Succubus Revealed (22 page)

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Authors: Richelle Mead

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #General, #Fiction

BOOK: Succubus Revealed
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I nodded and felt my heart lurch as I sealed his fate. “Er, yes. Yes, your honor. I’d like him as my lawyer.”
There was a murmur of disapproval throughout the courtroom. Carter slapped Roman encouragingly on the back and then went to find a seat in the gallery. Roman took the empty chair beside me. He was a sharp contrast to Marcel. Roman had no briefcase, not even a single piece of paper, and was still wearing the clothes he’d had on earlier: jeans and a sweater.
“What are you doing?” I hissed to him, grateful for the cover of the other voices. “This is suicide!”
“You didn’t really think I’d abandon you to them, did you?” he asked. “And who knows your case better than me?”
“They’ll kill you when it’s over, whether I win or lose.”
Roman gave me a lopsided smile. “ ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do—’ ”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I said, afraid I was going to start crying. “You’re an idiot. You shouldn’t have come here.”
“You remember our talk about purpose and meaning?” he asked me, the smile disappearing. “Well, I think this might be mine. I think this is what I was meant to do, Georgina.”
“Roman—”
But there was no time for any more conversation. Judge Hannibal was banging the gavel—this time, sans thunder—trying to calm everyone down. They were still worked up about the idea of a nephilim walking freely in their midst.
“Enough, enough,” Hannibal said. “I know we’re all shocked and awed, but get over it. We’ll deal with him later. If there’s no more drama in store, do you mind if we get started?” He glanced between the lawyers.
“I’m ready when you are, your honor,” said Marcel.
Roman nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 19
 
A
nd so began my day in court.
Despite Hannibal’s call for order, it was obvious that everyone was still fixated on Roman’s presence. I’d known nephilim were despised among greater immortals, but it wasn’t until today that the full scope of it hit me. It shed new light on why Roman and his kind were often so obsessed with getting back at the powers that be. I wondered if it was good to have some of the attention taken off me or if I’d just doomed myself further by association.
“So,” said Judge Hannibal. “You’ve got some kind of gripe with your contract. Join the club.” Low chuckles from the demonic spectators rumbled around the room.
Roman cleared his throat, silencing the chuckles. “Your honor, we have more than a ‘gripe.’ We have evidence that Hell not only violated her contract but also drew up another under false pretenses.”
“That’s absurd,” said Marcel. “We can’t examine everyone in the world’s contract. If someone else has a problem, they can have their own trial.”
“The other contract is for a human who’s still alive,” said Roman. “He’s in no position to file a claim, and his was tied in to the paperwork that brought hers to court.”
Hannibal waved his hands dismissively. “Well, we haven’t even proved there’s anything wrong with hers, so let’s settle that before we start doing favors for others.”
“Can we see her contract?” asked Roman.
“Doris?” Hannibal glanced over at the woman with the laptop. She produced a heavy, metal box from underneath her desk with what appeared to be a numeric lock. After first consulting her laptop, she punched in a long series of digits. Smoke seeped out of the edges of the box. A moment later, she opened it up and produced a long, ornate scroll. She glanced at the judge.
“Copies?”
“Yes, please,” he told her.
Doris repeated the procedure a couple more times, and I leaned toward Roman. “How does this work?” I whispered. “Isn’t there some kind of order? Doesn’t the prosecution go first?”
“Maybe in an American court of law,” he whispered back. “Here? Everyone just gets out their argument when they can, and it’s up to the judge to keep order.”
It surprised me. Considering the obsession with details around here, I would’ve expected a certain amount of painstaking procedure. Then again, a survival-of-the-fittest method of pushing your case wasn’t that out of line with Hell’s ideologies either.
Scrolls were obtained for the judge and lawyers. Even though it was a copy, I was still a bit daunted when Roman spread the scroll out before us on the table. This was it, the contract that had bound my immortal soul. One small decision with centuries of consequences. It was written in English, and I supposed Doris’s magic scroll copy box must have the powers of translation since the original had been in Greek.
“May I direct your attention to section 3A,” said Roman loudly. In a softer voice, he added to me, “The rest is pretty much standard Hell legalese.”
It was true. The scroll was so big, we couldn’t open it in its entirety. From what I could see, most of it was a painfully detailed description of what it meant to serve as a succubus and give Hell the lease on your soul. In their defense, there wasn’t much they’d left out. I hadn’t read the full contract at the time. Niphon had summarized the high points for me, but it was impossible to say they didn’t let you know what you were in for. Fortunately, those technicalities weren’t our concern today.
Roman read aloud:
 
