Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, are we finally all in agreement?” Drell demands.

He ignores the slightly sulky twist of Skippy’s mouth as Skippy nods and concedes the argument that has been giving Drell a headache for weeks. As long as the sappy idiot is finally letting Drell have his way, he doesn’t care what else Skippy thinks about it.

“We are,” Cassandra says, thin-lipped. She waffled less than Skippy, but Drell won’t forget any time soon how she dragged on about whether or not they were going back on their word. So what if they are? They’re the Council. What they say, goes.

Drell slams his fist on the bench. “Good! Glad you two got with the program. Malcolm, is the paperwork ready?”

“It is, sir,” Hargrove says. The guy still looks mostly cowed by Drell’s reminder that they wouldn’t have had to deal with this if Hargrove hadn’t decided to parade that pet mortal in front of them. But he hands the scroll up with a spryness that belies his old age, like he wants to see this done as much as Drell.

Drell gives it a once-over before he thrusts it back. “Get it done.”

Hargrove bows and disappears without a word.

Drell can feel Skippy looking at him.

“If you’re going to sulk, go jump in a volcano.”

Carolina drops her backpack at the brownstone door with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a bad day at school, but her impatience made time go as slow as molasses, every second feeling like a minute, every minute an hour, every hour an eternity until the last bell finally rang.

Church grins at her as he throws himself onto the couch. He sprawls there as thunder rolls above them. There’s something in his grin that borders on a smirk, makes Carolina’s eyes narrow even before Church calls out cheerfully, “Hey, Dad, hey, Tex. Ready for the holiday?”

“You’re in a good mood,” Carolina says.

Church’s grin widens. “Uh, yeah, it’s a very important holiday.”

Carolina’s mom pauses on the bottom of the stairs. Her eyebrows go up, amusement in her eyes as she exchanges a look with their dad, who isn’t bothering to hide his suspicion. Carolina’s mom drawls, “I didn’t realize you loved Thanksgiving, kid.”

“Thanksgiving?” Church repeats, putting a hand on his chest. He shakes his head. “Sure, the food’s good, but that’s not what I was talking about. I turned into a real boy a whole year ago! Which got me thinking that’s worth celebrating, right? Maybe a special dinner–”

Carolina squints. “Are you trying to get a second birthday?”

Church just grins while her mom snorts.

Their dad raises an eyebrow and says dryly, “Is this a new mortal tradition? Or something you came up with yourself?”

“Little of both!” Church says. “See, I got the idea from Caboose. His youngest sister was born early, right? So she was in the hospital for a couple months after she was born, and the day she came home from the hospital is her homecoming day. I figured I should get something like that too. Special dinner, and maybe some presents wouldn’t hurt–”

Thunder rolls again.

Church blinks towards the ceiling. “Grey and Kimball are out, right? Who–”

Carolina’s heart drops as a horribly familiar man strides to the top of the stairs. She can’t remember his name, but she knows his face. He’s wearing the same pleased smile she remembers from when he arrested them at school.

She sees their dad go rigid, his hand white-knuckled on her mom’s elbow.

“Leonard,” the guy says. What had her dad called him? Marcus? No, Malcolm. He’s got other witches with him, four of them in sleek black robes who stare at Carolina and her family like they’re cataloging everything about them. He smiles. “Well, I suppose having the whole family together makes this easier.”

“Makes what easier?” her mom asks, in a voice Carolina has never heard from her before. She moves forward, checked only by Carolina’s dad, who steps between her and the stairs and stares up at Malcolm.

“Explain yourself, Malcolm.”

“Gladly.”

With a flourish that makes Carolina want to punch him, Malcolm summons an old-fashioned scroll from out of nowhere. It unrolls with another peal of thunder, revealing words written in black ink that look like another language.

He doesn’t make his voice bellow this time. Instead he smiles again and flicks his hand towards the scroll, from which a melodic voice issues, musical but emotionless.

“Leonard Church, you are hereby accused of the following crimes: violation of the Charitable Acts law, conspiracy against the Council, and the breaking of a forbidden spell. For these crimes, you will be imprisoned until the Council sees fit to try your case. You have the right to a lawyer—”

“You can’t do this again!”

The yell bursts from Carolina. Her ears ring and buzz from the force of it, and from the pounding of her heart. They can’t do this again. They can’t.

The scroll snaps shut and Malcolm narrows his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Carolina,” her dad says urgently, turning towards her as Church lurches to his feet and stumbles over to stand beside her, white-faced but glaring at Malcolm too.

Carolina ignores the warning in her dad’s voice. She clenches her fists, her stomach twisting and roiling in her gut. “Drell said there were extenuating circumstances! He said the charges were dropped! You can’t–”

“After some consideration, the Council decided these were unprecedented circumstances.” Malcolm gives her a humorless smile. “It’s only out of the kindness of their hearts that you and your brother weren’t charged with anything. Just Leonard and his little accomplice.”

“But–”

“Until the Council sees fit to try your case,” her mom says. Her voice is tight. She doesn’t shake off Carolina’s dad’s hand so much as slip from his grasp, taking a careful step up the stairs with a precision that has Malcolm’s goons staring warily at her. “How long will that be?”

Malcolm’s smile tightens. “Ah, Mrs. Church. Hard to say, really. I think Drell wants this matter dealt with as quickly as possible, so it could be anywhere from tomorrow to, hmm, a year or two from now?” By the end of the answer he is back to smiling, self-satisfaction obvious.

“Right,” Carolina’s mom says flatly. She takes another step. “Sounds like you weren’t done reading him his rights. Want to finish that?”

“Yes, of course.” Malcolm snaps his fingers at the scroll, which darts halfway down the stairs to block her way, unfurls, and begins to speak again.

“Leonard Church, you are hereby accused of the following crimes: violation of the Charitable Acts law, conspiracy against the Council, and the breaking of a forbidden spell. For these crimes, you will be imprisoned until the Council sees fit to try your case. You have the right to a lawyer, though one will not be provided for you by the Court. You have permission to send letters but they will be read by the Council authorities. You will have access to your magic unless you are deemed a threat to yourself or to others. Anything you speak or cast can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

The scroll goes silent, and Carolina is left only with the buzzing in her ears. She can’t quite catch her breath to protest. Everything feels distant, even Church’s hand, which at some point during the scroll’s announcement has slid into hers and is gripping hers tightly.

Just as far away, like her mom is talking from another room, her mom says, “No phone calls?”

“Phone calls?” Malcolm repeats, like it’s some strange word. “Ah, yes, the usual mortal method of communication. No, letters are the only Council-approved method of communicating with him.” He smiles, something bright and vicious in his eyes. “How unfortunate for you, but I’m certain Vanessa and Emily will–”

Carolina’s mom takes another step, and Carolina’s dad says sharply, “Allison.”

When she turns, the rage in her expression knocks Carolina free of her shock. She looks murderous, like she wants to strangle Malcolm with her bare hands. “Leonard–”

“Take care of our children,” their dad says. Each word is quick but precise. “I love you.”

Some of the rage ebbs, just long enough for tenderness to break through. “Always. Love you–”

Malcolm snaps his fingers.

“--too,” Carolina’s mom says to the empty space where Carolina’s dad had been a second ago.

The beach house hadn’t had much furniture and junk to begin with when the Council had carted Grif off to be a cat for a couple years. Now, with even the couch gone at Simmons’ insistence that they get something new that wasn’t ‘probably filled with mold or a home for mice, Grif, no, I am pretty sure mice also live in Hawaii’, it seemed bigger now that it’s empty than Grif remembered.

All that’s currently in the space is Grif, Simmons, and a rainbow of paint swatches and print-outs from the library that surround their feet like a weird kaleidoscope carpet.

As Grif looks around, trying not to be weirded out, Simmons plucks up two swatches from the floor. “I was thinking between these two for the walls.”

The color swatches he thrusts at Grif look identical. Grif keeps staring at them in hopes that if he holds them up towards the sunlight coming through the window one will reveal itself to be secretly another color, but nope. They look the same.

“Dude, these are both white.”

Simmons huffs, exasperation mingling with enthusiasm. “Well, yes, but one has warmer undertones.” He says that like it means something.

Looking at him, looking at the space that finally will have the last remnants of his parents’ presence scrubbed away once they get rid of the wallpaper, Grif can’t help but grin. “Okay, Martha Stewart.”

Simmons flushes, huffing again. “I just want it to be nice! I know Kai said she doesn’t care what it looks like–”

“She won’t,” Grif says. And if she does, she’ll just magically alter her bedroom herself. All they’re doing for her room is tearing up the gross carpet and painting the walls. She can get her furniture herself.

It’s the rest of it that they have to figure out. Grif still hasn’t decided what to do about the bedrooms. There’s his old one and then the one that his parents used before they left.

Grif shrugs. “But I seriously can’t tell the difference so you’re gonna have to spell it out.”

Simmons takes the swatches back from him, his fingers brushing Grif’s so quickly that Grif’s pretty sure he imagined it. His face is still pink, and Grif double-checks the time, making sure the sunscreen spell isn’t wearing off. Turns out Simmons burns in seconds under the Hawaiian sun.

“Right. So warm means–”

There’s a thunderous knock on the front door.

Grif freezes. There’s no couch here, Sam is safe back in Westbridge. There’s no reason not to assume it’s just an overenthusiastic pizza guy eager for a tip. But his heart stops in his chest anyway, his entire body cold.

The instinctive dread is answered by the door slamming open and multiple witches storming in, wearing the black robes Grif remembers from last time. Leading them is Scrooge, an unpleasant smile on his face.

Grif isn’t a cat anymore. He can tower over these assholes, glare down at them like he’s not already sweating. He gets to for a half-second before Simmons darts around him and shrieks, “If you touch him again, I’ll–”

“We’re not here for Dexter,” Scrooge says. If anything, his smile widens. “We’re here for you.”

“...What?” Grif says.

Scrooge pulls out a scroll. The black robed witches watch Grif and Simmons, stony-faced.

“Richard Simmons, you are hereby accused of being an accomplice to the following crimes: violation of the Charitable Acts law, conspiracy against the Council, and the breaking of a forbidden spell. For these crimes, you will be imprisoned until the Council sees fit to try your case. As a mortal, you have no rights in this matter. Anything you speak or cast can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

Simmons is right in front of Grif, close enough to touch. Close enough to watch first confusion, and then a strange relief twist his expression, before alarm and fury replace it.

Grif wants to step between him and the stooge, to say something, anything, but he can’t move. He just watches Simmons bristle.

“The Council said–”

Scrooge snaps the scroll shut. “The Council has realized the threat Leonard Church poses to the witch world and is responding accordingly. Now come along.”

Simmons flushes a violent scarlet. “Shove your scroll up your–”

Scrooge waves a hand.

They all vanish with multiple pops of displaced air until it’s just Grif and the color swatches alone in the middle of the beach house.

The wind is just calming down as Sam gets home from work that evening, seeming to disappear with the sunlight. At least the landlord’s finally set the outdoor lamps to turn on at the correct time.

He shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it up by the door, and starts to contemplate what he wants for dinner. There are leftovers from an experiment he was trying for the next Wine and Cheese Hour. Or he could just make himself a sandwich with some salad, something simple.

The thought’s barely formed in his head when he hears someone bolting down the hallway and a fist begins to drum against his door.

“Sam! Sam, are you in there? You gotta be in there, Kai isn’t here, and I need– Sam?”

Sam is back at the door almost before he realizes he’s moving, wrenching it open to blink up at Grif’s frantic expression.

Grif’s expression wobbles before he grabs Sam’s arms and starts speaking, a rush of words spilling out so quickly that Sam almost can’t understand him until comprehension strikes like a punch to the stomach.

“They took him. Just read out a bunch of phony charges and took him. We didn’t even get– How did Carolina and Church accidentally get you out? Because it’s jailbreak time. Simmons will look weird with a moustache, but if it throws the Council off, it’s fine. Crap, I guess we should grab Leonard too, but he already has a moustache. Maybe he can go blond. That’s weird enough to throw people off, right? Or we could lay low for a few weeks here, pretend to be your cats. No one would suspect a thing! Simmons could win some prizes at some championships, he’s a good-looking cat, but seriously, jailbreak, explanation, now, because we have to get Simmons–”

“Grif,” Sam says.

Grif snaps his mouth shut so tightly that his teeth click.

“Tell me the charges.”

“I don’t– I–”

Sam just looks at him, trying to keep his own worry off his face.

“Uh,” Grif says. He licks his lips. He’s shaking a little under Sam’s hands, though Sam doesn’t think he realizes it, his breath coming in short, shuttering gasps of air. “Got him as an accomplice. For, uh, breaking the Charitable Acts law, breaking the familiar spell, and conspiracy.”

“Against the Council?” Sam asks. His stomach sinks. This is worse than he thought.

“Yeah, who else would it be? Santa Claus?” Grif snaps, but the sarcasm is half-hearted. He takes another breath. “We’ve gotta do something.”

“Yes,” Sam agrees.

He takes a deep breath of his own, dredging up memories he hasn’t revisited since Frank and Franklin called him, frantic that Simmons had been kidnapped. He breathes out carefully.

“I know someone who can help.”

Leonard is calm. Leonard is not going to be foolish. He is going to sit here and examine his and Richard’s situation from every angle until he can figure out how to escape whatever nasty fate Malcolm hopes for him.

It’s hard to think, however, while Richard is pacing and muttering under his breath, yanking at his hair until it’s a wonder the other man isn’t bald. He’s been alternating between cursing out the Council and wondering if Grif is okay, despite Leonard’s reminder that the Council is likely listening to everything they’re saying.

It’s almost a relief when one of the guards comes to the door and says flatly, “You’ve got company.”

Leonard blinks. He runs through the list of possibilities. It’s unlikely to be Vanessa. Emily, perhaps? She is still on relatively good terms with the Council, and more likely to keep her head than Vanessa under the circumstances.

“Company?” Simmons squeaks. Alarm and hope war briefly on his face. “Who–”

“Come on,” says the guard, pointing down the hall. “Don’t waste time.”

They are led to a small room. It is a solid gray: gray walls, gray floor, gray table and three gray chairs.

None of the chairs are occupied, because an unfamiliar woman is standing behind one, examining her surroundings before her dark eyes snap to the door. Her short hair is as dark as her eyes. She’s the only spot of color in the room, her silk suit a pale violet, her dress shirt white, her satchel a warm brown shade where it rests against her hip.

Leonard has never seen this woman before in his life.

She gives him a cursory smile. “Doctor Leonard Church. Depending on the next few minutes, I might be your lawyer.”

Leonard stares at her. It’s difficult to swallow for a moment, hope and uncertainty an equal measure as he gathers himself to answer. He says evenly, “If you are going to advise us to accept a plea deal, then I will spare you the trouble. A plea deal is unacceptable.”

The woman quirks an eyebrow. “With the crimes you’re accused of, I doubt a plea deal is even on the table. You are accused of breaking the familiar spell.” She sits down, gesturing for them both to do the same.

Leonard sits, but Richard stays standing, scowling at her.

“They told me to prove I could do magic,” he says sharply. “It’s not our fault if they didn’t think that through.”

The woman glances at him, a flicker of curiosity darting across her features. “Richard Simmons. You’re charged as an accomplice?”

“Yes,” Richard says. He is obviously gearing himself up for a rant, but stops when Leonard says, “Richard. Sit down. We should hear her out and answer her questions.”

After a second, still scowling, Richard does.

As soon as they’re both seated, the woman sets her satchel on the table and pulls out two scrolls, clearly copies of the charges. She reads them out once more. “Violation of the Charitable Acts law. Conspiracy against the Council. The breaking of a forbidden spell. Any one of these would be a difficult case to win, you know.”

“And yet you are here,” Leonard says slowly.

The woman almost smiles. “Let’s just say I like a challenge. I am simply trying to ascertain if this will be a challenge or an impossibility.”

“Understood. Ask away.”

The woman clasps her hands together and leans forward. “Why?”

Leonard blinks. “Pardon?”

“Why did you do it?”

Leonard studies the woman. He supposes there is the faint possibility she is some Council spy, sent to pretend to be their lawyer and learn more about how they plan to defend themselves. However, if he is being honest, Drell doesn’t think that far ahead, and Malcolm is likely so certain of his victory that he wouldn’t do it either.

He starts to gather his thoughts, but it’s Richard who speaks first through gritted teeth.

“Because Grif shouldn’t have been a cat in the first place! He didn’t know who he was helping, and then he saved Massachusetts! That doesn’t give you time off for good behavior in the Other Realm? It wasn’t right.”

“And the other two charges?” the woman asks, glancing between Richard and Leonard.

Leonard clears his throat. It feels tight. He has been trying not to think too deeply on the last and greatest charge, but now this woman is watching him, weighing whether he’s worth helping or not. “We were, mm, charged with the Charitable Acts violation before–”

“Which I guess means double jeopardy doesn’t exist for witches,” Richard gripes. “At least normal people have that.”

The woman’s eyebrow rises, but she doesn’t comment.

“Which was,” Leonard says. He pauses. The room is much smaller than he remembered. He finds himself rising to his feet and walking towards the nearest wall, trying to quantify the space and convince himself it’s not gotten smaller in the last few minutes. “If Richard could do magic as a mortal, if he wasn’t a witch who’d lost his memory, then it would be– Everything would be different.”

“And the conspiracy against the Council?”

“I wasn’t thinking of the Council,” Leonard snaps. He takes a breath, tries to moderate his tone. “Or at least, they were very low in my considerations on keeping Richard a secret. I wanted time for Richard to experiment with magic and learn his limitations and abilities. Two years is nothing. We don’t even know if Richard using magic is altering his physical body in any permanent way–”

“Uh, what?” Richard says.

Leonard ignores him, focusing on the woman. “You must see the potential ramifications,” he says. It’s only as the words leave his lips that he remembers pleading with Church to understand why he was risking everything. “If mortals can do magic, then things must change.”

The woman stares at him. He cannot read her expression. Then she shakes her head. “Well, wanting to upset the status quo won’t help with the conspiracy charge. The Council will take that personally.”

Leonard’s stomach sinks.

Then she rises to her feet and extends a hand. “I see I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”

He blinks, staring down at her outstretched hand. “You’ll take our case?”

The woman smiles. “I did say I enjoy a challenge. Do exactly what I tell you and we’ll get through this.”

Slowly, Leonard takes her hand, wanting to believe her. She shakes it briskly, but ends the handshake with a half-reassuring squeeze before she turns and nods towards Richard. He gives her a weak nod in return.

The woman takes her satchel and slings it over her shoulder.

“Megan Wu, at your service. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a trial to win.”

Church is beginning to think other witches are right. Maybe Thanksgiving is cursed.

He’s not going to say that out loud, not when Carolina is on the verge of tears or a panic attack and Tex looks like she’s regretting not punching Hargrove in the face a second time when she had the chance.

Grey and Kimball are here too, adding to the tension, Grey recalled from the hospital and Kimball walking in about a minute after Hargrove had vanished with Leonard and the goons. A frantic phone call to Simmons’ place went unanswered, so either Grif got grabbed with Simmons or he’s too busy panicking to answer the phone.

Tex might be looking like she’s visualizing smashing Hargrove’s nose, but she’s still running on disaster mode. He heard it in her voice as she quizzed Hargrove about Leonard’s rights and he hears it now as she looks at Grey and Kimball and asks, “What’s happening next?”

Grey and Kimball exchange a look. “Well,” Grey says, her usual cheer absent from her voice, “it’s hard to say. I suspect the Council will want to sweep this under the rug quickly, so the trial will probably be tomorrow or Friday–”

“What?” Carolina demands.

Kimball grimaces. “Either that or the Council will stick them in jail and wait a year or two before they try the case.”

Carolina gets a glint in her eye that Church knows signals a rant about due process or just a lot of insults about the Council and the Other Realm. Before she can launch into it, though, there’s a knock on the front door.

Everyone tenses.

“Uh, assuming you guys are having a council of war in there? I want in.”

Church gets to the door first, opening it. It’s still a little odd to have the guy looming over him instead of being familiar-sized, but Church cranes his neck to look at Grif’s face.

He’s expecting Grif to look frantic, and he does, but he also looks determined. There’s also a weird relief in his face as he looks down at Church, studying him for a second, and then past him into the brownstone.

It takes Church a second to realize why. Last time, they’d all gotten arrested. Grif probably hadn’t been sure what he was walking into, if the whole Church family had been dragged back off to jail. Church still isn’t sure why he and Carolina hadn’t been charged with anything, but maybe the Council was too focused on Leonard and Simmons to care about a couple of teen witches.

“You didn’t pick up the phone,” Carolina says. “Is Mr. Simmons….?”

Grif makes a face. “Yeah, they got us when we were in Hawaii, and then I was, uh, talking to Sam. But I’ve got a plan! Sort of! It’s more Sam’s plan, but he was pretty sure this woman could help, so– Clutching at straws right now.”

“Have a seat at the war council,” Tex says dryly. She gestures towards the couch.

Grif doesn’t sit. Instead he paces as Kimball growls out, “Sam has a plan?”

Grif makes another face. He waves his hands at her. “Come on, Kimball. Don’t hate it because it came from Sam. Do any of you know a witch lawyer who might be willing to square off against the Council?”

“I do,” Carolina says unexpectedly. Everyone looks at her. Her voice wobbles as she adds, “Well, I know a witch lawyer. I don’t know what type of law Gail does. And she, uh, might not want to fight the Council….”

“Okay, well, Sam knows a really good one who likes a fight,” Grif says.

Church squints at him. He wants to be optimistic, but that’s never been his style. Doom and gloom comes more naturally. There’s definitely something going on here that Grif isn’t telling them. “Uh-huh. And where was this lawyer when the Council sent him to Pluto?”

Grif avoids his eyes. “Okay. So. She was probably cheering on the Council and hoping they’d sentence him to worse.”

“Than Pluto?!”

Grif winces at Church’s yell.

He probably should have expected this to be a hard sell. Most of the people in front of him haven’t spent the last year with Sam as their upstairs neighbor, adjusting to being a mortal and being a generally chill dude now that Felix was dead.

Megan Wu had been an almost impossible sell. Grif sort of wishes he could do a memory spell on himself just so that he doesn’t have to live with the horrible awkwardness of remembering that phone call.

Sam looks grim, like he’s going in front of a firing squad instead of offering Grif a chance to save Simmons.

“You know someone who can help,” Grif repeats, half-disbelieving, half-clinging to this unexpected lifeline. “Then what are we waiting for? Wait, who do you know who can help? Cause I don’t object to a jailbreak if you’ve still got some old shady contacts, but we’ve gotta be smart about this–”

“No jailbreaks,” Sam says firmly. He sighs. “I need to use your phone.”

Grif probably should give him space, but he crowds Sam anyway, trying to listen in on this conversation as the phone rings once, twice, before a woman’s voice says with bright professionalism, “Thank you for calling Wu Legal, how may I help you today?”

Sam looks, somehow, even grimmer. “I need to talk to Mrs. Wu. Tell her….” He pauses, sighs again. “Tell her it’s about her husband’s old college friends.”

“Oh,” says the woman, her perky professionalism slipping just enough for confusion to bleed through. “One moment, please!”

A few seconds go by before a new voice demands,coldly, “Who is this and what do you want?”

“Don’t hang up,” Sam says.

The woman actually hisses.

Grif’s stomach sinks. That’s not a great start.

“How dare you,” this Wu woman says, clearly furious. “How dare you call my office–”

“It seemed better than calling your home,” Sam says. As she makes an inarticulate sound of rage, he adds quickly, “I wouldn’t have called if there was any alternative. But you are the best lawyer I know–”

“Whatever you did, I hope the Council does worse than Pluto.”

Sam winces. “I am not calling on my behalf. Do you remember Dexter Grif?”

There’s a pause. Just like with the secretary, confusion breaks through Wu’s rage. “Of course. Obvious miscarriage of justice. Why?”

“He needs your help.”

Grif is half-grateful when Tex yanks him from the memory by asking, “And she’s going to help us?” Her arms are crossed, her expression hard to read.

Grif throws up his arms. “Leonard and Simmons aren’t Sam! Look, I don’t know Sam’s whole history with Megan Wu, but apparently she’s a great lawyer, so maybe let’s stop it with the 20 Questions and figure out what we do while she saves them.”

Kimball blinks. “Did you say Megan Wu?”

“Uh, yeah,” Grif says. “Sam said she’s our best bet.”

“He’s not wrong,” Kimball mutters. It doesn’t even come out half-hearted. For the first time since she walked into the door and been given the news of what she’d just missed, she looks almost hopeful. “If she’s willing to be their lawyer, they might…. This could work.”

Then her eyes narrow. “How does Megan Wu know Locus?”

“Sam,” Grif corrects automatically. “And, uh. You know Sam! Not great at exposition. Or explanations. Or talking about his feelings. So. I didn’t get the whole story, but uh, she’s willing to help us anyway, so let’s move on, okay?”

Tex makes an impatient noise. “Can’t say I care about anything other than her being willing to help us. What’s she cost?”

“Cost?” Grif says, blinking.

“Lawyers cost money,” Tex says. “Unless witch lawyers pay with something else?”

“Uh,” Grif says. “We didn’t talk money….”

Tex huffs out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. Leonard can afford her. What does she need from us?”

Grif studies the group. This isn’t a group that likes to just twiddle their thumbs. He knows Carolina definitely isn’t, after all her poking at Felix. He tries on a reassuring smile. Judging by the way Church makes a face back at him, it doesn’t really work. “I gave her this address. She said she’d be in touch and not talk to anyone but her until she gets here.”

“So we just sit and wait,” Carolina says. Her voice wobbles again.

“Well, yeah—”

Thunder rolls above their heads.

A second later Kai thunders down the stairs. She’s come straight from some party in the Other Realm, pulsing glitter shifting through a rainbow of colors on her face as she fixes her eyes on Grif. “Bro? Are we doing a jailbreak? Cause I can get us some fake IDs so ducking easy, just give me like six hours and your autograph.”

“You got my note?”

“Your note? No, Dex, it’s on the news.” Kai claps her hands.

The TV turns on.

Dylan Andrews smiles out of the screen. “Hello, everyone, this is Dylan Andrews with breaking news–”

“--reporting to you live from the Other Realm courthouse.”

Dylan Andrews gives everyone a professional smile.

“Boo!” Hilda, Sabrina, and Salem yell together, drowning out whatever she says next.

“Who Wants to be a Millionaire is sacred,” Salem grouses. He’s curled up in Sabrina’s lap, one paw possessively on the popcorn bowl. Hilda and Sabrina are on the couch, with Zelda banished to the love seat since she tends to throw elbows when she knows an answer the contestant doesn’t. “This better be good.”

