She shut the door behind her.
Sensors. This room must be lined with runes that sense the medical wellness of the patient. There wasn’t an emergency button, or even a ‘call help’ button.
So unnerving.
But I had worse things to worry about. Apparently, I was on trial.
I flicked through the folder quickly.
Union / King vs. Creed.
Well, fuck.
I skimmed through the charges, but everything was blacked out, as if it were all top-secret and confidential.
“I can assure you it’s all in there,” I mocked. The only thing that was left for me to read was the time and location of the trial.
Please arrive at the California State Council Chambers no later than 9:45 am. If you fail to show, you will forfeit your right to defense and accept the charges placed against you. Please dress appropriately.
My throat felt coated in sandpaper. My stomach growled.
The California State Council Chambers. The white marble building and tall, thick columns were something I’d walked by hundreds of times.
I was getting tried by the highest court in the state.
6
By the Council, specifically, which wasn’t a governing body that catered to or cared for Cuts.
This was bad, wasn’t it?
With no time to think, I got my ass dressed in slacks that were too big for me and a shirt that was way too small. The shoes were disposable slippers, black of course, and they squeaked on the linoleum.
My thoughts raced with fear and confusion. Why wasn’t this being handled by the Union? They had their own authority systems in place to deal with our matters.
In fact, Marigold had told me once that the Union hated getting the Council involved, and did everything they could to avoid it. Since the Councils — both local and national — were in charge of all supes, they were technically in charge of the Union too. However, they let the Union take care of its own without too much interference.
I paced the room, focusing entirely on an unhealthy level of fretting. Sweat coated my brow.
I really didn’t want to meet the Council. They were Scary, capital S. Sure, they were just a group of nine ultra-powerful and ancient supes that ran the state of California. Three vamps, three shifters and three witches.
But no Cuts. Because they didn’t typically deal with Cut matters —
I smacked my forehead and groaned. The answer was so obvious.
I’d sinned against a shifter. A wyvern shifter. Because of that, this was an inter-species matter.
Stupid, stupid Mr. Creed.
If I would call myself a color right now, it would be green. I’d heard of entire families that disappeared because one member pissed off someone in the Council. They weren’t the highest power in the world, and the National Council did rule over them.
But in my small world, they were all that mattered.
I glanced at the wall clock nervously. We had four minutes until the trial began. Where was my rep?
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. Come on, Aster. You got this. You’ve gone through worse.
This was nothing compared to going to school in eleventh grade to find my Cut classmate murdered in the quad.
My eyes flew open, my fear tripling. Actually, this might be worse than that day. Today, the dead girl might be me.
The door unlocked, making me jump.
A man walked into the room. He was a Cut, which was obvious from the crow’s feet and the pale pink tinge to his eyes. Whatever this guy was, he was half vampire and completely mortal.
He was also out of breath. Dark-red sweat marks reached from his armpits to his waistband. He shut the door and dropped his briefcase on the ground. Hands trembling, the man pulled out a pair of tiny reading glasses and set them on his nose.
They instantly fogged.
He held out a meaty hand. “Roger Bowl, Union Attorney. I’ll be representing you at your trial. Can I use your bathroom?”
His hand was wet. Even with my human-level vision, I could see that.
“That way.” I pointed to the door. Gods, why did he breathe so loud?
Roger Bowl came out two-and-a-half minutes later, mopping his forehead and bringing a horrifying stench with him that rivaled any and all sewer smells.
I gagged. This man was going to take care of me in court? He hardly looked like he could take care of himself. There was an entire string of toilet paper stuck to his shoe as he flung the door open and strode out.
I followed, finally finding my voice. “What are the charges?”
“Oh, nothing to worry about.”
“Right. As indicated by the pit stains and the nervous diarrhea.”
The buffoon hustled down the plain beige hallway and knocked on the last door to the right. “Ah, hello! This is Roger Bowl here with Astina King for the Council meeting.”
The door opened, and a deep voice said, “You’re late.”
But Roger pushed through. “Not to worry, not to worry! Only by a minute or two.”
Great. I was going to be defended by a man who was clearly a nervous mess, and if he didn’t know my name, I fucking doubted he knew the details of my case enough to defend me.
I still had the smell of his shit in my nose. I was going to be grumpy about that for a while.
When I followed him into the unoccupied hospital room, a huge shifter guy wearing a gun glared down at me. He was built like a damn mountain.
I straightened my back and saluted him.
His frown deepened. His eyes glowed a scary green color.
I averted my gaze and scooted closer to Roger.
A woman was standing still and concentrating. She was wearing a fancy black and white suit while her pointer finger drew something in the air.
A rune witch. Every witch and warlock had the choice of specialization in either runes or potions. Mom and Dad were both potion people, and it took decades to master the art. Most ancient witches and warlocks would eventually master both classes of magic, but they typically chose one at a time. It was custom.
But this woman was clearly a master. She looked not a day over 25, and had an incredibly small waist and enormous boobs. It was hands-down impressive.
What made her a master was the fact that she didn’t use any implement to draw whatever complex rune she was tracing. Normally, there was ink or charcoal and something to draw the lines on.
Only the masters could trace runes into the very air and successfully manifest magic.
I swallowed. Tension was my closest companion. Why were they pulling out all the stops for a Cut? A total nobody. I didn’t have anything special. I didn’t kill anyone.
My blood ran cold. Had I killed someone?
I shook my head. Mr. Creed had been the only one there. And he’d spoken to Officer Mel. He’d been fine. Alive. I was okay.
Suspicion rose inside of me. He better not be pinning the death of his pig on me. That would just be plain rude.
My fear increased as the air between us and the witch began to shimmer blue.
By the burnt balls of hell. She wasn’t just a rune witch. She was a portal master.
I squeezed my eyes closed and groaned. Portal masters worked solely for the Councils — regional, national and global. There were only a few dozen in the entire world, and were usually reserved for only the most high-profile people. Like elected officials. Ambassadors. Rulers.
And the most dangerous criminals. Gods, what had I done to earn a portal transport?