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It was the second time that week that Avery had opened a court file, but the manner in which the magic transported her consciousness into the record was no less disorienting.

“Fiore Castello presiding as magistrate in the matter of misuse of magic and the murder of the Mundane John Hingley,” announced the shadow of the sentinel.

Avery’s head whipped around, taking in the courtroom only so much that she could orient herself and look in time to see the dragon of the past enter and take their seat.

Gender to any shape-shifter was as much a choice of fashion as the right pair of cuff links. So, while time had not altered their features, that day they had taken a more masculine appearance, complete with a finely trimmed beard.

“So this case was one of yours,” Avery observed. “Funny you never mentioned.”

“I didn’t remember,” real Fiore answered.

“Did you remember having a beard?”

“It’s natural contouring,” the dragon snapped. “And it went with the suit.”

“So you remembered that?”

“This may come as a surprise to you, Hemlock, but I’ve sat on countless cases in the past two decades. It would be madness for me to linger on them.” Fiore spoke pragmatically. “Judgment was made based on the testimonies and available evidence. I had no reason to look back on it.”

“But you did feel the need to seal it,” Sigrid observed. She was one of the three council members Avery had never met before, a Valkyrie straight from the paintings of Johan Gustaf Sandberg and the like. Her presence was strong, her hair golden, and her wings as pale as the first snow.

“They were hiding something. Now we know what that was,” Fiore clipped.

“Justice Norton said this case was his one regret as a Mercy,” said Avery.

“Thankfully, Justice Norton is not a magistrate.” Fiore turned around to examine the gallery behind them.

“Fiore is not the one on trial here,” Gideon reminded.

“Yer facin’ the wrong way, I think,” said Emerick, who made council member number four. He leaned toward Fiore to lightly tap their arm with a playful jab. The dryad’s hair was long, as was his beard, and both resembled willow branches. His body, however, was anything but willowy. He was thick like a trunk and short like a bush.

“While I might not fully remember it, I have seen the case before,” Fiore mused. “I thought my eyes would be of better use focused on the spectator response, as it is possible our Miss Radu snuck in the back at some point, to further observe the case.”

They’d spoken over the opening introductions and the first of the accused women, along with Mercy Wilhelm Norton, who was now wearing glasses but still not yet blind, and an elf Avery didn’t recognize. “What happened to the Justice from this trial? I haven’t heard a word about him.”

“He retired several years ago,” Genevieve Dubois, a loup-garou43 and the final council member, explained. “Returned to be with family on the Other Side, as I understand it.”

To say Betsey Paris looked nervous would be a dire understatement. It was hard to imagine the girl they saw now would one day become a con woman with multiple publications and an infamous reputation for disrespecting sacred historical sites. Her dark hair had been pulled back out of her face, and she’d dressed solemnly for the occasion. She took her place in the box for the accused and white-knuckled the railing. Trembling, she met the magistrate’s gaze.

Avery thought the girl might vomit.

“Betsey Paris,” Fiore’s echo addressed.

“Yes?” Betsey squeaked.

“You have been brought before this court as the evidence laid out against you has found you guilty of acting as an accessory in the murder of John Hingley. Do you refute this charge?”

It was a wonder they couldn’t hear the poor girl’s heart beating. She was starting to sweat. “Yes?”

Fiore’s echo returned to the file on the desk before them. “The sentinels report that upon divination within the apartment you share with Miss Abigail Rhyder, not only was baneful magic employed recently, but upon further investigation, blood found and tested on ritual items confirmed you were among those performing the ritual. Is this inaccurate?”

Betsey’s eyes darted from Fiore’s echo to the gallery, hoping to find one friendly face among the stony stares that were aimed at her. “N-no, Your Honor.”

“Were you in possession of your body and faculties when you performed this ritual?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Betsey’s lower lip trembled. “But we didn’t know what we were doing!” Avery could make out the faint lilt of the girl’s Galway accent now that she’d spoken more than three words.

The dragon in the magistrate’s seat interlaced their fingers on top of the file and leaned forward, allowing the scared girl to continue in her own defense.