“Yes,” Zelda agrees, who looks like she was on the verge of joining in with the booing. She brightens. “Let’s think positive! Maybe Drell is dead.”

Sabrina tries not to grin, but from the way Hilda glares at them both, she definitely fails.

“He’s not that bad.”

Zelda sighs as Dylan gestures towards the courthouse, a creepy-looking building that Sabrina remembers being just as bleak inside from her run-ins with the Council. “Hilda, he’s an egotistical maniac who left you at the altar. Multiple times.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Hilda mutters.

“Shut up,” Salem says suddenly. Sabrina yelps as he digs his claws into her thigh, leaping onto the coffee table and blocking her view of the TV. His tail is thrashing wildly.

“Salem! Watch the tail! And the claws.”

Sabrina’s still rubbing her leg when Zelda sucks in a shocked breath.

“Is that Leonard?”

“Sure looks like it,” Hilda says, leaning forward and grabbing onto Salem’s tail before he can knock their glasses off the table. She grimaces. “Think the Council figured out about Jimmy?”

“Hush,” Zelda says, focused on the TV.

Salem’s still in the way, so Sabrina grabs him and deposits him on the couch’s arm rest. Her stomach is twisting nervously. She doesn’t know what happens when you accidentally make a real person trying to figure out a loophole, but she’s pretty sure it’s nothing good.

Her throat dry, she grabs her drink. Hilda and Zelda must feel the same way, worried about James, because they grab their drinks too as Dylan keeps talking.

“--is accused of violating the Charitable Acts law, conspiracy against the Council, and the breaking of a forbidden spell. And for the first time in recorded history, a mortal is being charged as an accomplice to these crimes and will stand trial alongside Doctor Church.”

Witch TV throws up a photograph of Doctor Church, probably from the website for his cauldron company, and then a picture of a familiar redheaded man behind bars, splotchy-faced and glaring at whoever took the picture.

Sabrina, Hilda, and Zelda do synchronized spit-takes, the screen obscured as they all choke.

And Dylan just keeps talking, like she isn’t blowing everyone’s minds.

“We’re still gathering information about the mortal accomplice, but we know that Richard Simmons is a teacher at a high school in Westbridge, Massachusetts in the mortal realm. It’s perhaps because of this unprecedented event that the esteemed Megan Wu took the case. She has already garnered her client a jury trial that will be aired live to you all on Witch TV. The juror selection will begin tomorrow morning, so keep an eye on your toasters!”

Who Wants to be a Millionaire comes back on, Dylan Andrews replaced by Meredith Vieira.

Sabrina fumbles with the remote and turns off the TV. She looks around at her aunts and Salem, but they all seem as shell-shocked as she is.

It’s Hilda who breaks the silence, jabbing an accusing finger towards everyone. “Okay, raise your hand if you knew he was mortal. I swear, if this is like the time you guys decided to keep it a secret that Joey and Matthew Lawrence were in town to visit their uncle, I’m going to–”

“Hilda, be serious!” Zelda snaps. “He can’t possibly be mortal. He did magic!”

“Yeah, mortals can’t do magic,” Sabrina agrees. She wonders how Carolina is handling all this. Should she call? Maybe she should call. Even if Carolina says she doesn’t want to talk to anyone, at least Sabrina could say she tried.

But first she needs some more information. She squints at her aunts. “Unless this is a whole new secret you guys have been hiding. Is this a whole new secret you guys have been hiding?”

“Mortal, schmortal, either way Dexter’s freaking out,” Salem says. He perks up. “Hey, maybe he’ll reconsider helping take over the world now that Simmons is in the slammer!”

“SALEM!”

“What?”

Chapter Text

Carolina hates this courthouse. She hates the Council sitting high and mighty at their bench, Hargrove standing smug at the prosecutor’s table, the jurors who are eyeing Mr. Simmons like he’s some animal that escaped from the zoo, the curious onlookers who are crowded on the benches around Carolina.

It’s only Church, gripping her hand tightly; Grey watching them both with a concerned look on his other side; and Grif, who’s staring at Simmons like nothing else matters, keeping her from jumping to her feet and telling everyone what she thinks of this sham of a trial.

Mrs. Wu had emphasized how important it is not to cause a scene. It’s hard to remember, though, when her father is sitting silent and tense just a few feet away from her.

“Well, let’s get this started,” Drell snaps from his bench. He points towards Carolina’s dad and Simmons, and Church’s grip gets tighter on hers. “Leonard Church, you are charged with violation of the Charitable Acts law, breaking of a forbidden spell, and conspiracy against the Council. How do you plead?”

Carolina’s dad clears his throat and rises to his feet, Mrs. Wu rising with him. “Not guilty, sir.” She’s never heard him sound so formal, not even when they’d all been arrested a few months ago.

Drell snorts, dispelling any notion he’s impartial. It’s a good thing everything’s up to the jury. The jury will decide guilt or innocence and if they decide on guilt, the Council decides the punishment. “And you? Mortal guy?”

Cassandra leans over and whispers in his ear.

“Richard Simmons. You’re charged as an accomplice to his crimes. What do you plead?”

Simmons stands as well. Carolina can’t get a good look at his face, but the back of his neck is flushed red and he says, “Not guilty,” through gritted teeth.

“Let the record show that both of them plead not guilty,” Drell says, rolling his eyes. He turns towards the jury. “Right. We don’t do too many of these, so let me remind you all why you’re in that box with all those cameras pointed at you. You are the jury. You’ll listen to the prosecution and the defense about why these two are guilty or innocent, and then you will decide who’s right. Got it?”

The jurors nod, most of them tearing their gazes away from Carolina’s dad and Simmons long enough to meet Drell’s eyes.

“Good! And no talking to the press until after the trial’s done, or you’ll find yourselves on Pluto for screwing things up!”

Skippy frowns and gestures.

“Well, that should be a thing!” Drell huffs and leans back in his chair. “Okay, Malcolm. Lay out why these two are guilty.”

Hargrove clears his throat. “Thank you, sir.” He’s dressed in what must be required for court, a huge black robe with a white collar that hangs down his chest like a white pressed napkin. Mrs. Wu is wearing something similar, but her collar is smaller, finely detailed with white lace dragons holding pearls.

He clasps his hands behind his back and approaches the jury, giving them a practiced smile before he fakes being solemn.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will spend the next three days performing a great service to all witches. You do not have just the fate of Leonard Church and the mortal Richard Simmons in your hands. Both what Leonard Church claimed he was doing and what I will prove he was actually attempting would undermine and shake the very foundation of our realm. Do not be swayed by Mrs. Wu’s words. I am here to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that over the last fifteen months Leonard Church attempted to create an untraceable magic-capable mortal in the other realm. His goal? To overthrow the Council and install mortal sympathizers in their place.”

There’s a shocked gasp through the crowd.

Hargrove nods. “I was as shocked as you all when I discovered the plot. To accomplish this, he convinced this poor mortal he could do magic on his own.”

Simmons tenses. “But I did–”

Mrs. Wu quickly shushes him, but not before Drell slams his fist on the bench and roars, “Wu! Either keep him quiet or I’ll take his mouth until then.”

“Apologies, sir,” Mrs. Wu says. “It won’t happen again.”

Next to Carolina, Grif exhales sharply. She drags her attention away from Simmons and her dad to see Grif curl in on himself, his hands gripping the railing that separates them from the defense table so tightly that his knuckles are a pale brown. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he doesn’t look angry. He mostly looks scared, staring at Simmons like he thinks Simmons is going to vanish.

Carolina can’t even tell him it’s going to be okay. She grabs his hand instead with the one Church isn’t clinging to.

Grif barely seems to notice, taking another deep, ragged breath.

Hargrove, meanwhile, smiles. “As I said, Leonard Church didn’t only attempt to deceive his fellow witches. He convinced this poor man that he was the first mortal to ever do magic himself, not through theft of a witch’s magic or other trickery, but through his own innate abilities. Richard Simmons comes before you as an accomplice, but in a way he might well be one of Leonard Church’s victims. He is delusional enough to believe he can do magic, and so desperate to be one of us that he is willing to go along with anything Leonard Church asks him to do, including assisting in the breaking of a forbidden spell as a test-run for the Council’s overthrow.”

Simmons tenses but doesn’t say anything this time.

Hargrove bows to the jurors. He looks solemn. “You must understand the severity of these crimes. Give me these three days and I will prove to you that Leonard Church plotted for almost a full year and a half in order to overthrow the Council and used a willing, delusional mortal as his planned weapon.”

When he sits, the crowds behind Carolina break out into quiet whispers, alarm and curiosity and excitement in those voices. She tries to tune them out even as Drell slams a fist on the bench and bellows for silence.

Everyone goes quiet, watching Mrs. Wu as she rises to her feet, smoothing a hand down her collar as she approaches the jurors with a grave look. Mrs. Wu doesn’t clasp her hands behind her back like Hargrove.

Instead she rests her hand on the railing of the jury box, smiling ruefully at the closest juror and saying, “The man my colleague just described to you is not the Leonard Church I know. Doctor Church has been an upstanding citizen for the last millennia. Many of you use his family’s cauldrons, Stalwart Cauldrons, in your homes today. He oversees that business and also spearheads CauldronShare, a charity that puts cauldrons into hospitals and universities at a discount. His scientific work has earned him numerous awards and accolades. This is the man that my colleague claims would overthrow the Council?”

Mrs. Wu’s rueful smile vanishes. She looks earnest, meeting each juror’s eyes. “I’m happy to tell you that what you heard from the prosecution was a piece of fiction. Leonard Church has no desire to overthrow the Council. He is simply a man of science who discovered a mystery and sought to solve it before he brought his findings to the Council. After all, if what my client believes is true, that a mortal can use magic of his own, then there will be ramifications throughout witch society.”

She nods solemnly. Carolina can’t help the flutter of anxious hope in her stomach.

“Give me these three days,” Mrs. Wu says, “and I will prove to you that Doctor Church and his companion are innocent of these charges.”

“Okay, but they are guilty, those jerks!” Salem says between sobs. He hisses in surprise when Hilda leans over and smacks him between the ears. “What? L-look at Dexter!”

He waves a devastated paw at the screen where the camera is lingering on the defense table. Behind Leonard and Simmons are four familiar, equally unhappy faces: Church, Carolina, Emily Grey, and Dexter Grif, who is very much not a cat.

Salem uses his tail to bring the tissue box closer to him, sobbing into another tissue. “They broke the familiar spell and didn't even TE-ELL MEEEEE…”

He can barely see Zelda, Hilda, and Sabrina through his tears, but his ears flatten against his head at the force of their respective yells of, “What?!”

Salem manages to get his breath, though it takes him a minute to swallow down his sobs. “Don't you see? That guy next to the Church kids! That’s Dexter! He’s been human and he didn’t even tell me! I knew he sounded different on the phone but he just said he had a–”

Another sob bursts from him. He wails, “He said he had a COOOOOLD!!”

“Zelda, do you think—”

Zelda shakes her head. “Salem is being ridiculous. No one’s ever been able to break the familiar spell. Leonard is a man of many talents, but even he can’t break a Council spell.”

“That’s why Dexter’s been avoiding me!” Salem snaps. “He’s been hiding it, the jerk, not willing to share the fix–”

Sabrina pats his head. “Aw, Salem. I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding you because he doesn’t like you.”

Salem sobs. “I’ll show you! I’ll show all of you!”

Megan closes the door behind her and takes a deep breath.

Damn Malcolm Hargrove and his grandstanding. She had known he had something up his sleeve from the way he had seemed relatively unfazed by her winning a public jury trial. But accusing Leonard of planning to use Richard as an assassin against the Council? Unbelievable.

Unbelievable, but something she will have to work with.

She keeps the frustration off her face.

First things first. She locks eyes with Richard, who is still seething, his face blotchy and red as he throws himself down into the chair and mutters under his breath. He blinks when he meets her gaze, some of the angry flush fading.

“Mr. Simmons,” Megan says, keeping her voice even and matter-of-fact. “You did yourself no favors with that outburst out there.” He scowls and opens his mouth, snapping it shut when she holds up a finger. “You are already at a disadvantage with the jury from being a mortal. I did my best during jury selection but some of these people have never even been to the Mortal Realm. Don’t make it easier for Hargrove to turn you into a bogeyman.”

Richard is still scowling. “So I’m just supposed to sit there and let him act like I’m just some pawn who was fooled into thinking he could do magic?”

“Yes,” Megan says. He looks mutinous. “Mr. Simmons, I understand your frustration, but I won’t allow you to jeopardize yourself and Doctor Church. If I need to, I will utilize my right as your lawyer to silence you for the duration of the trial.”

Richard goes from mutinous to sulky but whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by Leonard clearing his throat and saying, “We understand. What do you need from us?”

Megan takes a breath. “No more outbursts. I need you both to remain calm no matter what outlandish accusations Malcolm throws at you. He will parade his three witnesses in front of the jury and paint you both in the worst possible light. Do not fall for the bait. Let me eviscerate his witnesses, whoever they turn out to be.”

“You know, in the real world, witnesses aren’t a surprise,” Richard says darkly. “They give you more than just a name, or at least time to learn about the witnesses….”

“The mortal courts are not infallible,” Leonard says, “but there are certain things that would improve our justice system.”

“And we can have that interesting debate when the trial is over,” Megan says dryly. It’s not even that she disagrees, necessarily, but this is not the time for an intellectual debate. This is time to focus on the current reality.

From Malcolm’s opening statements, she can guess at Fred Scrooge and Aradia Endor. The former was the witch assigned to oversee Dexter’s familiar sentence and the latter is on the Stalwart Cauldrons’ board of directors.

The last name, however….

“None of you know Theo Dyer?”

Leonard and Richard both shake their heads.

Megan represses a sigh. Mason is still investigating, but the name is a common one in the Other Realm. Hopefully he can figure out the connection before the witch gets on the stand.

“Tomorrow I will talk to our witnesses and Malcolm will get a chance to question them.”

Now it’s Leonard’s turn to look mutinous.

She forestalls his protest with a raised hand. “I know you object, but these three are the best choices to paint you as a devoted father and an upstanding member of the witch community, that you are not a fanatic about mortal rights. I’ll do my best to make sure Malcolm doesn’t badger them too much.”

“And then after that we get to take the stand?”

Megan studies Richard’s tense expression. She has no current plans to put him on the stand to antagonize the jury further, but she certainly isn’t going to tell him that. “After that you are allowed to take the stand, though I generally advise against it. Malcolm has prosecuted many cases over the last two millennia. He knows exactly how to twist your words, especially if you get upset. Let’s revisit our options after all the witnesses have been questioned.”

Richard still looks tense. He licks his lips and glances towards Leonard. “Okay, but, uh, what about the witnesses? If they’re under a truth spell, what’s to stop Hargrove from asking them questions about, uh, other activities. Uh– you know, stuff that would get other people in trouble?”

Megan very carefully does not ask why Richard’s question makes Leonard’s lips go thin. If it’s not related to the case, she doesn’t want to know. She projects confidence and smiles at Richard. “The truth spell is contained. The witnesses will be unable to lie, but it will not compel them to speak. No one will be forced to incriminate themselves, even if Malcolm would love that.”

“Okay,” Richard says. He takes a shaky breath, relieved. “That’s good.”

“Mr. Simmons,” Megan says. “Doctor Church. The prosecution’s case always looks airtight until the defense points out all the cracks. Let me do my job and try not to worry.”

She projects confidence until Richard looks a little less queasy and anxious.

There’s no need for him to know that this is going to be the hardest case of her career.

That’s for her to worry about.

“Simmons can do magic, you stupid ducks!” Kai snarls at the television, which is replaying the stupidest bits of the opening statements on repeat while the trial gets put on pause for an hour.

It’s only the fact that it’s not her TV that she doesn’t break it. That hot doctor would be pissed if she came back from keeping the kids and Grif from doing anything stupid and found it broken.

Still, she growls as Locus says, “I suspect that the prosecutor has either convinced the Council otherwise or the Council would prefer the public believe otherwise.” If his voice is calm, his expression isn’t. He looks tense and worried as he watches the replay of Simmons yelling at the dickhead.

“Why not both?” Tex mutters. She hasn’t moved from behind the love seat since the trial started, bracing herself on the back rest, her hands white-knuckled.

If looks could kill, that Hargrove guy would be dead a million times over. Kai gets why that hot doctor took her aside and asked her to keep an eye on Tex. She can totally picture Tex figuring out a way to crash the trial and punch that Hargrove guy in the throat.

“Reporting to you live from outside the courthouse,” Dylan Andrews says with a bright, professional smile. “Just a few short minutes ago, we heard the opening statements of the prosecution and the defense in the trial of Doctor Leonard Church vs. the Witch Council. Doctor Church is charged with violation of the Charitable Acts law, breaking of a forbidden spell, and conspiracy against the Council. The prosecution claims that Doctor Church attempted to create an untraceable magic-capable mortal in order to overthrow the Council and install mortal sympathizers in their place. The defense has pleaded not guilty, citing Doctor Church’s philanthropy and scientific contributions over the millennia and claiming that Doctor Church found a mortal who seemed to be able to do magic and was conducting experiments before presenting this fact to the Council.”

Kai growls, but Andrews keeps talking.

“While we wait to reconvene, let’s talk with an expert on magic transference and sun spots. This is Professor Aurelia Goldwater from Other Realm University. Doctor, thank you for joining us on such short notice.”

The witch she thrusts her microphone at is a shaggy-haired woman who’s from some dimension as far from the Mortal Realm as possible. Her freckles glow blue as she blinks owlishly at the camera. “Yes! Hello!”

“Would you mind giving us your thoughts on the opening statements?”

“Ah, yes,” Goldwater says. She adjusts her glasses. ”It feels like we are at the theater, does it not? Because after all, we all know that mortals can temporarily use a witch's magic in very strict circumstances. Cases of a particular strain of influenza. Or during a few incidents over the centuries where a mortal temporarily stole a witch's magic during tax season. Both circumstances, however, are of course rare and, most importantly, temporary. It is not the mortal’s own magic, which becomes obvious once the magic or any effluvium is studied for identification. This idea of this mortal being able to use magic on his own is absurd.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Andrews says. She turns and smiles at another witch, a tall, dark-skinned man with what looks like short black, brown, and green locs until one of the green locs moves and reveals itself to be a small green snake. “Professor Peter Stone, you are an expert on magic law. Is there any precedent for a witch giving a mortal their magic in order to commit a crime?”

“He didn’t give Simmons his magic!” Kai snaps as Stone beams and nods towards Goldwater.

“There is not a precise precedent here, Ms. Andrews. In fact this case looks likely to be cited in future cases going forward. I suspect Doctor Hargrove will rely on the precedent of Alcaraz vs. Moreno, in which the defendant, a tax collector charged with attempted world domination, was also found guilty of violating the Charitable Laws act for stealing Moreno’s magic during his audit. Alcaraz gave Moreno’s magic to his mortal brother-in-law, who attempted to take over a small peninsula during the 1400s.”

“Fascinating!” Goldwater says.

“Isn’t it? But as for a witch giving his magic to a mortal in order for that mortal to commit violence against the Council, well, it’s unheard of. After all, no standing member of the Council has been in the Mortal Realm for 730 years, and all mortals who stumble into the Other Realm are turned into animals via the Other Realm’s magical protections.”

Goldwater frowns. “Then how could Doctor Church hope to get this mortal anywhere close to the Council to kill them? His mortal can’t get to the Other Realm without becoming a newt or a frog.”

Stone shrugs, the snakes in his hair hissing faintly. “He apparently wants to overthrow the Council and install mortal sympathizers. A man like that could easily delude himself into thinking he’s found a loophole.”

There’s a sudden commotion, people moving past Andrews in waves, heading back into the courtroom. “Oh, it looks like court is reconvening,” she announces, beginning to follow, the frame shaking a little as her camera person hastily follows her. She waves towards Stone and Goldwater, calling over the crowd, “Thank you, Doctor Stone, Doctor Goldwater, for your time during this trial. To everyone watching, we’ll also be speaking to other experts as the case proceeds. But until the next recess, I’m Dylan Andrews, coming to you live from the courthouse!”

The camera shakes as the camera person keeps getting jostled by the crowd.

Kai looks at Tex, who looks just as angry as before, and Locus, who looks even more tense.

“...I’m getting us some alcohol.”

Malcolm, Leonard is unsurprised to see, is grandstanding once more. He stands in front of the jury, his hands clasped in front of him, solemnly meeting each of their eyes before he says, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today I will present my three witnesses who will prove without a shadow of a doubt that Leonard Church and his accomplice are guilty of the following crimes: violation of the Charitable Acts law, breaking of a forbidden spell, and conspiracy against the Council. I am certain each one of you will listen closely.”

“Get on with it,” Drell drawls, waving an impatient hand.

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm says, too well-practiced to look annoyed. He clears his throat. “I now call Aradia Endor to the witness stand!”

Leonard keeps his own expression calm, even as Aradia gives him a guilty look on her way to the witness stand. She is dressed as impeccably as ever, the only other hint to her nerves being the way she fiddles with one of her bracelets before she sits down.

The bailiff steps to the witness stand, pulling out a silk covered black box. He removes the Truth Tooth with grim ceremony, holding it out to Aradia and saying, “Aradia Endor, place your hand upon the Truth Tooth and recite the truth incantation to initiate the Truth Booth.”

“Truth Tooth? Truth Booth?” Richard mutters beside Leonard, wincing as Megan gives him a sharp look.

Aradia wets her lips with her tongue before she gives Leonard an apologetic look and reaches out to cup the Truth Tooth in her hands.

“I hold this tooth to compel the truth

for every minute I sit in this booth.

I shall not lie, I so do swear.

Now let the truth be laid bare.”

The truth tooth glows lavender and then silver and then a pale green, the magic swirling around Aradia and her chair and then fading to just the faintest flicker of green light to remind everyone watching that she is compelled to tell the truth.

Malcolm smiles at her. She doesn’t smile back.

“Mrs. Endor, state your name, your occupation, and your connection to Leonard Church for the record.”

Aradia doesn’t look at Leonard any more as she answers. “My name is Aradia Endor. I am the current Head of Admissions at Beldam University. And I…have known Leonard Church for two hundred and twenty years since I joined the board at Stalwart Cauldrons.”

“So you would say that you have known Leonard Church for quite some time?”

“Yes,” Aradia says.

“How much time have you spent with him, approximately?”

Aradia offers up a thin smile. “The board meets biweekly, barring emergencies. The meetings can go from anywhere to an hour to a full day. I can do the math for you if you’d like.” The offer is made without enthusiasm.

It’s Malcolm’s turn to wave a hand. “No need. It’s clear that you’ve spent a substantial amount of time with him. Elaborate on those emergencies and Leonard’s state of mind during those incidents.”

“Ah,” Aradia says. She fiddles with her bracelet again. “Well. During my tenure, emergencies have been rare. My first was when Leonard took over as head of Stalwart after his parents’ deaths, which was obviously a difficult time. Leonard threw himself into his work. Then there was an incident in 1897 where magical mites were devouring our usual iron supply. Leonard was focused on finding solutions, both to stop this mite threat as well as to assist the iron company, who had been impeccable business partners until then. And then there was, ah, his daughter’s birthday in 1997.”

“His daughter’s birthday,” Malcolm repeats. Leonard watches him and knows that the only thing keeping glee from his voice is that it would discomfort the jury. He pauses to address the jurors, explaining as understanding registers on all of their faces, “Leonard Church has a half-mortal daughter who turned sixteen that year. Mrs. Endor, what happened then?”

Despite himself, Leonard can’t help but tense at the question. He can feel the weight of Carolina’s gaze on the back of his neck. It doesn’t feel accusatory, though she would be well within her rights to still feel that way. He failed her.

Aradia sighs. She does look towards Leonard then. There’s regret in her eyes, like she’s sorry to find herself as a witness for the prosecution, before she answers slowly.

“The first week of September 1997, Leonard had an unexpected announcement at our board meeting. He explained that his daughter would be turning sixteen the following week and that he would be unavailable for the next few weeks. He expressed his hope that we would keep Stalwart running in his absence but reiterated not to contact him unless it was truly an emergency. He had…been a little distracted the last few board meetings, but nothing so worrying as to speak to him about.”

When she pauses, Malcolm asks, “And how did he seem during his announcement? Anxious? Furtive? Upset–”

“Objection!” Megan snaps. “Leading the witness.”

“Sustained,” Drell says. “Let her describe him, Malcolm.”

Malcolm presses his lips together but says, “How did he seem during his announcement, Mrs. Endor?”

“He…he seemed distracted, as I said, like his thoughts were already elsewhere. But that’s to be expected. No one on the board ever thought he would marry, so Leonard marrying a mortal and having a child with her was a shock to all of us.”

Malcolm’s eyes gleam. “Did he ever express any frustrations to you about the way half-mortals are treated?”

“No,” Aradia says firmly. “But he’s always been a very private man.”

Leonard expects Malcolm to look disappointed by her pronouncement, but instead Malcolm nods slowly, as though digesting her words, before he says, “So there was no change in behavior after he married?”

Aradia hesitates. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. His marriage didn’t affect the board meetings or his running of the company. He barely spoke of her, if I am being honest, which, well, you know I am.” A laugh escapes her, thin and brittle. “I remember once he came in with plans on expanding Stalwart’s charitable works based on something his wife had told him. And he amended his business records to add his daughter as his inheritor once she was born, but otherwise he kept his personal life private.”

“And what of his behavior after his daughter’s sixteenth birthday?”

“Ah. Well. As he had forewarned us, he missed the next two board meetings. He resumed attending them in early October, but he was….” She pauses. “Distracted.”

Leonard tries not to wince, aware that some of the jury and at least one or more cameras are likely focused on him now, trying to gauge his reaction. Still, Aradia is being diplomatic. It’s likely trying to ensure Stalwart stocks don’t fall astronomically and can recover, but he appreciates it all the same.

“Distracted,” Malcolm repeats. “That is your favorite word, isn’t it, Mrs. Endor?”

“Objection,” Megan says again, more sharply. “He’s badgering his own witness.”

“Overruled,” Drell says, his chin propped in his hand. “Get a dictionary, Aradia.”

Aradia flushes faintly. “Excuse me.”

Malcolm waves a magnanimous hand, buoyed by Drell siding with him. “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Endor. I understand this is difficult for you. You have worked alongside Leonard Church for several centuries. Explain what you mean by distracted.”

Aradia takes a deep breath. “None of the board would allow the efficiency of the Stalwart cauldrons to suffer, of course, but Leonard’s concentration lapsed in ways none of us had ever witnessed before, even after his parents passed. His attendance and behavior became erratic. He missed nine separate meetings without explanation: October 29, November 26, December 24, January 7, March 11, May 13, June 24, August 12, and September 16. Those twelve months when he did attend, he would often need us to repeat ourselves because he had missed what we were saying. He has always seemed to me to be a man who prides himself on his professionalism and…well. That didn’t reflect in his behavior for that year.”

