Page 118 of Made

Murelli got to his feet. As usual, he looked slightly disheveled and sounded like his vocal chords had been raked by cat claws. “Yes, Magistrate. Gote Murelli representing Count Milish Bergatti.

“Okay. What say you about the details shared by the plaintiff?”

“What Mr. Bogdan said is largely true, Your Honor. What I’d like to add is that my client claimed a husband’s right to defend the sanctity of his home which was threatened by this interloper.” For some reason, the word “interloper” struck me as comical. I had to press my lips together, hard, to keep a smile at bay. “Knowing the sylph was very likely more magically powerful, he grabbed the only weapon available. And used it.”

“So, the defense isn’t denying the facts,” I challenged, “but rather is claiming that it was the Count’s right to maim his wife’s lover?”

It was easy to see that Murelli didn’t appreciate my paraphrasing in the least. But he’d learned the hard way to behave himself in my court.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “Yes, Magistrate.”

I nodded. “Just out of curiosity and not because it has direct bearing, why did the count happen to have a flamethrower in his bedroom?”

“He’d been having trouble with blackbirds gathering on the terrace outside the couple’s bed suite and had commissioned the flame thrower to, uh, encourage the birds to find a new meeting place.”

He stopped and looked at me expectedly, for questions I presumed. But I had none. It didn’t seem like a good place to end his presentation, but it was his choice.

“Is there anything else I need to take into account? Like the concept of open marriage or repetition of this behavior?”

“The couple is happily married and monogamous. This was an isolated incident.”

“What is your client’s position on the suggested cure for damages?”

“We find it utterly ridiculous, Your Honor. The very idea of suggesting this homewrecker be rewarded with the lavish lifestyle of a king is laughable. Frankly, I’m surprised Mr. Bogdan agreed to present something so ludicrous.”

“OBJECTION!”Bogdan was fired up by the time he was fully standing.

I banged my gavel three times, wanting to get ahead of a clash devolving into a free-for-all.

“Objection sustained. Gote Murelli, you will refrain from giving your personal critique of the plaintiff’s strategy. I’ll decide what is and what is not ludicrous in this courtroom. You may sit down.”

Turning back to the plaintiff's table, I said, “Mr. Bogdan, I’d like to address your client directly.” Of course, my request was a formality, but the tone in my court is defined by manners.

“Very well, Magistrate,” said Bogdan, getting to his feet and gesturing for his client to do the same.

“How shall I address you?” I asked the sylph.

“Jet is fine.”

His voice was deep and smooth as velvet. Even with Serafina’s magical aid I had to resist letting my eyelids slide closed at the pleasure.

“Okay,” I covered with nonchalance. “Jet it is. How did you meet Countess Bergatti?”

“I attended a mask at the Bergatti palazzo.”

“So you didn’t know her before?”

“No.”

“How did you get an invitation to the mask?” He smiled slyly. “I’m fair at reading faces, but the court record must rely on words. If you please. State your answer.”

“I wasn’t exactly invited.”

“What were you exactly?”

“Crashing.”

“I see. So, you were on the premises without authorization? Otherwise known as trespassing?”

---