Page 55 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Midlife

My knees threatened to buckle when she turned a hard stare on me. “What?”

“The sphinx’s trial is today.”

Ric?“When?”

“Now.”

Aww, fudge.

THE COURTROOM, WHICHwas no bigger than a movie theater auditorium, was already packed with all kinds of striga, waiting with eagerness as the last remaining sphinx was about to face trial. In the magical world, trials were a big deal, more like a theater production where the accused was put on display for all to see and ridicule. Humans had this odd belief that prisoners were innocent until proven guilty. In the magical world, prisoners were usually considered guilty until proven less guilty.

Though I’d never attended a trial myself, I’d read enough about it in my government books. Of course, only the elite striga (those with lots of money and magic) could attend trials, and it seemed every elite in Europe was here today, crowding the auditorium bench seats while anxiously waiting for the show to start.

Luckily, minotaurs weren’t just known for their bullish looks. They were also known for their brutish manners, and Frederica had ‘accidentally’ stepped on a number of feet, causing them to jump, howl, and spill their coffees.

That’s where Des and I came in. Keeping our heads down, we slowly cleaned up the mess, ignoring those elites who told us to hurry. I kept checking on my son, making sure the crowd wasn’t upsetting him. I didn’t know how long he’d last before he’d need to go somewhere to decompress.

The seats were set up very much like the Roman theaters of old. We were at the top of a bowl of sorts, working our way down the spiral while cleaning up after Frederica. I kept my eye on the bottom of this bowl, watching for any sign of Ric.

And then my heart skipped a beat when a loud commotion echoed from one of the doors below. A door slid open and several huge minotaurs that were either males, or else smuggling bowling balls in their jumpsuits, came through the door dragging a very pissed-off, hooded prisoner.

They sat him on a lone chair facing opposite me, tying his hands behind his chair and securing him with chains bolted to the floor. My heart caught in my throat when they removed his hood and gag.

Ric.

Rage boiled my veins when I noticed the cuts on the back of his neck and arms. I wished I could see his face, though I feared I’d see even more cuts and bruises. The minotaurs exited the floor, and I squeezed Des’s hand when the entire theater went dark. None of the striga used their wand lights, and they’d dampened their auras. Was this standard protocol? Several spotlights turned on, shining down on Ric as he struggled against his bindings.

Another light flickered to life across from us, revealing an older witch with a worn face, downturned mouth, and glowing wand sitting behind what looked like a pulpit. She wore big, black-framed glasses, which was a trend among the older elite witches. Not sure why when a simple spell could restore their vision. Perhaps it was because they thought they looked smarter. I thought pretending to have human ailments made them look stupid.

“MagaSagredo,” a deep voice whispered in my ear. “Keep your aura hidden and don’t turn on your wand light until they call on witnesses.”

I looked up to see a familiar hulk of a shadow with droopy dildo horns hovering behind me. I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if she could see my movement in the dark. Every witch knew ofMagaSagredo, which meant Sorceress Sagredo in Italian. Asorceress was what striga sometimes called the most powerful of the alpha witches. By all accounts, I was a sorceress, even though I hid the extent of my magic. The Sagredo line of witches, probably the most elite and powerful magical family in the world, had carried the crown for centuries.

I turned back to face Ric. Despite how low the Tribunal had brought him, he tilted his head high like a proud lion. The fact that he didn’t shift into a magnificent sphinx and bite off the sorceress’s head meant that he still wore Sirenum coral.

I couldn’t stop staring at the sorceress, at something familiar in her hard stare that called to a forgotten memory. Where had I seen her before? She had a hollow look in her eyes, as if she was more of a shell of a witch with a tired soul and a shriveled heart. Several other hooded witches sat beside her, and another sat behind her with her hand on the sorceress’s shoulder. A chill swept up my spine as I tried to look at the witch behind the sorceress, but her dark hood cast shadows across her face. I surmised by her small wrists and hands that she was at least a female. Was she a bodyguard, or was thisSignoraOscura, the controlling advisor the gossiping witches in the bathroom had been talking about?

“Conde Ricardo Romero,” the sorceress boomed in a thick Italian accent, “you have been accused of murdering two husks, Lenny Ledbetter of Santa Fe, New Mexico and Jaques Boudreau of Cassis, France.”

“Conde!” Ethyl squeaked from my pocket. “He’s a count! That’s one below a duke.”

I gently patted my pocket. “Quiet,” I whispered, “before they hear you.” But, wow, a count! That explained his wealth.

“How do you plead?” the sorceress continued while glaring at Ric.

His back and shoulders stiffened. “Not guilty.”

The sorceress chewed on the end of her wand like it was a pencil stick while the robed figure behind her whispered in her ear. Finally, the sorceress cleared her throat. “There were witnesses at both murder scenes that say you did it.”

“Both spellcast,” Ric continued. “I was framed.”

The sorceress gave a slight nod. “The witnesses were tested for enchantments and were found to have none.”

Ric’s hands shook as he rattled his restraints. “That’s because corruption runs all the way up the chain, and you know it.”

The sorceress shook her head before looking down at a pile of stacked papers. “The first account is from a French barmaid,” she said as she shuffled the papers and held up what looked like an old parchment. “Vivienne LeBreau.”

“A witch who was spellcast by a succubus,” Ric added.

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