Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(94)
Author: Kim Harrison

I could see the rest of the night with crystal clarity. Vivian would be on my side, but Oliver would pick holes in everything until there would be nothing left of my defense. I found Trent in the haze, and he shrugged, having known it already. Frightened, I took a breath to refute the statement, though I didn’t know how.

Pierce stood, surprising the crowd into soft whispering. "I was there when Rachel twisted the curse to burn the fairies," he said. "I was part of it as much as she was. More so. There was no way to survive but for burning them. Rachel took part, but she drew the curse back into herself at great cost before it was fully invoked, turning a deadly curse into a nonlethal one, saving most of the fairies at great hurt to herself."

"She drew a curse into herself and survived?" someone shouted. "She’s a demon, that’s what she is!"

My eyes widened, and I swear, my heart stopped. I looked to Trent, panicked. I hadn’t told. I hadn’t told anyone!

Everyone in the audience started talking, and Oliver just sat back and enjoyed it, arms crossed in confidence. I was going to be branded a black witch and sentenced to Alcatraz. There was no way around it. Damn it, Al was going to win.

"The issue at hand is not whether killing fairies is lawful!" Trent shouted as he stood, and those around him quieted. "Who here hasn’t accidentally killed one of the winged folk? It’s a tragedy, but should we all be considered murderers for it?"

I exhaled and let go of Pierce’s hand, then winced when he shook it, trying to get the circulation back. I hadn’t even known I’d taken it. Jeez, I probably looked like a scared little girl. And Trent had spoken for me?

Vivian walked to the podium and pulled another amulet from under it. "The coven recognizes Trenton Kalamack."

I’ll give Trent one thing. He knew how to make an entrance. He was already halfway to the stairs, and Lucy babbled as he took them. The crowd’s noise rose and fell, and I detected a softening. It was hard to think ugly thoughts when you were watching a highly successful businessman with a happy baby in his arms.

Trent and Vivian murmured a few words, their heads almost touching, and then he took the amulet. Lucy’s cooing rang out, and then Trent disentangled her little fingers from the amulet, whispering to her in what sounded like another language. The crowd liked that, and I wondered if he’d done it intentionally. Trent gathered himself, and when he looked pointedly at me, I sat down, my chair scraping. That same guy brought a third chair out, placing it between me and the podium.

"If I may continue," Trent said, not sitting, and Pierce touched my knee, stilling my bobbing foot. "Should Rachel Morgan be held accountable for her actions when she was manipulated by outside forces into a place where to survive she had to learn a dark skill? Forced to learn and utilize black magic at the whim of another? I don’t know. My intent would have been twofold. First, to see if my security systems could stand against the worst a witch can produce, which I think we can all agree is the magic done by a black witch. And second, a minor question of mine, curiosity, really. I wanted to know if a good witch could use black magic and not be…wicked."

The crowd buzzed, and I wasn’t pleased. That little silver bell wasn’t ringing. Had Trent taken advantage of the situation to find out if I was trustworthy? Son of a bastard…

"Is this to be a morality trial?" Oliver asked, and I swallowed hard. With the room out for my blood, there was no way I could win, and telling them of our beginnings would make things doubly worse. Damn, damn, and double damn.

"Perhaps," Trent said, his soft, melodic voice spilling out to fill the room with confidence. "What would have started out as an experiment in security has left me racked with guilt. This is my fault," he said, and people started to listen. "I was blind to how seriously the witch community would respond to black magic. If I’d known, I would certainly have chosen another method for testing my security."

Why in the hell wasn’t that bell ringing? I asked myself, unless Trent was confident that his wording put everything into the theoretical. I couldn’t have gotten away with it, but I wasn’t a bloody politician.

"I feel remorse for having manipulated such an honest person into a bad place," Trent was saying, his words hitting me hard. "I want to make reparations. Rachel doesn’t deserve imprisonment for the things she has done." He turned to the coven’s table, holding Lucy’s hand away from his face. "There was an arrangement, Oliver. It went too far. She should be pardoned, and you know it."

Vertigo was dancing about my brain, and I was glad I was sitting. Trent was referring to the deal we’d agreed to in the FIB interrogation room, and with sudden clarity, I realized I was lost. If Oliver called my bluff, I was lost. My gaze found Ivy and my mother, both dealing with the stress in their separate ways. I couldn’t turn society upside down by telling them where witches had come from-and Oliver knew it.

Vivian invited Oliver to speak, and he laid a hand on his amulet as if covering his heart. "You offered her a job, if I remember correctly," the highest-ranking member of the coven stated. "Perhaps this is a ploy to get yourself a black witch on your payroll, Mr. Kalamack. A legalized black witch who you think is…good at heart."

The auditorium buzzed, and from the front row came Jenks’s high-pitched "Go to hell, Oliver! Rachel isn’t working for no scummy politician!"

Vivian gestured to the bell, sending a clear pinging out to silence the crowd. "If I may bring the conversation back to what we’re here for?" she said when they quieted.

Oliver leaned over to look at her. "And just what is that, Vivian, if not holding witches accountable to our laws? Laws that have kept us safe for thousands of years?"

Trent was walking toward me, a faint smile on his face as he sat in the rickety folding chair beside mine. His expression was both confident and satisfied, and not any of it was from Lucy babbling in his arms. Something was up, and I probably wasn’t going to like it. "You took advantage of this to find out if I was a good witch?" I said softly. "And you wonder why I don’t like you?"

"See the course through," he said, careful to keep from touching his amulet. "There will be hell to pay, but I will see you back on this side of the lines before I’m done. Trust me."

Frustrated, I sat and crossed my arms over my chest.

Vivian had taken the floor, and slowly the crowd became quiet. "Rachel Morgan and Gordian Pierce knowing black magic is only part of the issue here," she said, head rising to take in the edges of the room. Her voice had taken on the cadence of a storyteller, and I fidgeted. "This is more than a trial of black witchcraft, but a question of how far we allow accepted morality to stretch to maintain the public safety. Two days ago, I was sent to watch Rachel on her journey here. Two days ago, I was certain that black magic, under any circumstances, was grounds for shunning."