Marloe looked at the prosecutor, the judge, the spectators, Roberto—everywhere but at me. Roberto prompted her, “Please remember you’re under oath, Doctor.”
She let out a frustrated breath. “Well, of course, there are exceptions to a siren’s influence. The siren’s psychic call primarily appeals to a certain demographic—”
Roberto kept talking, right over her. “Exceptions like men over sixty and men with vasectomies and even ordinary men who wear magically created charms that prevent them from being affected by that influence. Is that correct?”
She shrugged and shifted in her chair. Her fingers were nibbling at her skirt now and she was having trouble meeting his eyes. Her voice went soft. “Yes, I suppose.”
He stood up to his full height, turned toward the gallery, and spoke without looking at her. He ticked his points off on his fingers as he went. Marloe couldn’t see, but the judge could. “So, what you’re really saying is that Celia cannot affect all senior citizens, all young children, all gay men, all sterilized men, and around half of the women in this great big world. The remaining men might be affected by the Defendant, provided they don’t have a charm to prevent it, and the remaining women will actively work against her rather than do her bidding. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper now, her eyes firmly on the floor in front her. I stole a glance at the prosecutor. His jaw muscle was bulging from clenching his teeth so tight.
The judge squirmed, clearly affected by Roberto’s argument. “The prosecution’s ten minutes are up. As are defense’s.”
“Your Honor . . . ,” Roberto began to protest. We hadn’t had a chance to put on our witness after all. But the judge cut him off with a glare. She stood up and picked up a thick file. “The witness will step down. Court will recess for thirty minutes while I consider the evidence.”
For the next half hour, I sat on my uncomfortable wooden chair trying to look inoffensive and harmless while conversations buzzed all around me. People were flat out calling one side or the other idiots. To add to the confusion, a flock of gulls had lined the window ledges outside the courtroom. They were just sitting, staring in at us . . . like tiny, white-winged vultures.
Finally the bailiff announced Jacobson’s return and we all stood.
She sat, we sat, and I waited, the bats in my stomach rising anew.
“The Defendant will rise.” Roberto nudged me and I stood as ordered. I did my best to hide my fangs under my lips and gave the judge my full attention, even though I was shaking more than a little. Please don’t send me away. Would tears help or hurt? It hardly mattered, because I was already crying.
“Ms. Graves. Your attorney gave a masterful performance here, clearly intending to sway me into allowing a known vampire, an admitted psychic manipulator, to go back into open society.” I was clutching the table so hard I was pretty sure my nails would leave marks. The baby food was inching its way back up my throat and the birds began to take flight, hovering outside the courtroom.
“And he managed it.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I felt my body partially collapse against the table. “While I’m still concerned about your . . . abilities, there’s a sizable portion of the human population you cannot affect. You’re not fully vampire, or human, or siren. Yet you currently have command enough of your body and mind to appear here, in full daylight, and at least look repentant. To commit you against your will would be the equivalent of locking up a clairvoyant who chose to reveal the future to people, or a mage who performs magic for pay.
“As much as I may loathe the result, your ability is biological and you quite literally”—she motioned toward the birds thumping against the bulletproof glass—“can’t help it. I find it rather disturbing just how very distasteful I find you, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve that reaction while in my court. Therefore, I have no choice but to believe that I’m biologically prejudiced against you, and will rule based only on the written record and testimony given today. I will recuse myself from any further proceedings involving you.”
She paused for a long moment, anger etching deep lines in her face. “However, know that this court will be watching you carefully. If you start to run amok or appear to be a threat to the general population, I promise you that you will be put away without a second thought. Is that clear?”
I nodded, feeling suddenly light-headed. “Crystal.”
And just that quick, the whole thing was over. On to the next case. A witch, I think. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. I wanted out of there, and the sooner the better. I wanted to find some fresh sea air and an empty beach so that I could calm my frazzled nerves. Unfortunately, there was a wide band of unhappy uniformed cops between me and the exit.
“Excuse us, Officers.” Roberto moved ahead of me, using his body as a shield between me and the angry men. He looked up at the lead officer, meeting his gaze without flinching.
The cop was a big man, six three or four, with the kind of build that you can only get with the benefit of serious weight lifting. He stood there, a solid wall of silent, blue-clad muscle. It was his partner, a smaller, blond man with harsh features and icy blue eyes, who spoke, addressing his words to me rather than Roberto.
“Graves, don’t think you got away with anything. It isn’t over. We’ll be watching you. You’ll screw up eventually. When you do, we’ll have you.”
Roberto’s smile was as warm and friendly as a hungry shark. “I must have misunderstood you, Officer”—he glanced at the man’s name pin—“Clarke. What you just said sounded suspiciously like a threat. You wouldn’t be planning to harass my client, would you?”
The crowded courtroom fell so silent you could hear Clarke’s harsh breathing. He said nothing, but his expression was answer enough. He looked murderous, his jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.
Roberto continued, “Understand, Officer, if you and your men harass my client, we will have you up on charges.”
No one answered. There was another long, tense moment of silence. A standoff. Neither side willing to back down. It was the judge who broke the stalemate. With a gesture, she stopped the witch hearing and signaled for the bailiff, who headed in our direction. As if that were a signal, the cops turned as a unit and filed out of the room. As the last man passed through the door, the courtroom erupted into noise and chaos.
“Sorry about that,” Roberto said softly enough that only the bailiff and I could hear.
“Not your fault.” I forced myself to give him a smile. “Nothing we can do about it, either.”
“We can if they harass you.”
I sighed. “Only if we can prove it. And honestly, how far do you really think we’d get?” I felt and sounded tired and more than a little bit bitter. Roberto might have kept me out of captivity—for now—but there was no way I was out of danger.
The bailiff had moved off and the judge was pounding her gavel. Time for me to get out of here.
“I have another case,” Roberto said. He reached his hand out for me to shake. I shook it, told him “thanks” one more time. “If you need me, you’ve got my number.” He walked away briskly, heading for his next client. I hurried into the hallway myself, hoping to join my friends and family.
I am a big, bad-assed bodyguard, with vampire fangs and siren abilities. Is it wussy of me to admit that I wanted to be held? Because I did. I wanted Bruno, needed to feel his arms around me, to hear him to say it was going to be all right. I knew, logically, that everything had changed, that I could never get my old life back. But I wanted it just the same.