Chapter 25

June fourteenth.

Eight thirty a.m.

My sentencing hearing had arrived.

I sat on a rock-hard plastic chair in a waiting area on the precinct's third floor, several levels above the holding-cell accommodations I'd previously enjoyed. Shiny handcuffs chained my wrists together in front of me, and I twisted and untwisted my fingers with fidgety apprehension.

Lienna sat beside me, hands resting in her lap and ankles primly crossed. She was ostensibly my magic-wielding, will-crush-your-bones-if-you-try-to-run escort, but she was also my moral support on one of the scariest days of my life.

She didn't know how much it meant to me that I wasn't sitting here alone, waiting for the literal gavel to fall.

According to the pleasantly bland old man running the desk at the head of the room, the Judiciary Council was already running behind because two of the six members hadn't shown up. They must have had tee times they couldn't reschedule.

I glanced around at the bizarre collection of mythic criminals. Their unfamiliar faces ranged from fear to anger to disinterest—except for one.

Maggie's blue hair drooped around her face as she stared at her lap, handcuffs shining against her gray jumpsuit. Her face was pale, her eyes puffy and red from crying. She sat alone. I'd tried several times to catch her eye, but she'd only looked at me once before fixing her stare on her lap again.

That one look had been full of shame and hurt and fear. Quentin had wrecked her, the bastard. Already paranoid Maggie would never trust again.

I forced my gaze away from her. It skidded across the room and back to the intake desk and the innocuous door beside it—the door behind which the Council would pass judgment on us.

Aside from Maggie, I'd spotted one other familiar face. My good ol' pal Duncan, the water-obsessed serial killer, had been walking through that door right as I'd arrived. He'd been in there for over twenty minutes now.

"What do you think will happen to him?" I whispered to Lienna. "Life in prison?"

"No, they'll definitely execute him."

"Right there in the room?"

She scoffed impatiently. "No. There's a short grace period—mainly for the paperwork. But there's no way he'll get anything less than the harshest sentence after all the people he killed."

"That doesn't make me feel a whole lot better about my—"

"Kit Morris!"

I jumped like Zorro had just stabbed me in the ass. Maggie glanced up, her dull gaze flicking to me.

The bland man behind the desk scanned the room, then called again, "Kit Morris!"

"That's you," Lienna whispered, nudging my arm. "Go, Kit."

I stood on numb legs. She gave me another encouraging nudge, but when I looked back, she wasn't quick enough to hide the tight anxiety in her face.

Shit. Lienna was scared for me too—and now I was really freaking out.

"I'll see you when it's over?" I mumbled, needing a light at the end of my sentencing tunnel, however weak it might be.

She managed a smile, and goddamn was it a beautiful one—wavering, lower lip trembling slightly, but with a determined set to her jaw. "I'll be waiting."

"Even if they're taking me back to the holding cells?"

"Especially then." She arched an eyebrow. "That's where I work. You won't be able to escape me."

"Aren't you heading back to LA now that Quentin is… not a problem?"

"Kit Morris!" the desk agent called impatiently.

"Captain Blythe offered me a promotion if I stayed," Lienna replied in a rush. "A big promotion."

"Are you taking it?"

"Maybe. Now get in there before you annoy them by being late!"

Oh crap. Not a good start. I sped across the room and answered a few simple questions to confirm my identity, then the agent directed me through the terrifying door beside his desk.

I stepped through, prepared for almost anything—except for the empty vestibule on the other side, its white walls broken by a second door directly ahead. The one I'd just walked through banged shut behind me, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the door didn't have an interior handle. No going back.

Gulping down my stomach, I opened the second door and walked into the room beyond.

I'd hoped for, at the very least, one of those intimidating old courtrooms you see in movies. Or even more appropriate, a dark and ominous room with each member of the judiciary panel lit by a single, high-contrast light that obscured their faces.

Instead, it was a run-of-the-mill conference room, as cold and utilitarian as everything else in the precinct. A big plastic table filled most of the space, and a single empty chair waited in front of it. The four-panel members sat on the far side, facing me. A transcriptionist sat at a small desk in the corner.

One more person, planted in a chair at the butt end of the table with her back ramrod straight, had joined the party: Captain Blythe.

She didn't acknowledge my presence, and for some reason, she had an enormous stack of folders and papers in front of her. Did she go anywhere without them?

Each panel member was roughly eight thousand years old and looked more like a team of oversized gremlins than actual people. As I perched on the edge of the empty chair, they stared at me through their unkempt and untamed eyebrows with a level of sternness I had never experienced in my whole existence.

The angriest-looking gremlin cleared his throat, then read my name off a sheet of paper, followed by a case number and the entire list of charges against me. Lienna was right: they had added my escape to the total.

"Do you understand the charges you are facing, Mr. Morris?" Angry Gremlin asked.

"Mostly, but I'm not super clear on a few of them."

That, apparently, was not an issue, because his only response was, "You may now state your defense."

Holy forking shirtballs. That was it? "Defend yourself, ignorant plebeian"? How was this system fair?

With a deep breath, I began to speak.

"I was a member of the KCQ guild. You know, the all-psychic one full of shitty conmen and crooked lawyers. One of my fellow members was Quentin Bianchi. You know about him?"

Blythe shot me a "What the hell are you talking about him for?" look, but the gremlins answered me with blank stares. I'd assume that was a "no," then.

"He was the most powerful empath anyone, including our GM, had ever seen or heard of. He could affect half a shopping mall on a good day. Rigel would have him fill roomfuls of people with feelings of happy contentment until they'd sign literally anything the lawyers suggested."

