Page 109 of The Aether

With a polite nod, Simon put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and guided him to the side so the next visitor could introduce themselves.

“Creed Caldwell.”

The response was deafening. Labeled a betrayer and enemy of the Authority, he was risking his own life to stand up for Sabrina.

Creed’s gaze sought hers, and he nodded his deep respect. “Having seen what this child was forced to endure, I believe I can do no less by appearing here today in support of her.”

Red Guards rushed the round, and Damian positioned himself between them and Creed. “He is under my protection.”

“You realize that makes you an enemy of this establishment, Dethridge. Correct?” Buttagier called out triumphantly.

“Does it? Or does it make Caldwell an ally?”

In a nervous gesture Damian could feel halfway across the chamber, the lead council member’s gaze darted around, testing to see who had his back.

No one.

With a half smile, Damian shook Creed’s hand. “Thank you for risking your life, both today and yesterday, when it mattered to save my family and Aurora Thorne.”

The remaining Sentinels who had banded together to assist him shuffled forward and introduced themselves. All received his undying gratitude for the show of force.

Most surprisingly, others emptied the bleachers to join the group at his back. There were those he recognized, had assisted at some juncture in time, and those he didn’t. Some bore a fleeting resemblance to witches whose lives he’d saved in the past but who had finished their life cycle and moved on to the Otherworld.

Two-hundred-plus years was a long time, and his magic had touched many for the better.

One individual pushed his way center stage, met Damian’s curious gaze, and stuck out a hand. Startled, he responded in kind. “I don’t know you or what I may have done to help.”

“You took my father’s life. Or, according to you, had a hand in it, anyway.” The young man’s chin came up. “Thank you for saving my mother and me, sir. He was a truly horrible person.”

“Who was your father?”

“Morgan Black. I’m Virgil Black.”

“He’s Mr. Creed’s nephew, Papa,” Beastie replied promptly.

“Half,” the blond-haired boy corrected. “I’m his half nephew.”

Not so oddly, the young man resembled Creed Caldwell when he’d been that exact age. “I’m glad you view Morgan’s demise in a positive light, Virgil.”

“I do, sir.”

“We all do,” Isis said. “And that is why this tribunal is finished. It’s clear to me, as it should be to you, that the Dethridge family serves the side of good.”

“But the girl!” Buttagier cried.

Sabrina skipped toward him. Staring at him from her position below, she seemed small. Fragile in the face of the councilman’s outrage.

“Morcant Thywyll was a bad man, Mr. Buttagier,” she told him in a calm, steady voice. “But you sent him after me. I know why, and I’m not mad at you.”

Red-faced and sweating, he ran a pudgy hand through his thinning hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, girl.”

“Yes, you do. Morcant was never going to keep his promise to you.”

Cupping her hands together, she scrunched her face in concentration. An inch-sized sphere appeared, visible through the gaps between her fingers. Purple beams shot in all directions as the sphere grew to the size of a baseball. When Sabrina was done, she tossed it to Buttagier.

“You can see it’s not Papa’s fault.”

The crystal ball was faceted, and as it replayed the scene in the apartment of 1C, it showed Damian’s ruthlessness in dealing with Morgan Black.

---