Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set (80 page)

“I’m surprised you managed to tear yourself away from your video games,” I say, watching with barely disguised disgust as he licks his fingers and then smears his greasy hand on his shirt.

“You can only kill so many alien demons in one day,” he says. “Besides, I’ve always been interested in the law.”

Subconsciously, my head cocks to the side. Although I’ve asked about Tillman’s past plenty of times before, he’s never been particularly forthcoming. I don’t even know how old he is. I’m almost afraid that if I prod too hard, he’ll clam up like he usually does. So instead I simply murmur, “Mm-hmm.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I was in law school before all of this.”

He could’ve admitted he was really a dark and powerful sorcerer and I wouldn’t be any more stunned. Somehow I can’t imagine Huckle opening a book, much less reading it. He never seemed like the studious type. And law school is supposed to be wickedly hard, right? “Wow,” I say, which pretty much sums up my thoughts.

“I was killing it, too,” he says. “Straight A’s through three semesters.”

I shake my head, not because I don’t believe him, but because Tillman Huckle doesn’t lie. Sometimes the truth is way crazier than even the most vivid imaginations. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

“That your life got interrupted.” He should be more than halfway through law school, preparing to take the Bar Exam and start his new life in the legal world, not selling magical weapons to a bunch of desperate humans fighting a war they have little chance of winning.

He laughs, half-choking on a popcorn flower that pops—no pun intended—from his mouth. “I wouldn’t go back to that endless boredom for all the money in the universe,” he says. “I’ll take a world where every day could be my last, over a world where people sue the crap out of each other just because the law will allow it.”

Like I said, Huckle surprises me every time I see him. I never would’ve expected him to have such strong opinions on…well, on anything.

I turn away, because it appears the trial is about ready to start. We’re in a patch of empty ground between the other spectators; of course, the humans and magic-born are sitting on opposing sides. The empty space beside me seems to darken; it would typically be filled by Laney, Hex, and Bil Nez. Can’t think about them now, I tell myself.

Xave sits toward the front, on the Necros’ side, as one of the witnesses to the crime. Mr. Jackson will represent the victim, while Cameron Hardy sits with the accused. I spoke with both of them before the trial and we agreed the basics: a short trial, three witnesses each, questioned by both “lawyers,” followed by questioning of each of the accused. The woman, whose name is Lindy Jones, will be tried for second-degree murder, an unpremeditated crime of anger, while her husband, Arnold Jones, is accused of being an accomplice and accessory to the homicide, apparently having egged her on and handed her the knife that later became the murder weapon.

As the first three witnesses for the prosecution—all Necros—answer questions posed by the lawyers, it becomes clear that neither side is going to agree on the facts of the case. Although everyone says there was an accidental bump when the now-deceased Necro ran into Lindy Jones while heading toward the cook fire for breakfast, how exactly it occurred is a great cause of strife amongst the witnesses. The Necro witnesses opine that Lindy had ample time to avoid the collision, but seemed to lean into it, as if welcoming the altercation. The human witnesses refute those “filthy magic-born liars,” going so far as to say the Necro went out of his way to barge Lindy with his shoulder.

That’s the beginning of outburst number one, and it takes Floss more than ten minutes to resume order.

Outburst number two comes during a heated discussion about whether the Necro said he’d enjoy reanimating Lindy and Arnold’s unborn children after they died, or whether he said he’d kill them just so he
could
reanimate them. Either way, it wasn’t a very smart thing for the Necro to say, a fact that seems lost during the shouting match that ensues. Floss eventually shoots a shotgun into the air to maintain order. I guess that’s the witch apocalypse version of a gavel.

The final fact to argue about is the manner of the killing. Both defendants admit their hand in the murder:

According to Arnold: “I handed my Lindy that dagger so she could teach that no-good magic-born sumbitch a lesson in manners.”

According to Lindy: “I woulda stabbed that filthy mongrel ten times if they hadn’ta pulled me offa him.”

At that point, most of the Necros stand and stare at the humans with undisguised contempt and barely restrained violence. Which, of course, causes outburst number three as most of the humans draw magged up weapons.

Instead of inviting everyone to a trial, it seems I’ve created a battleground.

I stand between them while Huckle lopes awkwardly out of the line of fire.

I feel like screaming and throwing things, but I’m pretty sure that won’t help. Instead I say, “Please. This is almost over. Let’s just finish and go back to trying not to die.”

Although tensions are high, for some reason they listen, lowering themselves to the ground. Perhaps they’re as exhausted of the fighting as I am. Floss gives me a tired, but thankful look and resumes control of the proceedings. Huckle doesn’t come back to sit with me, choosing to remain in the back, away from the action. I’m tempted to join him.