Aradia leans forward. “Though around October, he did seem to be more like his old self.”

“I’m certain that he did,” Malcolm says, and actually smiles, like he’s made a joke. He steps back, nodding. “Thank you, Mrs. Endor. I have everything I need from you.” He turns and inclines his head towards Megan. “I suppose my colleague has a few questions?”

“I do,” Megan says evenly. She rises, walking past Malcolm to stand in front of the witness stand. “Mrs. Endor, you were speaking of Doctor Church as someone who prides himself on his professionalism. What did you mean by that?”

Aradia straightens up, brightening a little. “Well, Leonard inherited Stalwart from his parents as you all know. Aside from that specific year, it has always clearly been a priority for him to ensure its success and continuation as the Other Realm’s top cauldron brand. And he is always looking for ways to improve the company, whether it’s through philanthropic efforts like the donations to hospitals and schools. That’s on top of his own scientific efforts, which is not my forte but I understand to be impressive. He expects excellence from us all but especially himself.”

Megan looks towards the jury, raising an eyebrow. “An interesting description of a man who my colleague claims was jeopardizing the company with a conspiracy against the Council. Tell me, Mrs. Endor, are you aware of what will happen to Stalwart Cauldrons if Doctor Church is found guilty of conspiracy?”

“Oh,” Aradia says. She darts a glance in Leonard’s direction. “I… My understanding is that a witch is stripped of all power they wield in both the mortal realm and the Other Realm. I believe his daughter would inherit Stalwart after a, um, thorough inspection to ensure there was no collusion from the board or any other staff. And if collusion was found, which of course it wouldn’t be, the Council would ensure the sale of Stalwart.”

Leonard knew it was a possibility, but it still makes his stomach twist and his mouth taste sour. A family legacy, sold at the whim of the Council. What would his parents think of him? Would they understand why he risked everything on the potential that Richard Simmons presented?

He’s aware of Richard’s sharp breath and startled look beside him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, focused on Megan as she asks her next question.

“And did any of you try to speak with Doctor Church during that year? Since his focus was clearly divided between Stalwart and the absence of his family–”

“Objection! Speculation,” Malcolm says.

“Sustained.”

Megan nods, like she expected the objection. “Let me rephrase. Did any of you express your concerns with Doctor Church?”

“I,” Aradia says. She stops, back to fiddling with her bracelet. “I did.”

“And how did he respond?” Megan asks.

Badly, Leonard remembers. Very, very badly.

“Thank you, that concludes the meeting,” Leonard says. He frowns down at his half-scribbled notes, then dismisses them. Roderick will have the meeting’s notes prepared and on his desk in the morning.

There are the quiet sounds of people rising from their chairs, rustling paper, bags and briefcases being gathered, soft footfalls as the room empties out.

Or nearly empties out.

“Leonard,” says Aradia. “May I have a word?”

Leonard looks up, clearly failing to hide his irritation from the way her smile goes tight. He doesn’t have time for chit-chat when he has more important things to do. The sooner he figures out a successful loophole to seeing Allison, the sooner he can focus on dealing with that failed experiment parading around as Carolina’s brother.

“Make it brief. I need to get back to my laboratory.”

“Of course,” Aradia says. “It’s only, well– Don’t you think perhaps you’re, ah, burning the candle at both ends?”

Leonard stares at her. “Excuse me?”

“I just meant– I will be honest, Leonard. I am concerned. These last few meetings your mind has been clearly elsewhere and–”

“Aradia,” Leonard says. His outrage seeps into his voice, elongating the vowels and stressing syllables until each word drips from his lips in a furious drawl. "My personal business is not anyone's concern but my own.”

Aradia winces. For a second he thinks she’ll see sense and leave, but then she squares her shoulders. “I am not asking about your personal business, but your attention has been divided–”

Leonard rises to his feet, planting his hands on the table and glaring at her. “Is the company at risk? Unless you are trying to imply that I have become unfit in my role, this conversation is a waste of time.” He shakes his head. “I expected better of you, Aradia. If you're so interested in the lives of others, perhaps you should go back to Beldam and allow someone with an ounce of professionalism to take your place.”

Aradia goes pale, opens her mouth to say something, but he stalks past her, out of the meeting room and into the hallway, furious and frustrated beyond measure. He doesn’t know her angle, but he knows what she is implying: that he is failing the company and his legacy. She’s wrong. Stalwart is fine.

But Aradia’s words have wormed inside him like a cancer, consuming his mind until they dominate his thoughts. When he gets home, stepping into the laboratory and walking over the rug his mother had loved so thoroughly she had enspelled it to never fray or fade, the faces on the wall feel like an accusation.

He looks up at his parents, their smiling faces colored now by concern and disappointment.

“I am not failing the family,” he tells them. It feels like a lie the moment the words leave his mouth. He has been failing his family these last few months, no, these last few years. He should have spent less time living in the moment with Allison and Carolina and more time preparing for when the Council would tear them away from him.

His parents say nothing from their photographs and paintings, but he still feels the sting of rebuke. He closes his eyes. He cannot concentrate in these conditions.

Leonard goes through the house, pulling down pictures and putting away albums. He avoids his parents’ eyes even as he does so.

And then last but not least the display room. All of his pride and foolishness are indeed on display. He leaves his parents’ awards, the Stalwart Cauldron awards, untouched. Instead he yanks down a scroll that congratulates him on his acceptance into the Academy of Science, another for an award for his valuable contributions to science.

What good is his diploma, all his supposed contributions, if they don’t help his family?

He piles them up in the middle of the room as reminders.

It’s one of the last that he fumbles. It is an award for something or another, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. But he remembers it well nonetheless. It had been a rare Academy of Science ceremony in the mortal realm and fell on the same day as his and Allison’s first wedding anniversary.

Allison insisted he attend the award portion at least, and he had endured it until he could slip away and walk with her along Lake Geneva, watching her under the mortal moonlight as she witnessed the Jet d’Eau and studied the Alps with the practiced eye of someone who has saved more than one person from death on mountains.

Now, in the current moment, Leonard’s hand shakes. He drops the award, flinching as it shatters into pieces at his feet.

He stares down at it. It is suddenly hard to catch his breath. He should fix it. He knows he should fix it. It would be a simple enough spell. But it feels right to see it broken, an echo of his inability to fix what truly matters.

He lets it lie. He’ll fix it when he has his family back.

“Thank you,” Megan says, pulling an embarrassed Leonard back to the present. “I have just one last question for you. You said that Leonard seemed better in September? This would be September 1998?”

“Yes,” Aradia says.

Leonard makes a mental note to apologize to Aradia if he is found innocent.

“September 1998,” Megan repeats, turning towards the jury. “"Let the record show that Doctor Leonard Church was briefly distressed, during the period of separation from his family, and has since completely recovered. I have no further questions.”

Aradia rises with a look of barely repressed relief.

“Oh, Leonard,” Allison says. She almost winces as the camera pans over to the defense bench, where Leonard is wearing a neutral expression which means he’s embarrassed. A deep sigh escapes her. “The kid said you weren’t doing great, but he was underselling it, huh…..”

“Okay, so one down, two to go for that lemon-faced jerk,” Kaikaina says. “So he’s, what, trying to make Leonard look like he lost his mind and decided to kill the Council because he couldn’t see you for two years? No way people are gonna buy that. It’s two ducking years.”

“Two years of a mortal’s life,” Sam points out quietly. “That is not…unsubstantial.”

Allison grimaces. “Yeah, well, it’s Hargrove’s job to make Leonard look bad. I thought Wu did fine. She won that objection, right? And pointed out that Leonard calmed down after that year, once he could see Carolina again. Hargrove’s building the foundation and Wu is chipping away at it. Gonna crumble soon.”

“Right,” Kaikaina says, pointing at her. “Like I said, one down, two to go. She’ll kick his donkey all over the courtroom.”

“Eesh,” Hilda mutters. “That was bad, right?”

Zelda pinches the bridge of her nose. She avoids looking at Sabrina, who’s staring between them worriedly. “I don’t know Hilda, does proving that Leonard might have sunk his own company because he was so upset over not seeing his wife and child sound good to you?”

“Point made,” Hilda says.

They can still hear the distant sound of Salem’s sobbing. He’s been ringing the news stations all morning, trying to get anyone to listen to him about his preposterous theory about the forbidden spell. Right now he’s sunk deep into despair, wailing about how no one can handle the truth.

“I mean, it’s just the first guy though,” Sabrina says. “Sure, it looks bad, but Mrs. Wu can turn it around.”

“Hopefully,” Hilda says. “Hargrove, the old geezer, is a smart guy though. You can bet his case is as rock-solid as he can make it.”

Sabrina winces.

“...Maybe Mrs. Wu can still turn it around.”

Chapter Text

Before Malcolm can call his next witness Megan rises to her feet. “Council, I once again object to this witness. He works directly under Malcolm Hargrove. There’s an obvious conflict of interest. He isn’t going to want to make his employer look bad!”

“Objection overruled,” Drell says. Megan conceals her frustration as he actually rolls his eyes. “He won’t want to embarrass Malcolm, but he’ll have to if it’s the truth. Truth tooth, remember? Now let’s keep this moving.”

“Of course, sir,” Malcolm says. There’s a smirk at the corner of his mouth. He looks confident enough that Megan wishes she could read his mind and see exactly what is making him so confident that he’ll win this case. “Mr. Scrooge, please place your hand upon the Truth Tooth and recite the truth incantation to initiate the Truth Booth. Then state your name, your occupation, and your connection to Richard Simmons for the record.”

A surprised murmur goes through the crowd as Scrooge recites the incantation.

Next to her, Richard glares like he wants to make this man burst into flames.

Scrooge can either feel it or he’s also nervous about upsetting his boss. He’s already sweating, the faint green flicker of the truth spell illuminating the sheen on his forehead. He dabs at it with a handkerchief. “Uh, I am Fred Scrooge, I work as a controller for the judicial system, overseeing several familiars and their guardians, and I know Richard Simmons through a, uh, former familiar.”

Malcolm smiles. “I only have a few questions for you. After all, my colleague has expressed an interest in the timeline and I think we should oblige her.”

Megan almost narrows her eyes at the dig.

Meanwhile Drell groans. “Make it snappy, Malcolm. I’m tired of dates already.”

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm says with a brief bow in the Council’s direction. Then he refocuses on Scrooge. “Can you recall when Dexter Grif's familiar case was assigned to you?”

Megan wonders at Cassandra and Drell’s sudden scowls. Surely they didn’t think they could talk about Richard’s home life without bringing up his unusual housemate?

There’s a surprised murmur through the crowd– Dexter Grif is not a name many witches would forget, not after his involvement with Locus and Felix and his defense of Massachusetts– but the murmur also has a confused edge to it, like they’re wondering what he has to do with a mortal.

Scrooge looks startled by the question and actually glances at the Council. Cassandra gives him a small nod, so quick that Megan almost misses it. He licks his lips, even more nervous than before. “Ah, yes. Very clearly. It was a high profile case, after all, and I wanted to ensure it was dealt with as quickly and-- as quickly as possible!”

Malcolm smiles. “Excellent. And the date?”

Scrooge dabs at his forehead with his handkerchief again. “Uh, I looked at my notes and it was December 28, 1996. He was assigned to the care of….” He hesitates and then nods to himself. “Hammer, I believe.”

“Merlin Hammer?” Malcolm prompts.

Scrooge nods eagerly. “Yes, yes that’s it. Merlin Hammer.”

“And you were assigned as Dexter Grif’s controller?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when was Dexter Grif reassigned?”

Scrooge’s eagerness flees. “Oh. Uh. Well–”

“Objection,” Megan calls out, enjoying the annoyance that flickers across Malcom’s face before he offers her a genial smile and raised eyebrow. “I question the reliability of Fred Scrooge as a witness. His recollection of the timeline is compromised and clearly not admissible as evidence.”

Malcolm raises a hand. “Councilor, I would argue that the exact date is unimportant. What is important is the month and to show the overall time frame of Richard Simmons’ association with the witch community and Leonard Church.”

“Overruled,” Drell says. “Get on with it.”

“It was March 1997,” Scrooge says quickly. “Hammer was killed in a magical experiment and Dexter Grif needed a new guardian.”

“And that is when you first met Richard Simmons?”

“Yes,” Scrooge says. “Dexter Grif had….vacated Hammer’s premises after the incident and Richard Simmons had unknowingly taken him in as a supposed stray.” For the first time anger pushes aside his nervousness. He scowls in Richard’s direction, who glares back. “At least that was what I was told at the time.”

“And you decided to leave him in the mortal’s care.”

Scrooge starts to speak, but he’s drowned out by shocked whispers throughout the courtroom. Even Megan, who heard a similar story from Richard, can’t help but feel a flicker of shock. Dexter Grif should never have been left in Richard’s care.

“Quiet!” Drell thunders.

The courtroom instantly quiets except for someone’s astonished, “--but a mortal?”

“I,” Scrooge says. He swallows. “I, uh. Dexter Grif convinced me that it would be preferable to pretend to be a cat for a mortal than to have another witch guardian.”

There’s another, even louder, protest from the crowd at that.

“I SAID QUIET FROM THE PEANUT GALLERY!”

This time the crowd quiets almost reluctantly. When Megan turns, shocked herself, she meets Dexter Grif’s eyes. He looks half-embarrassed, half-defiant, staring back at her like she’s the one in the wrong for being astonished that he chose that particular punishment willingly.

There’s a shimmering tension in the air, disbelief mingled with curiosity as Scrooge squirms on the witness stand.

He waves his handkerchief. “I– I thought that perhaps fewer witches would break the law and risk becoming familiars if they knew that, well, who would want to endure living with mortals as part of their sentence? You’d have to use a litter box! I still think–”

“Thank you,” Malcolm says tightly. “So, due to your unauthorized experiment, as of March 1997, Dexter Grif was living with the mortal Richard Simmons.” He turns towards the jury, solemn once more. “At some point after his reassignment by Fred Scrooge, Dexter Grif told Richard Simmons the truth of his existence and Richard Simmons began to learn about the Other Realm and witches.”

He turns back to Scrooge. “But that was not your only time encountering Richard Simmons, was it not?”

“No, sir,” Scrooge says, clearly eager to steer the topic away from Dexter Grif. “I met him five other times, not counting today.”

Malcolm nods. “I am interested in two particular instances. First, April 1999. Explain to the Council and the jury why you visited Richard Simmons’ home.”

Scrooge fidgets with his handkerchief. He smiles nervously at the jury, avoiding looking directly at a distinctly unimpressed Drell.

“Uh, as any witch knows, the judiciary takes its watch over familiars during their sentences very seriously. We have systems in place to alert us when there is a familiar death so we can help to avoid anyone losing their ninth life. On April 5th, we received an alert that something unusual had occurred that day to Dexter Grif. It didn’t seem to be a death, but…. Well, I was sent to investigate.”

“And what did you find when you got there?”

“Dexter Grif cozying up to the mortal,” Scrooge mutters darkly before he clears his throat. “Uh, Dexter Grif reported to me that he was fine. By all appearances he was, so I noted that it might have been some sort of mortal appliance interfering with the alerts.”

“And was it a mortal appliance?”

“No,” Scrooge says. He straightens in his chair. “I followed protocol and scryed on him from time to time over the next few months, but everything seemed fine. He seemed to spend all his days sleeping. No, after a further, more detailed investigation was launched we realized that someone had warded the mortal’s apartment to hide magical activities there.”

Malcolm moves to the prosecutor’s bench and picks up a folder as the crowd murmurs and Megan braces herself for what she knows is coming. He makes a show of waving it at the jury and then stepping towards the Council. “Exhibit A, ladies and gentlemen. A report of the discovery and investigation of the wards on the mortal Richard Simmons' apartment.”

Even as Megan tries to figure out a way to spin this, Malcolm says, “Mr. Scrooge. Please describe the contents of this report to the court.”

“We performed a series of investigative spells on the mortal’s apartment and discovered that the entire apartment had been warded. It was a fusion spell of Morgana’s Private Sanctum and Illusion Ward. Anyone scrying on the apartment would see the mortal either asleep or watching television with Dexter Grif without any hint to his actual experiments with magic.”

“And did you identify whose spellwork crafted this ward?”

Scrooge looks towards the defense, glaring at both Leonard and Richard now.

“We matched the spell signature to the magical tax records of Doctor Leonard Church.”

This time there is no quieting the crowd. They burst into shocked discussion and even Drell snarling at them lowers the volume only to whispers, not silence.

Megan can see the moment a few of the jurors look at Leonard, shock and suspicion in their eyes. She keeps her expression calm. She knew about this, after all. Leonard had warned her that Malcolm knew about the wards. Now she just needs to poke holes in what seems like a clear-cut report. Or at least destroy the credibility of this witness.

Once it’s quiet enough for Malcolm to speak again, he asks, “One final question. When did you next see Doctor Church and his accomplice?”

Scrooge opens his mouth, then hesitates. It’s just for a second, but Megan catches it as he starts to speak, stops, and then rephrases whatever he was about to say. “When we arrested them both.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm says. He turns towards Megan, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. Why would he? “Mrs. Wu, your witness.”

Megan rises.

“Mr. Scrooge, I find myself puzzled over some of the dates in your story.”

Scrooge, she’s glad to see, looks immediately defensive.

Megan lets the moment linger, lets the jury puzzle over that for a second, before Malcolm asks pointedly, “Do you have a question, counselor?”

“A few.” Megan picks up her own folder, watches the way Scrooge and Malcolm both look at it, Scrooge with increasing nervousness and Malcolm with a hint of impatience. She ignores the latter. She can perform for the jury as well if she must.

She moves closer to the stand, maneuvering herself so that the jury will have a direct line of sight on Scrooge as well as the bench where Leonard and Richard sit. “To begin with, when did you say Dexter Grif was reassigned to Richard Simmons?”

“March 1997.”

“I see. Now here is what really confuses me.” Megan taps the edge of the folder against the stand’s frame as Scrooge stares at the folder. “You see, when I spoke to Richard Simmons and Dexter Grif, they confirmed that date was correct. Richard did become Dexter Grif’s guardian in March 1997. So I looked into Merlin Hammer’s most unfortunate death. And do you know what I found?”

“I,” Scrooge says. He stops. “I can guess.”

Megan flips open the folder. “Exhibit B: the death certificate of Merlin E. Hammer. Date of death? February 13th.”

“What?” The shout comes from Richard. From the corner of her eye she sees him stand up, almost looking over his shoulder before he focuses on her. “That’s not right.”

“I have it right here,” Megan says. “Merlin Hammer. Cause of death: magical mishap of own making. Date of death: February 13, 1997.” She catches sight of Drell looking furious, his hand twitching towards his gavel, and inwardly winces. She can’t risk Richard antagonizing the Council enough that she can’t question Scrooge further. He’s already interrupted her momentum.

She puts steel into her voice. “Sit down.”

“No!” Richard snaps. A now familiar flush colors his face. “Grif said it was a couple days and the stooge agreed with him! I heard it!”

“So you were eavesdropping!” Scrooge says.

“Yeah, I didn’t go into the kitchen to eat, daddio,” Richard spits out. “And for the record, cat inspectors aren’t a thing, you stupid piece of–”

Drell slams his gavel down and shouts, “Shut him up before I do it myself!”

Megan steps closer to the defense table. She looks at Leonard and murmurs, “Get him under control.”

Leonard offers a bland expression in return, but he does place a hand on Richard’s shoulder and says, “Let her continue.”

Clearly seething, Richard throws himself back down into his chair. His eyes blaze as he stares at Scrooge like he wants to reach across the courtroom and strangle him.

It’s not a good look for the jury. Megan can already see a few people eyeing him like he’s a wild animal ready to attack. She needs to distract them. She returns to the witness stand and taps a finger against the date of Hammer’s death.

“Explain the discrepancy. Where was Dexter Grif from February 13th to March 7th?”

Scrooge looks nervous. He darts an almost imploring look at Malcolm, who doesn’t react. He wrings out his handkerchief, beginning to sweat again. “Well. We don’t. Uh. Know.”

Megan suspected as much but it’s still a shock to hear. From the horrified dismay that ripples through the crowd and in the expressions of the jurors, everyone else feels the same. For the first time since the trial started, she even sees shock on Cassandra and Skippy’s faces.

“You don’t know,” she repeats slowly. “You don’t know where a familiar under your care, who had just experienced his first, very violent death, was for 23 days? How is that possible?”

She sees the second Scrooge goes on the defensive. “It was his first death! And Hammer was self-employed, so it took a week for anyone to realize he’d gotten them both killed. Once we realized, of course, we made every effort to find him and we did! …Eventually.”

“And yet Dexter Grif himself was convinced that it had only been a few days. Why would he be mistaken about that?”

Scrooge bristles. “Well, how would I know? I’m not Dexter Grif.”

Megan can almost appreciate the way he’s weaseling around the truth magic. He’s telling the truth, or at least a portion of it, enough to satisfy the Truth Tooth. But she wants the whole truth. “Let me rephrase. In your experience as a controller overseeing familiars, what are some reasons Dexter Grif would lose track of time and have gaps of memory after dying?”

Scrooge opens his mouth. Closes it. This time he very carefully doesn’t look at Malcolm or the Council in a way that makes it obvious to everyone that he’s avoiding looking at them. And equally obvious that he’s trying and failing to figure out a loophole for this question.

“I–” He stops again. He twists his handkerchief in his hands, mangling it as he says, “Well. If I were to, ah, hazard a guess, I would suspect that the familiar in question had a, ah, brief negative reaction to his first death. It happens occasionally, and can result in some memory confusion.”

“What does that mean?” Richard hisses from his chair.

Megan can see that it’s only Leonard’s hand on his arm that’s keeping him from getting out of his seat. If he looked dangerous before, he looks murderous now.

Before Drell can tell him to be quiet, Megan quickly says, “I wouldn’t call several weeks brief, Mr. Scrooge. Describe in detail for myself and the jury what this memory confusion would have entailed for Dexter Grif.”

“Well–”

“As I stated. Be as precise as you can.”

Scrooge looks hunted. “Well– that is to say– some familiars, when they experience a trauma such as a death or when they have been alone without another witch for too long, can experience, ah–” He pauses and licks his lips. “Total amnesia and forget they were a witch at all.”

There’s a silence as everyone absorbs that.

Then the courtroom erupts into pandemonium.

Megan isn’t surprised when Richard shakes off Leonard’s hand and jumps to his feet. At least whatever he’s yelling, certainly things about Scrooge and the Council that would thoroughly destroy any commiseration for him, is lost amid the clamor and everyone else shouting as well.

Dexter Grif, too, is on his feet, most of the color gone from his brown skin, but everyone else is standing and looking shocked as well. He almost blends into the crowd despite his height. Next to him are Leonard’s children, also looking respectively furious and horrified, and Emily Grey, who looks speculative but a little grim.

“BE QUIET AND SIT DOWN!” Drell bellows. He must ensorcell the command because everyone stops talking with such a suddenness that the room is temporarily overwhelmed by the sound of people’s jaws snapping shut and everyone sitting. Even Megan has to brace herself against the latter compulsion or else she would have sat on the floor in the middle of the courtroom. Drell glares at Scrooge, who sinks low in his seat with a silent whimper, and then at Malcolm, who wears a complicated expression.

Cassandra clears her throat. “I think I speak for the Council when I say that this is an unacceptable risk to the familiars. I can assure everyone that there will be an investigation into the memory confusion and how we can protect familiars against it going forward.”

“You'd better!” Richard snaps. His voice is thick with outrage. “You idiots could've gotten him worse than killed! And he shouldn't have even been a fam–”

Megan casts her spell a second just as Drell’s hand starts to rise. She feels the spell, cool on her lips as she quickly murmurs it, and watches Richard’s lips glow golden.

His mouth continues to move, but nothing comes out. He stops, blinking, and touches his throat, muttering soundlessly.

Quickly Megan says, “Let the record show that the Defense has exercised its right to silence Richard Simmons for the remainder of today’s proceedings to prevent self incrimination.”

Richard looks betrayed and then furious.

Megan is grateful for the enforced silence. Whatever he is currently saying would blister everyone’s ears.

Aunt Hilda and Aunt Zelda hiss through their teeth.

Sabrina stares at the screen, a little awed. Mr. Simmons might be silent, but the magical auto-captioning is on and it took a few seconds before the news station magically started censoring all the cursing. “I didn’t know Mr. Simmons even knew those words,” she says wonderingly.

Aunt Zelda squints at her. “How do you know those words?”

Sabrina summons her best innocent smile.

“Now do you see?” Salem wails from the kitchen, where he’s been exiled until he stops going on about his weird theories about the forbidden spell. “He totally broke the familiar spell!”

For a second Sabrina feels a pang of doubt that maybe her aunts are wrong and Salem is right.

Then Salem bursts into messy sobs again. “WHY DEXTER AND NOT ME? WHY, CRUEL WORLD?!”

Sabrina dismisses the thought. Her aunts are definitely right.

Megan clears her throat, trying to ignore Richard for the moment.

She certainly has the entire courtroom’s attention now. She stares Scrooge down. “This total amnesia. How long does it generally last?” Before Scrooge can try to weasel out of the question, she adds, “Is two weeks an unusual amount of time for familiars who experienced it?”

“It is unusual,” Scrooge admits slowly. “It usually only lasts a few hours, a day at most.”

Megan lets her genuine shocked horror and concern show on her face as she glances towards the jurors. “And yet, knowing this was a possibility, you still thought it was a worthwhile experiment to leave Dexter Grif in the care of a mortal who wouldn’t know the risks. Did it ever occur to you that having him pretend to be a real cat might cause this memory loss?”

Scrooge scowls. “No! But it didn’t! Maybe because he told that mortal who he was and lied to my face!”

“And is this amnesia, has it ever been permanent?”

Scrooge freezes.

“Objection!” Malcolm snaps. “Relevance to the case?”

Megan is aware she’s on shaky ground here, but she plunges forward anyway, gesturing towards Leonard. “I am establishing that Dexter Grif had rightful resentments against his controller. Can anyone blame Leonard for setting him up with a bit of privacy? It wasn’t a favor to a mortal, but a fellow witch, who had already been failed by Fred Scrooge multiple times–”

“Hey! He lied to me!”

Megan can’t quite keep the contempt from her voice. “You didn’t realize he had gone missing for weeks. And when you did locate him, you used him as an experiment and didn’t tell him the risks involved. How many other familiars under your care have become similar test subjects?”

“Objection!” Malcolm protests again, more sharply than before. “Mr. Scrooge is not on trial today!”

