Page 68 of Pulling Strings

Taking my jacket by the lapels, he pulled me close. With deft movements, he loosened my tie and unbuttoned my shirt to let the collar slide down. The shirt closed and the tie snugged over it, a little bulky, but less obtrusive than what could hardly be dismissed as an interesting choice in neckwear.

When the guard handed Talbot the remote, the lawyer pocketed it with a sneer. “Barbaric.” He flapped his fingers at the guard. “Be gone. I’ll take it from here.”

The guard harrumphed at the dismissal but didn’t linger.

Talbot watched him go before speaking again. “Mister Farrow, it is my honor and privilege to make your acquaintance.” He dipped in a bow. “I must say you look even younger in person. You’ve lived quite a lot in your short life, hmm?”

“I guess.” The statement sounded as shaken as I felt.

Talbot cocked his head. He grabbed my arms to rub his hands up and down them. “Liven up,” he said. “And breathe, for God’s sake. You’re as pale as death.”

I didn’t doubt it. The past twenty-four hours had been one doozy after another. A shower and a nice suit could cure many ills, but I had a laundry list. Even so, the lawyer’s confidence and calm demeanor settled my nerves.

The other man leaned closer, eye to eye with me like a coach in a pre-game huddle. “I need you with me for this,” he said. “Get your dander up, all right? We’re here for a fight. I trust you know your way around those.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Better.” He squeezed my arms, then stepped back.

The other occupants of the lobby began to file out, heading toward the hall beyond the elevators, and the courtroom beyond that. Talbot followed my gaze, then gave his shimmering suit a dust off.

“Shall we?” He motioned ahead.

Before I moved, I asked, “Is there anything you need to know? From me?”

I hoped he was ready for what came next because I felt sorely unprepared. Who would give testimony? Would I be called to the stand? Interrogated? One thing Ididknow was that witch trials were notoriously brief. While humans deliberated for weeks, our court ruled in twenty-four hours or less. Whether that would work for or against me remained to be seen.

“You’d like to keep your head attached, I assume?”Talbot said.

A nervous laugh slipped out. “I prefer it that way.”

His smile returned in full force. “That’s all I need to know.”

Following my lawyer to the courtroom felt undeniably ominous. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my slacks, then raked my fingers through my hair, trying to sweep back the strands already falling in my eyes. I understood why most guys in prison shaved their heads. My blond mop required pomade and spray to avoid looking like a shaggy dog, and neither of those things came in the Thorngate welcome kit.

When we reached the wooden double doors, Talbot paused to give me a final, appraising glance. “Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, and in we went.

The gallery was full to bursting. People packed in on both sides of the center aisle, lining wooden pews. Stained glass windows streamed jewel-toned light onto the arched ceiling. It was church-like, with a makeshift congregation and an altar-esque podium where Maximus Lyle presided.

It hadn’t been silent when Talbot first pushed into the room but, as soon as I crossed the threshold, the crowd went deathly quiet.

Talbot led the way toward a table with two chairs, adjacent to an identical setup where Willem Briggs sat with a female attorney I didn’t recognize.

On the right side of the room, the jury occupied staggered seating. I dared a glance in their direction, wondering what kind of selection process this must have required. Finding a dozen people who hadn’t heard of me or the Bloody Hex, and who didn’t have opinions about which circle of hell was best equipped to house us, must have driven the Capitol to turn overevery rock in the city. Of course, they could have just asked Clyde. Marionette’s biggest fan would never have sentencedhimto death but, for me, all bets were off.

Maximus remained on his feet, wearing a crimson robe. His peppered hair was impeccably trimmed, and his face was sternly set as he looked our way. “Mister Collier, are you and your client ready to proceed?”

Talbot leaned into my ear, whispering fast and sharp. “Chin up, buttercup. Don’t speak unless spoken to, and no admissions of guilt or otherwise, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good man.” Talbot straightened and faced Maximus with the smile he should have trademarked. It was growing on me, at least. “We’re ready,” he said.

With a sweep of his hand, Maximus introduced the opposing counsel. “Miss Aster Osborn, you represent the interest of the Capitol in this matter?”

“I do, sir.” Aster Osborn—still unfamiliar to me—looked a little like Cousin Itt, swathed in pin-straight chestnut tresses that parted only for her blunt bangs.

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