Page 56 of Forgotten Monsters
Darkwood stirs, so he’s not totally petrified, but gravely outnumbered. A snarl tears through his tight lips.
Cole prowls closer to him.
The old vampire’s edges shimmer with rage. “You are as dangerous as I pegged you to be.”
Cole stops a few feet from him, keeping a reasonable distance between them. “Just listen, Darkwood, and I won’t have to kill you.”
The clock is ticking.
Dad runs to Allie, and I double-check that Oz is affected by the spell before I join them in the middle of the room.
Dad clears his throat. “Dear friends and colleagues, I apologize for the unorthodox way we had to intervene tonight, but Theodore Darkwood made it impossible for me to talk to you through normal channels. In fact, I’ve waited a long time to finally speak the truth.”
Allie and I peel off our masks, and I discard the wig to the ground.
“My daughters are alive. Darkwood fabricated their deaths, thinking they would never survive in the Underworld. He destroyed our political system and transformed the Magisterium into his personal army. Each of you knows this in your heart. He used our prejudice against the Fae, our fears of the hollows, to establish his dictatorship. Whenever we came close to restoring democracy, he fed into that fear to keep his power.”
He pauses for a few seconds, his voice strong and unwavering, his resolve shining through his severe face. “In a minute, you will be released from this spell. Rose Deveraux and I will face the consequences of our methods, and we accept full responsibility for tonight, but Theodore Darkwood will not get out of this room without the truth being known by all. I call for a formal investigation on the President. To my knowledge, he ordered the death of Elsbeth Eillis, stole a priceless artifact from Amalthea herself, and left my daughters for dead in the underworld.”
Cole strolls forward. “Theodore Darkwood has tried and failed to start a war with Faerie. I support Councilman Winslow in his search for the truth.”
“And I,” Brie declares solemnly at his side.
“And I.” Trent walks out of the shadows. “Hey, Dad. Remember me?” He waves his hand in front of his father’s face.
Golden sequins flash in the light as Deveraux marches to my dad, hands on her hips. “And I, as Dark Falls’ head of faculty. I will release you now, and I promise none of us will try to flee.”
The spell dissolves in an instant, and most of the petrified guests have to scramble to keep upright.
“Petty criminals…lying, probably under a Fae spell. Seize them,” Darkwood seethes.
The agents present turn to their leader for a sign.
Oz gulps down the drink I prepared earlier in one swig before rubbing his chin. “Shouldn’t we check the girls’ identity first? Now that we are all gathered?”
What the hell is he playing at?
The crowd murmurs its assent.
A short-haired woman with emerald green hair walks forward. “I propose an immediate Swan trial. Councilman Winslow’s accusations are of the gravest nature. Enough of us are here to stand witness. Let the truth speak for itself.” By the chime of her hypnotic voice and her appearance, I figure she’s Elsa Demers, the infamous Sea Queen.
I hold my breath. A swan trial is an extremely rare and potent way to establish the truth, but it’s reserved for conflicts of apocalyptic proportions.
Darkwood spreads his arms. “I have nothing to hide.” The snide curve of his mouth telegraphs only one thing: he thinks he’s going to win.
The amulet he stole from the unicorns must also make him impervious to the effects of a Swan trial.
I clear my throat. “Use my blood.”
A swan trial is sealed with a sacrifice. The blood used will determine the potency of the spell, and with a little luck, the magic Beth left in me will invalidate the effect of his amulet.
Oz reaches from the interior pocket of his jacket and pulls out an ivory knife. “An immortal’s blood would be safest. We don’t want to kill the girl.” With extreme care, he presses the blade to his wrist. In the disguise of sparring me pain, he’s actually protecting his employer.
I ball my fists.
“Use mine,” Deveraux announces, stopping Oz short of slashing his arm. Her purple-flecked gaze bores into mine, and she nods ever so slowly. “I’m the host, after all.” She marches over to him and holds out her open palm.
The dragon hesitates. “Which one of us will it be, Elsa?” He turns to the Sea Queen who proposed the trial in the first place.
