Words of Power (Alice Gray Book 3)

43

The trial was set to start at twelve noon. It was eleven-thirty when Sam and I circled around to make it look like we were approaching York Minster for the first time. No one could know that we'd been here since opening time, two wolves and three witches, with a plan driven by desperation and bolstered by faith.

Luckily, the Minster had been open to tourists for the morning. We'd wandered in with the rest of them, oblivious to the life and death decision that was to be made here this afternoon. Strolling around, we'd measured our paces, each taking a different route until we'd covered the extensive floor plan and met at the East End. All footsteps charted, all paths marked.

It was a struggle, for Lucas, to filter the pack bond from his Beta, but we couldn't risk telling Emily. Even as a human she could feel our intentions. If this was going to work, the DPA and the magistrates needed to believe that no magic had been invoked to influence their decision.

If I was found innocent, I needed it to stick. No retrials, no doubts.

When we'd done what we must, the others had taken their places back in the Minster, leaving Sam and I to arrive alone. The escaped convicts turning themselves in to the authorities.

As hundreds of cold stone eyes peered down at me from the Minster's high walls, goosebumps puckered all over my skin. Yep, I was being tried for witchcraft in York Minster, probably the most gargoyle infested building in the North, if not the entire country.

It was a show of strength, a way to prove that Jonathan and I were no threat, that our silver magic was impotent under the might of the DPA's justice. And it was another nugget of proof that the DPA was complicit in the vamps' torture of my father. Why else would they be so confident that he wouldn't swoop in and claim these stone creatures for himself?

Of course, I knew that he couldn't do that. These weren't creatures of his making, and when I took in all those twisted bodies stretching out of the building, terror distorting their faces into masks of shock and dismay, I began to wonder just who was responsible for the hundreds of gargoyles that peered down from the tall spires.

There was magic everywhere here. Good job I had a little magical something up my own sleeve.

"What happened?" Becca hissed, fastening a plastic tie around my wrists.

"Is that necessary, you'll have to take them off when we get into the Minster," Sam whispered, his own recent incarceration weighing heavy on his mind.

"It's more necessary than you know, the ties make you look less dangerous. Just a warning, but if they think you're a threat, they might take you out before you get a hearing. What kind of apocalyptic magical shit did you pull in Precentor's Court? All that was left of the entire staff was foul smelling dust," Becca asked, a spark of excitement in her yellow eyes.

Her lack of concern for the fate of the DPA's guards was evident in her absolute absence of grief. I had to wonder if she knew something about those doughy, slack-jawed, empty-eyed men. That or she was just a stone-cold bitch.

Yeah, it was probably the latter, but I had to ask. "Don't try and lay that crap at my door. Those goons tried to inject us with some drug. Did you know what they were planning when you locked me in there?"

Becca's gaze rested on my face, her inscrutable yellow eyes seeming to look right through me. Her glance flicked to Sam before sparking in recognition.

"Sorensen, what were you doing in DPA custody? What have you done?"

"Nothing," Sam squeaked, red-faced and fidgety under the yellow eyes of his Beta. When her eyes narrowed even further, the poor guy twitched with anxiety.

"Look, Becca. There's something going down in the DPA. They're doing experiments on shifters. It's them you need to be questioning. Next time you see one of those prison guard goons, use your cat senses to figure out what those things are. They're, well, I think they're dead."

"Necromancy?" Becca gasped on a sharp intake of breath, "Are you sure?"

"No, that's why I'm asking you to look into it. If you don't believe me about the testing, take Sam to a doctor you trust. Get his bloods done. I'm betting you'll find something nasty still lingering there."

A sharp nod of her head told me that Becca was taking this seriously. The tight coil of anxiety at my centre loosened just a fraction.

"Oh yeah, and take that bastard Kev into custody, or whatever you shifters do to police your own. He's the one that's passing out the DPA's drugs like candy."

"I'll take care of it," Becca seethed. "Come on, they're nearly ready for you."

I followed Becca to a small side room off the entrance to the Minster where I was to wait until everybody had got to their places: judges, lawyers and witnesses.

And then I would approach the stand on my own.

I knew what they were doing. Isolating me, wearing me down, turning the trial into propaganda for whatever twisted version of events supported their agenda.

And now I knew that they were going to try and lay the massacre at Precentor's Court at my door.

Luckily I had a plan.

That cold, hard, ancestor of mine, Jennet Device, had shown me the way. Jennet may have been little more than a husk of a woman by the time Azazel had done with her, but she'd done plenty before that event had destroyed her potential, and she'd done plenty since.

She had shown me words and symbols when she'd visited my dreams. And if anybody cared to look at equidistant intervals around the Minster, and I prayed that they would not, they'd find small markings and little cuts. We'd been busy in the hours before the trial. Oh yes. It might not look like it, but those tiny scratches cut into stone and wood, they were words.

Words of Power.

Eek, but will Jennet Device's written charms be enough to save Alice?