Megan looks towards the jury. They’re all staring at Scrooge like he’s grown three heads.

Then she turns and walks back to the defense table.

“I withdraw the question. I have nothing further for the witness.”

The trial breaks for a recess, which immediately cuts to some reaction shots at the news station while Dylan Andrews probably scrambles for information and experts about all the stuff that just happened.

Ezra mutes the TV and glances towards Vera and Mike. They’re all in Ezra’s living room, popcorn and a variety of alcohol on the coffee table, a scattering of delivery boxes on the carpet. Ezra’s still not used to the novelty of ordering his food in, plus all the variety.

Mike’s blinking slowly, brow furrowed that way he gets when he’s trying to focus. “Did we know about that?” he ventures at last. “I don’t think we knew about that.”

“No, we didn’t,” Vera says.

Ezra recognizes that tone. It’s Vera’s patented ‘I am going to cause problems’ tone.

Sure enough, she stands, fists clenched, and makes a beeline towards the phone. A minute later she says, sharp enough to cut someone to ribbons, “Doctor Price? So glad you picked up. It’s Vera. I’m sure you’ve been watching the trial. Well, so have we, and I have some questions.”

“She’s mad,” Mike says. He frowns.

Ezra reaches over and pats his knee. “Not at us, buddy.” He’s trying not to think too hard about all of this himself. If he does, he’s going to start thinking about how Mike got a little stranger after each death, how many times they’d all died, how they shouldn’t have been dumped at Antarctica at all, how–

He shakes his head sharply. Thoughts like that will land him another couple decades as a familiar. To distract himself, he turns the sound back on.

“Well!” Dylan Andrews says, flashing a smile whose sharp, toothy quality for a half-second reminds Ezra of Terrance. “This is Dylan Andrews, reporting to you live from a brief recess from the trial of the Council vs. Leonard Church. In the latest in what experts are calling a 'series of stunning revelations,' a witness working for the Familiar Oversight Subcommittee has revealed that witches under their care are in more danger than previously thought.”

She looks directly at the camera, and though Ezra knows she’s not speaking to him in particular, it still feels strangely reassuring when she adds, “Councilor Cassandra has vowed that there will be an investigation into the admitted experimentation with familiar animals and housing. We’ll be reporting on that as the investigation progresses. But for now we’re focused on other revelations presented in court today. Namely that Dexter Grif, savior of Massachusetts, spent most of his time as a familiar living with a mortal as his guardian, and that Doctor Church used a series of spellwork and wards to hide his and his accomplice’s activities from Dexter Grif’s controller and the Council.”

She turns towards two witches, one a woman from one of the distant galaxies, her hair lavender darkening to bright purple, her skin a pale blue. The other is a man in a velvet purple suit with black hair and a top hat. “Doctor Winifred Fee, you are an expert on privacy laws. Doctor Seamus McMann, you are an expert on wards and illusion magic. What can you tell me and the public about what these revelations mean for the defense?”

Fee and McMann exchange a look before Fee hums pensively.

“Well, I will say this is a tricky one. It really could go either way. We can look at Sherman versus Molina, in which the defense successfully argued that Molina was within his rights to ward his own home, despite using those wards to have an affair with Sherman’s wife.”

“But that was his own house,” McMann points out. “And an affair. Not allegedly conspiring against the Council.”

“True! And many attempted mortal realm dictators have used Morgana’s Private Sanctum to hide their plans of world domination from the Council. That’s fallen under the general umbrella of conspiracy against the Council, so–”

The rest of her spiel is drowned out by Vera’s furious shout.

“IS THIS WHY TERRANCE FILES HIS TEETH?!?”

Grif squints at the guy holding the Truth Tooth in his hand and reciting the incantation.

Theo Dyer, Hargrove had called him. Dyer’s wearing a suit he’s clearly not comfortable in, tugging at his necktie like it’s half-choking him before he smooths back his bright yellow hair. There’s a sprinkle of green threaded into his hair that looks real enough that Grif would bet on leprechaun blood somewhere back in his family tree.

The big problem is that he looks familiar. The guy radiates ‘never been out of the Other Realm’ energy, which means Grif shouldn’t know him. Grif’s spent all his time in Hawaii or in Massachusetts because mortals might be weird, but their decent-to-jerk ratio is a million times better.

He looks at Simmons, but Simmons is too busy glaring at Megan, still furious about being silenced. Leonard looks confused, studying Dyer’s face without any recognition at all.

Grif gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Then the guy speaks and the penny drops.

“Theo Dyer, bartender at the Plastered Caster, and, uh, I met the mortal.”

Crap, Grif thinks.

Simmons stops glaring at Megan and blinks. He actually looks at Dyer, as though only just now noticing Hargrove’s got his last witness on the stand. Grif sees the second that he clocks who this guy is, because he flushes a bright, guilty crimson.

The jury notices the blush because of course they do. All of them glance between Simmons and Dyer with renewed interest.

Megan’s expression doesn’t change, but Grif sees the way her shoulders tighten.

Hargrove says, smugness leaking into his voice as he steps aside to give the jury a clear view of Dyer and Simmons, “The mortal? For the record, please point out to whom you are referring.”

Dyer looks nervous. He raises his hand and points at Simmons, avoiding his eyes even as he says, “Uh. That mortal. Hard to forget that hair.”

“Let the record show that Theo Dyer identified Richard Simmons. How did you meet him, Mr. Dyer?”

“He came into the Plastered Caster,” Dyer says. He looks at Simmons. “In the Other Realm.”

Grif recognizes the look at his face even as shocked murmurs ripple through everyone around them. Dyer’s staring at Simmons like he’s about to grow three heads, the way Kai had for a few days after the bar, when she kept tugging more hairs off of Simmons’ pinky like one would finally admit he wasn’t a mortal after all.

Yeah, this is going to be bad. No one’s going to like hearing how Simmons could just go through the closet and check out a place in the Other Realm. Grif has hazy memories of that night himself, one too many catnip cocktails, but Kai had filled in some of the gaps.

“The Other Realm,” Hargrove repeats, his stupid old face contorting into a fake shocked look of his own. “When was this?”

“He came in during my shift on March 20. Uh. This year. Early, before the regular crowd started coming in. Seemed like a menu guy, so I got him one. He ordered a Campfire Delight.”

“What were your thoughts when you saw him?”

Dyer gives a shrug. “Just a half-mortal who’d been away from the Other Realm for too long.”

“An understandable assumption,” Hargrove agrees. “Now, while I don’t doubt your professionalism, Mr. Dyer, that was over seven months ago. Why is this man so memorable?”

Dyer darts a glance at Simmons, who is still bright red but squirms a little in his seat. Trust Simmons to be more embarrassed than worried about how that night will make him look. “I remember the faces of people I kick out.”

“Kick out?” Hargrove asks, faking shock. Dude should have been an actor, because he clearly knows exactly how Dyer is going to answer each of his questions. Probably coached him. “What did you witness that earned him expulsion from the Plastered Caster?”

There’s a pause before Dyer says carefully, as though testing out his own words and surprised that the truth spell lets him say them, “I…saw him use magic to spill a woman’s wine on herself.”

“QUIET!” Drell snarls before anyone in the crowd can do more than a surprised gasp.

“You witnessed Richard Simmons using magic,” Hargrove says.

Dyer looks towards the jury. “That’s why I assumed he was a half-mortal. You know, chip on his shoulder, takes everything personal. You see a lot of them in my line of work, ready to pop off with a mortal rights spiel–”

“Thank you, Mr. Dyer,” Hargrove interrupts smoothly.

Beside Grif, Carolina leans forward, her eyes narrowed at Dyer even as Church grabs her elbow where the cameras probably won’t catch and mutters, “Let it go. Dude’s an idiot.”

Hargrove looks grave. “So you witnessed him using magic against a witch. But that wasn’t the first incident that night, was it?”

“No,” Dyer says. “When we rolled back the cameras for the night, we saw he’d magically tripped another witch by tangling her anklets. And spilled drinks on at least two other witches before I caught him.”

Simmons has gone from embarrassed to sullen. Grif knows he wouldn’t agree, but it’s probably better that Megan has silenced him for a bit. Nothing he’d want to say in his own defense would look good to the jury, who are all staring at Simmons in a mixture of shock and confusion.

“So there were at least four incidents that night in which this mortal used magic to harm witches,” Hargrove announces.

“Objection,” Megan says tightly. “Spilling drinks on someone isn’t harm.”

“Let me rephrase,” Hargrove says. “There were at least four incidents that night in which this mortal used magic against witches.”

“Yeah, that’s what the cameras showed,” Dyer says.

Hargrove turns towards the jury. He picks up another folder. “As you all may be aware, your closets register every trip you take. I present Exhibit C: Richard Simmons’ closet teleportation records. This collaborates Mr. Dyer’s testimony that the closet was used to reach the Other Realm that night.”

He picks up yet another folder.

Grif represses a groan. With each new piece of evidence he can feel his heart sinking. This guy clearly has done his homework and is nailing Simmons and Leonard to the wall, even if this stuff about overthrowing the Council is crap. How did Hargrove even figure out where they’d gone that day? It wasn’t like they had teleported directly into the stupid bar!

“This is Exhibit D: the relevant portion of the Rules of the Realm. Rule 714: Any mortal who passes into this realm shall be transformed into a creepy crawly thing. Mr. Dyer, you maintain that Richard Simmons walked into your bar on the evening of March 12, fully himself?”

“Yes,” Dyer says.

Grif winces as the crowd erupts again. Yeah, he’d definitely forgotten about that rule. In his defense, there are so many freaking rules, and half of them don’t even come up if you’re living in the Mortal Realm. He’s still half-convinced his parents had the house in Hawaii just to avoid rule 62, where all children under 10 must be accompanied by monkeys in the Other Realm.

He jumps as Carolina goes, “What?”

Thankfully the courtroom is too noisy for most people to hear her. Only a few people next to them glance their way, puzzled but distracted with their own conversations. Grif looks at her and Simmons, who’s turned to stare at them. His wide eyes meet Grif’s, who makes an apologetic grimace back at him. Yeah, that had been his and Kai’s bad, even if Simmons hadn’t turned into a bug.

Carolina half-rises. “So that’s why my–”

Leonard turns and looks at her. Whatever she was about to say goes unsaid as she looks back. Her shoulders slump and she throws herself back down into her seat, slouching against Church, who pats her arm and mutters something into her ear. Grey leans around him and whispers something as well.

Hargrove watches all of this with a faint smirk. When Carolina stops talking, Hargrove clears his throat and says, “So he was not affected by Rule 714. And while he was using magic on at least four separate witches, what did you hear him say?”

Dyer shrugs. “Like I said, a mortal rights spiel. Something about witches treating mortals like bugs and dismissing the 5 billion mortals or whatever. I didn’t let him finish, I just kicked him out. I don’t–”

“Thank you, Mr. Dyer. No further questions, except to the jury. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I do have a question that I’m afraid neither Mr. Dyer nor I can answer, at least not yet but one I would like you all to consider deeply. How did the mortal get into the Other Realm without triggering the consequences of Rule 714?”

He returns to the prosecution table as the jurors look at each other.

Grif hates this so much. If agreeing to get drunk with Kai and Simmons at that stupid bar messes with Megan’s defense, he’s going to– Okay. He doesn’t know what he will do. But this sucks.

“Your turn, defense,” Drell says.

Megan looks up from a whispered conversation with Leonard. Her expression is calm, but Grif catches the flicker of frustration in her eyes. “Yes, sir.” She gets to her feet, slowly approaching the witness stand.

She looks at Dyer for a moment before she speaks. “Mr. Dyer, earlier you identified Richard Simmons as the man you saw at the Plastered Caster.”

“Yes,” Dyer agrees.

“Did you see Doctor Church?”

Dyer blinks. He looks at Leonard, squinting a little before he shakes his head. “No.”

“When you looked at the camera footage of that night, did you see Doctor Church?”

“No,” Dyer says, more firmly than before.

Megan turns towards the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I pose a question to you as well. If Doctor Church was truly planning on using Richard Simmons as a weapon, why would he allow him to enter the Other Realm without him?”

Grif shouldn’t be surprised when Hargrove raises his hand, but he is. The guy radiates smugness as he says, “May I answer that question?”

A muscle jumps in Megan’s jaw. “Anything you would say is speculative.”

“Speculative, sure,” says Drell, “but I want to hear it.”

Megan turns towards the Council. “Sir!”

“Well?” Drell demands, ignoring her protest.

Hargrove dials down the smugness, gets ready with that fake earnestness he likes to use with the jury. He clasps his hands in front of him and says, “Of course Leonard Church wouldn’t be there. He had already designed those wards to hide his collaboration with the mortal. Why would he risk himself during a test?”

Hargrove steps forward, his voice rising. “And it was a test, after all. A successful one. The mortal should have instantly turned into an insect or perhaps a rodent, and he didn’t. Why? Because Leonard Church gave him some of his own magic, sent him through that closet, and waited to see the results.”

Grif’s already wincing as a few jurors nod along, and his stomach drops when Hargrove keeps going, pointing towards Simmons who’s splotchy and trying to scribble something down on a paper and push it at Leonard and Megan.

“And let me remind you of the results. What did the mortal do as soon as he had a witch’s magic and access to the Other Realm? He assaulted witches. He spilled multiple drinks on people. He tangled a woman’s ankle bracelets and tripped her. He experimented with direct and indirect ways to harm a witch with his borrowed magic.”

Hargrove gestures again, this time towards the Council. “Nothing serious. Minor things, hardly concerning. The sort of spells children do as pranks. Except....” He pauses and actually fakes a shiver. “I shudder to think of all the things that can be done to a witch, caught by surprise and magically bound….”

The asshole still isn’t finished. He spreads his hands and adds one last volley.

“Look at this mortal, ladies and gentlemen. Is that the expression of regret?”

It’s not. Grif knows even before he looks at Simmons that Simmons is glaring like he’s trying to explode Hargrove with just the sheer force of his hatred. Simmons is splotchy and furious and absolutely looks like an unrepentant monster to any witch who doesn’t know him.

Hargrove smiles sadly and returns to his bench as people murmur among themselves.

Drell raises an eyebrow at Megan. “Any more questions for the witness?”

“No,” Megan says tightly.

Drell seizes his gavel and slams it against his bench. “Then court is adjourned for the day, thank Merlin! Everyone, get back here on time in the morning.”

People immediately begin to rush towards the exit, but Grif stays where he is. Is this how Sam felt when he was being turned to stone? Heavy and numb at the same time? Grif thought maybe that having a jury would help save Simmons, but this all feels the same. That awful certainty that he was screwed no matter what, except now it’s Simmons in danger and Grif can’t do anything but sit here, useless.

“This is going badly, isn’t it?” Carolina asks quietly. There’s a shake in her voice.

“It’s, uh, not going, uh, great,” Church says, his voice going high and shaky himself. Kid’s a horrible liar. “But it was just the first day! They can turn it around.”

“Don’t give up on Mrs. Wu quite yet,” Grey says, but her usual smile seems forced.

Grif doesn’t look at them. He just looks at Simmons as Megan’s magical silence ends.

Simmons’ voice is hoarse, like he’s been shouting the entire time he’s been under the silence. “He’s lying! I wasn't using Doctor Church's magic, I was using effluvium. I told you this! Why aren't you--”

“We’ll discuss this in private,” Megan says. She stands and Leonard rises with her, his expression calm except for the tightness in his jaw.

Simmons hesitates but stands up too, still muttering under his breath, his hands clenched into fists.

Grif wills him to look at him and just as quickly hopes he won’t, because Grif doesn’t know what he’ll do or say if Simmons looks at him and says anything at all.

Simmons doesn’t, though. He leaves, and the door closes behind him.

Sabrina looks at her aunts as the cameras zoom in on the people flooding out of the courtroom and a newscaster’s neutral voice begins offering a summary of the first day of the trial. She had figured it wasn’t going great, what with, well, everything, but their expressions confirm it.

Aunt Hilda blows out a breath. “So, what are we thinking? The Council’s gonna stick Leonard on Pluto for a couple centuries? Or turn him into a familiar?”

“Pluto,” Aunt Zelda says decisively. “Especially after all this business with Dexter and the investigation.”

“Those are the only two options?” Sabrina asks, her heart sinking. She and Carolina might not be best friends, but she doesn’t want Carolina separated from her dad again.

“Well, that and giving up his magic,” Aunt Hilda says. She wrinkles her nose. “The Council is so uncreative with their punishments. Sometimes I miss the old days.”

“The old days?” Sabrina echoes. “What did they do in the old days?”

“Well–”

“Wait,” Aunt Zelda says. She looks around, frowning. “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

Sabrina starts to ask what she means before the quiet hits her too.

“Where’s Salem?” Aunt Hilda asks.

“This is Dylan Andrews, coming to you live from outside the courtroom where we just witnessed the prosecution’s witnesses take the stand. On the heels of the stunning revelations about the experimental treatment of familiars by the committee, I have with me Salem Saberhagen, a familiar thirty years into his own sentence–”

Sabrina and her aunts all scream.

Elsewhere, Vera squints at the TV. “Why are they talking to this guy? I mean, other than he’s a familiar. Maybe he got amnesia too?”

Mike studies this Saberhagen guy, who’s a black cat dressed up in a nice suit and tie and looks upset, fur bristling and whiskers wet with tears. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but Andrews had said he got sentenced after they’d been sent to Antarctica.

Mike brightens. “Hey guys, top five reasons this guy got turned into a cat.”

Before Ezra can say the guy looks like a textbook chucklehead who tried to take over the Mortal Realm, Andrews stares solemnly at the camera and says, “Mr. Saberhagen, you reached out to us to report that you know exactly what forbidden spell Doctor Church and his accomplice broke. Can you tell us how you came to have this information?”

“Because I know Dexter and Simmons, those jerks,” Saberhagen says. He still sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “Dexter’s sentence wasn’t up! He had seven more years!”

Andrews looks intent. “You’re speaking of Dexter Grif, who was sentenced to ten years after assisting Locus after the Lozano murders.”

“Yeah,” Saberhagen says. “They broke his familiar spell and didn’t tell me!”

“By they, you mean–”

“Dexter and Leonard! Those jerks broke his spell and didn’t t-tell meeeeee!”

Saberhagen bursts into sobs as Vera shrieks and dives for the phone again.

Ezra blinks. “Is that why Dexter wouldn’t talk about his personal life?”

“Price isn’t answering,” Vera growls. “But there’s no way he didn’t know.”

Mike looks thoughtful. “Leave a message. Perhaps he is busy being a coward.”

There’s some hurried movement as someone picks up the sobbing Saberhagen and removes him from the frame, his wails getting more distant as Andrews clears her throat and looks back into the camera.

“When Mr. Saberhagen came to us, we set to work verifying his astonishing claim. Public familiar records show that Dexter Grif’s sentence was never formally commuted. And once we looked at our Lonzano murder trial records, we were struck by a familiar face.”

The screen switches to a split screen, one recording dated December 1996 showing Dexter standing beside two other witches, looking terrified as the Council declares him guilty of conspiracy. The other one is from earlier today, a zoom in on the first row of the public seats, where Dexter is jumping to his feet, brown skin ashy with shock.

Then it’s back to Andrews. “We identified this man as Dexter Grif, hero of Massachusetts and, as Mr. Saberhagen claimed, no longer a familiar.”

At the brownstone, Sam makes a face. “Grif won’t like this.”

“He won’t like ducking any of this,” Kai growls. She’s pacing around the room, fists clenched and jaw set. “Locus, I thought your lawyer friend was good at her job! She’s blowing this. I’m going to ducking find her and tell her to get her schist together–”

Sam opens his mouth, uncertain if he should bother to point out that his name hasn’t been Locus in a very long time and Megan hasn’t been his friend for even longer, when Allison gets up and puts a hand on Kai’s shoulder.

“Easy,” she says. “It was the first day, and all the prosecution witnesses. Wu got a few good licks in. Tomorrow’s her day to really make her case.”

Kai takes a deep breath. She takes another, some of the rage draining out of her. She still looks furious, but it looks like a less mind-consuming rage. She grimaces. “Yeah. Okay.” She brightens for a second. “She definitely got them looking like losers about the whole familiar thing.”

“Yeah,” Allison says, but she looks grim.

Sam understands. It’s horrific to imagine Grif forgetting himself, even worse to realize that it might have only been Simmons finding him that kept him from losing himself completely. The fact that the committee has spent decades experimenting with familiar lives will send shockwaves through the witch community.

“Ugh,” Kai says. She scrubs a hand across her face. “This ducking blows.”

“Agreed,” says Allison with a wry twist of her mouth. She looks distant, and Sam suspects that despite her reassuring words she’s replaying most of the day’s proceedings over in her head and seeing the grave that Hargrove is trying to dig for her husband.

Sam would like to reassure her. He still believes that Megan will win. If she can’t, then no one else would have been able to save Simmons or Doctor Church.

There’s a sudden explosion of sound on the TV.

Sam looks up just as Grif emerges from the courtroom.

Grif blinks and throws up a hand as cameras and lights immediately swarm him.

Andrews, smiling with sharp-toothed eagerness, thrusts a microphone towards him. “We’re here live with Dexter Grif. Mr. Grif, how did Doctor Church and his accomplice break your familiar spell?”

Grif stares. He licks his lips.

“Dexter Grif? Never heard of him.”

Apparently jail cells are the same back home and in the Other Realm. Simmons wonders who took inspiration from whom, or if it was a convergent evolution thing. Either way, it’s not comfortable, with the bleak bare walls, the thin mattress, the cold air.

At least he can see Doctor Church in the opposite cell, even if Doctor Church has been quiet ever since they got back to their cells. That’s probably bad. The whole trial seems to be going badly, and that’s on top of the whole fact that the stooge hid the fact that Grif could have been a cat forever. How can the Council sentence people to being familiars if that’s a potential risk? It makes Simmons want to scream, except his throat is still raw from shouting the entire trial.

Will Ms. Wu pull that on him again the next day? It’s not Simmons’ fault that this trial and these people are horrible. He just doesn’t understand why she’s hedging around the fact that he did his own magic. He–

“Richard,” Doctor Church says suddenly.

Simmons jumps. “Uh. Yes?”

Doctor Church isn’t looking at him. He has his head cocked and a strange expression on his face. “Be quiet,” he says.

Simmons starts to snap that he was being quiet when he finally hears the quiet footsteps moving down the hall. He moves towards the bars and spies an unwelcome face the moment before Hargrove chuckles and says, “Excellent advice.”

Simmons stares at the guy. He remembers him from when they first got hauled up before the Council. He’d radiated smugness then, like it was going to make his day to ruin all of their lives, but Simmons hadn’t missed how Hargrove had seemed focused on getting Doctor Church and his kids in trouble.

And now he’s the prosecution? They’ve definitely got history. If this was a reasonable place, he would have had to recuse himself due to a clear conflict of interest. Simmons thinks. He’s forgotten most of what he learned in law school.

Hargrove moves to stand between their cells, smirking mostly at Doctor Church.

Doctor Church’s face is unreadable, blank in a way that’s probably a bad sign. He gives a small nod. “Malcolm.”

“Leonard,” Hargrove says. His smirk widens. “I thought this would be an appropriate time for a conversation.”

Doctor Church raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Hargrove spread his hands. “If you are ready to discuss a plea deal.”

“Without our lawyer?” Simmons can’t help but snap. “That–”

Hargrove glances over at him, blue eyes cold enough to freeze the blood in Simmons’ veins. He looks at Simmons with a slight curl of his lip, disgust and dislike intensifying the wrinkled lines of his face, and Simmons is suddenly acutely aware that if Doctor Church is a thousand years old, then this man must be much, much older than that.

He shuts up.

After another second, Hargrove looks back at Doctor Church. The smirk returns to his face. “It would be the smart thing to do. Nothing your character witnesses can say tomorrow will deny the fact that you attempted to upend everything the Council stands for and broke a forbidden spell.”

Doctor Church studies him for a long second. Simmons wishes it was effluvium thickening the air, but it’s definitely tension. Then Doctor Church says evenly, “I take it the Council was…displeased that the familiar experiment came out in court.”

Hargrove’s eyes narrow for a second before he smiles. “I’m certain those who decided on their various experiments will be rooted out and punished. You should worry about your own fate.”

He clasps his hands in front of him. “The Council will make the ultimate decision, of course, but I shall have the opportunity to suggest your respective punishments. Death is too simple, Leonard. You’ve been a thorn in my side for centuries. Now that you’ve finally misstepped, I think some suffering is in order.”

When Hargrove pauses, half-expectant, Simmons keeps very still and tries to remember how to breathe.

“Two millennia and you still resort to dramatics,” Doctor Church says. His drawl comes out thick and contemptuous. “Out with it, Malcolm.”

It’s only the memory of Doctor Church’s voice, his drawl thickening the more terrified he was by Church’s deterioration last year, that makes Simmons realize Doctor Church is frightened and trying not to show it.

Hargrove doesn’t seem to realize it, though his smirk never falters. “A hundred years as an animal, your precious Allison long dead. I think it would be fascinating to watch you live with that. And if I discover any evidence your children helped this mortal…. Well. If the Church family loves mortals so much, perhaps they should join their ranks.”

Doctor Church’s careful control slips. Anguish twists his expression.

Rage temporarily replaces the fear paralyzing Simmons. He gets to the bars in two quick strides, grabbing onto them as he snarls at Hargrove, “Leave the kids alone!”

Hargrove looks at him again.

The look is even colder than before. Anything else Simmons is going to say dies in the pit of his stomach as Hargrove studies him from head to toe. “I suspect the Council will delight in turning you into a familiar for a century. Never mind that you don’t have that long. How many years do you have left? Fifty? Sixty?”

Simmons opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Hargrove smiles at him. “If you want to step into a witch’s world, you will face a witch’s consequences. Enjoy growing old and dying in a body not your own.”

“Enough,” Doctor Church snaps.

Hargrove keeps smiling. He fishes out an old-fashioned watch from his pocket and makes a show of opening it. He tsks and tucks the watch away. “Yes, I should go. I need to be well-rested to properly question your daughter tomorrow.”

With that last little twist of the knife, Hargrove walks away.

Simmons half-gasps for air, trying to get his breathing under control and tamp down on the nausea that is roiling his stomach. It doesn’t really work. He clutches at the bars and steadies his trembling knees. “Can he– is that really–”

“Perhaps,” Doctor Church says. His voice is tight. “But that’s only if he wins.”

Simmons tries to focus on that. The old frustration at Mrs. Wu ignoring him wells up, dulling the edge of his panic. He takes a deep breath. They’re innocent of trying to overthrow the Council, he reminds himself. That has to count for something. “R-right. If he wins. B-but seriously, what is his problem?”

