Hexed

think I’ll keep that information private. “Can you reach her now?” I ask.
    He shakes his head. “I haven’t been able to reach her since that first time. She must be frantic. But obviously if you’re here, everything has been resolved. They must have caught who they were looking for.”
    “I wish it were that easy. We can’t leave quite yet.”
    “Why not?” A flash of anger sparks behind those blue-green eyes. “This is beginning to piss me off. I have no clue why I’ve been drawn into this. I’m not part of the magical world. I have no business being here. You were sent to bring me back. Well, do it.”
    “I will. But not yet.”
    “Are you messing with me? I want to leave. Now.”
    His “me Tarzan” act has him all but beating his chest. Still, I understand his frustration. Whatever Susan communicated with him, she either didn’t have time or didn’t want to burden him with all the facts.
    “There’s one problem. I have to do something first, before we can leave.”
    “Oh Jesus. What is it?”
    “I have to defend myself. Defend you, too, really.”
    “Defend yourself against what?”
    “Against those murder charges you mentioned before. I’m the reason you’re here.”

EIGHT
     

     
    STEPHEN’S EXPRESSION SHIFTS, SIZING ME UP. There’s a little skepticism mingled with a great big blob of uncertainty. He did see me in action last night.
    “Who’d you kill?” he asks at last. “And what does it have to do with this place?”
    I meet his eyes squarely. “I killed a black-magic witch. I did it here where she’d come to recover from the effects of a spell turned bad. I didn’t know this was a place of sanctuary. It wouldn’t have made a difference if I had.”
    “At least you’re honest. I still don’t understand what it has to do with me, though. Why am I here?”
    I don’t get a chance to answer. The room shifts under our feet, knocking us off balance. I feel Stephen take a step closer to me and we stand back to back as forms materialize around us. Two spectral desks separated by a podium. A ghostly ring of chairs—thrones, really—suspended above us.
    A voice from everywhere and nowhere. “All your questions will be answered,” it says. “Let the trial begin.”
    Stephen’s back is pressed against mine. His touch is somehow reassuring. We lean against each other for comfort as well as support as form becomes substance. It’s like watching a cartoon where lines are first drawn, then filled in with color to bring realism from the abstract. The wood grain of the desks shimmers and hardens. Two high-back chairs appear behind one, one chair appears behind the other.
    “You may sit.” That same eerie voice that told Stephen his questions would be answered echoes again from above. When I look up, the ring of thrones still looks to be empty. Yet there’s something alive, a sentient consciousness permeates the room.
    “Show yourselves,” I call out.
    “You do not address the tribunal.” Samual’s voice roars out the command. “You are not worthy. You address only me.”
    He’s materialized next to the second desk, standing ramrod straight behind it. Now he’s dressed in a white robe with a scarlet rope around his neck. A gold filigree charm hangs from the rope.
    So much for having no interest in what happens with the tribunal. “You’re my prosecutor?”
    “Among other things,” he replies, smug-voiced and selfassured. He may as well be twirling the ends of a black mustache. “And you will speak only when spoken to—and you will speak only to me.”
    “Fuck you. I will talk to whomever the hell I please. I am here to defend my life. I have a right to face my accusers.”
    “I am your accuser.”
    “No. You are a liar. You said you were a supernatural bounty hunter. A simple messenger.”
    Samual remains silent. He may be playing a bigger part than he said, and yet instinctively I know where the power lies.
    I wave a hand upward. “They are my accusers. They are the power. I demand they face me.”
    Stephen leans hard into me. “Maybe you should tone it down a little,” he whispers.
    His words are all but drowned out by Samual’s howl of outrage. “How dare you! I could smite you where you stand. Flay the skin from your bones inch by inch. Make you beg for death.”
    “Enough!”
    Stephen whirls around, clapping his hands over his ears. “What the fuck was that?”
    If I thought Samual’s bellowing was loud, it’s a sigh compared to the