He shrugged. “We could dredge some imp up if you don’t want to defend yourself. Or we can summon someone, if you’ve got anyone in mind.”
At the mention of an imp, Hugh’s name immediately popped up in my head. I wouldn’t have even cared about the defense aspect. I just wanted to see a friendly face here. Was it that easy? I could just ask, and they’d bring Hugh here . . . to Hell? As soon as I had the thought, I dismissed it. Hugh had already risked so much for me. How could I ask him to stand against our superiors, to defend me against all those cold, glaring eyes? And what good could come of it? He’d probably get in more trouble if I actually won—which didn’t seem likely, judging from Hannibal’s earlier comments.
I was on the verge of telling them I’d just defend myself when there was an explosion of light in the aisle beside me. I leaped to my feet in fear and wasn’t alone in doing so. A cyclone of silver and white light slowly coalesced into a familiar and very welcome form: Carter. Like everyone else, a day in court appeared to make no difference for how he dressed—save that he was wearing the cashmere hat I’d gotten him last Christmas. Glancing up at the judge, Carter took off the hat and held it before him in an attempt at respect. I wanted to throw myself sobbing into his arms.
“What is this?” demanded Judge Hannibal. Those who had been startled slinked back to their seats.
“Sorry,” said Carter amiably. “I would’ve come in the normal way but didn’t know how else to get her lawyer in.”
Was Carter going to be my lawyer? Hope sprang anew within me until another burst of light erupted beside him . . . and Roman appeared.
Chaos of a different sort broke out, and suddenly, I was a sideshow. Outrage shone on angel and demon faces alike. Half the room was on its feet. I hadn’t been able to sense any immortal auras, but I could feel the swell of power bursting from nearly every individual as they advanced on Roman.
“Nephilim!”
“Destroy him!”
We were on the verge of a full-fledged mob attack when Hannibal banged his gavel on the desk. It made a sound like thunder, hitting hard. A palpable wave of power radiated out from him, nearly knocking a few people off their feet. The growing magic in the room dissipated.
“Sit down,” he snapped. “This is hardly the time or place for everyone to start playing hero.”
“There’s a nephilim in the room!” protested someone in the back.
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Captain Obvious,” said Judge Hannibal. “And I daresay the hundred or so of us can take him if he gets out of line. That’s not in question. What is, however, is why he’s here and shouldn’t be immediately smote.” That was directed to Carter.
“He’s her lawyer,” said Carter.
Hannibal’s eyebrows rose in true surprise, with no sign of his earlier smugness. “A nephilim?”
“There are no rules against it,” said Carter mildly. “Any immortal can serve, right?”
Hannibal glanced uneasily at a woman seated at a corner desk who had been typing away steadily on a laptop. I’d taken her for the court reporter, but she was apparently some sort of consultant too. She made a face.
“Technically, he can serve,” she said. “Our laws don’t specify.”
“But they do specify that anyone the defendant chooses is exempt from punishment,” said Carter, as cagey as any lawyer.
A cruel smile played at her lips. “Whoever is summoned to serve as lawyer is exempt from punishment during court and afterward when they return to their normal jobs. I’m guessing this . . . creature is not in our personnel files.”
With Hell, the devil really was in the details. Hugh had always warned me to be careful with even the smallest wordings because Hell would use them to its advantage. It took me a moment to fully get why she was so pleased. Any immortal could serve as a lawyer in a case like this, it seemed. And, going on the first part of what she’d said, no one could do anything to Roman while he was my lawyer, despite the normal immortal reaction to promptly destroy all nephilim. There would be no mass smiting in the courtroom. It was the second part of her words that was tricky. Those drafted as lawyers allegedly couldn’t be punished for their legal performances when they returned to their regular duties, which would’ve been good to know when I was considering summoning Hugh (though I knew there were a million subtle ways a disgruntled demon could still get back at someone on the sly).
But Roman didn’t have any regular duties for Hell, aside from an unofficial deal with Jerome that I had no doubt my archdemon would disavow all knowledge of. Roman couldn’t be protected when he “went back to work” because he didn’t work for Hell. The instant this trial ended and he was out of the role of lawyer, he was subject to the whims of Hell.
“Well,” said Hannibal. He looked down at me. “At least it’ll make this case more interesting. Sure, whatever. You want the nephilim as your lawyer?”
I wanted to say no. Some part of me half hoped that if I refused and Roman never became my lawyer, he would be free of the retribution that awaited him afterward, that he could simply escape now. Except, as I glanced between him and Carter, a terrible certainty settled over me. It didn’t matter if Roman became my lawyer or not. He wasn’t getting out of here. It was reflected in Roman’s eyes as they met mine. When Carter had brought him here, it was a one-way trip. If I didn’t accept him as my lawyer, I was simply speeding Roman to his death.
I nodded and felt my heart lurch as I sealed his fate. “Er, yes. Yes, your honor. I’d like him as my lawyer.”
There was a murmur of disapproval throughout the courtroom. Carter slapped Roman encouragingly on the back and then went to find a seat in the gallery. Roman took the empty chair beside me. He was a sharp contrast to Marcel. Roman had no briefcase, not even a single piece of paper, and was still wearing the clothes he’d had on earlier: jeans and a sweater.
“What are you doing?” I hissed to him, grateful for the cover of the other voices. “This is suicide!”
“You didn’t really think I’d abandon you to them, did you?” he asked. “And who knows your case better than me?”
“They’ll kill you when it’s over, whether I win or lose.”
Roman gave me a lopsided smile. “ ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do—’ ”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I said, afraid I was going to start crying. “You’re an idiot. You shouldn’t have come here.”
“You remember our talk about purpose and meaning?” he asked me, the smile disappearing. “Well, I think this might be mine. I think this is what I was meant to do, Georgina.”
“Roman—”
But there was no time for any more conversation. Judge Hannibal was banging the gavel—this time, sans thunder—trying to calm everyone down. They were still worked up about the idea of a nephilim walking freely in their midst.
“Enough, enough,” Hannibal said. “I know we’re all shocked and awed, but get over it. We’ll deal with him later. If there’s no more drama in store, do you mind if we get started?” He glanced between the lawyers.
“I’m ready when you are, your honor,” said Marcel.
Roman nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 19
And so began my day in court.
Despite Hannibal’s call for order, it was obvious that everyone was still fixated on Roman’s presence. I’d known nephilim were despised among greater immortals, but it wasn’t until today that the full scope of it hit me. It shed new light on why Roman and his kind were often so obsessed with getting back at the powers that be. I wondered if it was good to have some of the attention taken off me or if I’d just doomed myself further by association.
“So,” said Judge Hannibal. “You’ve got some kind of gripe with your contract. Join the club.” Low chuckles from the demonic spectators rumbled around the room.
Roman cleared his throat, silencing the chuckles. “Your honor, we have more than a ‘gripe.’ We have evidence that Hell not only violated her contract but also drew up another under false pretenses.”