Magic Rising (8 page)

“He is unable to answer, hence moi.” Micah bowed with a flourish.

“Clearly, he can get in touch with you. Or were you with him?”

“Trust issues?” he asked, dodging my question.

“No!”

“Stella, he is aware of your troubles and asked that I take care of you. Do not worry.” He turned away as the coffee pot beeped.

“Oh, God,” Etoile groaned from the doorway and Micah whipped around, a pleased expression warming his face. “Does that mean you’re staying?” she asked him as she tightened the belt of her robe. It was blue silk and hung to her knees. She even dressed up for bed.

He smiled brightly. “Yes.”

“Here?”

He looked past her to the couch. “Do I have to sleep on that?”

“Yes.” She raised her eyebrows in an invitation to argue.

Micah took the bait. “It doesn’t look comfortable. Do you have any spare beds?”

“Stella’s in my spare bed.”

He looked at me and pulled a face, purely for my benefit. I was fairly certain we shared the same opinion on sharing a bed. “No, thanks. How comfortable is yours?”

“Incredibly.” Etoile sidled up to him and stood on tiptoes, her lips an inch from his ear. “Not that you’ll ever know.”

“This is the last time I come to a witch’s aid,” Micah told us as he began to bang through the cupboards in search of mugs. Finding them, he set three on the counter. “You are so unaccommodating.”

“I like your suit,” said Etoile, ignoring him. “It matches your pretty eyes.” Behind his back, she winked at me.

“I do not have pretty eyes,” Micah huffed, but he didn’t sound offended. “They are dark and dangerous.” He winked at Etoile and she smiled.

“Evan sent him,” I clarified before they could start making digs at each other or, even worse, affectionate repartee. Etoile had taken a shine to him when they first met and apparently, it was reciprocated. Really, they couldn’t have made a stranger pair. She, a tall and glamorous witch, he a full-blooded demon with a flair for impeccable dressing. Actually, now I thought of it, despite the differences in their races, they were a lot alike. “Apparently, he’s indisposed,” I finished with a shrug that was far too casual. Did indisposed mean he couldn’t help? Or couldn’t come? And how did that fit into not even being able to make a phone call to me? Even though he’d obviously been able to reach Micah long enough to persuade him to help me.

“And what is it you plan on doing to help?” Etoile paused, waiting. “You
are
planning on helping?” she asked, giving Micah a prod in the ribs. He took her in from head to toe, but didn’t say anything as he turned back to the coffee.

We looked at him expectantly, the silence growing until it felt like the elephant in the room.

“He told me he wasn’t going to do anything,” I told Etoile, taking the mug from Micah. I sipped it, found it too hot and cooled it instantly with a simple pulse of magic.

“I can’t interfere with the trial if there is one,” Micah said finally, passing the second mug to Etoile. He looked at me, “But I will ensure your safety during. Think of me as a bodyguard, but without a romantic back story or singing.”

“Why would I need a bodyguard?” I took another sip. It needed sweetening. I held my hand out, ready for the bottle of vanilla syrup that flew out of the cabinet, and straight into my waiting palm. I added a small measure, then thought, why not? And added a liberal dose. Etoile held her mug towards me and I poured. “Micah?” I offered the syrup to him.

“Do I look sweet?” he scowled.

“Don’t answer, Etoile. He’ll throw a tantrum,” I teased, trying to bring a little levity to our situation as Etoile opened her mouth, a reply ready for him. She shut it and smiled. “So? Why do I need a bodyguard?” I pressed. “I’ve been indicted, not attacked.”

“In case someone intends to murder you, of course,” he said, like it was something we should have thought of already.

“Oh great.” I took a long sip of the warm, sweet, coffee, hoping it would wash away the bitterness in my throat. I hoped Evan hadn’t phrased it
exactly
like that when he issued his instructions to Micah. “Today is looking up already.” I moved away just as it occurred to Etoile to ask how he broke through her apartment’s wards.

~

Last night, when I went to bed, I’d fallen asleep with the innocent hope that Steven would find out that the whole idea of putting me on trial was a farce; or, failing that, a miraculous loophole would set me free. If Micah’s portentous admission of being sent to guard me wasn’t enough, one look at Steven’s face as he arrived for breakfast slammed my hopes into another universe.