Doctor Church makes a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “If you live for centuries, you acquire enemies. Unfortunately mine is better connected than most.”

“Okay, right, but. Seriously. That dude hates you.”

Doctor Church takes off his glasses and runs a hand down his face. “Before Malcolm became the chairman, he dabbled in arcane theory and natural philosophy. Perhaps it started over some critical response to a paper of his, or a stolen slot in a symposium.”

Simmons stares. “...Wait. He’s trying to destroy your life because you argued about science?!”

Doctor Church grimaces just slightly before he puts his glasses back on. “It has been so many years I doubt either of us remember the specifics. It could have been something else entirely. We dislike each other for a multitude of reasons.” He shrugs and smiles wryly. “It hardly matters now.”

“Right,” Simmons says faintly. He might get turned into a cat forever over scientific beef. He takes another breath. It’s easier to focus on his curiosity than his potential fate. Which is why he scrapes up enough courage to ask, “If…if you knew this was such a risk, why did you, uh, well. Help me?”

Doctor Church sighs. He adjusts his glasses before he says wryly, “Initially? It was entirely selfish, I assure you. Characterizing it as ‘helping you’ is far too generous on your part. I wasn’t being altruistic. My goals were focused on…” He pauses. His lips go thin, his gaze distant, before he continues. “On preserving a fleeting happiness for as long as possible.”

Before Simmons can ask what that means, Doctor Church’s eyes spark and some of the old enthusiasm Simmons remembers from their experiments at the leyline returns to him. “Haven't you ever wondered why witches live so much longer than mortals?”

“Of course!” Simmons says. It had been one of his first questions when he’d found out exactly how long witches could live. “I figured there was healing magic. Or something different about witches, like jellyfish’s transdifferentiation or nearly limitless telomere enzymes or– I asked Grif, but he didn’t know.”

His chest tightens, thinking of Grif, who had snorted and flicked his tail and told him he wasn’t a doctor last he checked. He wishes he could talk to him, see if, see if he’s okay. He had been so rattled by everything that he hadn’t even looked for him in the crowd.

“Access to healing spells and potions does help, of course. But witches have the same genetic make-up as mortals. And healing spells and potions aren't the reason. The reason is the magic that flows through our veins, slowing down aging, keeping the grim reaper at bay for centuries upon centuries. Magic renders us immune to everything but magic and things that counteract magic.”

Simmons stares. He has questions. Many, many questions. But Doctor Church talks faster, gesturing with his hands to punctuate his words.

"And you, Richard, have access to that now. Don't you see the implications of that? What a mortal being able to draw upon effluvium and cast magic himself would mean for the division between mortals and witches? So many witches have retreated to the Other Realm because of fear of mortal resentment, so many friendships and relationships between witches and mortals have been broken by jealousy. If mortals can do magic, then there is no need for separation or secrecy. No need for hiding magic from half-mortal children, no need for forced separation, and perhaps–”

Doctor Church stops. He closes his eyes for a moment before he adds, “And there are…other potential implications.”

“Uh,” says Simmons. His mind is spinning. There are too many implications for him to even focus on one, not even with the memory of Doctor Church saying to Mrs. Wu that magic might be altering Simmons’ body. The enormity of his and Doctor Church’s experiments strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Then Doctor Church sighs. “Of course, none of this will matter if Malcolm has his way. He will ensure that gifting a mortal magic, no matter the method, falls under the charitable acts law. It will be forbidden. And that will be that.”

“Right,” Simmons says weakly. Then he gives himself a shake. “But he won’t get his way. We won’t let it happen. We’re going to win this trial and Hargrove and the Council can suck it.”

That startles a quirked eyebrow raise from Doctor Church. “Suck it?”

Simmons can feel his face warm but he nods. “Yeah!”

Doctor Church’s eyebrow stays raised. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles. It’s a sharp-toothed grin and for a second Simmons can see what an older Church will look like in a few centuries when he’s amused.

“Richard, you are absolutely correct. They can suck it.”

Chapter Text

Megan studies Leonard and Richard as they’re escorted into the jail’s meeting room. They both look about as well-rested as she thought they would, which is to say they look as though they both had a long night. Still, they look presentable, though Richard frowns when he meets her eyes.

Apparently her explanation on why she silenced him yesterday hasn’t stemmed his frustration over it. Hopefully he’ll be able to keep his temper today.

At the moment, however, it’s Leonard’s emotions she’s concerned about. She looks at him and says, “We need to discuss our approach to the witnesses before we go to the courthouse.”

When she pauses, Leonard inclines his head for her to continue.

Megan has been debating since yesterday how to broach the topic again, but boldness is the better part of valor, so she goes for matter-of-factness. “Based on yesterday and how Malcolm is handling the prosecution, our best course of action is to bring up your affair.”

“Uh,” Richard squeaks.

Leonard’s eyes narrow. “Absolutely not.”

“Let me explain,” Megan says. “There is a high likelihood that Malcolm will use it to besmirch your character. If I can bring it up to the jury first, I have a chance to shape the narrative around it.” It would hopefully knock the wind out of Malcolm’s sails and his attempts to paint Leonard as a crazed mortal sympathizer, and also humanize Leonard to the jurors.

“No,” Leonard repeats.

“Uh, yeah,” Richard says. “That’s not a good idea. Airing his dirty laundry is going to make him look like a slimeball!” Leonard looks at him and he turns pink. “Uh. Sorry?”

“Richard, do you believe–” Leonard stops. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He gives a little shake of his head. “That’s inconsequential.” He turns back towards Megan, his expression turning stern. “I thought I made myself clear when we were choosing our witnesses. Church is being kept out of this trial. I didn’t even want Carolina on the stand.”

“You did make yourself clear,” Megan acknowledges. “But that was before we understood Malcolm’s case against you and why he’d chosen his witnesses. He is trying to paint you as a fanatic, someone who will do anything to promote a mortal rights agenda. If we could showcase your connections to the witch community–”

“No!” Leonard says sharply.

Megan drums her fingers against her brief case, swallows against her rising frustration. “Speaking on the affair doesn’t have to bring your son into it. We don’t have to mention him, simply focus on the time you spent with Hilary.”

Leonard looks mulish, while Richard’s eyes dart between them.

There’s a nervous intensity to the way he’s watching them, something that catches Megan’s attention. She stares at him, watching him flush under her gaze, and then back at Leonard, who’s gone thin-lipped and silent, looking as though he still plans to argue against good advice.

Megan wants to groan in frustration. There’s something going on here. She can feel it with every bone in her body, one that’s gotten used to her clients hiding things from her, sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of embarrassment, sometimes out of stubbornness. There’s something about this affair and Church that they’re not telling her.

“I told you before that if you did what I said, I would win this case. This isn’t doing what I say.”

Leonard’s jaw works. At last he says, “I understand. It’s still no.”

Megan waits, but he doesn’t even try to come up with some thin excuse. She walks up to him, looking up at his green eyes, which meet hers firmly. Is there a trace of apology there for making her life harder? Perhaps it’s just her imagination.

She says forcefully, “This will tank my ability to defend you. You understand that? If I lose this case, it will not be any lack of effort on my part. It will be because you are tying my hands behind my back!”

She pauses, not expecting a response or capitulation and not getting one. Simmons grimaces but Leonard just keeps meeting her eyes, unyielding. She hisses out a breath. “Fine. I will be very precise in my questioning. But when Malcolm parades all the aspects of your affair to the jury, then it's on your heads.”

Megan turns and strides towards the exit.

After a second, they both follow.

Simmons feels queasy. Drell is watching the public filter into the courtroom with visible impatience like he wants this trial over with. Hargrove is talking with Cassandra and smiling like he didn’t just threaten to essentially give Simmons the death penalty last night. And Mrs. Wu is organizing her folders and files on the defense bench with the icy precision of someone who’s furious, even if that anger never reaches her expression.

Plus there’s a weird energy to the crowd today. People are settling into their seats, whispering amongst each other more than they had yesterday, giving everyone at the defense bench openly curious looks.

Then one figure walks through the courtroom doors and walks towards the front of the galley, slouching and throwing himself down in one of the chairs closest to the defense table.

Simmons’ heart leaps with relief even as he squints in confusion.

He scoots his chair back, as close to the gallery as he can, and whispers to Grif.

“What are you wearing?”

“Normal stuff,” Grif lies. Because wearing a trenchcoat that’s half-hiding his features and bulky black sunglasses that hide the other half is a totally normal thing to do in a courtroom or anywhere else. He was wearing normal clothes the day before!

Despite the anxiety still churning his stomach, Simmons can’t help but snort. “You look like a sketchy dude about to sell me counterfeit watches on a street corner.”

Grif’s face is pretty much hidden, but Simmons knows he’s rolling his eyes and smiling. He can hear it in his voice as he says, “Is that a mortal thing?”

“Maybe!” Okay, it is a trope in a lot of movies and TV shows, but even growing up in Boston Simmons hadn’t encountered that particular type of sketchy dude. “But seriously. Why are you wearing sunglasses inside? Can you even see anything?”

“Sure,” Grif says.

Simmons squints at him.

“Yeah, okay, shut up,” Grif says. He takes off the sunglasses and makes a face. “I was trying to keep a low profile.”

Simmons can’t help but grin. He looks at Grif, his broad shoulders and bulky frame, the way even sitting he’s taller than most people in the room. He shakes his head, still grinning. “Sorry. I think you’re too tall to ever be incognito.”

“I could be incognito!” Grif protests.

“Uh huh,” Simmons says. “Tell that to everyone staring at you right now.”

Grif hunches his shoulders and groans. “Stupid Salem went on TV and snitched about you breaking the familiar spell. Now everyone wants to talk to me.”

“Huh,” Simmons says, blinking. “They do?”

“Yeah,” Grif says. He’s definitely scowling. “They keep, ugh, calling me a hero for that Felix stuff and asking about the familiar spell and–”

“Wait,” Simmons says. He feels his grin widen. It is honestly funny to watch Grif sulk over being liked. Especially when people are apparently finally treating him like the hero he is. “Let me get this straight. Are you mad that people think you’re cool for saving all of Massachusetts?”

“No,” Grif says, lying again. He hunches his shoulders though it doesn’t do anything other than make him look even shiftier. He’s definitely pouting.

Simmons laughs. “Oh no. Do they want to throw you a parade? Are people asking for your autograph?” He puts out his hands, stretching out a rectangle in the air. “Are you getting a movie deal? I can see the poster now–”

“Shut up, Simmons.”

“Sorry, hero,” Simmons says and laughs again even as the corner of Grif’s mouth twitches, like he’s amused in spite of himself. Then he reaches out and plucks at Grif’s collar. “Seriously, you look so weird. Take off the sunglasses and coat.”

“Whatever,” Grif groans, but he shoves the sunglasses into a pocket and then shoulders his way out of the coat, starting to crumple it into a ball to stuff under his seat.

“Fold it!” Simmons says, reaching for it. “Don’t you have a spell that can fold clothes or something? Or I–”

He jumps as Drell slams his gavel and snarls, “Enough chit-chat! The court is now in session, let’s get the first witness on the stand. Wu?”

Simmons’ stomach drops. For a minute there he almost forgot the danger he and Doctor Church are in. From Grif’s expression, so did he.

Simmons stares at him for a second, a bittersweet twist in his gut. This is all horrible, but the one good thing is that Grif isn’t on trial. The stupid witch community has even figured out he’s a hero! Whatever happens, Grif will be okay.

Simmons tries to regain his old smile but he knows it’s shaky at the edges. Grif gives him an equally strained one in return, sinking lower in his chair as Church sits down beside him. Then, reluctant to look away from Grif, Simmons forces himself to turn back towards the jury and the Council.

Next to him Doctor Church watches him with an understanding look in his eyes. Mrs. Wu is harder to read. He can’t figure out her expression, at least until she stands and her professional mask goes back on.

“Thank you, sir,” she says. “I call Hilary Huggins to the witness stand.”

There’s a murmur of interest from the crowd.

Simmons clings to the spark of curiosity as he watches the woman who’s pretending to be Church’s biological mother approach the witness stand. She’s got dark hair like Church and Doctor Church, but she’s short and sturdy where Church is tall and gangly and mostly has his father’s sharp features despite the amount of junk food he consumes on a daily basis. Understandable, since he’s basically Doctor Church’s magical clone.

Simmons is still not certain how she expects to lie under a truth spell, but from the way she marches up to the witness stand and looks calm as she does the truth spell, she seems confident.

“Doctor Huggins, state your name, your occupation, and your connection to Leonard Church for the record.”

Doctor Huggins smiles. “My name is Hilary Huggins, I am a scientist, and I know Leonard both personally and professionally.”

“How long have you known him?”

Doctor Huggins learns forward. “Well, I first heard of him when I attended Other Realm University three hundred years ago. He was already well established in the scientific community and was an occasional guest lecturer at ORU, though not during the years I attended. We had similar interests in arcane theory. I actually used a few of his papers as part of the foundation of my dissertation!”

Next to him, Simmons sees Doctor Church blink, though he keeps his expression neutral.

“But I didn’t meet him in person until a scientific conference,” Doctor Huggins adds. She makes a pensive noise. “It would have been either 1832 or 1841.”

“So you met him in person for the first time somewhere between 160 and 170 years ago?”

“Correct!”

“That’s a long time between graduation and meeting him at a conference.”

Doctor Huggins waves a hand. “Well, both of us are devoted to our work. While I enjoy mingling with folks during conferences and award ceremonies, my preference is for lack of distractions and the relative solitude of the moon. Hence living on Europa with mostly only family for company!”

“You say you’re both devoted to your work. What is your impression of Doctor Church?”

“Oh, Leonard’s a bit of a stick in the mud,” Doctor Huggins says with a little grin. A few of the jurors smile with her, and she winks at them. “A lot of scientists are. He’s a man who prefers his personal space so he can dedicate himself fully to his careers and to his charitable works. Between Stalwart and all his scientific contributions, sometimes I wonder when the man sleeps!”

Simmons watches the jury from the corner of his eye. Even more of them are smiling. If nothing else, Doctor Huggins certainly has them more relaxed than any of them were yesterday. That’s something, right?

“So you would describe him as a man committed to science?”

“Absolutely!”

Mrs. Wu clasps her hands in front of her. Any of the tension she’s carrying from her argument with Simmons and Doctor Church is hidden away as she asks, “You mentioned that you’ve referenced some of his work in your own research. Have you ever collaborated?”

Doctor Huggins gives a little shake of her head. “No, our work has often gone in different directions. Though we’ve exchanged letters over the decades when we’ve had thoughts on each other’s work or had a resource we thought might be useful. Sometimes there’s a rare scroll that is only at a particular academic library, that sort of thing!”

Mrs. Wu pauses. She studies Doctor Huggins for a moment, letting the moment stretch out before she asks, “So Doctor Church didn’t enlist you in the experiment with Richard Simmons?”

The entire courtroom goes quiet. Even Simmons finds himself holding his breath, though he knows the answer is no.

“No!” Doctor Huggins says. She sighs. “I wish he had.”

That gets a murmur from the crowd, and even Doctor Church straightens up in surprise.

Mrs. Wu raises an eyebrow, though there’s no way she didn’t ask Doctor Huggins this before. “You wish he had? Could you elaborate on that?”

Doctor Huggins beams. “Of course! If Leonard’s theory is correct, it has fascinating scientific implications. I don’t blame him for not sharing his theory with me, of course. Scientists are often secretive when they have a new project! They don't want anyone publishing first.”

She pauses and makes a face. “Any scientist born before the last century remembers the 1912 Academy of Arcane Science incident on Stromboli. Marsters allegedly copied Sanderson’s research and published his article a few weeks before her. When one of them caused the local volcano to erupt, we lost three witches that day. The Academy had to institute a new policy of hosting all future ceremonies and conferences in the Mortal Realm at least 100 miles away from an active volcano! After that, most witches became rather careful about sharing their work with anyone before publication.”

Mrs. Wu steps towards the jury, looking towards them as she asks, “So Doctor Church concealing his experiments doesn’t seem suspicious to you?”

Doctor Huggins laughs again. “It would have been stranger if he’d announced his potential findings without doing proper research and experimentation! After all, if what he posits is true, then Leonard has discovered a whole new avenue of scientific study.”

She leans forward, expression bright, waving her hands as she continues, “I would be personally interested in the limits of mortals’ ability to interface with magic. They don’t have inborn magic and can't interact with effluvium, but spells work on them just fine. Most can use some magical devices, and if given magic, such as when a witch has the digitus lambendo strain of the flu, they can use magic without issue. Clearly there are some limits, but we don’t even know if mortals can build up any sort of resistance, since the Council established the spell quota twelve centuries ago–”

“Hey, that was to shut up the mortal-loving hippies!” Drell snaps.

“There’s so much we don’t know,” Doctor Huggins says. Simmons recognizes the look on her face. It’s someone who wants desperately to dive into a new project. “The research possibilities are endless!”

“And based on your…” Mrs. Wu pauses, and Simmons can feel Doctor Church tense behind him. He’s staring a hole in the back of her head as she asks, “...personal connection with Doctor Church, would you conclude that was his intention? To research his potential discovery?”

“Objection!” Hargrove says. “Speculation.”

“Perhaps, but I would like to hear Doctor Huggins’ thoughts,” Cassandra says. She’s studying Doctor Huggins with interest while Drell glowers.

Doctor Huggins sits up straight on the witness stand. “The man I understand Leonard to be would never spread unproven theories. Of course he would dive into this scientific endeavor and apply rigorous experimentation before sharing his findings.”

“Thank you, Doctor Huggins,” Mrs. Wu says. “I have just one more question. During any of your conversations with Doctor Church, did he ever imply or express resentment towards the Council to you?”

Doctor Huggins gives a decisive shake of her head. “None.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Wu says. She gives a significant look at the jury. “No further questions.”

A few people murmur among themselves, but the courtroom is otherwise quiet as Hargrove approaches the witness stand.

“Doctor Huggins, if I may clarify a point in one of your answers before I ask my intended questions. When you were speaking of the spell quota, were you saying that the Council was wrong to enforce that quota?”

Drell stares down at Doctor Huggins, expression thunderous, but Doctor Huggins smiles and spreads her hands. “I am certain that the Council thought it was the best course of action at the time. I mentioned it because it does cut off certain legal avenues of scientific study!”

“I see.”

Simmons is pretty sure Hargrove is disappointed by her answer, but the jerk rallies quickly enough.

“Now let me ask another question. You and my colleague mostly spoke of your professional relationship. But you know Leonard Church personally, correct?”

Doctor Church tenses again. When Simmons glances at him and Mrs. Wu, Doctor Church’s jaw is tight and Mrs. Wu is wearing such a neutral expression that she might as well be shouting she told them so.

Simmons’ stomach sinks even as Doctor Huggins says, still smiling, “Oh, we’ve spent time together outside of conferences.”

“Oh, I would say you’ve spent a substantial amount of time together,” Hargrove pronounces. “In fact, I’m certain of it.” He pulls out a scroll with a flourish. He holds it up but doesn’t unroll it. “I am ready to present this as Exhibit E if Doctor Huggins refuses to answer my next question. This is the birth certificate for one James Church. Who is he?”

“Objection,” Mrs. Wu says before Doctor Huggins can respond. She rises to her feet. “Improper character evidence. James Church has no relevance to the case.”

“No relevance?” Hargrove proclaims. He shakes his head. “Councillors, the bedrock of my colleague’s proclamations of innocence is that her client is a devoted family man and scientist. If that isn’t true, shouldn’t the jury know the real Leonard Church?”

Skippy, frowning, makes a few quick hand gestures.

Drell snorts. “Stop sulking.” He waves a hand. “Objection overruled. Answer the question.”

Simmons holds his breath, watching Doctor Huggins’ smile never falter for a second and wondering how she’s going to answer the question without revealing Church to the world. Next to him, Doctor Church is sitting very, very still, his eyes burning as he also stares at Doctor Huggins.

Doctor Huggins waves at the scroll. “Well, according to that birth certificate, Leonard and I are the parents of James Church.”

The courtroom erupts again into whispers.

Simmons is hit by a dizzying wave of relief. He doesn’t dare look back at Church to see his reaction. From the corner of his eye, he sees Doctor Church blink, relieved surprise flickering across his face before something like admiration replaces it. Then that’s all hidden away behind his neutral look as some of the jurors turn to stare at him.

Right. This is good for Church’s safety, but definitely makes Doctor Church look like a grade A asshole. Simmons can feel his cheeks warming, remembering how he’d thought badly of Doctor Church for months until he’d learned the truth.

“Enough!” Drell snarls at the public.

It goes quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

“You and Leonard had a child together,” Hargrove says. He looks grave, though Simmons is sure the guy is inwardly smirking. “When?”

Doctor Huggins tilts her head and gives Hargrove an appraising look. “I get the feeling you’d prefer to put that birth certificate on record and do the math yourself,” she says mildly.

Simmons is in awe even as Hargrove unfurls the birth certificate and reads out with relish, “This is to certify that James Church was born on Europa, Jupiter on the 15th day of September in the year 1981 to parents Hilary Huggins and Leonard Church.”

Hargrove gives a dramatic pause. “That means his sixteenth birthday would have been September 15, 1997.”

“According to the math,” Doctor Huggins agrees.

Hargrove looks towards the jury. “According to my witness, Mrs. Endor, Leonard Church became withdrawn around his daughter’s sixteenth birthday in September 1997. Your son and Leonard’s legitimate daughter were born within a week of each other? His mortal wife was having their child while you were–”

“Objection,” Mrs. Wu says. “Badgering the witness. My colleague has made his point.”

“Yes, I have. I believe everyone understands who your client truly is,” Hargrove agrees. He walks back towards the prosecution table, tossing over his shoulder, “No further questions.”

Simmons can feel the weight of everyone’s stares even though they’re not directed at him. He can’t imagine how Doctor Church must feel, being painted as an adulterer and a scummy guy to the entire witch community. If he didn’t think it would look weird, he’d give Doctor Church a sympathetic smile.

Doctor Huggins bounds away from the witness stand, pausing only to give Doctor Church a quick, sympathetic smile before she continues away from the table and back to the seclusion of the witness room.

Drell slams his gavel down. “Court is adjourned for a fifteen minute recess! Skippy, stop pouting.”

“I thought she couldn’t lie,” Sabrina says, blinking at the TV.

“You can’t,” Aunt Zelda says.

Aunt Hilda leans back against the couch. She’s got an impressed look on her face. “She told the truth the whole time.”

“But she isn’t James’ real mom!” Sabrina protests. She gestures wildly, not sure what she’s trying to symbolize with her hands. It’s kind of hard to pantomime someone being created by a magical mishap. “He doesn’t have one, remember?”

Aunt Hilda tilts her head. “Did she say that? ‘Cause what I heard was her confirming what the birth certificate said. Which is obviously fake, but if she’s just agreeing that it says what it says, well. That’s not a lie.” She blows out a breath. “Impressive. Wonder if she’ll teach me her tricks?”

“Unless you plan to help Salem try to take over the world again, I don’t think you need it,” Aunt Zelda says dryly.

On the TV, Salem is smoothing down his tie with his paw. His blabbering about the familiar spell has gotten him a spot as a commentator at the news station, and he’s basking under the attention. Sabrina is pretty sure Aunt Hilda and Aunt Zelda are grounding him as soon as he gets home, though.

Salem flicks his ears. “Well, of course I knew about Leonard’s little indiscretion. I’ve had dinner with both kids! But I feel for the guy, you know? Even if he didn’t loop me in on breaking the familiar spell, I wasn’t about to air his dirty laundry. But now that it’s out there–”

“We’ll be cutting back to our on-site reporter, Dylan Andrews, who’s interviewing the public. These people have been lucky enough to get seats inside the courtroom itself. Dylan?”

“Thank you, Marius,” Dylan says, smiling warmly at the camera. “I have Cecilia Mutton and Jasper Shabani, both ready to discuss what people are thinking after four of six witnesses have been examined and cross-examined.”

“Hi!” says Cecilia, who’s wearing an ORU sweatshirt and long dangling earrings clearly made in the Other Realm from the way they fizzle and twirl and turn kaleidoscope colors. She waves at the camera, wide-eyed and beaming, clearly ready for her two minutes of fame.

Jasper looks a little nervous, but eventually a smile forms on his dark face, his silver freckles glowing faintly with luminescence. He’s wearing a suit and tie, though one of his cufflinks has gone astray as he also lifts a hand towards the camera.

“Tell us, what brought you both here to the courthouse?”

Cecilia bounces in place, still beaming. “Well, I’m attending ORU, Doctor Church’s alma mater, right? At least one of us had to come and see if he gets convicted of one of the most serious crimes of the century, you know? I won the rock, paper, scissors at my sorority.”

“And I’m in law school,” offers Jasper. “Most trials aren’t public, so this is probably one of my only chances to see Megan Wu in person.”

Dylan nods, though she probably already knew this. There’s no way she’s asking random strangers and not vetting her interviewees for a live interview. “I think we’re all interested in hearing your thoughts and opinions on the trial so far.”

“Well, it’s dramatic, isn’t it?” Cecilia exclaims. “Like, there’s been so many wild things! Total bombshells, like the whole illegitimate kid thing and the stuff about Dexter Grif. Like, how did they break the familiar spell, you know? My uncle had to take care of a familiar for a century back in the 1700s.”

“And the experiments with the familiars,” Jasper says. “It’ll be interesting to see how that committee investigates it, and how many familiars were in jeopardy. Besides, the fact that Dexter Grif saved Massachusetts and didn’t even have his sentence commuted is–”

“Wild!” Cecilia agrees. “And they stuck him with a mortal! Can you imagine?” She shivers dramatically. “He’s so angry too! I swear every time I look at him he looks like he wants to kill all of us.”

“Except this morning,” Jasper says.

Both Dylan and Cecilia blink, but Dylan recovers quickly. “Did he seem different this morning?”

“Yeah. Before Mrs. Wu called her witness, I saw Dexter Grif talking to the mortal and they were both smiling? I think the mortal even laughed. He was like a whole different person.”

“Really?” Cecilia says. “I didn’t see that!” She wrinkles her nose, bouncing on her heels again. “What by Merlin’s beard does he have to laugh about? When he gets convicted, he’s going to be–” She stops. “What are they going to do with the mortal?”

“That’s a good question,” Jasper says. “I’ve been looking at court documents and obviously there’s never been a mortal on trial before. I guess just evoke the no mortals law and turn him into a creepy, crawly thing? Or wipe his memory and send him back home.”

“Yeah,” Cecilia agrees. “I mean, Dexter Grif’s staying here after all this, right? He’s gonna be a celebrity now that everyone knows he saved Massachusetts and became the first familiar to break his spell! He’s gonna get a book deal and a movie deal.” She squints at Jasper. “Are you sure the mortal was smiling? Maybe he was just grinding his teeth.”

