow hair. Next to her sat a vampire who had been turned just as he was reaching middle age. Gray salted his dark hair, and a few lines marked his face. He hid his thoughts and feelings behind a blank expression. Vanessa did her best to mimic his wooden calm. Sarah’s guards, a pair of tall females who wore dark suits as though they were imitating the Secret Service, led her onto the stage so her back was to everyone but the judges, then withdrew.
“Sarah Miller.” The vampire at the center of the table spoke. She wore her silver hair in a severe braid, and her clothing was all black and gray, no color whatsoever. All of the creatures seated on either side of her wore the same. Not identical, but similar enough to suggest a uniform.
Sarah hadn’t been asked a question, so she didn’t say anything. She had decided it would be best to appear meek and afraid. In truth, she felt much as she had during the last few weeks of her time with the enclave: dead from the inside out, but with a seething pit of rage buried far, far down where she could barely sense it. She kept her head lowered, twisted her hands together, and waited.
“Is that your name?” The vampire sounded impatient.
“Yes, ma’am.” She glanced up, not quite looking at any of them, then back at the floor.
The creature nodded and gestured to someone behind Sarah.
A vampire who had been seated there rose and stepped onto the stage, stopping some yards from her side. His skin might have been olive when he was human, but the paleness of his second life gave it a sallow cast. His black hair was slicked back from a face that had developed jowls, a red nose, and deep bags under his eyes before he was turned.
“Monarch Romero of the Texas Territory, you may begin your questions.”
The vampire bowed slightly before turning to Sarah. “According to your statement, human, you lived for several months in my son’s keep. When did you first arrive there?”
“I’m not sure. It was hard to keep track of time.”
“I see. And were you fed?”
“Yes.”
“Clothed?”
“Yes.”
“Given a roof over your head, a room in which to sleep?”
For the first time, she raised her head to stare at him.
“Yes.”
“So, you were cared for.”
“Cared for.” She drew out the words. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
“No? Didn’t my son and his enclave tend to you when you were injured, giving you their own blood?”
“They wanted to keep us alive so they could continue to abuse us.”
He ignored that.
“And when did you first meet Vanessa Van Sickle?”
“A few days before the—at a party in the warehouse. The slaves were cleaned up and brought out after the hors d’oeuvres were served. We were the main course.”
“She participated in this party.”
“Yes…”
Romero looked around the room, chin lifting as though he had scored a point.
“…and no,” Sarah continued. “She made an excuse to take me into a private room and told me she and some others were going to rescue us. She wanted me to help when the time came.”
“Rescue you?” he snapped. “From what? A home in which you were fed, clothed, healed whenever you were injured?”
“From slavery.”
“So you claim.”
Sarah looked at the floor again, careful to hide the rage bubbling to the surface. She had to keep it buried, to show nothing but her fear and hurt.
“It’s true,” she whispered. “They kept us in the cellar, living in our own filth. They only fed us enough to keep us alive, and only gave us clothes when they wanted to serve us up to their guests. They—”
He interrupted, speaking over her soft voice. “Antonio took in humans who had no other place to go. Did he expect something in return? Of course, but that isn’t unreasonable.”
“Was it reasonable for him to rape us, to hurt us over and over, to let his guests kill one of us whenever they felt like it? Is that what vampires call reasonable?” Her tone rose to a quavering pitch, not a shout of anger but verging on tears. Sarah hunched her shoulders and put her face in her hands.
Romero was quiet for a moment, then said, “When Vanessa Van Sickle got you alone, did she question you about the security of the keep?”
“Yes. She needed to plan how to get us out.”
“You told her all you could about the keep’s defenses?”
“Yes.”
“Then she knew there was an alarm, and that it would bring Antonio and the others back immediately. She planned to be there when they arrived, and spring her trap, but she covered her bases by making it look like she was trying to ‘rescue’ her beloved humans.”
Sarah shook her head all through this speech, and as soon as he stopped, she blurted, “I didn’t tell her about the alarm because I didn’t know it was there. It had never gone off before, and I wasn’t allowed close enough to the doors to see it.”
Romero waved this away with a disgusted snort. “Humans are unreliable witnesses, as we all know. I won’t waste my time any further.”
The judges—she didn’t know what else to call them—watched him return to his seat and fold his arms. No one told her they were finished, so she waited, not wanting to leave the stage without permission.
“James Morgan,” the lead judge said finally. “You have questions for the witness?”
