Page 43

There’s A Reason These Tables Are Numbered, Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought of It Yet

‘H umans are ridiculous creatures. We should have never allowed them to survive ’ could be written on our family crest. At least, on my mother’s side, it could be. The vast amount of absolute rot they’ve come up with to help ease their emotions is astounding, and I didn’t think it was possible for anything in the extranormal community to match it in tone deaf self-centered focus—until tonight.

They called us into the antechamber like scuttling mole rats despite the rigid dress code for this evening’s three-ring circus. It’s damp, poorly lit, and uncomfortable in this cavernous room set up to mirror the human version of a courtroom.

Never mind that we not only have a real courtroom down the street we could use; we also have access to some of the nicest country clubs and mansions in the state within minutes, but we’re all crowded into a gallery in a fucking cave. Whatever ancient mystical moron who created this process in the burgeoning years of the Society is long dead, but we’re all sitting here pretending to be in a rich people cosplay of Harry Potter.

Yawning, I lean my chair back, looking around the room at the assembled codgers and society mavens and Guardians, agents, and inductees. There are a few unfamiliar faces and that must be the ‘wildcards’ Boone mentioned. He was wound so tight he looked like he was going to spring into the air and rocket to the sun if anyone so much as tapped his shoulder.

I’m not as worried, but then, my kind rarely ends up in the middle of petty squabbles like this. We’re not part of the day-to-day bureaucracy of the Society, but my placement in Whistler’s Hollow has thrown me into the shallow end of the supe pool.

Just. Fucking. Qware.

If I didn’t have a gut deep feeling about my Tíogair, I’d be as far away from here as possible. The fat old goat Boone calls Pop is sitting in the rostrum with Mayor Nelia blathering on about something. She looks bored to tears, and Zareb is squinting at the human as if he’d like to eat him for the offense. I could get into a good old fashion lion eating a Christian thing—it’s been over a millennium since I watched a damnatio ad bestias . I sit up in my chair a little straighter as I focus on finding something to irritate the big cat. If I can trigger even the slightest provocation from the Senator, I should be able to?—

A gavel slams into the lectern, and I jump, catching the Mayor’s eye. I’ll be a doe-eyed ingenue! She caught me. I knew I liked the old gal for a reason, so I wink at her. I wasn’t doing anything out of my purview or even contrary to my nature, so she won’t rat me out. Besides, my auntie would send me a case of Jameson if I made Zareb do it. She pretends she doesn’t like the chaos my father’s side brings, but I’ve always been her favorite. Every stern, smart lady loves a bad boy, you know.

That brings me back to my Tíogair and her current predicament. I can’t possibly explore my fantasies with her in every conceivable spot in this backwater burg if she’s being punished by these heavy-handed fools for defending herself. It’s their fault the doc can’t try to remove the suppression spell; they want it to be natural.

As if putting a spell on a young supe to control when they receive their birthrights is natural in any reality of any dimension. They know it's not, but something about Jolene has them all aflutter. They’d let this slide if that idiot Behle wasn’t pushing to reverse the charges his cunt daughter so richly deserves to answer for.

A soft gasp catches my attention and I look over, snorting. The submissive fae is trying—unsuccessfully, I might add—to keep thirsty housewives and unmarried heirs away. He’s being far too kind, but I realize that’s because he’s supposed to be the soft, earnest convincer while the doc flirts and Boone bullies people to our side. I don’t have a specific role because the fire breathing asshole doesn’t trust me. That’s dandy, though, because it means I can sit back and work from the shadows. Almost no one in town has a clue what or who I am, and it was part of the agreement when I was stationed in the town.

Anonymity means I can do far worse than irritate a lion into eating a politician should I choose, and no one will be the wiser. I grin to myself, scanning the room for another target. Now, we’re having a grand time, kiddies. I’m hunting for foibles, and once I find them, I’m going to push every single button I can find without lifting a finger.

Jolene has no idea how powerful her friends are. If she did, she’d be afraid of the attention it will bring. Whether through our families or lost parents, all seven of her merry men have enemies lurking at every turn. Once we dispatch with hers, the onslaught of ours will be our next hurdle.

I, for one, can’t wait. I never get to have fun anymore.

* * *

“My daughter printed the news, as is her purview as editor of the Hollow Hollar . We live in the land of the free and home of the brave, Your Honors. The First Amendment is not only applicable to the humans; part of the accords were concessions to staying within the boundaries of their laws, whether we agreed with them,” Reginald Whitman Behle argues as he paces in front of the crowd. “Simply because I can both create and destroy with my magic does not mean I can use it to affect the timeline of human history or to cover up violations of their criminal law. By the same token, we also cannot allow our laws and regulations to supersede those of the lands we inhabit secretly.”

Aye, this old warlock thinks an awful lot of himself because he was a diplomat during the bloody Revolution, doesn’t he? He likes to hear his voice more than Boone and his father put together—a feat I thought to be a theoretical improbability. I roll my eyes, turning my chair to find the specific townsfolk he seems to be speaking to. Those are his plants, I’ll bet, and he’s not gifted enough in subterfuge to hide what he’s doing from a clueless babe, much less me.

A quick flick of my fingers finds what I need, and a loud screech follows. The woman in question is blond (and aren’t they all here?), thin, and looks like she dines on martinis for every meal of the day. She’s dressed in head to toe Prada, and I have to cover my mouth as she climbs onto her chair, wailing. Her heels are making her totter, and not one of the so-called Southern gentlemen has offered to help. Her screams shut the blowhard up, and Mayor Nelia huffs as she sits back.

