“I mean, they expect you to present your testimony clearly and calmly.” He gestured for her to stand. “Let’s practice.”
She groaned but uncurled from the couch. “Fine. But if there’s curtsying, you’re on hairball duty.”
“No curtsying required.” A flicker at the corner of his mouth. “Just stand here.”
He positioned her in the center of the room, then slowly circled her, assessing. “Shoulders back. The Truth Stone responds better to a confident posture.”
“My posture is fine.”
“You’re slouching.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You’re defensive.” He stopped behind her. “May I?”
She tensed. “May you what?”
“Adjust your stance.”
A pause. Then, “Make it quick.”
Marcus placed his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding them back and down. Her warmth seeped through the soft sweater. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.
“Better?” Her voice came out slightly strangled.
“Yes.” He stepped back quickly, focusing on his legal pad. “Now, they’ll ask you to state your name for the record.”
“Hazel Wickwood.” She maintained the posture he’d shown her.
“Full legal name.”
She sighed. “Hazel Briar Wickwood, licensed hedge witch of Willowbrook, Maine.”
“Good. Now tell me what you witnessed on the night of October tenth.”
She started strong, describing her entry into the forest, but as she approached the murder itself, her natural storytelling instincts took over. Her hands moved expressively, her voice rose and fell with emotion, she added editorial comments about Viktor’s “dead shark eyes” and “villain monologue energy.”
“Stop.” Marcus held up a hand. “You’re editorializing.”
“I’m providing context.”
“You’re providing an opinion. The court wants facts.” He demonstrated, standing straight and speaking in measured tones. “On the night in question, I observed Viktor Blackwood in conversation with an individual I recognized as fae by their distinctive silver hair and luminescent skin. Mr. Blackwood produced a blade of obsidian…”
“Boring,” Hazel interrupted. “You sound like a robot.”
“I sound like a credible witness.”
“You sound like you’re reading a police report.” She mimicked his stiff posture. “Beep boop, I observed the defendant committing murder most foul, executing statute violation 7.3.2, subsection boring.”
A laugh escaped before Marcus could stop it. “I don’t sound like that.”
“You absolutely sound like that.” She grinned. “Look, I get it. Be serious. Don’t call Viktor a ‘murderous piece of pond scum’ even though he is. But if I testify like a demon lawyer, they’ll know something’s wrong.”
He considered this. “You have a point. But you still need more control. Let’s try again. This time, stick to facts but maintain your natural speech patterns.”
They practiced until her stomach growled, loud enough that even Marcus’s professional composure cracked into a smile. By the time they broke for lunch, she could deliver her testimonyclearly while still sounding like herself. The pencil had fallen from her hair during practice, leaving red waves tumbling around her shoulders.
“You’re actually good at this,” she admitted, assembling sandwiches in the kitchen while he sat at the small table. “The teaching thing.”
