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I’m about to sit down and hope for the best when I see the look on Bren’s face. He’s staring into the distance like he’s watching the rest of his life play out in front of his eyes. A life of imprisonment. A life of his magic slowly draining away, until the lack of it either kills him or makes him wish he were dead. A life in which the Thornbers take over his beloved town or take down his precious Dome.
Even in this moment, he’s far too conscious of his reputation to plead or break down, but to my absolute horror, a few tears trickle down his face. Even as a child, I never saw him cry. He always took his role as the heir, the oldest brother, and the family’s protector and hope far too seriously for that.
I’m not much of an empath or a clairvoyant, but his pain and worry seeps into my blood. A horrible sense of foreboding hits me. I’ve done a good job, from a legal standpoint, but it’s not been enough.
Bren stares at me and swallows hard. He’s begging me with his eyes to do what needs to be done.
The way I’ve had to risk everything to get him out of trouble—again—would have been a lot to take if he’d been grateful and accommodating. But at best, he’s taken me for granted and been demanding and unforthcoming. At worst, however much I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise, there’s a chance he’s been lying to me and planning something awful.
I’ve pushed my professional ethics to the brink. I’ve broken my vow to avoid magic a hundred times over. I’ve spent more time injured and unconscious this summer than I have in the rest of my life. And that’s before I even factor in the way I’ve faced the only person I’ve ever truly feared and wrenched my heart open in the process.
I stare at the jury and though their faces are blank, there’s something there that confirms Bren’s fears and my gut instinct. They’re going to find him guilty.
When all’s said and done, Bren might not be an uncomplicatedly good man, but on balance, he was always a great big brother. And if our roles were somehow reversed, then despite everything that’s happened since those long-ago childhood days, I have no doubt he’d do whatever it took to help me. I’ve done my best to play fair and respect the rule of law. Somewhat against the odds, my family have stuck to their agreement not to help the case along with intimidation or magic. But there’s no reason I have to obey my own rules. I’ve already broken them in order to get Leah to testify. I’ve done all I can with my legal prowess. To hell with it. It’s time to put my other skills to use.
I lift up my arms and draw an arc over the jury, then another over the judge. I imagine the judge’s summing up being entirely in Bren’s favour. I visualise the jury delivering a not guilty verdict. It’d have been a lost cause if Gabriel were in court, but thanks to what I did, he’s not around to stop me and no one else is capable of it. By the time I sit down, the spell’s fallen into place.
There’s a moment, just after the jury do my bidding and find Brendan not guilty, where it all seems worthwhile.
His cuffs are removed, and the magic in the air swarms towards him like a pack of dogs whose beloved master has returned. He smiles once at the room in general, then once directly at me.
It takes about thirty seconds for my doubt and guilt to start creeping in.
I’ve betrayed all my principles as far as the rule of law goes, but I’ll just have to live with that—I know for a fact that Bren was at least not guilty of the crime he’d been charged with. Now I just have to hope with every fibre of my being that I was right to trust him on everything else.
* * *
By ten PM, I’m drunk as hell. Usually, I tend to pace myself. But tonight, at what’s simultaneously Bren’s welcome home party and a celebration of Connor’s tragically short life, no one’s taking it steady.
The garden and conservatory of my parents’ house are bedecked with flowers, lights, and incense. Music plays from unseen speakers, and the champagne never seems to run low. It’s unclear what’s been accomplished with money and influence and what’s been achieved with magic.
In the aftermath of the Ritual, I’d told my mum I couldn’t condone the family’s actions, and I’d need to keep my distance. But some of that resolve fell away the night we all defended the Dome together. And there’s no way I could stay away from tonight’s festivities.
I’m leaning against a rowan tree, swaying in time to the music and drinking yet another glass of fizz, while chatting to some woman I barely know, when Bren strides into view.
He’s looking more sober than anyone else there, crackling with magic, and glancing around him like he wants to soak up every sight and scent of freedom. He takes my glass, nods to my companion, who immediately blushes, then sweeps me away.
“I’ve barely spoken to you all night,” he says.
“You’ve probably seen enough of me in the last few weeks. I’m glad you’re getting to talk to other people.”
He leads me to the furthest reaches of the garden, to the bench hidden under the branches of a weeping willow where I’d prepared for the Ritual—it had been one of our favourite childhood spaces, somewhere to get away from the adults and from the world.
I smile as I sink into its familiar ridges. “I’m so glad you’re out. I just can’t find the words.”
“And I’m so grateful for everything you did for me. The legal stuff, the magical stuff, the investigation and intimidation and everything in between.”
I don’t tell him how guilty and conflicted most of that makes me feel. I’ve sacrificed my principles to save my brother. And whatever the rights and wrongs, Iamglad he’s free. For tonight at least, I want to enjoy that fact, and not taint our victory.
We sit in silence for a moment, appreciating the warm night air.
“Can I do that long-delayed portrait of you now?”
“Shouldn’t we wait until morning?”
“I don’t need light to draw, you know that.”
I settle back on the seat, getting myself into a position I can hold.