Jasper shrugs.

Dylan breaks in. “Cecilia, you said when he gets convicted, not if. Are you certain of his guilt then?”

“I mean, yeah? That prosecutor’s been showing how sketchy he and Doctor Church have been this whole time. Why would you create wards if you don’t have anything to hide?”

“I could see Doctor Church wanting privacy for Dexter Grif, though,” Jasper says. “Though I…. Well. Mrs. Wu does have a hard case to make ahead of her. It will be interesting to see if she can get them declared innocent.” He doesn’t look particularly convinced she will.

There’s a small commotion and Dylan smiles at Cecilia and Jasper. “I think we should get back into the courtroom. Sounds like the recess is almost over. Thank you both for your time.”

“You’re welcome,” Jasper says.

“Yeah! And go ORU!” Cecilia adds, doing some hand gestures that are probably some sorority thing and giving one last grin at the camera.

“Eesh,” Aunt Hilda mutters on the couch. “Did you hear them? Not good.”

“No,” Sabrina agrees, heart sinking.

Carolina is going to be so upset when her dad gets sent to Pluto.

Perhaps surprisingly, this isn’t Vanessa’s first time in the courtroom. Once, early on in her career as Quizmaster, she’d been sued by an angry parent who had blamed her for their son failing his witch’s license test three times. It was apparently a rite of passage for every quizmaster, but she’d still hated every second of it.

She still hates it. Especially now, when all eyes are on her and the fate of Carolina’s father and Richard rest in only a few hands, including her own. The truth spell lingers, a faintly buzzing sensation and honey sweet taste on her tongue.

“My name is Vanessa Kimball, I am currently a librarian at the Westbridge Public Library in the Mortal Realm, and I know Leonard Church because I was one of his children’s temporary guardians during his daughter’s two years away from her parents.”

Mrs. Wu approaches the stand.

“Ms. Kimball, how and when did you first meet Doctor Church?”

“When I became his daughter’s guardian,” Vanessa says. She bites back the instinctive urge to keep talking as a murmur of surprise moves through the public. Mrs. Wu had instructed her to keep her answers short and concise and let her pose the questions carefully.

“You didn’t know him before then?”

“No. I knew of him, but not personally.”

“Then why were you chosen to become his daughter’s temporary guardian?”

“Leonard has no living relatives other than his children.” When Mrs. Wu nods at her to elaborate, Vanessa looks towards the jurors and gives them a little shrug, speaking directly to them. “It’s not as rare as most people think. We all know witches tend to have small families. Sometimes the single child of single child parents end up without any family to care for their half-mortal kids.”

“But why you in particular?”

“I formerly worked as a quizmaster. I have experience working with half-mortal kids.” It’s the truth, but not the whole truth. She’s taking a page out of Hilary’s book.

“Carolina turned eighteen in September?”

“Yeah,” Vanessay says. Despite the situation, she smiles a little. “Her mom practically knocked the door down the second she turned eighteen.”

“But she and her brother are currently not living with their parents. She and her brother are still living with you, despite having only known you for two years.”

Vanessa nods, and then has to correct herself and say, “Yes,” out loud for the record. There’s another murmur of surprise. Thankfully Mrs. Wu asks her to elaborate. “Once she turned eighteen, she, her brother, and their parents had a family discussion. They’re in their senior year of high school and Leonard wanted to give them the choice to return home right away or to finish the school year with their new friends. They chose to stay with me until graduation.”

“Then how much contact do Carolina and James have with their father?”

Vanessa doesn’t let herself pause as she launches into another half-truth. “Before Carolina’s eighteenth birthday, Leonard began weekly dinners at the brownstone. Then, when he and Allison were reunited, they spent a few weeks home with the kids. Now they both visit as often as they can, dinners and temple and Carolina’s track meets.”

“As her temporary guardian, what is your opinion on Doctor Church?”

Now Vanessa does hesitate. She doesn’t look towards the defense table as she says, “He isn’t the first witch to take the separation from his mortal spouse and half-mortal child badly. I saw plenty of his type as a quizmaster. But he still screwed up when Carolina needed him. He’s arrogant, he thinks he knows best, and he’s not good with apologies.”

Mrs. Wu raises her eyebrow. “And yet you’re still the temporary guardian of his children.”

Vanessa shrugs. “Just because we’re never going to be friends doesn’t mean I don’t love his kids. We both have their best interests at heart. I still think he’s arrogant and a bit of a stuffed shirt. But he’s done a lot to make up for his mistakes, and whatever else anyone here says, Leonard loves his wife and his children very much. That doesn’t mean he and I need to spend time together.”

Mrs. Wu nods. “Thank you. From your observations as his children’s guardian for the last two years, do you think Doctor Church is guilty? Violating the Charitable Acts law? Breaking of a forbidden spell? Trying to overthrow the Council?”

“Leonard didn’t break the forbidden spell himself,” Vanessa says as Drell scowls down at her. Apparently he’s still angry about the cat being out of the bag about Dexter’s circumstances. Good. Let him and the other Council members squirm.

But she remembers Mrs. Wu’s advice not to try the Council’s patience, so she continues, steering away to safer waters. “And I think the violation of charitable acts is a stretch. It’s not charity if it’s helping both parties, right? I think he’s just a curious know-it-all who saw something new and interesting and wanted to be the first to learn about it. And overthrowing the Council….”

She pauses. “Leonard loves his children. He’s not going to try and overthrow the Council. That’s too much risk to his kids. I mean, look what’s happening to him right now just being suspected of it. No, I don’t think he intended to overthrow the Council.”

“Objection,” Hargrove says. “Speculation.”

“Sustained,” Drell snaps. “Jury, ignore that answer.”

Mrs. Wu and Vanessa look at each other. They both know that’s an impossible ask. The jurors will all remember that.

Mrs. Wu steps forward again. “Let me rephrase. Mrs. Kimball, in the two years you’ve known him have you ever heard Doctor Church state that he planned to overthrow the Council?”

“No.”

“Did he ever say that the Council should be replaced?”

“No.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Wu says. She turns towards the jury, giving them all a significant look. “No further questions.”

Vanessa barely keeps herself from tensing as Hargrove approaches her. She had warned Mrs. Wu that she didn’t like the man, and Mrs. Wu had said she didn’t expect her to feign warmth, just to try not to look too much like a hostile witness to the jury.

“Ms. Kimball, let’s not beat around the bush. Your experience as a quizmaster wasn't the only reason you were chosen as Carolina Church’s guardian.” Hargrove smiles at her, a sharp baring of his teeth that makes his eyes even colder. “Were you not in fact forcibly removed from your position as quizmaster and forced to take her on as punishment?"

Vanessa can feel her stomach tighten. It had been a long shot that he wouldn’t dredge that up. She and Emily discussed their options with Mrs. Wu, but either choice has its pros and cons. Right now the Council still approves of Emily because they think she believes in the law. If they find out during the trial she isn’t, there’s the risk that Hargrove will swoop in and take Carolina and Church away anyway, citing negative influences. So Vanessa got to be the lucky witness.

“I was removed from my position,” she says slowly. “But while it might have been intended as a punishment, I don’t see it that way myself. Carolina and Church are great kids and–”

“Thank you,” Hargrove says. “Why were you fired after several centuries?”

“I… When I was younger, as a new quizmaster, I saw the suffering half-mortal kids faced. It was upsetting, so I went looking for political activists who might be able to change things. During this time, I met Felix and Locus.”

There are a few gasps from the crowd and Vanessa says forcefully, “I attended a few meetings before I realized our political goals didn’t align. They wanted to destroy it all. I just wanted to improve things.”

Hargrove crosses his arms. “While they wanted to kill the Council.”

Vanessa scowls. She pushes down the memories of being interrogated over her association with Felix and Locus, the way no one seemed to believe her when she said she only attended a few meetings. “I didn’t know that was their plan! They were talking about seeking out witches sympathetic to half-mortals for the next Council shift. I last saw them two centuries ago.”

“And would you have told the authorities if you had learned they intended to kill the Lonzanos?”

“Objection!” Mrs. Wu snaps before Vanessa can answer. “Argumentative. Ms. Kimball is not on trial here.”

Hargrove spreads his hands and looks beseechingly up at Drell. “I am simply trying to establish her feelings about the Council.”

“Her feelings about the Council are irrelevant,” Mrs. Wu says. She has a stubborn glint in her eye. “She was asked here to answer questions about Doctor Church, not explain her brief association two hundred years ago with people who later proved to be criminals.”

Drell, scowling, starts to speak, when Cassandra leans over and whispers something urgently in his ear. His scowl deepens, and she keeps whispering before he grunts in frustration and says, “Fine! Sustained. Keep your questions about the accused, Malcolm.”

“Yes, sir,” Hargrove says. Vanessa thinks she sees a flash of frustration. But maybe that’s just her hopeful imagination because in the next second he assumes a neutral expression. “Ms. Kimball, you said that Doctor Church came for weekly dinners. When did those begin?”

Vanessa fights another grimace. Too much to hope that he hadn’t investigated the teleportation records between Leonard’s home and office and the brownstone.

“August 1998.”

“Nineteen ninety-eight? But that would be almost a full year after his children took up residence with you.”

“Correct,” Vanessa says through gritted teeth as Hargrove continues to fake shock.

“As a former quizmaster, explain the options that witch parents have when their half-mortal children turn sixteen.”

Vanessa does not look at Carolina. Not for the first time she silently curses Leonard for the stubborn, ridiculous man he is. Slowly she says, “Witch parents are given two choices. Either they can live within their spellbook for six months and be able to visit their children without issue after that, or they can live their normal life and not be allowed to see their children until their children get their witch’s license and turn eighteen.”

“And yet we know from past witnesses that Leonard didn’t choose the first option. He continued to attend meetings at Stalwart. Infrequently, but certainly within the first six months. So how could he visit his daughter after eleven months?”

“There’s always a loophole,” Vanessa says. “The rule is that–”

She watches with a burst of satisfaction as Hargrove hastily holds up a hand and says, “We don’t need the details, just confirmation that he found a loophole. That still means he chose the two year option.”

He waits, but Vanessa doesn’t respond. There’s a flicker of impatience in his eyes. “That means he chose the two year option, does it not?”

“Yes.”

Hargrove turns to the jury and spreads out his hands. “For a loving father, choosing to place his hopes on a loophole when there was a surefire way to see his daughter within six months is a strange choice. And then he still doesn’t see her after nearly a year? What was he doing during those months?”

He isn’t asking Vanessa, but she answers anyway. She swallows down the bitterness, but she can feel some of it leak into her voice as she snaps, “Probably moping and catastrophizing for a good portion of it. He wouldn’t be the first. These witches have been separated from their spouses for two years. Two years is a long time to mortals–”

“Thank you, Ms. Kimball. No further questions.”

Vanessa glares at him, cheeks hot, but he isn’t even looking at her, just watching the jury to see how they’re taking her words.

“Get off the stand,” Drell says. Before she can rise, he slams his gavel down and thunders, “The trial’s in recess. Eat some lunch and get back here in an hour!”

Chapter Text

During recesses, Mason knows, the defendants get taken to a private room for their meals. Their lawyer can join them, or they can use the temporary office supplied to them to keep their trial documents and materials within easy reach.

After a morning with highs and lows, but mostly lows, Mason knows where he’ll find his wife.

Sure enough, Megan is in the private room, standing there and talking in a low, urgent voice to both clients. They both have unappetizing meals in front of them, but there’s no sign of any food for her.

Mason lingers at the door for a moment, studying Richard Simmons curiously. He’s picking at his food, looking alternately worried and sullen, occasionally interjecting with, “I just don’t see why–” and “But I’m the one who—” that Megan talks over.

He watches her shoulders stiffen and then a small, welcoming hint of relaxation loosen them as he says her name.

She turns.

He lifts up a picnic basket and says, “I knew you’d try to work through lunch. Come take a break.”

Mason can see the calculation in her eyes. Before she can come up with a reason she shouldn’t sit down with him and eat, he says, “Everyone works better on a full stomach. I know you want to be at the top of your game. Plus, I made your favorite.”

A faint smile flickers across her face. “You made galbi-jjim?”

Mason wiggles the picnic basket. “It’s got the good stuff. Ginkgo nuts, pine nuts, chestnuts and jujubes. And the beef will melt in your mouth.” It had been something to do with his hands as he watched the TV and seen Megan’s case slipping away from her.

“You should eat,” Leonard Church says quietly.

“Yeah,” Richard agrees, though he’s sniffing the air and poking even less enthusiastically at his bland food than before.

It’s a good thing Mason packed extra. He pulls out two extra lid-covered bowls and sets them on the table. “It’s kosher,” he adds at Leonard’s raised eyebrow. “Our next door neighbor is a butcher.”

Richard blinks and then gives him the second smile Mason has seen on him all trial. “Thanks!”

“Three against one, is it?” Megan says. The corner of her mouth twitches, another flicker of a smile. “Fine.”

Once Mason has Megan ensconced in the defendant's office, eating her galbi-jjim with slowly gathering steam and enthusiasm, he just watches her for a couple minutes. She looked a little wan and pinched before, but now some of the color is coming back to her face.

He waits until she’s halfway through her bowl before he clears his throat. As much as he hates to return that tension to her body, they’ve always talked through her trials before and this feels like it absolutely shouldn’t be an exception.

“Thoughts on the trial?”

Her spoon pauses before she says flatly, “I’m losing,” and takes another bite.

Yeah, that’s what he thought too.

“Well, you haven’t lost until the jury says they’re guilty,” he says, reaching over to squeeze her free hand. “There’s still a chance to turn it around.”

Megan closes her eyes and breathes sharply through her nose. Her voice starts slow and measured but finishes sharp and tense. “Malcolm is many things, but he’s also good at his job, especially when he has a vendetta. He’s done his research and my clients are tying my hands behind my back being cagey about something to do with the kids. I had to fight tooth and nail just to get his daughter up on the witness stand and now I’m half-doubting that too. And then there’s tomorrow– Richard has already alienated all of the jury, he’ll do even worse if I give in to his demands to take the stand!”

“He’s not the best with first impressions,” Mason agrees.

Megan huffs out a breath. “That’s an understatement.”

“I mean,” he says, drawing out the second word, “it’s not like I can blame him.”

Megan gives him a sidelong look, eyebrows up.

Mason shrugs. “I know he’s not making your job easier, but-- I just keep thinking about how mad I’d be, everyone talking about me like I'm a lab rat instead of a person.” He pauses and then adds carefully, “Or a patsy for other people’s crimes.”

He knows that feeling, had almost spilled the galbi-jjim distracted by stomach-clenching sympathy at Vanessa Kimball arguing that she was being punished for an old acquaintanceship with Felix and Locus. How many others were being punished for attending those meetings? How many other people's lives were ruined or disrupted?

He’s had to play the part of an oblivious patsy himself ever since the Council goons showed up at the tax office in the days after Locus and Felix’s rushed trial and made a spectacle of dragging him off for questioning. It had been better to seem like an oblivious friend than a threat, but it had still rankled.

Megan grimaces. It’s her turn to squeeze his hand in sympathy. “I know. I understand his frustration, but it isn’t helping anyone other than Malcolm.”

Mason sighs. He takes a steadying bite of his own galbi-jjim. If nothing else, becoming a househusband has improved his cooking skills. And eventually his association with Felix and Locus will fade from memory and he can get another job. Maybe he should even go Vanessa Kimball’s route and start looking into mortal careers. Mortal taxes are probably easier than witches.

“So,” he says after he’s swallowed. “Is there a reason you’re so focused on Leonard and not trying to get the jury to see Richard as human? I understand silencing him yesterday but the rest of the time you’ve been trying to make him invisible.”

Megan presses her lips together. “If I thought humanizing him had any potential of working, I would. But look at it this way. What would I accomplish if I convinced everyone Richard can do magic on his own as Leonard claims? How would it look to the jury if I proved that Richard broke the familiar spell? It would validate Malcolm’s assertion that he is a threat.”

“Probably,” Mason agrees slowly. Despite the situation he smiles a little. “Can you imagine the reaction if you could prove a mortal broke a forbidden spell though?”

Megan shakes her head. “Don’t tell me you think he actually did it.”

Mason laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean….”

“Mason! Mortals can’t do magic.”

“I’m just saying, if mortals have evolved somehow and can do it, that’s something the Council would want to hide! Plus I don’t think Leonard seems like the kind of guy who would break a forbidden spell. Or at least not that forbidden spell. What’s in it for him?”

“If Malcolm’s to be believed, testing what Richard could do with a witch’s magic,” Megan says dryly.

“Yeah, maybe. But what if this effluvium thing is real? Richard clearly cares about Dexter. You heard him yesterday before you silenced him. He was furious about the amnesia thing. If anyone was going to try to break the familiar spell–”

Megan gives him a look he can’t quite interpret. “You’ve been paying a lot of attention to him.”

“I feel for the guy,” Mason admits. Slower, he adds, “He reminds me of those bad weeks after Felix and Locus’ trial. At least all I got was dragged in for questioning a couple of times.” One memorable time in the middle of the night, as though they hoped him being sleep-deprived would mean he gave them different answers, but he doesn’t let himself linger on that. He shrugs. “And, well…. There’s the way he looks at Dexter, you know?”

Megan nods slowly. “I did see them together this morning. You caught that too?”

“Caught it?” Mason laughs before he realizes she’s serious. “Right. You wouldn’t have seen the news. They’ve been playing that clip of Dexter and Richard laughing together all morning.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. You should hear some of the wild theories people are spouting. Mostly from folks who don’t believe mortals and witches can be friends, but–”

“What sort of theories?” Megan says intently. There’s an encouraging glint in her eye, the one that means she’s potentially coming up with a new angle or at least has caught a glimpse of one. “What are people saying?”

“You know these sorts of shows. They've got a whole bunch. Lots of stuff doubting he’s even a mortal at all, because obviously a witch and a mortal can never be friendly with each other. Lots of 'lost half-mortal witch' stuff.”

Megan sighs. “As if that wouldn’t make my job a thousand times easier. Do you have any idea what sort of provisions I could cite? Malcolm’s head would have spun right off his neck. But no, of course Richard isn’t a witch. Fully mortal. Not a drop of magic in his whole system.”

Mason grins. “And Dylan Andrews dug those up too. Along with his family tree, actually. That was even more damning, if you can believe it. Traced his family back like, twelve generations and couldn't even find a witch marrying a sibling or cousin! He might just be the most mortal mortal I've ever heard of.”

“Of course he is. That’s just my luck,” Megan mutters before she refocuses. “What else?”

“Soap opera stuff. Richard’s a mortal desperate to learn magic. Dexter is a familiar at his mercy for over two years. No magic, no supportive controller– you did great with that, you know. Really made that controller look like a blockhead. Dexter’s the victim who still heroically saved Massachusetts."

“Unfortunately for me, Dexter Grif isn’t my client.”

“Yeah, about that… Why not?”

Megan purses her lips.

Mason taps her on the knee. “Why isn’t he on trial too? There’s no way he wasn’t in on it.”

“Malcolm didn't prosecute him. Almost certainly on the Council's orders.”

“What? Why? If he was in on–”

“Prosecuting Dexter Grif, hero of Massachusetts, for conspiracy against the Council would be a public relations nightmare. I suspect they were hoping to keep the controller’s little experiment quiet too.”

“Which you made sure didn’t happen,” Mason says.

Megan smiles thinly. “Well, that certainly didn’t win me points with Drell, but it had to be done. It helped our case and needed to be exposed.” She pauses. “I think they also simply find him embarrassing. Breaking the familiar spell was supposed to be impossible. We were told not to explicitly name the broken forbidden spell.”

“And then Salem Saberhagen spilled the beans on that one.”

“Not who I expected,” Megan admits. “Someone must be following my advice to keep Dexter Grif’s sister away from the press.”

“Glad someone’s trying to make your job a little easier,” Mason says, giving her hand another squeeze.

“They’re few and far between,” Megan says dryly.

They sit in companionable silence for a few seconds before she gives herself a visible shake. “But everyone’s talking about Dexter and Richard?”

“Definitely. Everyone’s desperate for an interview with Dexter. He’s been refusing them all, but I think that just makes everyone more curious. Or they think he’s being modest.”

“Hm,” Megan says. That glint is back in her eyes. “You know, the only reason I even considered this case was that Dexter Grif needed help.”

“Was it?” Mason asks carefully. He had wondered why Megan had heard Locus out. He hadn’t pressed her when she’d told him a flat voice about their conversation and then about the challenging case ahead of her. “I didn’t think you cared about celebrities.”

In fact she’d turned down a case just a few months ago of an Other Realm musician who’d run into legal trouble stealing mortal music and passing it off as his own, even when the guy had offered her triple her usual rate.

“I don’t,” she says. “But his case has always interested me. It was a clear miscarriage of justice from the start, but it was so closely tied to….” She trails off, and for a second the room grows heavy with all the words unsaid. “Well. It wouldn’t have been a good idea at the time for me to try and intervene. I couldn’t help Dexter then, but now he was asking for help on someone else’s behalf. He clearly cares about Richard, and Richard cares about him.”

She sighs. “But can I make the jury care? And would it actually help? Richard’s already dug himself a pretty deep hole.”

“If anyone can, it’s you.”

Megan smiles briefly at that. “It’s worth a shot.”

Mason knows that deepening look in her eyes, the stillness that comes over her when she’s about to lose herself in her thoughts, turning over every angle in the case until she’s figured out a way to succeed. He hastily taps the edge of her bowl with his spoon.

“Finish your galbi-jjim. Then save some lives.”

Megan watches the truth magic swirl around Carolina. She has learned, over the years, to gauge the emotions and tension of the courtroom without having to look at the public or the jury box. She can almost taste the curious excitement in the air.

Once the spell has taken full effect, she says, “For the purposes of the official record, please state your name, occupation, and relationship to Leonard Church.”

Carolina tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks understandably nervous, but Megan can see both of her parents in her face as stubborn resolve dispels some of that anxiety. “I’m Carolina Church, I’m a student at Westbridge High School, and Leonard Church is my dad.”

Megan keeps most of her attention on Carolina, but she’s got an eye on the jury as well. She softens her expression and stance, turns her voice sympathetic – an easy thing to do. She would feel sympathy for any young witch in Carolina’s situation. “How are you doing?”

Carolina makes a face. “Um. Not good. I’ve been sitting here listening to people talk about my dad and Mr. Simmons like they’re monsters.”

“That must be difficult,” Megan agrees. She’s still got an eye on the jurors. Just like Mason said, she can see some of them lean forward as she asks, “You mentioned Mr. Simmons. You know him well?”

Carolina gives a slight shrug. “Not well. I mean, he’s a teacher and I was in one of his classes for a year. But I probably know him better than most of the other students.”

“How so?”

“Well, I know Mr. Grif isn’t his cat. And we’ve talked about what being a half-mortal’s like for me.”

“And what has that been like?”

Before Carolina can answer, Malcolm clears his throat. “Objection! Relevance?”

Megan looks up towards Drell. “I’m trying to establish Carolina’s relationships with both of my clients, sir, and her emotional state during this time.”

Drell scowls. She can see that he wants to deny her anyway, at least until Cassandra leans over and whispers something into his ear. “Fine! Objection overruled, but I don’t want to hear any moaning about the Council laws, got it?”

Carolina looks briefly mulish, but she nods slightly when Megan meets her eyes. She sits up straighter and looks between Megan and the jury.

“It’s hard. I know why my parents had to keep everything a secret, but then they had to stay away and I couldn’t talk to them. My mom’s job is really dangerous. What if–” She stops, fiddling with the blue ribbon at the end of her braid. “It was really hard.”

“And you told Mr. Simmons about that?”

“Yeah.”

Megan watches the jury, who look even more curious. Unfortunately she also watches Drell, who looks irritated. If she tries to discuss Richard in more detail right now, Drell will sustain any objections Malcolm makes.

She switches gears. “So you have been under Ms. Kimball’s guardianship since September 1997.”

Carolina nods and then blinks in surprise as Cassandra says, “You need to answer out loud for the official record.”

“Um, right. Yes.”

“It has been established that your father began to visit you in August 1998. Did he speak to you at all during those first eleven months?”

“A little. He spoke to me a few days after I got to Westbridge. He was a portrait?” Sometimes it's apparent that Carolina is a half-witch, such as this moment, where she looks baffled by something as normal as a portrait spell.

“What did you two speak about?”

Carolina has no poker face. She grimaces. “About, um, the situation with Church.”

Megan catches a slight smirk from Malcolm at that. Internally she sighs. No matter how this turns out she’s going to wonder about that situation for the remainder of her centuries. And remember how much it tied her hands behind her back.

“So September 1997, and then he began weekly dinners in August 1998. Tell me about those dinners.”

“Um. Well–” Carolina pauses. It’s obvious she’s trying to find the right words, or maybe just how to start. “It was mostly him asking about school and magic homework. Stuff with my Quizmaster. If I’d made any witch friends.”

“So he wanted you to have witch friends?”

“Oh yeah,” Carolina says feelingly. “He made Ms. Kimball take us to meet some of her old students in the Other Realm.”

Megan sees a few jurors look startled, as though they assumed Leonard wouldn’t want his daughter to have anything to do with the Other Realm. She keeps going, mentally checking that off the list of misconceptions to dispel. “Was he consistent in his visits once the weekly dinners were established?”

“You mean, did he miss any? Just when he got sick one time.”

“Was your relationship with him like during that year?”

Carolina makes another little face. “It was, um. Tricky? I was upset. Especially when I found out about the six months in the spellbook thing. But then he started acting like my dad again and things got better. By the time it was finally my birthday, we were good.”

“And when it was your birthday?”

Carolina’s smile transforms her face. For a second she looks like the eighteen-year-old witch she is, no fears or stress weighing her down. “Then we got Mom back. We were a family. All of us.”

She looks past Megan, still smiling, her gaze sharpening as she clearly meets someone’s eyes. When Megan looks over her shoulder, she sees both Leonard and Church smiling back at Carolina, Church’s grin slightly crooked.

“And how were these last two months as a family?”

“Good! Mostly. Church and I wanted to finish senior year with our friends, but Mom and Dad come to visit all the time. They can come to my track meets now. And Dad’s been taking us to a bunch of colleges to figure out where I want to go.”

“Mortal and witch colleges?”

“Yeah, though the witch schools are out.”

“Why?” Megan asks, though she knows the answer.

Carolina shrugs. “My mom can’t visit.”

Megan nods understandingly. “What are some of your best memories of the last year, both before and after your family reunited?”

“Oh,” Carolina says. She thinks. “Well, before, back during spring break, Dad took me and Church to the Other Realm for a family trip. There was an opera, and then we hiked the Magnam Vorago. It’s like the Grand Canyon, but blue and purple. Really pretty.”

