There’s nearly an equal amount of restless spirits here as there are living people. Finally, the same blue-haired ghost girl who attacked Tattoo Face leaves the crowd and drifts up to me, pointing at the skyscraper where the Frosts are watching before drawing a line across her neck.
I focus on her, speaking quietly. “You want revenge?”
She nods eagerly. So do many of the other nearby ghost spectators of this so-called trial.
“Good. I’ll need my scythe.”
“Silence, demon!” the judge snaps. “These two gentlemen are explaining your case to the court.”
I ignore him and the additional stares his outburst has sent my way. The ghost girl nods, passing through me one more time. I don’t feel any different, but she floats quickly toward the Frost tower, disappearing through one of the many windowed walls to search for my dagger.
At least, I hope that’s what she’s doing.
Crypt witnessed me talking to nothing. He catches my eye and tips his head curiously, still ignoring his swirling markings as they light up repeatedly.
I mouth,Wait for it.
This fake trial starts to wind to a close, with the live feed camera wheeling annoyingly close to get a shot of my face andeveryone laughing when Not-Baelfire begins gnawing on his leash. I’m scanning the sky for the blue-haired ghost when a large raven flutters to perch on my shoulder.
I recognize this one. It’s the same raven that helped Everett find me when Baelfire’s dragon had me in the woods.
I study it before muttering, “When I make my move, peck out their eyes.”
These imbeciles will lose much more than their eyes for this, but since all these laughing elite legacies are enjoying the sight of my quintet in this condition so much, I’m going to start by taking that sight away.
The raven croaks in agreement before fluttering off to perch on a building, squawking at the other ravens. No one present seems to notice all the ravens that have gathered to fixate on the eyeballs in the crowd, eager for their treats.
I know jack shit about legacy or human courtroom proceedings, but I’m not surprised when the jury votes and the judge rules without ever calling on me for a testimony.
“The jury is unanimous!” the judge booms, banging a shiny gavel on the table as more pictures are taken. “Maven Oakley, the Entity’s demonictelumwho murdered our beloved Immortal Quintet and brought about the end of our world, is hereby found guilty on all charges and sentenced to immediate death prior to Sachar’s final judgment in the Beyond!”
The jury members and all the watching legacies applaud. One of the security members approaches me again. I hiss in surprised pain when he twists his hand near my scalp, dragging me by my hair to one of the towering, flammable stakes at the foot of Arati’s temple.
Crypt sees that and shouts in helpless rage. Silas starts screaming again nearby, and as the asshole releases my hair, I realize my blood fae is being tied to the stake beside me. Not-Baelfire is still a laughingstock, and somewhere high above, Everett is being forced to watch all of this.
More holy power pumps through my veins, screaming at me to harness my fury and do something.
I will.
I’m just waiting for the right moment.
The fake judge bangs his gavel again to be heard over the excited legacies.
“Furthermore, as is our duty as legacies, and according to the landmark Sacredness of Life Act of 1742, the former blood fae known as Silas Crane is hereby found guilty of successful necromantic metamorphosis. To cleanse the world of his vile death magic, this necromancer shall also be exterminated expeditiously through traditional means.”
That explains the wooden stakes.
The security asshole releases my hair and pulls out a key that finally drops the chains before loosening the arms of my straitjacket just enough to lift them high above my head. He starts tying my wrists to the stake using the ends of the straitjacket arms.
I don’t fight it. Instead, I breathe at a measured pace, preparing for the right moment to unleash hell. Still, my stomach dips and twists with each minor brush of his skin against mine.
I’m fighting like hell to disassociate through this, but it catches me by surprise when cold gasoline crashes over my head, dousing me immediately. It starts to burn my skin, the pungent chemical scent searing my nose and throat. I sputter, spitting out the turpentine flavor. My eyes burn.
They must have doused Silas at the same time, because his nonsensical screams worsen. When I look over, he’s thrashing despite his bound wrists, his blood-red eyes unseeing as hisfangs descend. His blackened fingertips are on display, his hands tied over his head just like mine.
“Silas,” I cough, desperate to comfort him even as the audience claps and cheers. Cameras are flashing again, but the jackasses who just tied us up like this have finally stepped back.
“Ei’thu leamsahhead devil!Thu occidere a’sai!”he shrieks, choking on gasoline.
