“Allowing you to heal naturally would be best, but the doctor had no idea what awaits you.” He spun the cap with his thumb. “The choice is yours, but you need to be at your best. Amelie’s freedom depends on it.”
“That’s a low blow.” I lifted the hem of my shirt, careful to keep the edge from exposing the underside of my breasts. “But you’re right. It’s bad enough going in there looking like what the cat dragged in.” Though that was becoming a norm for me. “I don’t want to have to lean on you if I can manage on my own.” I winced at how that sounded. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Linus dropped to one knee in front of me. One cool palm spanned my left side and held me still while the other rested against the puckered, angry edge of my stitches and began to draw a perfect set of interconnected sigils that washed relief through me. “The only way to survive the Society is to conceal who you are, what you love, how you feel, beneath your title. Never let them glimpse the real you. Show them what they want to see, tell them what they want to hear, and keep your ears open. Collect their weaknesses like cards to play against them at a later date.”
The urge to balk against his advice was tempered by his absolute concentration. “Is that what you do?”
“It’s what we all do.” He examined his work then nodded and capped his pen before rising. “Mother was a strict tutor.” He hit the button again, and the elevator shuddered back to life. “The Pritchards will come after us both.” He adjusted his clothing and hair before we hit bottom. “However this ends, remember none of it is your fault.”
The doors rolled open, and Linus strolled out first. The transformation was instantaneous. Gone was the casual slouch as his shoulders corrected themselves into perfect alignment. Gone was the amusement in his eyes as his gaze hardened to granite when he glanced back to make sure I followed. Gone was the stride that welcomed me to fall in step with him as his gait turned ravenous, devouring the red marble tiles of the Lyceum as he prowled into the center where the assembly awaited us.
I toddled after him in my gift-shop apparel with my two-day hair pulled back in a messy bun that looked like a squirrel had died on the back of my head and kept my arms crossed to cover my bralessness.
Before us stood the opulent box seat where the Grande Dame presided over proceedings. Her throne was an antique, a solid gold and gem-studded eyesore. It was exactly the kind of flamboyant bauble that got ships sunk by pirates looking for an easy score. The kind that sent divers looting wreckage for decades after the resulting cannon fights left the cursed thing on the ocean floor. Plain silver chairs were good enough for the representatives who sat at each of her elbows. A High Society Dame sat to her right, a Low Society Matron to her left.
For a few blessed steps, I distracted myself wondering how many tassels must be decorating the red velvet cushions beneath them, and then we were standing in the center of the amphitheater staring up at our would-be judge and her pet jurors.
I wanted to vomit.
“Linus, dearest, there you are.” The Grande Dame flushed with pleasure. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Apologies, Mother.” He executed a practiced bow, one that reminded me of Ambrose’s mocking imitation. “Grier was only just released from the hospital.”
A growl worthy of any momma bear poured from our left where the Pritchard family gathered around a shackled Amelie whose chains bolted her to an anchor set in the marble tiles. And below that, in the lowest seating level, a dozen made vampires, almost hidden in the shadows, chittered between themselves.
“This is a blatant ploy for sympathy,” Matron Pritchard snarled. “Look at her. Look what she’s wearing.”
Dread splashed in my gut like a cold stone dropped from a great height. Linus had made the first move in this game over an hour ago, and I was only now grasping how well I had been played.
“She was admitted to the ER for treatment of wounds sustained aboard the Cora Ann.” He took great care to cast no blame. “I escorted her home myself, and a car was sent for us before Grier made it inside to shower or change her clothes.”
The Grande Dame drummed her fingers on her armrest, a tiny smile curling her lips, but she didn’t interfere.
“We are ready to hear the charges brought against our daughter,” Mr. Pritchard announced, “so that we might defend against them.”
The dame on the right lifted a scroll from her lap and unrolled the creaking parchment. “Your daughter is accused of consenting to a third-level possession by a fifth-level shade. She is accused of willfully conspiring with the shade, who self-identifies as Ambrose Batiste, to murder nine members of the Undead Coalition.”
Fifth was the highest measurable level for a shade. A third-level possession wasn’t much better. It might be worse if you viewed it as the halfway point where the vessel ought to have had some measure of control. But wasn’t a partial possession by such a powerful shade more devastating than a full possession by a lesser one? Where would the line of culpability be drawn?
The Pritchards paled, and Matron Pritchard almost collapsed before her husband gathered her close. “No. It’s not possible. Not our Amelie.”
“Scion Pritchard,” the matron on the left intoned. “You were part of the Elite team dispatched to detain Amelie Pritchard, correct?”
“Yes and no.” Boaz jutted out his chin. “My team and I were already in position. We’d had the Cora Ann under surveillance for several days. We had a suspect in mind, but it was not my sister. Finding her in the warding ring…” He shook his head. “I didn’t believe it was really her. I thought the shade was playing another trick.”
The dame leaned forward a fraction. “What do you mean another trick?”
“Ambrose borrowed clothes from Scion Lawson. He also tailored his appeared to resemble him.” Boaz ground his molars. “I thought—I hoped—when we came upon Amelie, that Ambrose was using her face to manipulate Grier into releasing him.”
“Shades can only manifest one aspect per bonding,” the matron informed him primly. “They can choose how they appear, but they can only tailor their look once. Your commanding officer should have briefed you on the dybbuk to prepare you for what you might encounter in the field. Did he fail in his duties?”
“No,” he all but growled, “but Amelie is my kid sister. I was in shock. I still am. So you’ll have to forgive me if I suffered a lapse in judgment.”
Matron Pritchard had recovered enough to bristle as the matron picked at him. “I think we can all sympathize with my son, considering the circumstances.”
“Yes, the circumstances,” the matron mused. “I understand your son is romantically involved with Grier Woolworth. How peculiar to find both your son, his girlfriend and your daughter all in one place at the same time. One might think the meeting prearranged.”
The implication, that Boaz and I had colluded with Amelie, stung. I’m not sure why. I had no reason to expect better from them.
“Scion Lawson was also present,” Matron Pritchard was quick to point out to the assembly. “He’s living with Grier on the Woolworth property.”
The dame gave up all pretense of detachment and leaned forward, eyes hungry. “Are you implying Dame Woolworth is also in a relationship with Scion Lawson?”
“I don’t know what they get up to over there.” Matron Pritchard sniffed. “Maud made clear to me some years ago that it isn’t my business what Grier does or who she does it with in the privacy of her own home.”
Mortification stung my cheeks, and I blanched as our gazes snared one another. How could you? That’s what I wanted to ask. I had never done a thing to her, and goddess knows my reputation was already in tatters, yet there she stood with shears in hand, snipping away at what scraps remained.