Megan couldn’t have asked Carolina to come up with a better answer. Let the jury realize that Leonard loves the Other Realm and wants to share it with his children, something he can’t do if he’s trying to kill the Council.

“And after?” she prompts.

“And after we got Mom back, Halloween was fun. We got to skip school and learn about witch traditions. Ate some of my grandmother’s recipes. Sang some songs.” She grins for a second. “Church says I got my singing voice from my mom and dad.”

“Objection!” Malcolm says. “Sappy!”

Carolina stares in his direction. “That’s your objection?”

Megan is puzzled by her confusion, but she has bigger cauldrons to boil. She clears her throat. “Sir, this is part of the foundation of my argument and bears relevance on Leonard Church’s mental state during the time he’s been accused of his crimes. The sentimentality is the point.”

Drell grimaces. “Any more sappy questions on your list, Wu?”

“No, sir,” Megan says truthfully. “In fact, I only have three more questions for my witness.”

Drell waves a hand. “Then get on with it!”

Megan turns back to Carolina, whose previous smile is nowhere to be found. “Did your father ever express to you his desire or plans to overthrow the Council?”

“No,” Carolina says. She crosses her arms.

“Has he ever encouraged Council resentment from you?”

“No,” Carolina says. She doesn’t uncross her arms and instead sits up very straight. Megan gets the impression she’s doing everything in her power not to look up and glare directly at Drell. As Megan silently praises her restraint, Carolina says, “Whenever I talked about the stupid rules, he would tell me to be patient. The rules are the rules and no loophole was worth risking Mom.”

Megan nods, looking meaningfully at the jurors. “I see. I have one last question, Carolina. You stated earlier that you’d spoken to Mr. Simmons about the difficulties of being half-mortal. Did he say or even imply he had plans to overthrow the Council?”

“No,” Carolina says.

When she doesn’t elaborate, Megan sees a few looks of disappointment flit across some jurors’ faces. She represses a smile. Mason was right about there being a hook there. Now she just has to figure out how to get the jurors to see Richard as Dexter Grif’s friend instead of Malcolm’s boogeyman tomorrow.

“Thank you, that’s all I needed.”

Sabrina makes a face at the screen. “I think she did okay,” she says. When her aunts don’t say anything, she squints at them both. “Right?”

Carolina had been pretty clear about her dad and Mr. Simmons not wanting to overthrow the Council and made Doctor Church look less like a witch-hating jerk and Mr. Simmons…. Well, Mr. Simmons at least hasn’t gotten himself magically silenced so far today. That counts for something, right?

“She did fine,” Aunt Zelda agrees.

“But now she has to deal with that old skunk,” Aunt Hilda says, gesturing towards Hargrove who’s beginning to approach the witness stand.

Sabrina glares at him. There’s a niggling feeling in the back of her mind, though she knows she’s never met Hargrove in her life. She always got up close and personal with the Council for her problems, thanks to Aunt Hilda and Drell’s weird thing. But the guy still feels familiar.

As he smiles at Carolina, no warmth actually reaching his eyes, the penny drops.

“This guy’s just the Council’s version of Mr. Kraft,” Sabrina grumbles.

Aunt Zelda shakes her head. “What? No, Willard is much–”

“Yeah, I can see it,” Aunt Hilda says. She grimaces. “Except wrinklier.”

Sabrina looks at Carolina, who’s gone wooden-faced. Her stomach sinks. She remembers that expression too from when Carolina found out about the six months rule and Sabrina told her about her own dad not bothering to visit her except to introduce her to his girlfriend. Carolina’s fighting against fury.

Aunt Zelda must notice it too, because she makes a pensive sound in her throat.

Sabrina tries to muster up some optimism.

“She'll be fine! I mean, it's not like she's gonna do anything crazy.”

She ignores the visual playing on repeat in her head of Carolina jumping over the witness stand and tackling Hargrove to the ground to choke him out with his own tie.

Carolina stares at Hargrove as he offers her the fakest smile she’s seen in her life. Even Church would be better at fake smiling and he’s a terrible liar. Does the jury realize what a jerk this guy is?

Carolina thinks of her mom explaining how she’d punched Hargrove and puts her hands in her lap before anyone can see her hands clench into fists of her own.

“Ms. Church,” Hargrove says. His voice grates on her nerves and she has to fight against tensing up. Mrs. Wu asked her to try to stay calm no matter how much Hargove tries to provoke her, after all. “You stated that your father never expressed desires or plans to overthrow the Council to you.”

It’s not phrased as a question but Carolina answers anyway with a flat, “Yes.”

Hargrove raises an eyebrow. “Does your father tell you everything?”

A lump forms in Carolina’s throat, not the magic holding but a lie but one from pure frustration. Hasn’t she already said her dad kept secrets from her? Because he had to, because of the stupid rules?

She can hear the strain in her voice as she says, “No.”

“Then, if he was planning on doing something that would break the law, isn’t it reasonable for him to not tell you of his plans?”

“Objection,” Ms. Wu says before Carolina can answer. “Leading question and speculation.”

“Sustained,” Drell says. He looks annoyed to agree with her. “Get on with it, Malcolm.”

Hargrove doesn’t react to this other than to clear his throat and study Carolina for a moment.

Carolina tries not to bristle. Over his shoulder she can see Church making some worried faces at her and clearly mouthing for her to stay calm. Grey’s also looking encouraged. And their dad is focused on her, his jaw tight but his eyes warm when she meets his gaze.

It helps a little, at least until Hargrove asks, “Did you know about your father’s experiments with the mortal?”

“His name is Mr. Simmons,” she says instinctively. Then she tenses and watches Church wince and their dad sit up very straight, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Hargrove’s back.

“Did you know about your father’s experiments with the mortal?” Hargrove repeats.

Carolina looks up at him. Her stomach drops because there’s no dodging the answer. It’s a simple yes or no, and the jury and the stupid Council aren’t going to like her answer. She licks her lips and says, “Yes.”

Let him have to pry anything useful out of her at least.

Hargrove fakes shock as surprised whispering goes through the crowd. Next to Church Grif winces and slumps a little in his seat, maybe regretting his phone call that brought Carolina and Church running to the apartment to confront their dad.

Carolina sits there, cheeks hot, hands clenched in her lap and teeth gritted, as Hargrove pelts her with questions that make her father look more and more furious.

“When did you learn about it?”

“When it started.”

“He told you about it?”

“No.”

“How did you learn about it?”

“A phone call.”

Carolina feels a flash of satisfaction as this momentarily stymies Hargrove.

“A phone call,” he says blankly. Unfortunately he immediately recovers, clasping his hands behind his back. “A phone call from whom?”

“Mr. Grif.”

That definitely gets a reaction from the crowd. And from Drell, who shoots a thunderous look towards where Grif is sitting. Carolina resists the urge to wince as Grif flinches and sinks down in his seat, trying to make himself smaller.

Hargove blinks and says, “Dexter Grif called you?”

Mrs. Wu rises to her feet. “Objection,” she says. “Asked and answered.”

Hargrove inclines his head before Drell can say anything. He flashes a rueful smile. “It wasn’t my intention to repeat my question. I was merely startled.” Then he turns back towards Carolina. “What did Dexter Grif tell you in this phone call?”

Carolina clenches her fists so tightly that the joints ache. She tries to figure out how to give him truthful but unhelpful answers, but she can’t figure it out, can just feel the honey-sweet magic on her lips the longer this moment stretches out. Finally, reluctantly, she says, “He asked me to come over and deal with my dad who was offering to teach Mr. Simmons magic.”

“And what did you do?”

“Went there.”

“And when you went there–” Hargrove says and then stops, turning towards the defense table where Carolina realizes her dad has a white-knuckled grip on Mrs. Wu’s shoulder and is furiously whispering in her ear. Only Carolina probably sees the flash of satisfaction flit across Hargrove’s face before he asks, “Do you and your client need a moment?”

Carolina’s dad glares. She’s seen him angry before, of course, but he’s tamped it down in front of the Council, back when they were summoned to the Council chambers and now during the trial. Right now though his fury is obvious on his face.

When he opens his mouth to answer, Carolina catches a twitch at the corner of Hargrove’s mouth.

He’s enjoying this, she realizes. He wants her dad angry and looking bad for the jury.

“No,” Mrs. Wu says firmly. She puts a hand on Carolina’s dad’s elbow and gives him a meaningful look. “But I do question this line of inquiry. Ms. Kimball isn’t on trial and neither is Carolina Church.”

Hargrove smiles. He gives a little bow towards Mrs. Wu. “I withdraw the question I was going to ask.”

Mrs. Wu doesn’t relax. Neither does Carolina’s dad. They both watch Hargrove the way you look at a snake that’s about to bite.

Hargrove turns back towards Carolina. He keeps smiling. “What are your own thoughts on the Council, Ms. Church?”

“Objection!” Mrs. Wu’s voice is like a whip as even the question hits Carolina in the stomach like a punch. “I–”

“Overrruled,” Drell says before she can finish. He sounds bored.

“Sir!”

Cassandra leans forward, frowning. “Seconding Drell, counselor. Leonard is clearly in contact with his daughter and whatever ideas he’s instilled in her are relevant to the case.”

“Understood,” Mrs. Wu says tersely. She stays standing though, meeting Carolina’s eyes and giving her a quick nod.

If it's meant to reassure her, it doesn't. Carolina can see the anxiety on her dad’s face, a brittle smile on Grey’s, and Church literally has his face in his hands. Even Simmons and Grif look nervous, though Simmons meets her eyes too and gives her an encouraging nod.

“Ms. Church,” Hargrove says. “Please answer the question.”

Carolina takes a deep breath. “I try not to think about the Council.”

This clearly isn’t the answer Hargrove anticipated. She watches his brow furrow. “Elaborate?”

Carolina shrugs, throat tight, tension making her entire body ache. “I try not to think about them. Everyone around me is always saying not to break their rules, even if I think the rules are stupid, so I just. Eventually started counting the days until I could see my mom again. Until we could be a family again.”

She should stop there, she knows, but anger curls hot in her stomach as she looks at Hargrove’s stupid face. “Besides, they’re just in charge of the stupid laws. You’re the one who hates my dad.”

Hargrove blinks. “Excuse me?”

The truth spills out of her like a dam bursting. She points a finger at him. “You want to ruin my dad’s life! I know you visited Mom and told her about Church when my dad couldn’t even talk to her and explain. I’m glad she punched you.”

From the corner of her eye she sees Cassandra put a hand over her mouth to hide amusement, Skippy openly smile, and Drell prop his chin in his hand, but she keeps going, “Plus you keep threatening me and Church just to hurt my dad! Over stuff that’s not even against the rules, even if you want them to be, like telling my friends I’m a witch. I bet you’re the one who convinced the Council to arrest my dad and Mr. Simmons again, even though the Council dropped the–”

“ENOUGH!”

Drell’s voice is like a thunderclap as he leans down and scowls at Carolina.

She can’t help but scowl back even as Simmons snaps, “So I guess witch trials don’t have conflict of interest? Because Hargrove–”

Mrs. Wu looks at him and he clamps his mouth shut, rubbing a hand across it as though to make sure it’s still there.

Hargrove studies Carolina for a long moment. His face is impassive, his hands clasped behind his back, his entire body language relaxed as though she hasn’t just yelled at him. It’s only his eyes, hard like stone, that show the depth of his dislike.

Carolina’s pretty sure she’s made an enemy today. She doesn’t care.

At last Hargrove steps back and bows towards the Council. “Clearly Ms. Church is overwrought from her father being on trial. I have no further questions for her.”

Skippy looks a little disappointed, but Drell and Cassandra both nod.

Drell slams down his gavel. “Court’s adjourned for the day!”

Aunt Hilda whistles. “Oooh, Drell didn’t like that!”

Sabrina makes a face. “Yeah, the yelling kind of gave it away.”

Aunt Hilda gestures towards the TV where everyone is beginning to file out. “No, he’s hiding something! He gets this little twitch whenever he's hiding something.” She snorts. “Believe me I saw it enough times when he was coming up with an excuse for why he ditched me when we were dating. He does not want people to know what the Council did.”

“She said the Council dropped something,” Aunt Zelda says pensively.

“The ball? Sounds like Drell,” Aunt Hilda mutters.

“No, it would have to be charges, wouldn’t it? She said that Hargrove convinced the Council to arrest Leonard and Richard again–”

“Well, they did break Grif’s spell,” Sabrina points out.

“That is one of the biggest rules,” Aunt Hilda agrees. She makes a face. “But Salem said Dexter’s been cagey for a few months. How have they not been in jail this whole time? No way even Leonard’s wards could hide him breaking the familiar spell.”

Sabrina shrugs. “Maybe Mr. Simmons will explain when he’s on the stand tomorrow.” She pauses, thinking of all his outbursts and glares at the jury. “...If he’s allowed on the stand.”

Aunt Hilda snorts. “Yeah, that lawyer’s not letting him say anything. Unless she wants to watch him insult Drell to his face and get turned into a creepy, crawly thing a little early.”

In the other room, Salem bursts into a fresh sound of sobs. “They better put him on the stand! I need the truth from that jerk! I n-need a-a-a-answers!”

Aunt Hilda, Sabrina, and Aunt Zelda all exchange a look. From her aunts’ expressions, none of them want to go and talk Salem down from his self-pitying spiral.

“...Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Well!” Hilary chirps from where she’s sitting on the couch. She smiles at Allison. “You certainly raised a daughter who speaks her mind! Though I suppose the truth spell helped.”

Allison huffs out a breath and tries to coax amusement into it. She doesn’t really succeed, but that’s all right. She’s got bigger fish to fry, like keeping Kaikaina from destroying the TV like she clearly wants to, one eye a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors as the witch glares at the reporter doing a run-down of the day’s events.

“This is schist,” Kaikaina mutters, clenching her fists. “Someone should drop that old geezer into a volcano.”

Sam looks concerned. “That would likely harm Simmons’ case.”

Kaikaina growls. “I know! I’m not saying we should! I just wish someone would do us a favor!”

Hilary giggles. “I am very glad we’re having this conversation after I was under the truth spell. But I certainly understand the sentiment.” Some of the amusement fades from her expression, replaced by sympathy, and she pats Allison’s arm. “I’m sorry your family is going through this.”

Allison manages a smile at that. “Our family. You’re the fake mom to one of my kids, remember?”

Hilary’s smile widens again. “Of course! That’s one reason I stuck around!”

“You’ve got to teach me how to lie like that under a truth spell,” Kaikaina says. She gives Hilary a once over, still clearly furious but not so pissed off that she can’t grin for a second at Hilary. “That was ducking impressive.”

Hilary laughs. “Tell the truth, but tell it slant, my dear.”

“Smart,” Kaikaina says approvingly. “You should write that down.”

Hilary giggles as Sam opens his mouth, clearly thinks about explaining the quote, and then closes his mouth.

Then the closet rumbles above their heads.

Both Allison and Kaikaina are off like a shot. Kaikaina has the legs but Allison manages to duck under her arm and get ahead of her on the stairs.

The kids, Dexter, Emily, and Vanessa have barely gotten out of the closet before Kaikaina is slamming into her brother, hugging him so hard that she lifts him off the ground.

It’s an impressive sight but Allison only has eyes for Carolina and Church, who look exhausted. The anger has left Carolina and been replaced by gray-faced weariness and worry.

Allison opens her arms and Carolina rushes into them, pressing her face against her shoulder and mumbling shakily, “Did I mess up? I think I messed up.”

“No way,” Church says. He grimaces and shrugs. “I mean, Drell was pissed, but making Hargrove look bad couldn’t be a mistake, right?”

Allison hugs Carolina as tightly as she can, kissing the top of her trembling head. “You did great, kiddo. Malcolm didn’t know what hit him.” And he didn’t get her trashtalking the Council like he’d clearly wanted to, she doesn’t add.

Carolina takes a shaky breath. “Really?”

“Really,” Allison says firmly. Carolina did great. It’s not her fault Malcolm is a devious bastard and has been making Leonard and Richard look like monsters. Allison doesn’t let her worry leak into her voice or into her expression because Church is looking anxiously at her too. She keeps up a reassuring smile, hugs Carolina even tighter and then gives her a shake. “Now let’s get some food in you. You’ll feel better on a full stomach.”

Carolina pulls away, looking reluctant.

Before Allison can tell her that eating isn’t an option, Kaikaina pushes her brother towards the stairs. Anxiety radiates off her as she watches her brother, who looks just as worn down by the day, sinking into the strange trenchcoat he’s decided to wear.

“You’re eating too, Dex. Food, then bed. No staring at the walls until I use another Sandman spell on you, got it?”

“Sure,” Dexter says. The word comes out flat. His gaze is unfocused as Kaikaina herds him down the stairs like a dog herding sheep.

Emily’s usual smile is nowhere to be found. Instead a brittle smile is in its place as she exchanges a look with Allison. She clearly thinks the trial is going in Hargrove’s favor, but she squares her shoulders and puts on her doctor voice.

“All right! Everyone go sit down. I can whip something up. I’m thinking salmon and some nice carbs, always good after a stressful day.”

Sam, the only one who didn’t rush to the closet, raises an awkward hand at the foot of the stairs. His eyes are fixed on Dexter, his brow furrowed. “I’ve baked some bread and dessert already.”

When Dexter doesn’t react, Kaikaina visibly grimaces and says, “And pizza! This bull schist calls for pizza. C’mon, Dex.”

Vanessa takes Carolina by the elbow. “Let’s go get the plates and silverware.”

Carolina blinks. Then she nods. “I can do that.”

Allison is hit by a wave of affection for her daughter and Vanessa. Trust the woman to know that what her daughter really needs is a distraction and the suggestion to be helpful to wrench her at least a little out of her spiraling thoughts.

She watches them descend the stairs before Church sidles up to her. Now that Carolina isn’t looking at him, he’s not bothering to fake the dread he’s feeling. After a second his hand steals into hers and he gives it a desperate squeeze.

“Maybe Leonard and Simmons can talk their way out of this tomorrow,” he says. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Allison squeezes his hand back as they head downstairs. “Maybe.” She hesitates, her throat tightening. “But…if not…. We’ll get through it.” She can’t see how, but she’s never been one to lay down and die. They’ll figure something out, even if it’s not the life any of them imagined.

Church’s smile is bleak. “Will we?”

Carolina and Vanessa are standing in front of the kitchen. Nearby, Sam stands with a kitchen towel in his hands, twisting it and wearing a look Allison can’t read.

Church pastes on a regular expression. “Weren’t you getting the plates?”

“Uh, yeah,” Carolina says. “Just, uh, trying to figure out how to get in.”

Allison and Church lean around her.

The table and every counter is covered in baked goods. There are brownies, pies, multiple types of cake, and a wild assortment of cookies and bread. It’s enough to feed an army, much less nine people.

Everyone turns to look at Sam.

Now Allison recognizes his expression: sheepishness.

“...I will replace the ingredients.”

Chapter Text

Tension thrums through Carolina’s body. Her jaw already hurts from clenching her teeth and the third day of the trial has barely started. Her anxiety isn’t helped by the silence draped over the courtroom, Church’s hand clutching nervously at hers, or the way everyone seems to be holding their breath as Mrs. Wu says, “I call Leonard Church to the stand.”

In front of her, Carolina’s dad rises. His expression is focused as he walks over to the witness stand. Carolina finds herself studying the jurors watching her dad, trying to figure out what they think of him, if they believe Hargrove’s lies or if they might be on Carolina’s dad’s side. But most of their expressions are just curious and excited.

She turns just as the truth spell finishes, her dad’s hand twitching up like he wants to rub it across his lips before he puts it back in his lap.

Mrs. Wu speaks matter-of-factly. “Doctor Church, you have been accused of multiple crimes. Violation of the Charitable Acts law, conspiracy against the Council, and the breaking of a forbidden spell.”

“Yes,” Carolina’s dad says with a slow nod.

“You have pleaded not guilty to all three charges, correct?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Wu nods. She’s walked with Carolina’s dad to the witness stand, but now she walks back to the defense table.

Carolina, watching her, sees her study Mr. Simmons for a few seconds. Carolina was too distracted looking at her dad before; now she sees that Simmons is wearing a look she can’t read. He definitely looks tired, though, shadows under his eyes and pale like he hasn’t seen the sun in weeks instead of the last few days.

Then Mrs. Wu asks, “Doctor Church, was granting magic to Richard Simmons to his benefit?”

Carolina is close enough to see a muscle jump in Simmons’ jaw, but he doesn’t look as angry as she expects. She knows the cameras might be watching her too, so she doesn’t frown even as she wonders what this angle is. Why are they pretending that her dad granted Simmons magic like he was a genie? Simmons taught himself magic with Church’s spellbook. Her dad just helped him learn how to use it reliably and more easily.

“Is currently being on trial for his life beneficial?” her dad responds. Carolina looks back at him in time to watch his mouth twist wryly before he shakes his head. “When I began my experiments with Richard, I was not being altruistic. I wanted to explore his potential, truly study him to see if a mortal can use magic like witches.”

“And can he use magic like a witch?”

“No,” her dad says.

There’s a murmur of surprise from the onlookers, and even Drell leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

Carolina’s dad straightens. “Richard cannot cast magic on his own. He has certain limitations. He needs effluvium to be able to cast spells and he must speak an incantation for there to be any effect.”

Mrs. Wu looks down at Simmons again. “So Richard must be in the presence of witches casting spells to use magic himself?”

“That is what the experiments indicate, though of course he has only been using magic for two years.”

From the corner of Carolina’s eye, she sees a few jurors study Simmons, whose jaw is tight but isn’t protesting at being seen as Carolina’s dad’s science experiment.

Mrs. Wu asks, “Do you expect those limitations to change?”

For a second her dad looks like his old self again, his eyes bright with excitement. “I do not know. I cannot discount the possibility. When we first began these experiments, casting magic affected him physically. Even the most basic of spells exhausted him. As the experiments proceeded, however, he became able to cast minor incantations without any adverse effects. Who knows what another ten, twenty, thirty years might do.”

“But using magic has harmed him physically?”

“Yes,” Carolina’s dad says. “As I said, we are still learning his limitations. Though the physical toll has lessened over the last two years, it is still a present concern. If he attempts major incantations, it could cause him serious harm.”

Mrs. Wu nods. “What did you plan to do with your findings once you had more concrete information?”

“Inform the witch community,” Carolina’s dad says immediately.

Mrs. Wu quirks an eyebrow and allows a hint of a smile to touch her lips. “You didn’t plan to overthrow the Council?”

“I,” Carolina’s dad says.

And then there is a pause. Just a half-second, just long enough to blink and miss it, but Carolina is watching her dad as he starts to speak, the way he reaches up and fiddles with his glasses. Smoothly, he says, “I was far more focused on the experiment itself than any potential political fallout, though of course my findings would have affected the witch community at large, including the Council.”

Carolina struggles to keep her expression from changing. No one else seems to have caught the slight hesitation, except maybe Church, who has a carefully blank look on his face. But Carolina watches her dad as Mrs. Wu asks him how he planned to tell the witch community and knows with bone-deep certainty that her dad considered overthrowing the Council.

She doesn’t hear her dad’s full answer, something about a scientific paper and presentation at a conference. She only manages to refocus when Mrs. Wu says, “I have one last question for you. Have you ever broken a forbidden spell?”

A little tension loosens in her dad’s shoulders at that. He glances towards Hargrove and says slowly but with emphasis, “No, I have never broken a forbidden spell.”

That gets another round of shocked murmurs from the crowd, though Cassandra and Drell look thin-lipped and disapproving, clearly unhappy with even getting so close to the whole familiar spell stuff. Skippy, meanwhile, smiles a little.

Mrs. Wu says, “Thank you, Doctor Church. I have no further questions.”

She sits down next to Simmons, who looks a little splotchy. For a second Carolina worries he’s going to lose his temper and get silenced again, but then he darts a glance over his shoulder towards Grif and she realizes he’s flustered.

For a second she remembers Grif’s worried voice on the phone, asking her help to get Simmons to take a break before he really hurts himself with all this magic, and then she gets distracted as Church whispers in her ear, “You saw that too, right?”

Carolina gives him a look.

Church half-grimaces, half-laughs. “Yeah.”

She’s about to say they’re definitely asking him about that later when Hargrove rises to his feet.

Right. It’s Hargrove’s turn.

Leonard watches Malcolm draw close to the stand. He keeps his breathing steady, his countenance calm, even if it feels like being approached by a venomous snake. He recognizes that glint in Malcolm’s eyes, the same one he had when he confronted him and Richard in their cells. It’s the look of a man trying to figure out the most painful place to strike.

“Doctor Church,” Malcolm says, hands behind his back. He must have realized that Carolina’s outburst about his vendetta has done him no favors, because he hides his hatred in his eyes, leaving his expression for the jury and the cameras grave and professional. “There has been quite a lot of talk about your scientific zeal. But we both know that your experiment with the mortal had a more personal reason.”

There’s a beat of silence. Leonard takes a small, petty satisfaction in saying, “Was that a question or a statement?”

“A statement,” Malcolm says. He turns towards the stenographer and gestures towards the scroll pooling around her feet from her typewriter. “If the stenographer could read back my colleague Mrs. Wu’s final statement during her questioning of Mrs. Endor?”

The stenographer squints at the scroll, which begins to zip around, curling and rising up past the typewriter until it stops in front of her eyes. She adjusts her spectacles, clears her throat, and recites, “Let the record show that Dr. Leonard Church was briefly distressed, during the period of separation from his family, and has since completely recovered.”

“And Vanessa Kimball’s answer to Mrs. Wu’s question on her opinion on Doctor Church?”

Another loud rustling of the scroll as it adjusts itself in front of the stenographer, overlapped by some hurried typing as she inserts herself into the record as well. “He isn’t the first witch to take the separation from his mortal spouse and half-mortal child badly, I saw plenty of his type as a quizmaster.”

“And Carolina Church’s description of her mother’s job?”

“Dangerous,” the stenographer reports. When no other question is forthcoming, the scroll settles back on the floor, curling around and around until her feet and most of the desk are hidden from view.

Malcolm nods and turns back towards Leonard. “So to summarize, in your lawyer and witnesses’ own words, you were distressed by the separation of your family, during which your mortal wife continued her dangerous job. Would you say that is an accurate description of those two years?”

“Yes,” Leonard says tersely.

“Would you agree that in most witches this could lead to anxiety for their mortal spouse?”

“Yes,” Leonard says, even more terse. He doesn’t let himself linger on memories of watching mortal news and seeing the latest natural disaster, knowing that Allison was probably there risking her life without him there to watch her back. Every day had been spent with fear a cold knot in the pit of his stomach.