“In exchange for ownership of the aforementioned soul (see sections 1B, 4A, 4B, 5B part 1, 5B part 2, and appendix 574.3) and services detailed below (see sections 3A, 3B, 6A-F, 12C) as performed by the contractee (henceforth called ‘the Damned’), the almighty Kingdom of Hell and its representatives do agree to the following:
1.
Granting to the Damned of succubus powers described in sections 7.1A and 7.3A.
2.
All mortals who were acquainted with the Damned in her human life shall have all knowledge of her erased from their memories, never to be regained, in accordance with standard memory loss procedures (see appendix 23).”
Roman looked up at the judge when he finished reading. “Now,” said Roman. “I can read appendix 23 if you want, but the point is that Hell did not honor part of their agreement. Someone she knew when she was human—a mortal—remembered her.”
“Why wasn’t this raised back then?” asked Hannibal.
“Because it happened a couple months ago,” said Roman. “The person in question is someone with a reincarnation contract who was alive then and today.”
“If this person was reincarnated, then the point’s irrelevant,” said Marcel. “It’s not technically the same person anymore. Therefore, the contract stands.”
“Not according to addendum 764 of the
Treatise on Humanity
,” said Roman. “According to it, all individuals—humans and lesser immortals—are defined by their souls. No matter what shape that being takes, the soul remains constant, as does the individual’s identity. I’m sure Doris can produce a copy if we need it.”
Doris looked at Hannibal expectantly. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I’m familiar with the
Treatise
. Okay. Operating under the assumption that souls are constant and individuals are defined by their souls, what proof do you have that this reincarnated individual remembered the petitioner here?”
I expected Roman to say something and then realized he was waiting on me. It was still hard to wrap my head around the idea of everyone just jumping forward and speaking.
“He called me by my name, your honor,” I said. “My first human name from the fifth century. The one he knew me as back then.”
“Had he ever heard it before—in this lifetime?” prompted Roman.
“No,” I said.
“Did anyone witness this?” asked Marcel.
“No,” I said.
“I see,” he said, managing to make me feel very small with those two words. His tone implied that it was a miracle we’d even made it this far on such flimsy evidence.
“It’s okay,” said Roman. “Because we have more. This same reincarnated subject revealed under hypnosis remembering her in several other lives.”
“Are there witnesses to
that?
” asked Hannibal.
“We both witnessed it,” said Roman. “As well as an imp employed in Seattle. Hugh Mitchell. He was the one who actually performed the hypnosis, if you wanted to summon him.”
I tensed. Hugh was certainly an airtight witness—seeing as he wasn’t the petitioner in this case or a creature despised by both Heaven and Hell—but my earlier apprehension for him returned. I didn’t know if he could get in trouble for providing key evidence.
“We don’t need him,” said Marcel. “You and he witnessed the same thing?”
I nodded.
Marcel glanced over at the jury. “You can tell if she’s lying. Is she telling the truth?”
Six heads nodded. I was surprised I hadn’t thought of this earlier. Angels could tell if mortals and lesser immortals were telling the truth. That was handy in a trial like this. I was also surprised Marcel was helping me out like this.
“There you have it,” he said. “She thinks she heard the subject remembering her under hypnosis. We can assume this imp would believe it as well.”
“Hey,” I argued. “There’s no ‘thinks’ about it. He
did
remember me.”
Marcel shrugged. “If you say so. We can only take your word for it and what you
think
you heard. There’s no objective evidence to show that he remembered, therefore calling our part of the bargain into dispute.”
“Oh, we can find the evidence,” said Roman. “The subject in question is also under contract. And the very nature of his contract contradicts hers. Can you bring it up, Doris?”
Hannibal nodded his consent, and she turned to her laptop. “Name?”
“Kyriakos,” I said, trying not to stumble over the word. “That’s what it was in the fifth century, at least. In Cyprus. Today he’s Seth Mortensen.”
The judge arched an eyebrow. “I like his books. Didn’t realize he was one of ours.”
“Well, he’s not yet,” I muttered.
Doris meanwhile was typing away on her laptop, putting in the appropriate criteria. She must have found the right case number because she soon turned to the smoking metal box and produced three more scrolls. The copies were distributed, and a strange feeling crept over my skin as Roman opened this one, stranger even than when we’d viewed my own. Here it was. Seth’s contract. Kyriakos’s contract. It had existed unbeknownst to me all these years, subtly influencing my life. It had been made because of me. Roman again jumped to section 2, which was apparently consistent across contracts as far as what “the Damned” received.