The final argument is over whether the Necro attacked first, Cameron Hardy using a classic self-defense plea as his rationale for the killing. “You see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he says in closing, “these two upstanding citizens were clearly just protecting themselves from imminent harm.”

Mr. Jackson, having thrown his dark hood back in what I expect is an attempt to humanize himself to the human jurors, closes with, “The facts of the case clearly point to murder. The victim was stabbed in the back, as evidenced by the puncture wound you’ve all seen on the body. The two so-called defendants suffered no bodily harm and there was no evidence of self-defense, other than the made-up stories of the witnesses and their lawyer. I ask the jury to seek justice for the victim and I ask the court to punish the accused accordingly. Thank you.”

Floss quickly cuts off any further arguments from either side with another blast from her gavel-shotgun. “Uh. What now?” she says, finding me in the crowd.

“The jury,” I mouth to her.

“Yes, of course. Now the jury will, uh, get together and…discuss things.” Her fingers twitch at the air. “I mean, deliberate. Yeah, the jury has to deliberate.”

Although all ten jurors are sent off to a semi-private area walled off for them, I suspect they won’t do much deliberating outside of their magic-born/human groups. Which means we’ll end up with a hung jury, rendering the entire exercise in American justice pointless.

After ten minutes, Floss checks with the jurors and comes back almost immediately with the jurors in tow. She returns to her spot in the middle, holding her shotgun threateningly with both hands, as if daring anyone to step out of line. The jurors return to opposite sides. I try to read their faces, but none of them give anything away with their expressions.

Floss says, “Have you reached a verdict?”

She looks to the Necros first. One of them steps forward and says, “We have.”

She swivels to look toward the humans. A woman with a squeaky voice says, “Yes, Your Honor,” which makes Floss smirk.

“Good, hit me with it,” she says.

The Necro spokesman gestures toward the human woman, inviting her to speak. She says, “We find the first defendant, Arnold Jones, not guilty of accessory to murder.”

While a cheer goes up from the humans, there’s a rumble amongst the Necros. A few of them stand, shaking their heads, preparing to leave this farce of a trial. Lindy and Arnold are all smiles, hugging each other.

The hubbub dies down when Floss threatens to murder them all if they don’t shut up. No one seems to believe it’s an empty threat.

The woman clears her throat, adding unnecessary suspense to a verdict that’s not in doubt in the least. “We find the second defendant, Lindy Jones, guilty of murder in the second-degree.”

A hush falls over the audience, the verdict silencing both sides. Lindy is all smiles, attempting to hug her husband in celebration. She heard what she wanted to hear—what she expected to hear. Not guilty. As Arnold pushes her away, his eyes wide with shock, she realizes the truth and her mouth opens in a snarl. “What?!” she shrieks. “I demand a retrial!” She glares at the human jurors. “You traitors. You’re an embarrassment to your own kind.” With a quickness that surprises me, she leaps past Cameron Hardy, trying to get to the jury. A couple of Floss’s witch hunter thugs manage to cut her off, holding her back. “You pigs! You filthy mongrels! I’ll kill you all for this!”

They hold her down as Floss issues the punishment. “Lindy Jones, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers.” She looks up at me for approval and I nod. “For your crime you are sentenced to life in confinement.”

“No!” she screams. “Get offa me, you bastards! You can’t do this. The filthy warlock deserved what he got. I did you all a favor.” She continues screaming similar pleas and threats as they drag her away.

On the Necro side there are handshakes and smiles. They’ve lost a brother, but justice was served. And all without me getting involved in the actual trial, other than helping to prevent the two sides from killing each other before it was over. Maybe things are turning around. Maybe the humans are coming to their senses, realizing that the Necros aren’t the enemy—that evil in general is the enemy. Maybe they won’t leave tonight, like Cameron Hardy said.

Or maybe not. When I turn my head, the humans—with the exception of Arnold Jones, who’s slumped over, his head hanging between his knees—are all smiles too. Cameron Hardy is shaking each juror’s hand, as if personally thanking them for their verdict. The other humans are patting each other on the back, as if they’ve just achieved a great victory.

Something’s not right.

Cameron Hardy notices me watching him, and leaves his people to meet me. “Well done,” he says. “You’ve helped establish a little order in a place of great chaos.”

I eye him narrowly, skeptical as to the genuineness of his congratulations. “I don’t get it,” I say.

