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“And then?”
Imran has to keep asking gently prompting questions in order to justify his fee, but there doesn’t seem much need. Gabriel’s on a roll. He’d quite clearly perform an hour-long monologue if left to his own devices.
“I’ve always thought of myself as someone who’ll stand and fight, but I simply froze. Nothing made any sense. Blood was cascading out of my father’s body. Brendan stood there, still holding his old revolver, just as still as me, as though he was in shock at what he’d just done.”
Witnesses are supposed to stick to a cold recital of the facts, not this sort of melodrama. The lawyer is supposed to ensure they do so, and if they don’t, the judge should step in. He’s not actually mesmerising them, but they both seem too enchanted to intervene.
I force my eyes away from Gabriel’s magnetic face and check in on my brother. I’m still not one hundred per cent sure whether or not Bren murdered Niall Thornber, but from his clenched jaw to his equally clenched fist, he looks more than capable of murdering the victim’s son given half the chance.
“I thought he was going to shoot me, too. I’m the one he hates. I braced myself to run or to tackle him. He pointed the gun at me, looked me straight in the eye, whispered a single sentence, and then jumped out of the window before I could react.”
“Did you give chase?”
He cries a single, strategic tear. “I let him go. All I cared about was trying to revive my dad. I called an ambulance, balled the sheets up and tried to stop the bleeding, gave some amateur mouth to mouth. None of it did any good. At that point, I just collapsed down on the bed next to him and cried. The next thing I knew, the police and the ambulance arrived.”
“Do you need a moment, Mr Thornber?”
He shakes his head and stands up a little straighter. “I’m fine. It’s just hard to talk about.”
“Then can we take a step back? You said the defendant ‘whispered a single sentence’. Do you recall what it was?”
The moment in which he considers the question stretches out for an eternity. He’s the comedian preparing to deliver the punchline, the musician waiting for the beat to drop. “This is for my sister.”
I glance at Bren again. He shakes his head just a fraction.
“Do you know what was meant by that?”
“Yes, but it was all a long time ago. We were in a relationship for a while. He didn’t approve.”
“Did you break up with her?”
“No. She left me. Moved to London. I guess she’s always been the one that got away.”
He doesn’t look at me as he says all this nonsense, but he might as well be whispering the words into my ear.
I’m consumed by an urge to make him stop talking. My power is prickling under my skin, demanding to be let free. It’s worse than the time he inflicted Greenfire on me. I force my eyes closed and try to breathe, but I can barely get standard breaths out, never mind the deep ones necessary for a core meditation. I try the opposite tack. Instead of zoning out of the room, I focus on the physical. Feel the heat of the room. Smell the sweat and the bleach. Stare at the royal crest on the back wall. That doesn’t help, either.
My magic’s pooling around me, visible to anyone with the eyes to see—which would include the defendant, the witness for the prosecution, and most of the people in the public gallery.
Gabriel’s doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes a neutral brown, justifying his decision not to wear sunglasses. I can only assume mine are some hellish shade.
What would actually happen if I inadvertently struck him dead where he stood?
High up in the courtroom, a windowpane shatters, causing a few gasps and shrieks. My magic’s filling the room, rage driving it out of control. It’ll either kill Gabriel, knock me out, or destroy the building.
Gabriel finally bothers to look at me. He just raises an eyebrow, then turns away again.
A second window shatters. Even the judge, usually a model of composure, flinches this time.
I sense my father’s eyes boring into my back and turn to face him. He makes determined eye contact, takes the deep breaths I can’t manage, and draws the excess magic into himself. It’s like he’s dragging me out of a raging river. He nods in the direction of my mother, beside him and holding his hand. I turn my eyes towards her. She raises and slowly lowers her free hand like a priest offering a blessing. The remaining magic softens and stabilises.
I give them both a smile of thanks, then focus back on Gabriel. He’s on marginally less triggering topics now. How high the windowsill was. How he recognised Bren. That sort of thing. It’s a damn compelling performance. I’m beyond relieved when it’s over.
* * *
I throw up a silence bubble the moment I get Bren alone.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Not as your lawyer, but as your sister. Did you kill Niall Thornber?”
