Page 88 of Hart's Redemption

“Somehow that’s not a comfort.”

“Perhaps the fact that it is by Hyacinth Van Helsing herself will put your mind at ease.”

“And yet, it doesn’t.” Hyacinth hadn’t been seen or heard from since she’d fallen prey to her own family’s twisted warpath. “Tell me he’s safe.”

“Your partner is safe. I will not let what happened before happen again. Also, I would recommend that you refrain from eating lest you lose your stomach contents when you retake the stand tomorrow.”

I raised my head to look at Lombardi. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. It seems your mother has caused quite a stir and, in her arrogance, confessed to substantially more than her original charges, namely her involvement with what happened on Klamath territory, among a few others,” Lombardi finished tactfully. I filed that tidbit away and wiped my mouth again.

“Will they be returning me to the Pit?”

“I assume so. Rest well, Joshua. You will need your strength tomorrow.”

I nodded and watched as Theodore Lombardi was led out of my cell and into the temple proper. As he made his way through the room, people stepped aside to allow him passage, instinctively giving way to a more dangerous predator, though I doubted a one of them was aware of their subconscious response to the unassuming lawyer.

They didn’t take me back to the Pit.

Rest was a long time coming with the constant flow of bodies coming and going through the temple, but when it claimed me at last, I sank blissfully into its embrace. It took a soldier shaking me awake the following morning to finally rouse me. I groggily sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. My back ached from being forced to sleep on the unforgiving bench, and my mouth tasted vile from falling asleep after being sick.

The world offered a minor mercy in the form of a glass of tepid water. I swished the liquid in my mouth and spat it out before passing the glass back to the soldier who had offered it, mindful of Lombardi’s warning. This time when I was hauled to my feet, no spelled cuffs were forthcoming. As one, my paltry half a dozen guards and I exited the cell and made our way to the courtroom for what could be the last time.

The room fell silent as I entered. The soldiers didn’t take me to my customary seat, though. They led me to the witness chair, then hovered in the background once I was seated. My gaze wandered over the panel and the mix of faces there. The display of unity among races and species was nothing more than a facade, and thanks to the substantial media coverage, the whole world knew it.

The world will learn a lot more before this farce is through.

I shifted my focus to where Elijah sat, gripping the banister for all he was worth. My spirits lifted at seeing him, even though he looked as haggard and strung out as I felt. One day I hoped to pay him back for the light he’d brought to my life, even if it was just a matter of letting him live out his without me.

Camilla Hightower approached the chair once more. Her tenacity somewhat dimmer than when this whole disaster had started. She started slowly, reiterating the same questions as before in order to establish a baseline, until at last we arrived at the question that had shattered everyone’s expectations.

“Detective Hart, do you hate lycanthropes?”

“No. I do not hate werewolves. I never have.” The declarative statement was met with soft murmurs that quickly died down.

Hightower pointed across the room to where my spiteful mother sat like a queen awaiting petitioners. “Is this woman your biological mother?”

“Beatrice Harker may have given birth to me, but she has in no way ever acted like a mother.”

“That’s quite the statement,” Hightower mused aloud as she paced before me. “On what grounds do you make it?”

I turned my attention to the prosecutor, a little impressed by her approach. She had clearly done her homework and adapted her tactics admirably. “I imagine most mothers don’t beat their children fornotwanting to kill something.”

“Are you implying that your mother was abusive?”

“I’m not implying. I’m saying outright that the first time my mother hit me I was less than five years old and had said a wolf was pretty.”

Murmurs multiplied like weeds, and several glances found their way to the haughty Beatrice Harker, who didn’t appear apologetic in the least. Unfazed, Camilla pressed onward. “Did you lie about your age on your application to join the Lycan Detective program in order to further your family’s ancestral mission?”

“I didn’t lie about my age.”

Hightower made a sweeping gesture, and my original application appeared on the screen for all to see. “Really?Because it says right here that you are claiming to be eighteen years of age. Are you defining a lie some other way?”

She had definitely done her homework. “I personally did not lie about my age, nor have I ever. Anyone who asked would have learned the truth. Director Starling, then Lycan Detective Starling, was the first such person to do so, and I told her the truth.”

“Then how do you justify the lie clearly entered on your application?”

I looked at Hightower, then steadily met the collective gaze of the enraptured panel. “I didn’t submit the application.”