I paused in case someone planned to ask what my role in those manipulations had been, but the gremlins said nothing.

"He could make grown men cry over cute cat gifs. Once, he made an elderly woman so angry she attacked her husband on a public street—all so he could get a restraining order against her. Long story that involved invalidating their prenup. Anyway."

My cuffs jingled as I nervously adjusted my hands. "What I'm getting at is that Quentin was a stronger empath than you can imagine. He was Rigel's trump card, and that's why Rigel went off the rails when Quentin was arrested."

I leaned forward in my seat, looking each panel member in the eye. "At some point today, a woman named Maggie Cook is going to take this seat. She's a sweet, caring woman who only ever did legal freelance work for KCQ. The charges against her are all because of Quentin—because he used his empath powers to manipulate her. He flooded her brain with emotions honed to control her for—for I'm not sure how long, but at least a week.

"I don't know how the MPD justice system works. I didn't even know what mythics were a year ago. But unless this system is even more broken than the human one, there's no way you can convict her when she was being manipulated by a powerful psychic. There's got to be something in your laws to protect people who fall victim to other mythics."

The female gremlin on the far right coughed delicately. "Mr. Morris, this time is provided for you to present your defense, not to defend another criminal."

"Maggie isn't a criminal!" Fury spiked through me, and I slammed my fists on the table. "What's wrong with you people? Maggie was manipulated! Do you punish people who are controlled by alchemic potions? Would you convict someone of property damage because a telekinetic threw them through a window?"

"Mr. Morris," she began again in the same tone, "this time is—"

"I'm defending her because no one else will!" I threw myself back in my chair. "What's the point in defending myself? There's nothing I can tell you that Captain Blythe doesn't already know."

The panel exchanged unreadable glances. Blythe watched me impassively.

Angry Gremlin tapped his pen on the paper. "Is that all you have to say in your defense, Mr. Morris?"

"Yeah," I growled, breathing hard through my nose. "That's it."

"Please return to the antechamber while we deliberate. You'll be summoned when we reach a verdict."

I shoved out of my chair and stormed back to the door. Inside the blank white vestibule, I paced in circles, but away from the gremlins' emotionless stares, my righteous fury was fading fast.

Despair crept in to replace it. Kid-me had barely survived one broken, unfair system. Adult-me wouldn't make it out of this new, bigger, just as broken and unfair system alive. But maybe my explanation of Quentin's powers would count for something when Maggie's turn came.

Minutes ticked by, and I continued pacing to escape the dread pooling inside me and squeezing my lungs.

The door to the conference room swung open. I whirled to face it, my heart blocking my airways.

Captain Blythe stepped into the vestibule, looking as terrifying and disappointed in every molecule of my existence as ever. She closed the door behind her.

"Did they reach a verdict?" I asked tersely.

"The charges against you are serious, Mr. Morris." Her laser stare bored into me. "However, I believe they can be attributed to your naivety and stupidity rather than perversity or malice."

I blinked. Uh, well… naivety and stupidity were better than perversity and malice, at least?

"I shared my opinion with the Judiciary Council and recommended leniency."

Hope sparked—only to die as she continued.

"However, the Council disagrees. They've found you guilty on all counts and are discussing your sentence."

"Guilty… on all counts?" I whispered, feeling faint. So much for half my charges failing to hold up in front of the Council.

She folded her arms. "I can't overrule a sentencing once it's been determined. So, Mr. Morris, you have approximately sixty seconds to decide."

"Decide what?"

"You will agree to commit your substantive abilities to this precinct as an employee of the Magicae Politiae Denuntiatores for a period of no less than seven years."

Uh… what?

"In exchange, you will plead guilty to an assortment of misdemeanors and be fined accordingly." She raised a single blond eyebrow. "I have the power to offer a plea bargain to a defendant at any point before official sentencing. That's my offer."

"You… you can do that?"

"Thirty seconds, Mr. Morris."

Shit. She was serious.

In another universe, one that didn't involve me facing down the Four Gremlins of My Apocalypse, I would have laughed in her face. Willfully subjugating myself to Blythe's iron fist for seven years sounded like a genuinely terrible idea.

But in light of the "guilty on all counts" thing, and whatever maximum sentence those power-drunk jerkoffs figured I deserved, it had a whole lot more appeal.

As an extra perk, if Lienna took Blythe's promotion offer, I would no longer be a rogue, criminal, or convict. I'd be her coworker. If that wasn't an upgrade, I didn't know what was.

A stunned grin broke across my face. "Sure, Cap! Count me in."

She smiled tightly—wow, had I ever seen her smile before?—and extended her hand. It took me half a second to realize she wanted a handshake. I grabbed her hand and shook it firmly, trying not to wince as she ground my knuckles together.

And that was it. I was a free man. Or, I was no longer MagiPol's prisoner. I was their employee.

I stared bemusedly at the captain. Lienna had warned me that Blythe could influence my future, but I hadn't guessed how much power she could wield to change my fate.

And now I belonged to her for the next seven years.

Not sure how I felt about that yet.

"Welcome to the MPD, Kit," she murmured, a sternly thoughtful note in her voice. "I'm looking forward to putting your unique magic to use."

I couldn't stop a small laugh from leaking through my teeth as I thought of the wand I'd somehow transformed into a silver snake.

She had no idea who she'd just hired.

* * *

Kit's adventures continue in

HELLBOUND GUILDS OTHER MISDIRECTIONS

The Guild Codex: Warped / Two

- Pre-order now on Amazon -

Coming Dec 4, 2020

* * *

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