Page 7 of A Match Made in Coven
An elderly otter in glasses scurried in after them, leaving a damp trail of salty water in his wake. Sarah Michelle raised both eyebrows at Riley, who shrugged, clearly as perplexed as she was.
A disembodied voice boomed, “All rise for His Honor, Judge Irving!”
The judge emerged, his weathered face pinched with fatigue as he settled onto the bench. “What is the matter, then?” he demanded, his gaze landing on the sludgy mustelid now flanking Lorcan. “Osric, you dragged me here at this unwizardly hour. Explain what’s going on.”
Sarah Michelle suppressed a snort. So, the otter must be the infamous Black family’s lawyer—one of their familiars, for sure.
The geriatric furball squished self-importantly to the center of the room.
“Your Honor,” Osric began, his whiskers quivering, “I request that my client, Mr. Black, be released at once.”
The judge pulled on spectacles and reviewed the case files on his bench. “Mr. Black is not listed as being in custody.” He cleared his throat and stared expectantly at the prosecution side.
Sarah Michelle met Lorcan’s attentive eyes briefly before addressing the judge. “Mr. Black is a person of interest in the Preston case. He has not been arrested and is here of his own free will to answer questions.”
A scoff escaped Lorcan’s lips. “I wasn’t aware my participation was voluntary,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched.
Judge Irving’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “What was that, Mr. Black?”
Lorcan flashed a disarming smile. “Nothing, Your Honor.”
The judge’s piercing gaze shifted to Sarah Michelle. “Detective Callidora, is Mr. Black a suspect? Do you intend to make an arrest, and if so, on what evidence?”
Sarah Michelle clamped down the impulse to roll her eyes, her annoyance threatening to boil over. She had been so close to cracking Lorcan during questioning, and now this circus act had derailed everything. Taking a steadying breath, she prepared to present her case, acutely aware of Lorcan’s magnetic presence across the room. “Your Honor, I was attempting to make that determination before being pulled out of interrogation for this hearing.”
She stepped forward, her sleek bob swaying with the motion. “The victim was Mr. Black’s business partner, killed with a weapon belonging to the suspect in an office building with no signs of infraction, to which Mr. Black had a key. The security cameras were disabled by someone who had the codes. Moreover, Mr. Black’s prints were on the dagger, and he has no alibi for the time of the murder.”
Osric chittered loudly. In response, an officer brought forth the blade in question, encased in a protective enchantment. The otter addressed the court, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “The dagger, a precious magical artifact, has already been released from the examiner.”
Sarah Michelle blinked in disbelief. Typically, a murder weapon would be held for months, but of course, the Blacks had repossessed it in mere hours. Those over-privileged sludge devil spawns.
“My client has admitted ownership of the dagger, so, naturally, his fingerprints would be present,” the mustelid continued, his webbed feet slapping against the floor. “However, another set of prints was discovered, partially wiped away. Your Honor, it’s clear that the actual murderer attempted to cover their tracks before fleeing the scene, probably disturbed by whoever found the body.”
Judge Irving leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Since your client isn’t being held in custody, what is it you want from me?”
The otter puffed out his chest. “I merely request that Mr. Black be allowed to return home. If Detective Callidora has further questions, an appointment can be arranged for my client to be interrogated with his lawyer present.”
Sarah Michelle’s gaze locked with Lorcan’s. A silent battle of wills transpired between them. Until the judge’s question pulled her away.
“Detective Callidora, do you foresee further need to interrogate Mr. Black?”
“Yes, Your Honor, as I said, we were interrupted—”
Lorcan’s voice cracked like a whip through the courtroom. “Enough.” In a display of raw magical power that made Sarah Michelle’s breath catch, he extended an arm toward his dagger, fingers splayed wide. The knife encased in the protective enchantment quivered until the spell keeping it under lock shattered into glittering motes as the hilt flew into Lorcan’s grasp.
Before Sarah Michelle could blink, Lorcan vaulted over his chair in a blur of motion. His hand clamped around her forearm like a vise, yanking her toward him. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he was about to stab her with the dagger.
But at the last second, Lorcan flipped the blade and slapped the hilt into her palm, trapping her hand under his. The cool metal singed her flesh in contrast to the heat rising to her cheeks. Gargoyles, why did he have to be so ruggedly handsome and brutally powerful?
Chaos erupted in the courtroom, but Lorcan thrust out his other arm before the other wizards present could move in on him. An iridescent bubble sprang into existence, encasing them within an impenetrable magical shield. Her boss hurled spell after spell at the barrier to no effect, the chief’s face contorting with fury the more he tried.
“What in the hex are you doing?” she hissed. Being trapped in a literal magical bubble with Lorcan, viscerally aware of his warm hand still gripping hers, was doing funny things to her insides.
Lorcan’s blistering eyes found hers, swirling with something dark and urgent that made her toes curl in her sensible regulation boots. “I’m tired of being accused of a murder I didn’t commit. I just want to get the hex out of here and drink a hexing glass of water.” His deep voice resonated through her. “I, Lorcan Black, did not kill Elijah Preston, nor am I in any way involved with his assassination.”
They both stared at the dagger. Nothing happened. No glowing, no magical signs of any kind.
Sarah Michelle arched an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