“I wish I had better news,” Steven told us, after carefully looking over Micah, but not commenting on the demon’s presence. If Steven were curious, he didn’t show it. “It seems this is all perfectly legal.”

“I thought the Council dealt with this a year ago,” said Etoile. The blue silk robe was exchanged for a sombre, black skirt suit and a cream shell top making her look every bit as efficient and prepared as Steven. “They interviewed us. They knew then there was no case to bring. Why bring a suit against Stella now?”

“Quite, my dear. It seems a complaint was made and upheld. I have to say, I knew nothing about this at all,” Steven added as I placed a coffee mug in front of him. “The whole thing has been very hush-hush.”

“Who would make a complaint?” I asked. I took the chair opposite him at Etoile‘s dining table. Etoile took the middle chair, placing herself between us. Micah looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, although he did pick up a chair, and move it two feet backwards before stretching out leisurely, like a cat.

“Marc Bartholomew is still a possibility,” replied Steven. He picked up his notepad and flipped through a few pages, pausing on one. “Other young people died that day.”

“Because of Eleanor, not me!” I pushed back the chair I was seated on not two minutes ago and paced by the window, utterly frustrated.

Steven nodded. “We are in agreement there, too. Had Eleanor survived, she would be on trial for six murders and the attempts of several more.” I silently thanked him for not bringing up my parents by name at this time. Knowing was enough.

I frowned. The numbers didn’t add up. “Seven,” I said, counting the deaths on my fingers, including my parents in the numbers. “She killed seven.”

Steven consulted his notes again. “I have listed Robert Bartholomew, Jared, and the sisters…” He searched for their names, “Christy and Clara… I have their surname somewhere here.”

“She means Meg, the owner of the house,” said Etoile, who knew her far better than I.

I nodded. “Meg makes seven.”

“Meg was a vampire. That crime wouldn’t be brought to our court,” Steven replied, somewhat dismissively.

“Why not? She was a nice old lady.” An
incredibly
old lady as I knew now. She was the antithesis of every vampire tale I’d ever heard, every movie ever made. She didn’t deserve to go the way she did, in a plume of smoke and ash.

“Witches keep their own counsel. As do the vampires. I’m sure had Eleanor lived, the vampires would have indicted her if they wished,” Steven explained patiently.

Etoile had taken it upon herself to try and explain the hierarchy of races and how they interacted with each other — or more often, of late did not — along with more histories on the witches, from the diverse houses to particular families of note. She also clarified how the Council worked. It was a lot of information to keep straight. I should have known automatically that the Council wouldn’t give a damn about Meg, never mind that I did. I never lost sight that caring about another living being was the right thing, especially since she never did me any harm.

“If she weren’t dead, I’d think Eleanor was behind this.” I faced the window. The street below was just as busy as the few other times I glanced out, with people going about their daily lives, completely unaware of the events currently unfolding in Etoile‘s apartment. It seemed bizarre that we lived communally — humans, witches, and others — yet at times like this, so separately. A couple of years ago, I’d been one of the humans. Though I sensed I was different, I could never have fathomed the depth and complexity of the supernatural world that coexisted, not altogether neatly, alongside the human world. I wondered if I could ever go back to it. The idea that I could be released into the world, fully aware of my magic, but powerless to use it, seemed unfathomable. Yes, I was guilty of Eleanor’s death, but it wasn’t intentional and I wasn’t a murderer. I had to keep reminding myself of that.

More than anything, I didn’t want to be stripped of my magic, exiled from everything and everyone that was dear to me. Finally, I had my life. I had a home, a man I loved, friends, a job, college. Why would someone want to take that away from me by accusing me of murder now? It seemed very, very personal.

“Did you find out who accused me?” I asked, interrupting the quiet conversation at the table that continued while I mooned about my lot.

Steven looked up. “Not yet. It was omitted from the paperwork I received, apparently as a matter of security. It should come out in the early stages of the trial.”

“So we’re definitely going to trial?” I still didn’t quite believe it; I needed to hear it again for it to be true. “Today?”

He nodded. “Yes. We’ll petition the court to throw the case out, of course.”

“This sucks.” My stomach rolled. I was vaguely aware of being hungry, but I couldn’t eat a thing.

“I quite agree,” said Micah, surprising me.

“I just can’t think who could hate me so much that they’d want to punish me like this.”

Steven considered me for a moment. “Can’t you?” he asked, his words powerfully direct, despite the gentle tone.

