Chapter 18
WALTER CRACKEDopen an eye. He was hunched over a table, his neck tilted awkwardly as he lay on the hard wood. Beside him was a warm body with an arm wrapped casually around his torso, presumably to keep him from falling over sideways.
This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up after falling asleep at his desk. This was, however, the first time his vision showed him his aunt sitting across from him, her arms folded and her expression furious.
He started to lift his head, but suddenly a sexy voice was whispering in his ear. “Go slowly. You may have a concussion.”
Bing. Some part of him had known all along that it was Bing’s arm lying across his back, Bing’s body that braced him from the side, and Bing who would whisper into his ear. The wordconcussionwasn’t exactly a sweet nothing, but at the moment, he’d take it.
He straightened slowly and faced his friend. “What happened?”
“What do you remember?”
He looked around. He was still in the courtroom, sitting at the defendants’ table. The judge was there, apparently playing solitaire with a real deck of cards. The chained-up kangaroo was sleeping on the floor behind her. Someone had gotten the creature food and water, because there were dishes on the floor, empty but obviously used. The jury was comprised of more plants this time than kangaroos and jockeys, though a kangaroo bailiff stood guard close enough to box Walter in the head if he wanted.
“I remember choosing to fight,” he said, his voice rough. “And that she”—he jerked his chin at the judge—“didn’t die. She….” How to explain?
“Dissolved, then reformed,” Bing said.
“Then beat the crap out of us.” His eyes suddenly widened. “How are you? Are you hurt?”
Bing shook his head. He was wearing loose jeans and a T-shirt. It was what he’d been wearing before, except now the shirt was torn and Walter had a vivid memory of just how cool it had looked when Bing had transformed, midjump, into a werewolf. Sure, he’d been fighting for a bit with a T-shirt on, but his pants had fallen away in true movie slow-motion, and even with a plain white tee on, Red Wolf had never looked so gorgeous.
Walter would have happily lost himself in memory of how hot Bing had been, but his aunt chose that moment to stomp over.
“Now that you’re awake, can we get back to work?”
He frowned at her, only now realizing it must be morning. It had been evening when they’d gotten to this weird little town. “What time is it?” he rasped as he fumbled for his phone.
Bing held it out. “Almost seven a.m.”
“What?” Walter leaped to his feet. “My call time was at five!”
His aunt got right into his face. “I cancelled it,” she all but shouted. “We’ve got real work to do. We have to catch the demon.”
Walter threw up his hands. “What demon? And what the hell is this thing?” He gestured wildly at the judge and jury. “It’s insane.”
Auntie Sand shook her head as she folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a trap,” she said in a tight undertone. “For the demon. And you almost ruined it!”
Walter looked to Bing for answers, but there weren’t any. “She won’t talk to me.” Then he leaned forward. “Maybe if you pushed out Monkey, things would resolve.”
Walter ignored the suggestion. Monkey was right now resting in postfight contentment, completely silent. He turned back to his aunt, but she had taken up her position again in the center of the courtroom. The judge looked up from her playing cards, dropped her chin on her fist, and grumbled, “Proceed.”
The jury alternately yawned or grunted to show they were awake… except for the plants, which didn’t do anything. Everyone focused on Auntie Sand as she began to pace in front of the jury box.
“It’s clear that our world is in dire straits!” she began. “We must demand the maximum punishment for their gross and heinous acts!”
Walter looked around. Only he and Bing sat at the defense table. “Wait,” he said, abruptly alarmed. “We’re on trial? For what?”
“Gross and heinous acts,” Bing answered, his expression matching Walter’s feelings of alarm and confusion. “I tried to talk to her before, but the judge kept screaming that the prisoners would remain silent.”
“Prisoners? What did we do?”
The judge abruptly stood up and pointed the gavel at them. “You murdered kangaroos! You killed them right before our eyes!”
“But they weren’t real kangaroos,” Bing returned. “They were phantoms created by—”
“See!” Auntie Sand screeched. “He doesn’t even think they were real. He claims that each one of you”—she pointed dramatically to the kangaroos in the jury box—“is just a figment of someone’s imagination and magic.”