“Reese Emily Barrington! Do you think you might tap Amelie so she can hunt down the tiny mouse that is making you wail like a broken ambulance? If not, I could certainly send Zareb to handle it,” Nelia says, her tone full of annoyance.

The little witch actually pouts at the bloody mayor of the town like she’s trying to get a sugar daddy to buy her a pony. When it doesn’t work, she elbows Cantwell’s sister, who ducks down under the chairs to take care of the mouse situation with a loud hiss. Titters echo across the chamber and I smirk to myself, feeling like my distractions are much more useful than Boone will ever give me credit for.

“Now that the hysterical women are taken care of, I suggest we get this show on the road. Reggie, you’ve made your point elegantly, and I think the theory has merit. Your daughter can’t be?—”

“Point of order, Senator,” Nelia says, arching a brow at the puffy old twat. “We cannot accept Councilman Behle’s statements—passionate though they may be—as fact without testimony from the parties present at the disturbance. Surely you remember the proper trial procedure from your days on the bench? If not, we can request our sitting judge to remind us.”

Oooh. That had to hurt.

Everyone knows Edgar Osiris Boone II is a figurehead in every sense of the word. He was born human in a founding family in the Hollow prior to what those eejits call the ‘Hostile Takeover’ behind our backs. In reality, we saved a small town from the ravages of changing economies and technology long before their neighboring cities crumbled under automation and corporate gentrification. The bargain was fair, and Boone was one of the wily ones who married into his position by taking an extranormal bride.

Speaking of the literal harpy, I’m pleased to see that Margaret Emily Boone isn’t present this evening. When their marriage didn’t produce an heir because of the ironic problems the elder Boone had, they adopted a lost baby. Young Boone hasn’t turned out the way they’d hoped, and his parents act as if he’s the greatest disappointment since Hephaestus. Honestly, I can understand why our triplásiac friend hid his true nature. He doesn’t want to give those assholes the satisfaction of having a trophy child.

I can respect that kind of nose thumbing, and clearly, so can our intrepid Mayor.

“If my services are needed,” Edgar cuts in, smirking through his late evening stubble. “I’d be happy to cover the basics, Pop.”

Ouch. Another hard volley at the Senator.

My allies aren’t playing gently this evening, and the prospect of an all-out brawl full of extranormals has my blood humming. I haven’t been in a real good fight in a while. I wonder if they’ll let me use my mother’s powers. I’d have to negotiate it, of course, because all supe battles start like good BDSM—with a negotiation of terms.

“I hate to interrupt your provincial power plays, but some of us are needed elsewhere. My fellow wildcards and I were asked to come vote, and so far, we have little information to do so outside of bluster and high-handed propaganda. I would like to hear the facts of the event from those present and take a vote in short order,” a short, dark-haired Frenchman with an eye patch interjects.

Who the hell is this Baron Ironblood motherfucker? I’ve never seen him before in my life.

“The Commandant is correct,” Mayor Nelia says. “We are wasting valuable time with this nonsense.” Her eyes cut around the crowd until she lands on our feathered cohort. “Presley Hemingway Hamilton, as the town doctor and supe medical advisor, I would like to know what you witnessed.”

C’mon you great eejit. Show them…. Ahhh, there it is—the old Razzle Dazzle.

Presley drops his jacket on his chair and steps forward into the round, his form shimmering into a lesser shift. Large white wings appear on his back, and a crest of feathers springs from his head as he faces the lectern and bows. With a dramatic flap as he rises, he tucks the wings back and gives the intricate hand signals to signify fealty to the Society at official gatherings. It’s trite as hell, but the git’s making a show folks can’t take their eyes off, and I’m a little impressed.

“Your Honors, I was not present at the beginning of the altercation. I arrived amid the action with Benjamin and Edgar. Doyle was the first member to arrive who was not directly involved in the turmoil. However, I can attest to the fact that when I stepped into the office, Jolene was attempting to wrangle what appeared to be a new companion—one none of us, including her, had ever seen before. Wolfgang has identified it as a reticulated python and Jolene now has it living with her. I believe she requested Doyle to procure registry paperwork as we exited the building.”

The Senator glares at him, his jealousy of the handsome, erudite doctor clear on his piggish features. “How can you provide useful testimony if you did not witness the event, young man?”

For the love of Mother Hera, Mary, and bloody muses!

This idiot is trying to steer the trial for sure. Behle must have made some back alley deal, and if that’s the case, I know why the Mayor called in all the wildcards. She’s a crafty gal, and I respect the hell out of her for trying to keep corruption from leaking from the human world into ours. Narrowing my eyes, I concentrate on setting an itch in a place he won’t like, knowing it will scare the living shit out of the cheating bastard.

“I believe my information is useful. I can verify that Jolene Athena Whitley was not controlling the animal to harm Amy; in fact, she was struggling to communicate with the snake to prevent it from aggressively defending her. Since I am certain she is still held in stasis by a powerful and unfamiliar suppression spell, I know she has not emerged and cannot be held accountable for the bursts of power, as her psyche works to strip the magic.” He turns to the crowd, flexing his wings again. “After all, that sort of independent diagnosis is what the Society sent me to medical school to eschew, is it not?”