Sealed With a Curse(2)

A few of the vampires behind us muttered and hissed, causing uproar among the rest. If they didn’t like us before, they sure as hell hated us then.

Shayna laughed nervously, but maintained her perky demeanor. “I think some of them understand the lingo, dude.”

I recognized Taran’s desire to burn the vamps to blood and ash, but I didn’t agree with it. Conjuring such power would leave her drained and vulnerable, easy prey for the master vampires, who would be immune to her sunlight. Besides, we were already in trouble with one master for killing his keep. We didn’t need to be hunted by the entire leeching species.

The procession halted in a strangely wide-open area before a raised dais. There were no chairs or tables, nothing we could use as weapons against the judges or the angry mob amassed behind us.

My eyes focused on one of the boarded windows. The light honey-colored wood frame didn’t match the darker boards. I guessed the last defendant had tried to escape. Judging from the claw marks running from beneath the frame to where I stood, he, she, or it hadn’t made it.

I looked up from the deeply scratched floor to find Misha’s intense gaze on me. We locked eyes, predator to predator, neither of us the type to back down. You’re trying to intimidate the wrong gal, pretty boy. I don’t scare easily.

Shayna slapped her hand over her face and shook her head, her long black ponytail waving behind her. “For Pete’s sake, Celia, can’t you be a little friendlier?” She flashed Misha a grin that made her blue eyes sparkle. “How’s it going, dude?”

Shayna said “dude” a lot, ever since dating some idiot claiming to be a professional surfer. The term fit her sunny personality and eventually grew on us.

Misha didn’t appear taken by her charm. He eyed her as if she’d asked him to make her a garlic pizza in the shape of a cross. I laughed; I couldn’t help it. Leave it to Shayna to try to befriend the guy who’ll probably suck us dry by sundown.

At the sound of my chuckle, Misha regarded me slowly. His head tilted slightly as his full lips curved into a sensual smile. I would have preferred a vicious stare—I knew how to deal with those. For a moment, I thought he’d somehow made my clothes disappear and I was standing there like the bleeding hoochies in that awful painting.

The judges’ sudden arrival gave me an excuse to glance away. There were four, each wearing a formal robe of red velvet with an elaborate powdered wig. They were probably several centuries old, but like all vampires, they didn’t appear a day over thirty. Their splendor easily surpassed the beauty of any mere mortal. I guessed the whole “sucky, sucky, me love you all night” lifestyle paid off for them.

The judges regally assumed their places on the raised dais. Behind them hung a giant plasma screen, which appeared out of place in this century-old building. Did they plan to watch a movie while they decided how best to disembowel us?

A female judge motioned Misha forward with a Queen Elizabeth hand wave. A long, thick scar angled from the corner of her left jaw across her throat. Someone had tried to behead her. To scar a vampire like that, the culprit had likely used a gold blade reinforced with lethal magic. Apparently, even that blade hadn’t been enough. I gathered she commanded the fang-fest Parliament, since her marble nameplate read, CHIEF JUSTICE ANTOINETTE MALIKA. Judge Malika didn’t strike me as the warm and cuddly sort. Her lips pursed into a tight line and her elongating fangs locked over her lower lip. I only hoped she’d snacked before her arrival.

At a nod from Judge Malika, Misha began. “Members of the High Court, I thank you for your audience.” A Russian accent underscored his deep voice. “I hereby charge Celia, Taran, Shayna, and Emme Wird with the murder of my family member, David Geller.”

“Wird? More like Weird,” a vamp in the audience mumbled. The smaller vamp next to him adjusted his bow tie nervously when I snarled.

Oh, yeah, like we’ve never heard that before, jerk.

The sole male judge slapped a heavy leather-bound book on the long table and whipped out a feather quill. “Celia Wird. State your position.”

Position?

I exchanged glances with my sisters; they didn’t seem to know what Captain Pointy Teeth meant either. Taran shrugged. “Who gives a shit? Just say something.”

I waved a hand. “Um. Registered Nurse?”

Judging by his “please don’t make me eat you before the proceedings” scowl, and the snickering behind us, I hadn’t provided him with the appropriate response.

He enunciated every word carefully and slowly so as to not further confuse my obviously feeble and inferior mind. “Position in the supernatural world.”