Page 5 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Five

Desk Duty

LORCAN

The wince of pain on the beautiful witch’s face made Lorcan release her at once. He let go of the incandescent blade and took a step back from her, also lowering the magical bubble encasing them.

The instant he dropped the shield, he found himself bent over the prosecution desk, his cheek pressed against the cold, polished wood.

The chief inquisitor held him in a vice-like grip, wrenching his arm behind his back at an uncomfortable angle.

Apparently, the inquisitor didn’t appreciate suspects bubbling up his detectives.

“Sarah Michelle,” Chief King addressed his agent with concern, “are you alright?”

Sarah Michelle . So the beautiful witch had a name. Lorcan rolled the syllables around in his mind, savoring their sound. He decided he liked it.

“I’m fine,” she replied, massaging her hand.

Even when the dagger generated intense heat, it never caused lasting damage. Or he wouldn’t have used it on her. Still, guilt gnawed at him that the blade had burned her.

From his less-than-cozy position, Lorcan surveyed the chaos his stunt had unleashed in the courtroom. Everyone was on their feet, including old Judge Irving, whose face was flushed with anger. Chairs and pews were overturned, and the air still crackled with the tang of residual magic.

“Osric, can’t you keep your client in check?” Judge Irving snapped at the Blacks’ family lawyer.

“Your Honor, I assure you—” Osric began, but the judge cut him off.

“Enough.” He turned to Lorcan directly, spearing him with a glare. “Young man, explain your outrageous behavior.”

Lorcan tried to respond, but with his mouth squashed against the desk, he could only manage a muffled grunt. Tonight was turning out severely undignified. Hopefully, his disarming grin would be effective even at this angle.

He’d caused a ruckus, hadn’t he? But it was worth it to prove his innocence.

And to get a glimpse of Sarah Michelle’s warm brown eyes up close.

Even narrowed in annoyance, they sparkled like smoky quartz in the candlelight.

But if the crystals were known for their grounding properties, Sarah Michelle’s gaze was having the opposite effect on him.

It stole the ground from under his feet.

And now she must think him a total troll.

If only he could explain himself, preferably without a desk imprint on his face. Was a simple “sorry, just trying to clear my name” too much to ask?

The judge’s voice cut through Lorcan’s musings. “Chief King, unhandle Mr. Black so he might talk.”

The inquisitor hauled Lorcan upright, maintaining a vise-like grip on his arms. The sensation prickled back into Lorcan’s cheek as he worked his jaw.

Judge Irving pinned him with a severe stare that could’ve wilted a mandrake. “Mr. Black, do I have to have you magically restrained, or do you promise to behave?”

Lorcan flashed his most dazzling smile. “I’ll be a perfect detainee, Your Honor.”

He resisted the urge to wink at Sarah Michelle. Her exasperated eye roll suggested it wouldn’t win him any points. The judge nodded to Chief King, who released Lorcan with palpable reluctance. If looks could hex, Lorcan would’ve already turned into a toad under the chief’s glare.

Lorcan rubbed his wrists, savoring the freedom. “I wanted to prove my innocence with the blade. Detective Callidora can now confirm I’m not the killer.”

He caught Sarah Michelle’s gaze, hoping she’d read the sincerity in his eyes. See that he only strived to clear his name. Convince her he wasn’t the bad guy. Her expression remained inscrutable, a beautiful sphinx guarding secrets he yearned to unravel.

Chief King interjected, “The magic of the blade is not admissible in court.”

It seemed the inquisitor had put Lorcan’s name on his shit list in red underlined.

His heart sank. His desperate act had been for nothing? But wait—Osric was rummaging in his briefcase, whiskers aquiver. The lawyer produced a gilt-edged certificate with a flourish.

“This attests that verdicts from the dagger are legally binding, equivalent to a solemn oath,” the otter declared smugly.

Osric tried to drop the document on the judge’s bench but was too short. Lorcan didn’t dare use his magic again, so it was Detective Callidora who, with a muttered, “Oh, for hex’s sake,” grabbed the certificate and handed it to the judge.

Judge Irving scanned the document from under his spectacles.

“As you see, Your Honor—” Osric continued.

But the judge rapped his gavel. “Enough! I’ve heard enough. Mr. Black is not the murderer. He’s free to go.” The judge fixed Sarah Michelle with a pointed look. “Should the department need to question him further, they can make an appointment with his lawyer. Now, goodnight.”

With that, Judge Irving swept out of the courtroom, robes flapping like a bat’s wings.

Osric sidled up to Lorcan. “I have a car waiting outside. Shall we?”

Lorcan hesitated, gaze flicking to Sarah Michelle and Chief King. Two stony faces, still radiating disapproval. “You go on, Osric. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Osric eyed the cops warily but nodded. “As you wish. Don’t tarry too long.” He scurried off, leaving a trail of damp paw prints.

And then there were three. They stood locked in a silent standoff amidst the wreckage of the courtroom.

Maybe he could still salvage something. An apology, an explanation, a reason for Sarah Michelle not to write him off as just another entitled hobgoblin.

He opened his mouth, a quip poised on his tongue when Chief King rounded on him with murder in his eyes.

The chief stalked forward until he was nose to nose with Lorcan, the man’s breath hot against his face.

“Listen closely, Black,” King growled. “If you ever threaten one of my agents again, there won’t be a judge in this realm or the next who can spare you the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

Lorcan met the chief’s glare unflinchingly. “Crystal.”

With a final scowl, King spun on his heel and stormed out, leaving a fizz of angry magic in his wake.

Sarah Michelle lingered, arms crossed over her chest. The warm brown of her eyes had frosted over, her stare cold enough to make Lorcan forget it was only fall.

“Well?” She arched a brow. “Are you happy now?”

Lorcan attempted a grin, though it felt more like a grimace. “Not particularly.” His voice came out in a rasp, his throat still parched. “Could I have that glass of water now?”

Sarah Michelle’s lips thinned. With a snap of her fingers, a glass materialized on the defense table. “There. I hope you choke on it.”

Then she, too, was gone, the echo of her boots hitting the pavement fading into silence.

Alone at last, Lorcan sank into the nearest chair, the courtroom blurring before his eyes. He grabbed the water and chugged it down, the cool liquid not enough to ease the tightness in his throat.

As the adrenaline drained from his body, grief rushed in to take its place, a crashing wave that left him gasping. Lorcan dropped his head into his hands and cried. Soon, his shoulders were shaking with the force of his sobs.

Elijah. His best friend, his partner, the brother he’d never had, was dead. Gone, just like that. And for what? What kind of trouble had Elijah gotten himself mixed up in? He wasn’t a perfect man, sure. But who could hate him so much as to kill him?

Lorcan gritted his teeth, tears still streaming down his face. He would find out. He would hunt down the scum who did this and make them pay.