The vampire who had been seated next to Vanessa rose and came to stand a few yards to Sarah’s right. He was only a little taller than she, perhaps five feet nine or so. Morgan nodded respectfully to the panel, then turned his attention to her. Meeting his eyes, Sarah had the feeling he took in every detail about her.
“Miss Miller,” he began. “How did you come to be in Antonio Romero’s keep?”
It took a moment to find her voice, and when she did it came out tight. “He bought me from another vampire. I think he paid a hundred dollars, but I’m not sure.”
“This vampire owned you?”
“Yes.”
“How did that happen?”
“It…it’s a long story.”
“Take all the time you need.” He sounded gentle, and she thought she caught the slightest hint of a smile around the corners of his eyes. “We are patient.”
So she took a deep breath and told them the whole thing, from her senior prom to the final degradation.
When she fell silent, Romero got to his feet. “I protest. The advocate for the accused is trying to make this about the human. This proceeding is about the murder of my son!”
“I must respectfully disagree.” Morgan remained calm, but his voice took on a hard edge. “The plight of the humans in our hands is at the heart of this case. These abuses cannot be allowed to continue, not if we expect to survive into the next century. Your son was caught committing a crime, and he tried to kill those who would expose him.”
“What crime? You have no proof, just the biased testimony of a murderer and a human!”
There it was again, that tiny spark of amusement in James’s eyes. Sarah was sure she saw it this time.
“Not so.” One of the judges, a male with close-cropped black hair, spoke. “We have photographs and videotape of your son’s ‘philanthropy.’ Do not waste our time with protestations of his innocence. Do either of you have any further questions for this witness?”
“There is nothing she can possibly add to this proceeding.” Romero made a gesture as if shooing a fly.
“I have nothing further,” Morgan said.
“Very well.” The lead judge nodded to Sarah. “Take a seat. If you are required again, we will call you.”
She wanted to sit next to Vanessa, but her guards led her to the back of the auditorium. One sat on either side of her, uncomfortably close. The fine hairs on her arms bristled as several of the vampires turned to watch. They were quiet and showed little emotion. These weren’t like the vampires who had passed her around. They seemed less hungry. Or maybe they’d just learned to hide it better.
Now Morgan brought forward a vampire who had worked with Vanessa on other raids. Fact-finding missions, he called them.
“The purpose,” the witness explained, “Was to get solid evidence of abuses that were going unchecked. The Covenant will not act without proof, and the criminals are not likely to offer it themselves.”
Sarah leaned toward one of her guards and whispered, “What is this Covenant, anyway?”
She looked at Sarah. “You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Ask Debra to explain later. This isn’t the place.” She turned her attention back to the proceedings.
It bothered Sarah, not understanding what was going on. This was important. She could tell Vanessa was in trouble, and wasn’t sure whether she’d helped or not. It surprised her to discover she wanted to.
Last of all, the accused herself was brought forward. Vanessa stood with her shoulders straight, head up, hands at her sides. She looked almost calm as she faced the panel of judges.
Romero stepped onto the stage and said, “You and your creator are close, are you not?”
“We are.”
“And you share the same political views?”
“We agree on many things. Not on everything.”
“Do the two of you agree that you would prefer someone else on the throne in Texas? Someone besides me or my child? Remember, you are required to tell the truth here.”
Vanessa hesitated. Her head turned slightly toward James, but she did not actually look at him.
“Yes,” she said. “We do.”
From where she sat at the back of the auditorium, Sarah saw the spectators stir. It was like watching statues come to life.
“James Morgan is, I believe, something of a puppet master. He acts behind the scenes, maneuvering those in power like pieces on a chessboard, and you are his queen, moving at will all over the board to achieve his aims.”
“Is that a question?”
Romero paced across the stage, ending nearly close enough to touch her. “Do you deny helping him with his political agenda?”
Vanessa's body radiated tension, but she did not move, just held her ground as though her feet had been nailed to the floor. “I act as I see fit. Sometimes to help my creator, sometimes for reasons of my own.”
“But you share many of his goals, and because you are younger you can get away with acting more rashly. He can stand back and look like the wise elder while you charge into the fray, fighting battles for him. Isn’t that right, Miss Van Sickle?”
“No.”
“Oh? So you didn’t travel to Dallas to investigate so-called crimes against humans at his suggestion?”
“No. He objects to my methods.”
“Of course he does,” Romero mocked. “And last year, didn’t you offer the Ruler of Mexico City financial support from your creator in exchange for ending his alliance with my territory?”