Siren Song (Blood Singer #2)

Siren Song (Blood Singer #2) Page 24

We were spared further conversation as the bailiff came in and announced the judge. The prosecutor stepped back behind his table as we all rose for the Honorable Sarah Jacobsen to take the bench.

Once she took her seat, the prosecutor made his announcement about dropping the charges. Judge Jacobsen immediately asked the attorneys to approach the bench, and it didn’t take vampire hearing to catch the gist of the conversation. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one bit. Governor, president, king, or no, she wanted me locked up somewhere far, far away from vulnerable humans and she did not appreciate the fact that people higher up the food chain were usurping her judicial authority.

She motioned the men back to their seats and stared at me for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. “Ms. Graves. The prosecutor has asked to dismiss the charges against you based on what, in my opinion, are political threats from people who have no business interfering in this case.”

Shouts and swearing erupted from the gallery behind me and I was suddenly very glad no weapons or magic was allowed in the room.

“While I might not have the power to change the prosecutor’s mind and press this case forward, I most certainly can take testimony from the experts already identified by both parties to satisfy myself that you are not a danger to yourself or others.”

Shit. This had taken a rather nasty turn. I might not go to jail, but there was suddenly the very real possibility I could still be committed and I might not be in a position to choose to return to Birchwoods.

“I will allow prosecution and defense ten minutes to confer with your experts. The question is whether Ms. Graves, in her current condition, can be a productive member of society without endangering the citizenry.” She banged a gavel on the bench while glaring daggers at me. “Court is recessed until ten thirty.”

Roberto leaned over and whispered next to my ear as the rest of the room erupted in chaos, “She’s already prejudiced against you. It’ll be easy to overturn it on appeal, no matter what she rules.”

My jaw dropped and my skin started glowing again. “And what am I supposed to do until then, Roberto? Sit in the cage like a good dog, hoping someone will spring me before they bring in the needle?”

He looked at me seriously, his eyes filled with pain. “I’ll do the best I can, Celia. You know that. Can we count on Dr. Scott’s testimony on your behalf? I know he isn’t your treating psychiatrist, but he has credentials Dr. Hubbard doesn’t, and from what I saw during depositions Ann Hubbard will make a terrible witness. You told me therapy has been going well.”

I bit at my lower lip, puncturing it with a fang and making myself wince. “I think you should call Dr. Hubbard anyway. Dr. Scott isn’t . . . happy with me right now.”

My apologetic look didn’t help much. Roberto sighed. “No. Never mind . We’ll go with Professor Sloan.”

Ten minutes goes really fast when you’re listening to people deciding your fate. Before I knew it, the gavel was banging again. I let out a little yelp, but I don’t think anyone other than Roberto noticed. “Mr. Rodriguez, you have ten minutes to make your case.”

A slender woman, dressed in an electric blue skirt set, approached the bench. She was not channeling Ms. Bush. Her heels were at least three inches high and the skirt length wouldn’t have been acceptable by my high school dress code. The witness bench hid most of the show, so all she offered the audience was a tasteful electric blue jacket and white shirt, with pearls, beneath shining auburn hair. Nifty.

Rodriguez apparently didn’t like being timed, because his words came out less smooth and polished than I expected. “Could you state your name for the record?”

“Jessica Marloe.”

“And what is your occupation, Ms. Marloe?”

“It’s Dr. Marloe. I’m a protective therapist at the California State Paranormal Treatment Facility.”

She was one of the guards at the state facility!

“Do you have any experience with vampires, Dr. Marloe?”

“I have studied vampires extensively and in a previous position worked on research into reversing the vampiric process.”

“Could you please tell the Court what success you had with that?”

“We had no success, unfortunately. Once a person is turned, the process always leads to loss of higher brain function and increasing violence until we’re forced to take measures to protect our other patients.” Meaning, they’re put down. I hadn’t been kidding with my comment about a cage and needle.

The testimony went no better for the remainder of the ten minutes and concluded with Dr. Marloe’s conviction that I was a ticking time bomb. I was sure I was done for. But I’d underestimated Roberto. He’d been taking notes the whole time Marloe was talking and stood smoothly when it was time for cross-examination.

