Deciding that the stare-off hurts me more than him, I look out the window instead. A full moon illuminates picturesque forests and distant mountain peaks as we drive into a fenced area past a sign that forbids trespassing. As we approach one large mountain, the dirt road turns into a nicely paved one, and a few minutes later, we reach a blockade manned by vampires who salute us—or rather, who salute Kain.
My hopes of escape evaporate.
Enforcer vampires are everywhere.
The limo crosses a moat and heads toward skyscraper-sized doors on the side of the mountain, thrown wide to reveal a medieval castle that puts even my dream palace to shame. The craziest part is that the entire castle is inside the mountain—a Cognizant with stone control must’ve helped with this project, because it’s truly impressive.
The limo pulls into the mountain, where very unmedieval lighting illuminates gorgeous bastions and crenellated towers. I mentally file away the images in case I want to plagiarize them for my own dream architecture.
The limo comes to a stop.
“We’re inside the bailey,” Filth says libidinously.
I force out the most maniacal false laugh I can muster. “You’re so clever.”
He grabs my upper arm and drags me out of the car.
“Let go of her,” Kain orders with a frown.
Filth releases me, and I massage my smarting arm as I apply more sanitizer to it. Pretty sure I’m going to have finger-shaped bruises there.
Inside the castle, we pass through cold stone corridors filled with hooded figures of monks. One of them hands a folded bundle to Kain without saying a word.
“Is that the Brotherhood?” I ask no one in particular.
“Speak only when spoken to,” Filth barks.
“Yes, they are,” Kain replies almost at the same time. “Don’t you have them on Gomorrah?”
“I think so,” I say, “but I’ve never met them myself.”
The Brotherhood is a group of Cognizant without any powers, or at least any powers I’m aware of. They follow some strange religion, the details of which I don’t know.
Eventually, we reach a large set of doors opening into a miniature indoor coliseum lit by candles floating in the air—a nice touch.
Filth points at the circular platform in the middle. “Stand there. Don’t go to sleep.”
“That will be all,” Kain says to his minions.
As all the Enforcers leave, Filth included, Kain unfolds the bundle of fabric given to him by the monk. It turns out to be a black robe with a hood.
He puts it on. “Now we wait for the Council meeting. It’s going to happen first thing in the morning.”
“That’s a long time away,” I say. “Any chance you can tell me what this is about?”
“No. But what I can do is make the time pass faster while you wait.”
“Sure, but how—”
As his eyes turn into mirrors, I realize my mistake.
He’s about to glamour me.
I’m resistant to vampire glamour, at least from the run-of-the-mill vamps, but Kain is clearly powerful, and drinking vampire blood does make one more susceptible to their—
“You won’t remember the next five hours,” Kain says in a voice made of melted caramel.
The next thing I’m aware of is how stiff I feel standing in the same spot.
Only now I’m surrounded by the Council.
Chapter Ten
Dressed in multicolored hooded robes similar to the one Kain put on, the New York Councilors look as though they took their fashion advice from some creepy secret society.
“Good morning,” I say politely, and even contemplate curtsying. “I’m ready to learn why I’ve been detained.”
“Finally,” Felix says in my ear. “I thought you’d never snap out of it.”
Kain stands up. “Please state your name for the record.”
“Bailey Spade.” I scan the room for allies, but it’s hard to recognize anyone in these hooded getups.
“Thank you,” Kain says. “I’ll be the designated neutral party in these proceedings.”
“I think that’s good,” Felix whispers. “He let your Gomorran tech slide. Maybe he’s more than neutral.”
In the third row, a slender figure in a magenta robe stands up and pulls her hood back.
I know her. This is Kit, the shapeshifter I met through my rehab job. She’s currently in her favorite guise, that of a round-cheeked blonde straight out of a Japanese role-playing game or anime.
“I’m serving as the Defense for today’s proceedings,” she says in a high-pitched voice that matches her video game appearance.
Another woman in teal robes stands up and pushes back her hood, revealing high cheekbones in a familiar oval face. “And I’m Gertrude, the Plaintiff in today’s proceedings.”
Puck. I know her as well. I just hadn’t realized she was on this Council.
Gertrude came to see me on Gomorrah, complaining of symptoms that sounded like REM Sleep Behavior Disorder. People with that condition physically act out their dreams, sometimes by speaking and sometimes by moving their arms and legs. I told Gertrude I couldn’t help with that, or anything else physical, because my powers only work inside the dreams. Instead, I advised her about obvious safeguards she could take, like installing a padded floor, removing dangerous objects from reach, and sleeping alone. Something—probably the sleeping alone bit—really upset her, and now it seems like she’s been holding a grudge this entire time. At least enough of a grudge to want to speak against me today.
Has she never heard of the whole “shooting the messenger” thing?
“Be careful. This Gertrude has a scary power,” Felix whispers in my ear. “Her skin mortifies any tissue it comes into contact with.”
That’s just great. A gangrene-giver has a grievance with me. Can things get any worse?
“Why don’t I explain the charge?” Gertrude offers. When no one argues, she says, “The Defendant has revealed her powers to humans.”
I did what? When?
There are hushed whispers in the audience.
“Crap, that’s like breaking the Mandate,” Felix says in the earpiece. “Not good.”
I wish he’d stop with the pessimistic commentary. I’d silence the earpiece, but if the Council realizes I have it, I could get Felix into trouble.
“I’m sure whatever happened was an honest mistake.” Kit turns herself into a version of me, with an unnaturally innocent expression.
“What did you do?” Felix whispers.
I still have no clue. I certainly never revealed anything to any humans. Why would I?
“Why don’t we all decide for ourselves?” Gertrude fiddles with a phone.
A moment later, Filth comes into the room rolling a cart holding a 75-inch TV.
“Thank you.” Gertrude’s smile shows too many teeth, and Filth bows to her before leaving.
Gertrude descends from her seat with feline strides. At the first row, she pauses next to a hooded figure. “Hekima, do you mind helping with this?”
The hooded figure stands up and reveals his face. His frizzy gray hair and kind, deeply weathered features make him look how I’ve always pictured my grandfather—not that I know anything about my grandparents. Mom always refused to speak about them.