He’d never entered the room when she’d done her visions. Hell, she generally did her visions away from the accused. She would enter a room and touch the object in a controlled environment. When the vision ended, Talia would be aware of who the criminal was. At that point, she would see the suspect. The council had handled every aspect of the case differently, and Talia didn’t like it.
“The girl did it,” Gideon announced in an even tone.
Talia studied Alida for a few seconds before she glanced at Gideon. “No, she didn’t. I told my vision to Arrow.” She looked at the girl, and for the first time, she noticed Alida had not been secured to the table or her chair. In the past, the council would take Talia to the two-way mirror so she could identify the culprit after she’d read the object, and every suspect she’d viewed had been cuffed to the table.
Gideon released another wave of his power that almost knocked her off her feet. “I told you the girl did it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why do you insist on lying?”
How far do I want to push him? Why is he trying to wrap up the murder without a formal investigation?
Talia hated the formal investigations. She would reappear in front a judge and jury and recount every nasty thing the person had done. During the trial, she would recount her vision, and the council would show their evidence.
Talia glanced up into the corner of the room, and her heart raced. The normally red light on the camera was black. The interrogation wasn’t being filmed. This was unlike the council. They did everything to protect their asses. Maybe they planned to kill Talia and blame it on the girl. Gideon looked close to killing her with his powers.
Her cases usually didn’t go to formal hearings. When Gideon would confront the suspects with her vision, they would crack. Alida hadn’t said a word. The only reason Talia knew what her voice sounded like was because she’d heard it in her vision.
Is the girl so dangerous that he wants to lock her up? Arrow had told Talia earlier that the girl had no powers, which Talia didn’t believe. Someone had lied. Either Alida’s parents had hidden her powers, or the council didn’t want Talia to know about them. But if the girl is such a threat, why didn’t they handcuff her to the table?
Talia’s brow furrowed. She wished her ability to read a situation could go beyond touch. This would be an awesome time to be able to suddenly read minds.
Talia licked her lips. “That’s not what I saw.” Though she had never defied the council, and Gideon in particular, this time, she felt compelled to stand firm.
“What did you see?” He took a step closer. It took everything in her not to step back. Gideon’s breath smelled like death, as if he was already dead inside, and when he breathed on her, she wanted to puke.
“You’re telling me you weren’t behind the two-way mirror when I read the girl earlier and told Arrow what I saw?” She didn’t know how to explain what she saw without getting the girl in trouble.
Gideon took a menacing step forward. “I don’t have to explain to you where I was. I want to know what you saw if you are so convinced she”—he pointed to Alida—”didn’t do it. Who do we need to arrest?”
She wanted to beat her head against the wall. Dealing with the ancient warlock made it hurt. “Gideon, how the council found Alida doesn’t make sense. How would someone know she killed her parents so fast that your men could show up when she had a knife in her hand? Furthermore, when did the council or their men ever stop me from my vision? Why did you have Arrow stop me?”
A chill came over Talia. Does he somehow know I saw another figure in my vision? Is that why Arrow stopped me before I could figure out who or what the black figure was? The council had never worried about her well-being in the past when her visions took a turn for the worse. Why stop my vision this time? The only answer she could come up with made her feel sick: the council was doing something wrong.
Gideon’s normally pale face was beet red. “Are you questioning my men?”
“No, I’m not questioning your men,” she said. Not to your face, anyway. “I’m questioning the situation. When I touched the knife, yes, I saw Alida holding it, but she didn’t stab her parents.” Talia stuck her chin out and held her ground.
“All I needed was to know if she held the knife in her hands.”
“Then why call me if you weren’t going to believe what I saw? What’s different this time? You don’t trust my vision? Are you going to arrest me? I held the knife also.” She gestured to the knife. “You need to test the blood. I think they were dead before someone stabbed them.”
She tried to remain calm, but she could feel how dangerous the situation was for the child, and her heart rushed. Her mind played out one option after another as she tried to determine the best course of action—the smartest course of action. She hadn’t planned on dying that day. Talia would have preferred not to die the next day either. She hadn’t even found love yet. She had never married. She had no children. Her family consisted of just her and a plant.
Gideon’s eyes flash. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”
Talia shook her head. “I have no intention of telling you how to do your job. What will happen to the girl?” She jerked her head toward the child sitting in the chair, who stared sorrowfully at her hands.
“The same thing the council does with every serial killer. We might be able to rehabilitate her for one murder, but two truly blackens the soul. Can you imagine what it must be like to commit a double murder—what that must do to a soul? You can bet she’s feeling the effects. She’ll be dead before dawn.”
Talia crossed her arms over her chest. She wanted to wrap her hands around Gideon’s neck and drain the life out of him. “I’m telling you that knife”—she looked to the knife on the cart—”didn’t kill her parents. I don’t know how the blood got on it or how she ended up with it. But she didn’t kill her parents. You need to investigate more.”
As she thought about what he’d said, she wondered whether that meant his soul was black for sending so many people to their deaths. She’d never before questioned what the council did after she had her visions. But that was different—most of them had deserved to burn in the deepest part of hell.
“You are walking a fine line, Talia. Is the girl worth going to jail over?” The wind whipped around the room at Gideon’s words.
“I’ve worked for the council for fifteen years. Have I ever questioned or not told you a vision?” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “Even if she did it—which she did not—I think she deserves a fair trial.”
Gideon flicked his wrist, and the silver chair she’d sat in earlier whipped against the wall with a crashing noise. “We are done here. You will not tell the council how to do their job. Furthermore, you are on thin ice, and I don’t care how long you’ve helped us. You’re paid not to ask questions.”
Talia swallowed hard. She was the only one left to help this girl. Someone had murdered her parents, and Talia was the only person who felt like they needed true justice. Talia couldn’t imagine dying so young. This girl had lost everything. She couldn’t lose her life too—especially if she wasn’t guilty.