New Blood (46 page)

“You are not named in the warrant, monsieur,” the captain said. “You are not under arrest.”

“I am her husband, Captain, and her familiar. Where else would I be, but by her side?”

Vaillon's eyes glinted with approval. He gave a tiny, heel-clicking bow and gestured toward the suite's door.

Whole hordes might be lined up to destroy her, but at least she did not stand alone. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them furiously back. Having Jax at her side almost made it worse, because now the outcome mattered.

 

M
AGICIANS ALREADY FLOODED
into the grand chamber when Amanusa arrived with her police escort. Elinor met them in the lobby to clasp Amanusa's hands and stare worriedly at her with tear-filled eyes.

“It will be all right, Elinor,” Amanusa said.

“I'm supposed to be saying that to you.” Elinor swiped the tears away with her gloved fingers. “Harry and Grey are rousting out the progressives. The traditionalists—though they deny the true,
old
traditions—they've been busy all night. They're already all here, but it's not enough for a quorum. Not yet.”

Men waited at the multiple sets of double doors into the chamber, members of whatever the French called their Inquisition, according to the striped
sashes and cockades they wore. The stripes were four colors—black, white, red, and green—to represent the four great magics. The white stripe in cockade and sash made Amanusa feel minutely better. Sorcery was acknowledged at least in that small way.

Vaillon escorted Amanusa and Jax to the doors, but before they entered, one of the guards stopped them. Massilean Guard they were called, after the old Roman name for Marseilles, as if claiming the guard had been around since then. Perhaps it had.

“Only magicians inside,” the guard said, looking at Jax.

“He is my husband.” Amanusa hoped it would get him in, but it was a feeble hope, and in the end, a disappointed one.

Jax kissed her cheek. “I'll wait out here with Elinor,” he murmured. “It will be all right. You have committed no crimes.”

“That's hardly the same as being innocent,” she whispered back. But she couldn't cling. She didn't dare appear weak. These men might be better dressed than the outlaws in Szabo's camp, but they were no less dangerous. And she was out of practice in standing against their hate.

“Here.” Jax thrust magic at her. “Build your shields higher. Make them thicker. If you need me, I'll get to you one way or another. No matter what, I will find you.”

“Yes, all right.” Amanusa let herself be drawn away from him. She focused on whispering the words of the “shield-building” spell to keep the threatening tears away. When the magic was layered thick, she expanded her awareness and realized Vaillon
was escorting her down the aisle toward the dais. “I thought only magicians were allowed into these hallowed halls.”

Vaillon's lips twitched in an invisible smile. “Magicians, and the duly appointed representative of the civil government during the investigation of a crime.
Moi.
”

“Good.” Amanusa smiled. If she were guilty of the crimes with which she'd been accused, she had no doubt that Vaillon would see her punished. But since she wasn't guilty, she was glad of his presence. He was a fair, open-minded, and honest man, and she'd found far too many of the other sort lately.

Men flooded into the chamber, some of them wearing dressing gowns over their trousers, with slippers on their feet. Harry and Grey were apparently rousting the progressives from their beds. Amanusa watched Cranshaw's scowl grow darker as more and more magicians rushed in.

The English wizard paced in the space before the dais on the other side of the great hall from her, the seats behind him almost completely full. Elinor was right. They had been plotting. Probably since before Kazaryk and Szabo reached Paris. Had they been plotting other things besides this?

Amanusa let none of her worry show. She could still feel Jax's presence in the back of her mind. Or perhaps it was at the bottom of her heart. He flowed through her blood, just as she flowed through his. She would never be alone again.

Finally, the governing board trod ponderously up the steps to the dais and Herr Gathmann hammered the gathering into session. Magicians continued to
file in, but no sign of Harry or Grey yet. Amanusa caught occasional glimpses of Jax and Elinor in the lobby when the doors opened and closed. She could hide her trembling, mask her face with calm, but she couldn't stop looking back at the doors to see where her two main supporters might be.