Well, actually I could. I just couldn’t think of
why
. There were more than a few people who fared worse than I after challenging me, but it didn’t seem sensible or justified to take such a step as this. I was simply a witch, and a new one at that. My magic, so far, was comprised of the hit-or-miss variety and only now, with all of my lessons over, did I feel any sense of confidence wielding it. Of course, no one else knew that. As far as the witch community knew, if they heard about me at all, I killed a powerful witch, and returned another, a product of Georgia Thomas’ necromancy to the other side. I wasn’t politically inclined. I didn’t wish to run for power within the Council. I didn’t endorse anybody else either, but that was mostly because the candidates hadn’t been revealed yet. The only witch I knew who obsessively sought power was one I preferred to avoid. I certainly wasn’t dark or dangerous, and neither the witch community nor the world at large needed protection from me. The whole trial seemed too bizarre to believe, as did the timing. I said as much to the table.

“Perhaps they aren’t targeting Stella,” mused Etoile.

“Not sure how you came to that conclusion, given that I’m on trial for murder!”

“I believe Etoile means this move is to discredit those around you,” said Steven. He tapped the pen thoughtfully against the table, as if we had all the time in the world.

I returned to the table, my steps heavy, and sat down. “Why?”

Steven gave me a wisp of a smile. “Instead of conjecture, I believe the first day of the trial may provide us with some answers, or at least the questions we need to ask to point us in the right direction.”

“I really don’t want to do this.”

“If you don’t appear as summoned, you may be charged in absentia. Or they might send a bounty hunter after you and force you to appear. Trust me, you don’t want either of those things,” said Steven with the voice of experience.

“What happens today?” I asked. “Do you call witnesses? Or can you ask for a dismissal straight away?”

“Today will be quick. The charge will be read to the assembly. The accused as well as the accuser will be presented at court and their opening statements will be read. I expect it to be over rather quickly. The judiciary will hear the statements and decide whether the case has merit and should be pursued. I’ll petition for dismissal on no grounds. However, if they deem there’s enough evidence, the trial will begin quickly. If they rule in our favor, you will be free to go.”

The idea that it could all be over by this afternoon was invigorating until what he said dawned on me. “Hold on. Before the assembly? There will be other people there?”

“The Council operates in open court.” Steven grimaced. “Unfortunately, with the Summit being so close and many already in attendance for it, plus the nature of the crime, it’s bound to draw quite a crowd.”

“If they didn’t know your name yesterday, they will today,” Micah supplied helpfully.

“Not just the witches either,” murmured Etoile. Next to her, Micah nodded. “Everyone will want to meet the witch who was powerful enough to kill a Bartholomew.”

I sank my head into my hands. My voice came out like a pitiful wail. “They’re going to think I’m some kind of evil super witch.”

“Not necessarily.” Etoile patted my shoulder. “Last year, you were a neophyte who couldn’t control your powers.”

I looked up at her through my fingers. “And now I can,” I pointed out as realisation dawned on me. “Do they think I’m super powerful now?”

“It’s a possibility,” agreed Etoile. “I imagine they’re mostly curious. This news spread far and wide, Stella. If Eleanor had been simply just another witch, maybe people would have forgotten by now. But because of her stature, and your naivete, and since you more or less sprung up from nowhere, people want to know what happened.”

“The hearing already has people talking,” confirmed Steven.

Micah grinned. It was disconcerting. “They’re coming to see the newest badass witch in town,” he told me with an approving nod that made my insides wilt.

~

Etoile was right. My trial was apparently an exciting event on the witchy social calendar.

Micah escorted us to The Amethyst Building where the Summit was taking place, although he declined to enter and went in search of a coffee shop to hole up in while waiting for us. That left me to enter the anonymous looking building, from all appearances containing several floors of offices populated by humans, flanked by Steven and Etoile. At first, everything seemed ordinary. In the downstairs lobby, people went about their business, ignoring us as we made our way to the private bank of elevators that served the upper floors, the buttons skipping straight from first floor to tenth and rising to twenty. After we stepped out of the elevator on the fifteenth floor, a gloomy silence spread over the lobby, and followed us the further we walked into the building. Refusing to look on either side of me, I tried to keep my face an emotionless mask. I followed Steven as he guided us to the same room we had exited yesterday.