Page 38 of Ravenous Prophecy
Elaine dutifully gathered all the pages and fragments from the manuscript scattered on the cushions, stacking them neatly and slipping them back into her enchanted jacket pocket. I needed to get me one of those. Would it fit a full sword? A rocket launcher? What could we use to fight the Hive, anyway?
Renewed energy thrummed through the room. It was reassuring, practically seeing our spirits lifting even despite the ruined state of Bradley’s apartment, this very real evidence of JA Williams’s willingness to make life difficult for his enemies.
Bristling with vigor, we headed toward the entrance. As I threw the door open, I immediately froze, staring at the squad of six or so people standing before me. They stared back. The uptight style of dress, those smug looks, the enchanted sidearms that peeked out of their holsters—MEA agents.
Fuck.
Nicoletta Falcón strutted out of the crowd. She swept her gaze across the wreckage of Bradley’s apartment, then over our ragtag gang of misfits, fixing us firmly with a solid look of disgust. Then she turned her eye exclusively on me, the laser beam of her glare so fierce it reduced me to a speck of dirt on the carpet.
“Whatever your plans are, cancel them. You’re all under arrest.”
CHAPTER 14
BRADLEY
“Nicoletta Falcón,this is harassment. You’ve already questioned my client about the murders, and he’s explained his lack of involvement,” Lambert Senior said. As the first Lambert of Lambert, Lambert & Scott, he was a fierce legal advocate, and I rarely got to see him in action. The closest I ever came was usually at Father’s company holiday parties, when he got competitive with his wife—the second Lambert of Lambert, Lambert & Scott—over the correct way to make a gingerbread martini.
“Mister Brooks, you’re paying a very expensive lawyer.” Falcón tapped an unlit cigarette on the desk, a few stray shreds of tobacco falling loose. “For a man who claims he didn’t do anything wrong.”
Before I could answer, Lambert held up his hand, and I bit the inside of my lips until I tasted blood. My knee was nearly vibrating the table, and I dropped one of my hands to it, pressing down hard until I stopped moving.
“My client has already answered all of your questions regarding the murders, Director Falcón, so unless you haveadditionalspecificquestions you would like him to answer, we’re going to be leaving.” Lambert stood, and I followed, my knees jostling the table, nearly tripping on my own chair as I tried to catch myself.
“Sit down,” Falcón said. “I didn’t say anything about murders. This is about theft, magic exposure to mundanes, and assault with a magical weapon.”
Gaping at her, I stuttered, “What? I have noidea—They attackedfirst—Are you suggesting?—”
This time, Lambert actually reached out and grabbed my arm, which was so startling I found myself frozen in place long enough for him to say, “Those are very grave accusations, Director. I assume you have some sort of evidence to corroborate that?”
“Oh we have evidence.” Falcón tossed a disk onto the table, then opened a file folder containing a sheaf of papers. “If you and your client will sit down, Lambert?”
With narrowed eyes, Lambert sat, tugging me down with him, but his fingers were so tight on my arm, I could practically hear him saying,Not a word, Bradley. And perhaps I had gained telepathy as well as the ability to control minds under Hive influence? I found myself struggling to breathe, struggling to think. Only a few hours earlier, we’d been fighting the Hive. Again!
Methodically, Falcón took out a portion of the papers, lining the edges up with the side of the desk, her forefinger nudging the pile into place. “These are witness statements frommundanes at one of JA Williams’s clubs downtown. They saw two men using magic. Exposing magical practices is a felony at best. At worst, it’s a crime that gets your client thrown into anMEA black ops site and you disbarred for assisting in the offense.”
Lambert picked up one of the sheets of paper, examining it. As he read, Falcón took out another stack of paper, putting it next to the first. “This is a victim statement from JA Williams, accusing your client of stealing an ancient Hive text from him. It’s corroborated by video.”
She laid the disk on top of the pile. “And also by his employees’ statements.”
When she saw she had Lambert’s attention again, she pulled out the last stack. “This is the report we just got a few hours ago, along with another victim statement from one Kane Smith. Another mundane. Another felony for those of us keeping track.”
Her tight smile showed that shewaskeeping track.
“Nicoletta.” Lambert put down the papers. “You still haven’t charged my client with anything. We’re still just having a conversation. While it’s interesting that you have nice, neat statements from lovely members of the mundane population, none of them identify the perpetrator as my client. None of them even accurately describe him. This one describes ‘a tall man, looked like Ryan Reynolds. You know Deadpool? Like him.’” Lambert let the sentence hang. “Are you suggesting that description is supposed to represent my client?”
Falcón’s lip twisted up. “We still have the video.”
“You and I both know how easy it would be to falsify a video like that. How easy it would be toadjustwhat was seen. Now I think that this has been a lovely witch hunt, but my client is under no obligation to continue listening to this slander.” Lambert raised an eyebrow, and Falcónsmirked. “What if you and I step outside for a few minutes to work out the release paperwork?”
In answer, Falcón stood, and they stepped out of the room, shoes echoing as they walked down the hallway. I was sure that Lambert only wanted out of the room because my reactions were too obvious. I’d too clearly known exactly what Falcón was referring to when she’d started talking about the fights. I was much more likely to say something I would regret with her in the room, looking frightening and threatening.
An MEA agent stepped inside, his back to the door, glaring at me. He silently scowled, and I bit my lip harder to keep from saying something regrettable. Before I could, the door opened again, and I stood in relief. Lambert was nothing if notefficient.
Only Lambert wasn’t there.
“Bradley Brooks,” JA Williams greeted me. “I thought we should talk.”
He was at least as tall as Griffin, but where the latter was muscled and had hands competent from working, Williams was wider, his white hair slicked back, his suit so expensive that even my father might have looked askance at the price tag. He had skin smoothed from both mundane plastic surgery and magical enhancement, and as expensive as both had been, they couldn’t wipe away the unnatural smoothness.