Gathmann called Captain Vaillon to the podium to read out the arrest warrant and the charges against Amanusa. She turned to face the conclave as well as the governors from her corner at the front of the room. She did her best to appear confidently innocent as Vaillon read the outrageous accusations. The ominous mutter of voices made it difficult, as they rose and fell with each charge, like a mob working itself up to attack.

When he was done, the captain came back down the steps and took up his post by her side. “Courage, brave lady,” he murmured.

“I ask to be recognized by the president.” One of the men on the dais stood and shouted over the rising mutter of conversation.

Gathmann gave his recognition and the man who approached the podium was no one Amanusa had seen before, tall and dark with large features that assembled into an attractive whole. Not as attractive as Jax, of course.

“I am Nicos Archaios,” the man announced as the noise subsided. “One of those charged with finding a solution to the dead zones that have been plaguing all of Europe. I led a party to the zone in the St. Germaine district to investigate the warding spell built around it in hopes of stopping its growth.

“What we found, gentlemen, was no mere curtain
struggling to hold back the bleeding away of magic, which is more than we have ever been able to construct. No, we found a wall. A solid prison wall entrapping the deadly zone.”

Amanusa began to hope. She feared it—hope had been too often dashed in the past—but it sprang up anyway. Might he convince them of sorcery's good qualities?

“This wall contained the magic of alchemy—of water and earth, and of wizardry—the bones of trees. But those alone—bah!” He threw up a hand, the sudden shout startling Amanusa.

“We have tried this before, and never did it work, but this wall—this wall also held the magic of con-jury. Spirits bound their magic into the wall. Never have we been able to use spirit magic against the death sectors, because the spirits would not stay—but bound they were. Bound by sorcery. By
blood.
”

A clamor arose, drowning out Archaios's words. Men shouted against sorcery. Others shouted in favor of it and against those who disagreed with them. Others, Amanusa thought, shouted just to be shouting. Or perhaps to quiet the rest. Her trembling started up again. Would the conclave break down in riot?

The Massileans spread out into the crowd. Gath-mann pounded his gavel on the podium—it had to be making dents—and slowly the uproar subsided.

“Goin' well, I see,” Harry said into Amanusa's ear.

She startled, then couldn't help laughing, though it was a feeble laugh. She was too nervous. This kind of passion on the mere issue of sorcery couldn't help her cause.

Gathmann recognized one of the magicians in the audience, and he stood, asking, “Where did this blood come from, eh? What innocent lies dead, drained of blood?”

“No innocent at all. Nor is anyone dead.” Grey Carteret sauntered toward the podium steps, swinging his walking stick idly, as if on a stroll through the park. “If I might, Herr Gathmann? I was there. I am the conjurer whose spirit magic helped build that wall.”

Gathmann gestured in invitation and Grey climbed the stairs, taking his time, letting the anticipation build.

Harry tipped his head toward Amanusa to mutter from the side of his mouth. “We decided Grey should tell about makin' the spell. They been 'earing too much from me. I get carried away, talkin' about how we need to fight the dead zones. They ain't 'eard from Grey at all before this. An' the fact his dad's a duke don't 'urt any, even if he is third or fourth son down.”

Grey reached the podium and laid his silver-headed walking stick across it. Then he looked out at the crowd, waiting until all noise hushed and all eyes turned his direction. “I was there, gentlemen. I saw Amanusa Whitcomb Greyson spill the blood required to build this spell. I gave up my own blood for it.”

Dramatically, he held up his arm. The wrong arm. She'd drawn Grey's blood from his left. “Voluntarily, gentlemen. I gave my blood willingly. If not, she didn't want it, was on the verge of refusing it until I convinced her that yes, I wanted to spill a few drops
of my blood to stop the horrors of this dead zone from spreading any farther. We all spilled blood, all of us who participated in the building of this wall. And this sorceress took less than any physic ever bled from me for fever.

“I am a conjurer. My spirits, my familiars have always refused to remain in the vicinity of a dead zone, or to work magic nearby. But the instant the blood—shared from wizard, alchemist, conjurer, and sorcerer, and mixed into the water and earth of alchemy—the instant it was dripped onto the stones where I drew my sigils, the fear left the spirits.