“ ‘The Damned shall be granted a total of ten human lives, of which one has already taken place. The subsequent nine reincarnations shall occur in such times and places that he may be in proximity to the lover he believes is missing from his first life, in the hopes of reconciliation. Upon completion of the tenth life, the Damned’s soul will become the property of Hell, in accordance with sections 8D, 9A, and 9B.’ ”
Roman fell silent, a frown on his face. I too felt dismayed but didn’t think we shared the same reasons. Without Seth confirming anything, we’d been unsure if his soul was damned or not, regardless of his success in finding me. I’d half hoped that Hell had given him some fairy-tale challenge, that if he could find and reunite with me, his soul would be restored to him. That apparently wasn’t true. Hell had only offered him the chance to be with me. They’d given him no more than that. If we made amends, his soul belonged to them, the same as if we didn’t. Our romantic outcome made no difference. I wondered if he had bargained for more or had been so desperate and grateful for the chance to simply be with me again that he hadn’t even asked for more.
Marcel smiled. “I see Letha mentioned nowhere in here. There was no violation of the terms of her contract.”
“But obviously someone knew,” said Roman. “You must have a record of all of his lives. He’s encountered her in each one of them. So someone, somewhere made sure that part of the contract was fulfilled—his reunion with the missing ‘lover’ from his first life. Her. Whom he was supposed to forget, per the terms of her contract. They contradict each other.”
Roman spoke confidently, laying his points out reasonably, but I could sense the uneasiness within him. I knew what the hanging point was—the same point Marcel had promptly jumped on. I wasn’t cited by name here. Somewhere, there had to be a record of it if Hell had managed to let Seth be reborn near me each time, but we didn’t know what that was. Hell certainly wasn’t going to help us find it.
“It could be a coincidence,” said Marcel. “Maybe he met someone else in his first life whom he fell in love with, someone whom he lost young and continued to seek in the following centuries.”
“Someone else who was immortal and would be alive for the next fifteen hundred years?” asked Roman. “That’s an awfully big coincidence.”
Marcel looked smug. “Be that as it may, Letha is not mentioned anywhere in his contract. Everything’s circumstantial at best, with no proof that Hell entered into this under false pretenses.”
A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I began attempting to unroll the scroll, seeking a very specific piece of information. There were so many sections, subsections, articles, and clauses, however, that I couldn’t make any sense of it.
“Who drafted this?” I asked Roman. “Shouldn’t whoever brokered the deal be listed?”
“Section 27E,” said Roman automatically.
I paused to give him an incredulous glance. “How do you know that?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last week?” he asked, by way of answer.
He helped me find the appropriate section, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the name I’d been hoping for. Just to be sure, I found the matching section in my own contract. Roman, spying what I had, immediately ran with it.
“Your honor, these contracts were brokered by the same imp. Niphon. He had to have known they conflicted with each other. He had to have known that Letha was the lover Kyriakos was seeking.”
“He didn’t ‘have to have known’ anything,” countered Marcel. “It could be a coincidence.”
“Well, let’s get him in here and find out,” said Roman.
Hannibal considered this for several seconds. I got the distinct impression that he most definitely did not want to summon Niphon, but some of the angels in the jury were regarding him expectantly. If this were truly a fair trial, with evidence laid neatly out, then there was no reason not to bring in a key witness like Niphon.
“Very well,” said Hannibal. He looked over to the guy in the nice suit, the one who’d opened proceedings. I’d taken him for some kind of classy bailiff. “Go get him. We’ll call a ten-minute recess while you do.” Hannibal banged his gavel, and conversation buzzed as the bailiff hurried out of the room.
I leaned toward Roman. “Niphon knows. He has to know. Did I ever tell you the full story of when he came to visit last year?”

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