He laughs and puts a hand on my shoulder, like we’re old friends. If there were still cameras and paparazzi, they’d capture this moment and spin it as a well-spirited reunion between rivals. I get the feeling that despite Cameron’s body language, it’s the opposite.

“If I’m to lead them to a better place, we’ll need rules. We’ll need a justice system. Riffraff like Lindy Jones have no place in the new world I want to create,” he says. “When we leave tonight, our burdens will be lighter with her left behind under your watchful care.”

It clicks. This was no trial. Although it feels like the Necros received justice, it was the exact opposite. Everything was planned well before the first witness was questioned. The jurors were always going to find Arnold not guilty and Lindy guilty, because that’s what Cameron Hardy wanted. A victory with a loss. “They hated Lindy, didn’t they?” I say.

Cameron smiles a dazzling smile. “She was not well-liked,” he admits. “In most people’s opinion she was bat-crazy with more screws loose than a hardware store run by monkeys.” Although I’m impressed by the accuracy of the comparison, I say nothing, still too angry for words. “We’ll keep her in custody until we go, then it will be up to the magic-born to carry out the sentence, although I suspect those savages will just kill her and be done with it. Anyway, the offer is still open if you’d like to join us tonight. Unfortunately we’re not willing to take any of the magic-born. They can kill each other off for all I care.”

“This is wrong,” I say. “The Claires have Seen it. They’ve shown me. You’re all going to die out there.”

Cameron laughs. “I appreciate your concern, but forgive me if I don’t believe the predictions of the magic-born,” he says, turning on his heel and walking away.

Hex

H
ex wants to trust Grogg. He wants to believe the mud troll is himself again, the delightful, entertaining, useful creature that he’s been in the past.

But what Grogg is muttering under his breath isn’t helping. To Hex, it sounds like he’s arguing with himself, carrying out both sides of a strange conversation.

“Master wants us to go away, far far away. We must listen. We must obey,” he croaks, his voice crackling with sternness.

His voice changes, and it’s higher, almost falsetto, cracking with teenage-boy pubescence at the end of each word. “No. No. Grogg doesn’t listen to Master anymore. Grogg is his own troll now.”

“Master
created
us. We were just mud and muck before Master came along. We owe her.”

“She is mean to Grogg. She makes us do bad things. Furry creature says we don’t have to listen.”

“Furry creature likes to sniff butts and chase us. What does furry creature know?”

Hex almost interrupts at that point to say it’s not his fault Grogg smells so good, but the mud troll is already responding to himself.

“Hex is our friend now. Our only friend. The panther will kill us. She will pull off our arms and legs and stuff them in our mouth. It might taste good at first, but then it will strangle us and we will return to the earth.” Something has changed on this side of the argument. The voice is stronger, more confident, and Grogg is no longer referring to Flora as ‘Master,’ only as ‘she’ or ‘the panther.’

Hex’s butterfly wings carry them closer to the mountainous area Grogg pointed out earlier.

“Master can see us!” Grogg screams, fear in his voice.

“Then stop her!” Hex barks. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand that if you want something, all you have to do is make it happen? he wonders.

“Can’t! Grogg can’t! Grogg hurts. Master squeezes. Master burns.” His words mix with a scream of pain.

“Fight her!” Hex barks, swooping back toward the ground at the foot of the hills.

“Grogg tries! Leave. Us. Alone!” he roars, and Hex feels the entire meager weight of the mud troll flop lifelessly on his back.

“Is Grogg okay?” Hex barks, setting his paws lightly on the ground. He doesn’t need his wings anymore, so they’re not there anymore. He feels Grogg slide off his back and he spins to see him, trying hard to ignore the way his tail taunts him by flicking just out of sight.

Grogg isn’t moving. He isn’t breathing either, but he doesn’t always breathe. Just when he feels like it. At least his legs and arms aren’t ripped off and stuffed down his throat, like Grogg was worried would happen.

Hex paws at him and barks a regular bark that just means, “Hey!”

Grogg’s strange eyeballs flutter. “Grogg is dead?” he asks.

“Yes,” Hex barks. “The old Grogg is dead. Say hey to the new Grogg. The free Grogg!”

“Hey, new Grogg,” Grogg says. He cocks his head to the side, as if expecting something to happen. As if waiting for something. Then he says, “Huh. No Master?”

Hex barks, “The Master is
you
now. Now let’s go chase something.”

“No,” Grogg says, and Hex chuffs. He’s never heard Grogg say ‘no’ like that, with such confidence and swagger. Like he means it.

“What do you want to do?” he barks.

Grogg says, “Let’s find your friends.”

Hex licks Grogg’s face and the mud troll doesn’t even seem to mind.