“It was as if the blood protected them. Strengthened them. Enabled them to do what I asked of them.” Grey's voice grew stronger, louder, filled with passion and power. “And you have the stupidity to want to destroy this magic? You are madmen!”

At Grey's accusation, the shouting began again. Amanusa realized her hands were twisted together and forced them to relax, to lower to waist level. She couldn't make them let go completely, but she could stop twisting them.

Archaios, the investigator, jumped to his feet. “I propose—” he shouted, and half the mob quieted instantly. Cranshaw's group kept shouting for her head.

Gathmann's hammering and a subtle reordering of the Massileans got them quiet. Archaios stepped up to the podium as Grey gave graceful way.

“I propose that Mrs. Greyson be pardoned for any and all crimes that she may be accused of on the grounds that sorcery cannot be lost to us again,” Archaios cried.

What?
What were they doing?

“I second,” someone shouted from the heart of the chamber.

“What about my men?” Szabo jumped to his feet from a chair in the center of the front row. “What about the men she murdered? Left lying in the dirt with blood running from their mouths, their noses, their eyes. Twenty-three men with blood on their fingernails and their privates! What about them?”

“Vote!” Harry shouted. Others took it up.

“No.” Amanusa whirled on Harry. “You think I did it, don't you? You think I murdered those men.”

She ran for the dais and began to climb. “I demand an investigation,” she cried. “I murdered no one.
Justice is not murder.
”

The hall fell silent again as everyone stared at her, bewildered. Those in front told those behind, who hadn't heard, what was happening.

“She has the right.” Vaillon stepped forward from where he'd followed her onto the platform. “She has the right to insist on a hearing. A proper investigation.”

“And who will testify to the truth?” Kazaryk said. “The only ones still living who were present are this woman and her cicisbeo. They will not give us the truth.”

Amanusa mounted the last few steps to the top of the dais and stalked to the edge of the platform. “Blood never lies.” She stared out at the crowd, at Kazaryk and Szabo. “Even you, who have forgotten like the rest of the world what sorcery truly is, even you know this.
Blood never lies.
”

She looked down at her accusers on the floor before her. “And innocent blood will cry out for justice.
These men accuse me. Very well.” She looked out at the conclave. “Let us see what the blood says. Let it tell us the truth.”

“You are the only sorceress,” Cranshaw shouted. “What guarantee do we have that you will tell us the truth of what the blood shows you? That you won't just use your magic to murder these men like you did the others, or enslave them for your evil purposes?”

“I have murdered no one. I have enslaved no one.” Amanusa looked at the Hungarians again. “Can you say the same?”

Szabo fidgeted, unable to meet her eye. Who would have believed the man still had a conscience? Kazaryk only glared.

Once more she looked out at the gathered magicians. “I can bring neutral witnesses into the magic to observe. It will not require any of the witnesses' blood, and only a drop from those who claim to be innocent victims.”

“Who would volunteer for such black magic?” Cranshaw cried.

“I.” Louis Vaillon stepped forward on the dais. “I will volunteer. As representative of the Emperor Louis Napoleon of France, I will stand as witness.”

“Accepted.” Gathmann pounded the gavel down, trying to take back control. “Two witnesses are required. The other must be a magician, to represent the conclave.”

“I'll volunteer.” Harry's offer and Grey's came simultaneously.

“They worked magic with her yesterday.” Cranshaw was turning several unattractive colors in his
outrage. “Who's to say she didn't bind more than the wall? They're her allies. They'd say anything.”

“Cranshaw has a point,” Gathmann said. He looked over the crowd. “Do we have any other volunteers?”

Archaios, standing a few steps away from Amanusa, tensed, as if debating the issue, but before he could make his decision, someone called from the floor.

“I will do it.” Antonio Rosato, the Italian wizard, stepped into the aisle and made his way forward. “I saw this lady risk her own life yesterday to save the life of a man she did not know. I do not believe she has murdered anyone. She will not harm me. I will join in this magic.”