“Dr. Marloe, have you ever treated a siren in your facility?”

She looked at him like he was an annoying fly. “No, of course not. There are very few sirens in existence.”

Now it was Roberto who raised his brows. “But surely you’ve read about other cases of sirens in state treatment facilities? Yes?”

She shook her head. “No. There’s never been a siren in a treatment facility.”

He leaned on the edge of the box. “Really? Never? Nowhere in the world? That seems odd, even considering the small population of full- and partial-blooded sirens. Why do you suppose that is?”

She turned on the icy glare. “I have no idea.”

“Could it possibly be because sirens are unique in their mental stability? After all, in order to manipulate a person’s mind, wouldn’t they have to have a great deal of mental strength and intelligence?”

“I . . .” She paused. “I can’t say one way or the other.”

He nodded and looked expressively at the judge before turning his attention to the doctor again. “In the course of your education, you’ve studied most manners of preternatural . . . creatures?”

“Of course.”

“Then are you willing to certify to this court that you’ve studied the physiology and psychology of sirens, even if you’ve never actually treated one or read about the treatment of one?”

Marloe made an odd face. “Well, I know as much as can be known. They’re a highly secretive society and international law prohibits infringement on their territory.”

“Because they can manipulate people’s minds, right? That is, after all, what this case is about.”

I bit at my lip again and let out a muttered swear when I tasted blood. Damn fangs. Where was he going with this?

“Yes, that’s correct.”

She was glaring at me as though daggers were going to shoot out of her eyes. Roberto noticed. “You don’t like my client much, do you, Doctor?”

Her chin went high and haughty. “I don’t even know her.”

“But you think the world would be safer if she was behind bars. Yes?”

Um . . . Roberto? You’re on my side, right? I struggled with everything I had not to move or show my panic.

“I do.”

He scratched the side of his nose lightly. “Doctor, isn’t it true that most fertile women who meet sirens hate them? Want them put behind bars or sent away?”

“Well, it’s not the way you say it—”

He pounced like a cat on a mouse, putting his face inches from hers in classic Perry Mason style. “Really? Because I could have sworn that my preternatural expert told me that sirens can’t influence postmenopausal women, or prepubescent children, or gay men, and that fertile women find them to be a threat. It’s an involuntary emotional reaction that causes the woman to work against the siren. Is that correct?’

Marloe looked at the prosecutor, the judge, the spectators, Roberto—everywhere but at me. Roberto prompted her, “Please remember you’re under oath, Doctor.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “Well, of course, there are exceptions to a siren’s influence. The siren’s psychic call primarily appeals to a certain demographic—”

Roberto kept talking, right over her. “Exceptions like men over sixty and men with vasectomies and even ordinary men who wear magically created charms that prevent them from being affected by that influence. Is that correct?”

She shrugged and shifted in her chair. Her fingers were nibbling at her skirt now and she was having trouble meeting his eyes. Her voice went soft. “Yes, I suppose.”

He stood up to his full height, turned toward the gallery, and spoke without looking at her. He ticked his points off on his fingers as he went. Marloe couldn’t see, but the judge could. “So, what you’re really saying is that Celia cannot affect all senior citizens, all young children, all gay men, all sterilized men, and around half of the women in this great big world. The remaining men might be affected by the Defendant, provided they don’t have a charm to prevent it, and the remaining women will actively work against her rather than do her bidding. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper now, her eyes firmly on the floor in front her. I stole a glance at the prosecutor. His jaw muscle was bulging from clenching his teeth so tight.

The judge squirmed, clearly affected by Roberto’s argument. “The prosecution’s ten minutes are up. As are defense’s.”

“Your Honor . . . ,” Roberto began to protest. We hadn’t had a chance to put on our witness after all. But the judge cut him off with a glare. She stood up and picked up a thick file. “The witness will step down. Court will recess for thirty minutes while I consider the evidence.”

For the next half hour, I sat on my uncomfortable wooden chair trying to look inoffensive and harmless while conversations buzzed all around me. People were flat out calling one side or the other idiots. To add to the confusion, a flock of gulls had lined the window ledges outside the courtroom. They were just sitting, staring in at us . . . like tiny, white-winged vultures.