Malcolm’s eyes gleam, though his voice doesn’t change as he asks, “Would you agree that in some of those witches that could lead to anti-Council sentiment?”

Leonard can feel the net wrapping around him, but he cannot see any way to avoid answering with another, “Yes.”

“In your particular case, did the separation from your mortal wife and your half-mortal daughter lead to anti-Council sentiment?”

Leonard doesn’t look towards the defense table. All of these questions are reasonable ones, there are no objections Megan can make that Drell won’t immediately overrule. He can feel the truth spell, poisonously sweet on his lips, waiting for him to answer.

He looks Malcolm in the eye, watches the satisfaction there begin to grow even as Leonard opens his mouth.

“It enforced what was already there.”

Malcolm makes a show of being surprised. “Elaborate for the jury, Doctor Church.”

Leonard takes a deep breath. Now he does look at the jury, because it is easier to look at their myriad expressions than towards Carolina and Church or Malcolm’s smug look. “Before I met Allison, I had the liberty of being apolitical. I could obey the law easily because there was no desire to disobey or any reason to dislike them. I thought the laws regarding mortal and witch marriages and their offspring were a trifle restrictive, but I understood that the Council who created those laws was reacting to witch hunting and universal anti-witch sentiment from the Mortal Realm. And then I met Allison.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Malcolm make a movement like he’s about to ask another question, but he doesn’t give Malcolm the chance to speak, still looking at the jury.

“Some of you may not be aware of the average mortal life span. When I first met Allison, her expected life span was in her sixties. Mortal medicine has improved since then, but we will still be lucky if we have an additional twenty or thirty years together. Some of you must be married. Imagine getting only a scant few decades with your spouse instead of centuries. Imagine–”

“We take your point, Doctor Church,” Malcolm says testily. “I have other questions to ask.”

Leonard forces himself to look back at Malcolm. He’s vaguely aware that his hands hurt where he’s been clasping them together in his lap, white-knuckled and aching. He waits for the net to ensnare him further. He takes another small satisfaction in that Malcolm seems to have forgotten, at least for the moment, that Richard even exists.

Malcolm stares at him, narrow-eyed. “You are truly arguing that Council law should be changed?”

“Yes.”

Malcolm looks towards the Council and then towards the jury, letting them see the show he makes of his shock as he proclaims, “No Council law has ever been changed, much less removed, since the formation of the Council millennia ago. What Doctor Church proposes is tantamount to–”

Leonard cannot bear to let this man grandstand any longer.

“Perhaps it’s time,” he interrupts. “In the Mortal Realm, laws change with the shifting of cultural and ethical shifts over time. The Mortal Realm is a very different place than it was when that law was enacted. I can–” The words catch in his throat, the sweetness turning bitter on his tongue, and he forces himself to think through his words and unravel the truth. “I understand that this would be unprecedented. Perhaps the Council would want to alter the law rather than remove it completely. Allow the spouses to stay together or permit the mortal parent limited contact with their child–”

“Are you quite finished on your soapbox?” Malcolm asks. His eyes are narrowed again, his lips thin with disapproval.

Leonard allows himself a sharp smile, though he knows he’s likely only tightening the net around himself. “You asked the question.”

He’s close enough to watch Malcolm’s nostrils flare with irritation. “Then allow me to ask my next one. If you are found innocent–” And there’s a little snideness there, of course, as though Leonard winning the case is impossible. “--would you continue your experiments with the mortal Richard Simmons?”

“Yes,” Leonard says without hesitation.

Malcolm leans forward, moving like the snake he is. “If you were found not guilty but told you could not continue your experiment with the mortal, would you comply?”

Leonard should have expected the question. He didn’t. Despite himself, his gaze goes to the Council. Drell’s scowling, Cassandra looks neutral, and Skippy is grimacing like he’s bitten into something sour and glancing at his fellow councilors.

“I,” he says. “I would–” A bitter taste before he swallows and says, “I would not. A scientific breakthrough cannot be founded on a single experimental subject. We need more subjects, more mortals aware of the Other Realm willing to try to use effluvium—”

Malcolm throws up his hands. “More subjects? How many mortals would you plan to teach magic?”

Leonard knows he’s digging himself deeper. He fiddles with his glasses and clears his throat. “Any scientist will tell you a study needs a wider sample to prove statistical significance. Richard could be an anomaly.”

“A wider sample,” Malcolm repeats, rolling the words around in his mouth. “As a scientist, what would be the minimum number of mortals you need for such a study?”

No one will like this answer, Leonard knows. Past Malcolm’s shoulder he can see that Megan has gone wooden-faced. Reluctantly, he says, “Not knowing any of the particulars of a hypothetical study--”

“A number, Doctor Church,” Malcolm snaps. “What is the minimum number of participants you would desire?”

“...One hundred.”

“One hundred!” Malcolm has to practically shout it over the commotion from the public. He whirls, positioning himself to face the jurors, his hands outstretched. “You have heard it from his own mouth, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Leonard Church would have a hundred mortals learn magic. Which one would be his choice to overthrow the Council?”

“None of them,” Leonard tries to say, but Malcolm stalks towards the jury box.

He puts his hands on the edge, looking into each juror’s eyes, radiating worry.

“A hundred mortals, all primed with the knowledge of what Richard Simmons has already accomplished. For we have danced around the final charge, haven’t we? What forbidden spell was broken and by whom?”

Leonard starts to answer the question, “The familiar spell–”

Malcolm speaks over him, his voice thundering through the courtroom. “The familiar spell! Never broken before in history, and now you all can see Dexter Grif seated before you, a witch again years before the end of his sentence!”

When Malcolm jabs a finger towards Dexter, Dexter attempts to sink lower in his chair. Leonard can see Richard start to bristle, his face reddening even as Megan puts a restraining hand on his shoulder and gives Leonard a pointed look of her own as Malcolm’s finger swings towards the defense table.

“Doctor Church spoke the truth. He himself is innocent of breaking the familiar spell with his own magic. No. He had his experiment do it for him.”

Leonard watches the jurors’ expressions change, hears the shock and alarm rippling through the crowd. They’re looking at Richard like he’s a monster, the boogeyman in their closet.

Megan meets his eyes again, expression grim.

Malcolm is playing to all of their petty, foolish fears, drawing on every prejudiced or ignorant thought these witches have ever felt about mortals. He is stamping out a better future, stamping out any possibility that mortals and witches could find themselves on an equitable playing field.

Rage blazes hot and bright within Leonard. The noose might be around his neck, the hangman’s hand on the rope after everything he’s admitted in the last few minutes, but he can at least make one last effort to spare Richard from the drop as well.

He rises to his feet, gesturing towards the Council and towards Malcolm, letting his fury show in his face at last as he snarls, the words rising so easily and earnestly to his lips, “Those fools gave me permission! They asked me to demonstrate my findings and now they're running scared from the possibilities–”

There is so much more to say, admonishments to the Council, to Malcolm, but his voice vanishes with a suddenness that can only be magic.

As the crowd murmurs among themselves, Megan rises to her feet, even grimmer than before.

“Let the record show that the Defense has exercised its right to silence Leonard Church for the remainder of today’s proceedings to prevent self incrimination.”

“Which will be paused if Malcolm has further questions,” Drell says. He’s scowling so fiercely that Leonard is almost surprised real thunder clouds haven’t formed over his head.

Meanwhile Malcolm smiles. He looks at Leonard. He is no longer a snake, but rather a cat with a mouthful of feathers. His eyes meet Leonard’s and says, I accept your surrender.

“No further questions. The jury has more than enough evidence of Dr. Leonard Church's character.”

Allison sees the second Leonard loses hope and decides to throw himself on the grenade for Richard.

She jumps to her feet as he does, lunges towards the TV like she can reach in and shake him before he can do something stupid. But she’s not a witch. All she can do is grab the edges of the TV and watch as Leonard turns himself into a villain.

“Self-sacrificing idiot,” she says through dry lips and a tight throat. A despairing tenderness wells up inside her before it’s consumed by rage of her own. Blood roars in her ears as she watches the smug smile spread across Malcolm’s face.

She can’t punch him again either. So she does the next best thing.

Her fist makes a satisfying hole in a wall of the brownstone.

It’s not until Hilary gasps behind her and Kai whistles that Allison returns to herself. The rage is still there, but tamped down, mostly manageable. She breathes hard through her nose and turns towards the others now watching her with a wide range of emotions on their faces.

“I’ll fix it.”

“Magic, remember?” Kaikaina says. She looks impressed, eyebrows up and head cocked to the side. “Emily and Vanessa won’t even know there was a hole.” She looks at the hole and whistles again. “Nice.”

Sam’s brow, meanwhile, is furrowed as he murmurs, “I’ll get ice and a towel,” and slips into the kitchen.

“I know how to throw a punch,” Allison tells him, but Hilary has already darted over, anxiously taking her hand in hers.

For once there’s not even a hint of mirth on Hilary’s face. Her eyes are wide behind her glasses as she fusses over Allison’s hand and hisses through her teeth at the sight of a split knuckle.

“I’m fine,” Allison says shortly. Like she said, she knows how to throw a punch. A little bruising is nothing. It takes effort, but she manages to yank her hand free.

She turns back towards the TV, where Drell is announcing a recess. She can’t bear to watch that reporter interview anyone and talk about Leonard. She almost turns it off, but she doesn’t know how long the recess will be.

She stalks into the kitchen instead where Sam is putting ice cubes in a towel.

He meets her eyes and says nothing, just finishes with his makeshift ice pack and offers it to her.

Allison takes it. The chill of the ice stings even through the fabric, but she welcomes the mild discomfort. It’s a good distraction from the slow burning rage and fear still making her heart pound unsteadily in her ears.

Leonard thinks they’ve lost. He thinks they’ve lost and is doing his best to get Richard a lifeline and ensure he’s not caught in the undertow. If he thinks they’ve lost–

Allison squeezes her eyes shut. If they’ve lost, then she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

Her eyes snap open as Kaikaina yells, “Hey, something’s happening!”

Allison bolts, Sam a half second behind her.

Kaikaina jabs a finger at the TV screen where Dylan Andrews looks genuinely surprised.

“Breaking news outside the courtroom. I am being told that Megan Wu is taking time during the recess to request the recall of a witness. In a trial that has had one unprecedented moment after another, this would be an unusual request. Once a witness leaves the stand, they are rarely brought back.”

“Which of her witnesses is she asking to recall?” one of the other reporters asked.

“None of them,” Dylan says. “She wants to question one of the prosecution witnesses.”

Drell glowers down at Megan.

“And why should we let you call that idiot back to the stand?”

Megan has thought this out carefully. Time to begin a careful balancing act that is both truth and pandering. She clasps her hands together and looks up at the Council, feigning earnest concern. “I have a few clarifying questions, sir.”

As she expects, Drell snorts. He grips his gavel tightly, tapping it into the palm of his other hand and snaps, “You should have thought of them then!”

“It wasn’t until I watched the news last night that I realized that my questioning may have inadvertently painted the Council in a bad light. I would like to make it clear to the jury and the public that you were not involved in the decisions regarding Dexter Grif’s sentence, as well as clarify some of his experiences.”

Cassandra, who has been frowning, focuses. “You’re saying that you believe Fred Scrooge acted on his own?”

“Yes,” Megan lies.

Malcolm clears his throat. Megan studies him from the corner of her eye, internally braced for him to argue against her request, but instead she sees that there is a slight smile on his face. He gives the Council a slight, creaky bow. “I have no objections, so long as Mrs. Wu truly intends to show that Scrooge acted without anyone’s authorization.”

It takes Megan to realize his angle as he looks sideways at her and that faint smile broadens. He thinks this is a concession. He thinks Megan has realized she’s lost and is trying to talk her way back into the Council’s good graces.

Let him think that. It will make things a little easier.

Cassandra hums pensively. She leans over to Drell and whispers something, Skippy watching them both intently, before she looks down at Megan. “I agree that we need to make it clear that the Council had no hand in Dexter Grif being assigned to a mortal guardian.”

“But don’t press your luck,” Drell warns.

“Yes, sir,” Megan says with a little bow of her own. “Then I may call Fred Scrooge back to the witness stand once court reconvenes?”

All three of the Council members nod. Did Skippy just give her a quick thumb’s up?

Megan bows again for good measure. “Thank you.”

In what feels like moments but is actually an extremely hectic ten minutes of ensuring Scrooge is back in the courtroom and she knows exactly what questions she’s asking, the court reconvenes.

Drell bangs the gravel and growls, “Mrs. Wu, you wanted to call back a witness?”

There’s murmuring from the crowd, but not as much surprise as Megan expects. Dylan Andrews got the scoop somehow. She looks down at Leonard and Richard. Leonard meets her gaze solemnly, while Richard looks puzzled.

“Yes, sir. I call Fred Scrooge back to the stand.”

Fred Scrooge is already sweating by the time he gets back into the witness box. He winces through his second incantation of the truth spell, very carefully not looking at anyone. He looks exactly as guilty and nervous as Megan hoped he would be.

“Mr. Scrooge,” she says, letting true dislike color her voice, “I have called you back for some clarification on your previous statements.”

“Why?” Scrooge says. “They were all true.” He gestures at his mouth and towards the Truth Tooth as it is taken away for future use.

“Something may be true while still giving the wrong impression.”

Scrooge blinks at her.

Megan makes a show of looking at a notepad, as though checking her facts. “I want to go back to Dexter Grif’s original assigned guardian. Merlin Hammer, correct?”

“Yes.”

“In most familiar cases, familiars are assigned to either someone who was involved in their convicted crime as mutual punishment or to their closest family. Dexter Grif has a sister. Why was she not assigned as his guardian?”

Scrooge shrugs stiffly. “Most familiars try to take over the Mortal Realm. Dexter Grif helped a man who murdered a potential Council member. He needed to be assigned to someone who serves the Council.”

Megan raises an eyebrow. “And yet Hammer didn’t follow proper procedures in keeping Dexter Grif safe, did he?”

Out comes the handkerchief from before, Scrooge twisting it in his hands. “No.”

Megan returns to the defense table, pleased to see that Richard is already glaring daggers at Scrooge. She can practically hear his teeth grinding as she picks up a scroll and shows it to the jury and to the Council. “I present Exhibit F: Fred Scrooge’s notes during the reassignment of Dexter Grif’s guardian.”

That gets her a look from Malcolm as well as a warning one from Cassandra.

She makes a point of meeting Cassandra’s eyes in acknowledgement as she offers the scroll to Scrooge. “For the record, please read your notes on Dexter Grif’s description of his treatment by Merlin Hammer.”

Scrooge takes the scroll and grudgingly reads out: “Once I had confirmed that Dexter Grif was in possession of all his faculties despite the temporary memory gap and general confusion of where he had been for the last few weeks, we discussed Hammer’s brief guardianship. Dexter Grif stated that Hammer treated him poorly, refusing to let him leave the residence at all and forcing him to use a litter box like an actual cat.”

He pauses at the murmur of indignation that sweeps through the crowd. Megan is very certain she hears a growl from the defense box, but at least for the moment Richard is keeping his temper.

“Merlin Hammer was not following the guidelines set forth for familiar guardians. I made assurances to Dexter Grif that going forward we would find a guardian who did not exhibit those behaviors.”

Again Scrooge stops, but Megan says, “Continue. Specifically, read for the record what happened when you discussed his next guardian.”

Scrooge grimaces. “I–”

“For the record, Mr. Scrooge.”

Scrooge reads through what are absolutely gritted teeth: “It was at this point that Dexter Grif stated his preference to remain at the mortal’s house. He asserted that the mortal is oblivious and the most boring mortal he’s ever met and is preferable than someone who would get him killed like Hammer.”

Behind her, Richard makes another sound, this one both amused and annoyed at once.

Scrooge glares towards the defense table and shoves the scroll towards Megan. Hands free, he jabs a finger wildly towards Richard and Dexter Grif, who sinks a little lower in his seat as Scrooge snaps, “And he was lying, wasn’t he? Oblivious, when he and that mortal were clearly in on it together!”

“Dexter Grif is not on trial,” Megan says evenly.

Scrooge ignores her, looking towards Malcolm, the jurors, and the Council. He looks slightly imploring. “I argued against leaving him with the mortal! My notes are condensed, they don’t lay out the entire conversation. I told him he should be with a witch, but he insisted! And it was never meant to be permanent.”

He snatches the scroll back. “Here! My final notes: Placing Dexter Grif under the guardianship of an oblivious mortal is a trial run. If it is successful, it might be a useful threat to deter unruly familiar behavior. I will begin research into a proper witch guardian over the next few months and have one ready for when Dexter Grif realizes his mistake and requests a third and hopefully final guardian.”

“A trial run,” Megan repeats. “So this was always meant to be temporary.”

“Of course!”

Megan fixes him with a look. “Then why did you not remove him from Richard Simmons’ home once Felix and Locus escaped from prison?” Despite herself, she can help but hiss out the names, an old, simmering anger rising in her that has nothing to do with the current case.

Scrooge stares at her.

Megan takes a breath, refocusing. “Felix and Locus escaped from Pluto on May 9th of last year. On May 28th, you visited Dexter Grif at Richard Simmons’ residence. Why did you visit, if you were not concerned for his safety?”

Scrooge snorts. “Safety? Locus spoke up for him at the trial!” Before Megan can press him on that, he adds quickly, “But we thought there was a remote possibility Locus might attempt to contact him. After all, Dexter Grif had already helped him once before.”

Megan looks towards the jury. “So you believed there was a possibility that two killers would visit Dexter Grif, who was, to your understanding at the time, defenseless as a familiar and without even a witch guardian to defend him. And you still didn’t remove him from the home?”

There’s another outraged murmur from the onlookers.

“I gave him an emergency button to contact the Council!” Scrooge protests.

“You did,” Megan agrees, though she looks at the jury, letting her expression show what little she thinks of that particular protection method. She steps forward. “And yet when Felix and Locus planned to destroy all of Massachusetts, killing countless witches, it wasn’t the Council who stopped them, was it?”

“No,” Scrooge says slowly.

“Who saved numerous witches and millions of mortals from a terrible death?”

“Dexter Grif,” Scrooge mutters.

“Louder, for the jury.”

Scrooge glares at her. “Everyone here knows! Why did you bring me back here? Just to state the obvious? You keep saying Dexter Grif isn’t on trial so why are we talking about him?”

Drell taps his gavel warningly into his fist again. “Get to the point, Wu. We can throw a parade for Dexter Grif later.”

Megan glances towards the jury, who look like they disagree with Scrooge and Drell. They’re invested. Everyone’s heard the story of Dexter Grif talking Locus into finally not being an idiot, at least not being an idiot long enough to dump Felix into a volcano.

But at least for this questioning, the jury isn’t her audience.

She positions herself so it looks to all and sundry that she’s watching for the jury’s reaction to her next question. Instead, she’s got half her attention on the defense table, where Richard is flushed red and glaring at Scrooge like he wants to strangle him.

“I am almost finished, sir. Mr. Scrooge, once Dexter Grif saved Massachusetts, was there any discussion of commuting his sentence?”

There’s a long stretch of silence. Then Scrooge says, “No.”

Before Megan can press him on that, Richard leaps to his feet, bristling with rage. “You didn’t even talk about it?! You didn’t think, I don’t know, that saving millions of people should count as good behavior? He risked his life!”

“He risked one of nine lives!” Scrooge snaps back.

Richard lunges.

It’s only Leonard’s hasty grab for the back of his shirt that keeps him from going over the table and launching himself at Scrooge. Even then Leonard is halfway out of his chair, hanging on with grim determination as Richard snarls.

Drell slams his gavel down. “Order! Order! Wu, are you done with Scrooge?”

“Yes, sir,” Megan says. “I have no further questions for him.”

At this, Richard yells, “I do! Like who the–”

Drell’s gavel slam drowns out the rest of Richard’s outburst before Drell orders, “Wu, get him calmed down during the recess.”

“Recess, sir?” Megan says, feigning confusion even as Richard turns his glare towards the Council.

Drell scowls at her. “Yes, recess! Unless you and Malcolm want to make your closing statements right now.”

Megan clasps her hands in front of her. “Actually, sir, per Code Five, Section Three of the General Rules of Witch Court, I invoke my right to call a Surprise Witness.”

She can feel everyone’s eyes on her, Malcolm looking perplexed but unworried. In fact after a second of surprise, she sees he actually fights back a smirk. Clearly he isn’t worried about any witness she would think to call.

Cassandra leans forward. She looks solemn, only a flicker of curiosity in her eyes as she intones, “Mrs. Wu, per Code Five, Section Three of the General Rules of Witch Court, you are allotted a single Surprise Witness for this trial. Who do you call to the stand?”

Megan gestures towards the defense table.

“I call Richard Simmons.”

The courtroom erupts into noise.

Chapter Text

“TELL US HOW YOU BROKE THE SPELL, SIMMONS!”

Salem’s wail hurts Sabrina’s ears. She winces as she tries to pry him off the TV, but he’s got his paws wrapped tight around it, shaking so hard with sobbing that it’s hard to get a grip on him. “Salem– Salem, if you keep yelling you’ll miss what he says!”

“I WANT MY THUMBS BACK! MY BEAUTIFUL, PERFECT THUMBS!”

Zelda sighs. She waves a hand and Salem’s wailing cuts off for a few seconds, just long enough for her to point out, “Salem, you realize that Drell won’t let him sit there and give everyone step by step instructions to break the spell.”

“TELL US—” Salem stops with a pathetic groan and a quiet little, “Oh no…..”

Sabrina takes advantage of his despair to peel him off the screen, cuddling him to her chest. “Come on, Salem. Cheer up. It’ll be fun to watch the Council get mad about the spell, right?”

“Not if it doesn’t help me,” Salem mutters darkly, but he doesn’t resist when she sits down on the couch and puts him in her lap.

Sabrina’s been distracted by Salem. She looks up, startled, as Hilda growls, “If I could get my hands on Drell— we were going to get blown up too! You, me, Salem, Zelda! How did they not end his sentence then and there? What are we, chopped liver?”

Sabrina blinks. She remembers Hilda and Zelda being a little cagey when Doctor Church mentioned being grateful to Dexter about protecting Westbridge, and from the way everyone’s been acting on TV, he straight up saved Massachusetts from those Felix and Locus guys. It’s only now that she realizes that the millions of people Mr. Simmons just yelled about Dexter saving includes her.

“Hey!” she says belatedly. “What do you mean we all almost got blown up?!”

“You’ll see,” Salem says, staring woefully at the TV.

Simmons is not going to strangle the stooge. He’s not. It’s a bad idea. Even if he desperately, furiously wants to do it, he’s not going to strangle this idiot who is sidling past him and giving him a look like he’s a wild animal about to bite.

Simmons doesn’t strangle him, but he does bare his teeth.

The stooge flinches.

It’s not as satisfying as Simmons hoped. He takes his last few steps up into the witness stand, vaguely aware that everyone is watching him. He’s too furious to care.

The bailiff approaches him, expression hesitant. He glances up towards the Council and says, “If, uh, if he can use effluvium, he can do this himself, or does someone–”

Impatient, Simmons snatches the tooth from him. He’s heard the incantation enough times over the last few days to have memorized it. It rises easily to his lips.

“I hold this tooth to compel the truth

for every minute I sit in this booth.

I shall not lie, I do so swear.

Now let the truth be laid bare.”

Even the familiar sensation of gathering effluvium and the spell succeeding, the sudden taste of honey on his lips, seems unimportant at the moment. He thrusts the tooth back at the man even as the crowd mutters excitedly and Drell has to yell for order again.

Mrs. Wu steps close to the stand. She meets his eyes, and he’s pleased to see that she looks almost as offended on Grif’s behalf as he feels. She speaks in a loud, carrying voice. “Richard, as a Surprise Witness, both the defense and the prosecution will be questioning you at the same time. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Simmons says, though he glares at Hargrove when he approaches. For the moment at least, rage outweighs his fear from the guy’s threats, his blood boiling and drowning out everything else.

Mrs. Wu steps close to the stand and whispers, “No ritual details. Keep it vague.”

Simmons blinks, confused, but then Hargrove steps up and says snidely, “If you’re finished giving advice to the witness, Mrs. Wu,” and he forgets his confusion as rage almost consumes every single thought in his head. He glares, praying that Hargrove will give him an opportunity to insult him like Carolina did.

Hargrove just smiles at him, almost pityingly. He turns the same smile on Mrs. Wu, who ignores the condescension in his voice as he asks, “Shall we begin?”

Mrs. Wu nods. She looks at Simmons. He isn’t sure what to expect as her first question, but it definitely isn’t: “Mr. Simmons. How did you and Dexter Grif meet?”

Simmons looks towards Grif instinctively. Grif is sitting next to Carolina and Church, today in normal clothes, having given up on his ridiculous disguise from yesterday. It means no ridiculous trenchcoat hiding his misery or his sickly grimace.

“I’d lost my umbrella,” Simmons says slowly. “I was in the school parking lot and it was raining and I heard this meow.” There’s a furious lump in his throat, remembering the pathetic noise. “I found Grif under a car, looking exactly like a cat who’d been abandoned for three weeks on the streets would look.”

They probably have questions about that, but he isn’t going to let either of them drag it out of him: the matted fur, the desperation as Grif had eaten most of the food in his fridge. Grif hates all this already. Besides, Kai might actually try to kill the Council if she hears all the details. He drags his gaze away from Grif to glare towards the Council. “Twenty-three days. How many times did he almost get hit by a car? What would have happened if I hadn’t found him?”

He looks around but the stooge is gone. Coward.

Hargrove’s slimy voice snaps his attention back to both lawyers.

“And when did Dexter Grif reveal himself to be a familiar?”

“Three days later.” Momentary embarrassment instead of rage heats Simmons’ cheeks. He coughs. “I, uh, tripped and knocked myself out. Woke up to him nudging my face and trying to figure out if I was dead.”

“So he revealed himself out of concern for your welfare?” Mrs. Wu asks.

That gets a weak laugh out of him. “More about whether or not I was alive to feed him and to tell me not to call him Jeremy, but yeah, he was worried. And even after that, he went back to pretending to be a cat for a couple more days.”

“And yet clearly by the time Fred Scrooge arrived at your residence on March 7th, Dexter Grif had brought you into his confidence,” Hargrove says. “He was willing to spend the remainder of his sentence with you–”

“Of course he was! I was a better option than another guy like Hammer, who made him use a litter box and fed him cat food!” Simmons snaps. “And, in case anyone forgot, killed him!”

Hargrove sighs. He actually has the nerve to look at Simmons like Simmons is overreacting. “Merlin Hammer was an unfortunate anomaly among familiar guardians–”

“Was he?” Simmons spits out. “Because if your stooge is any indication, Hammer might have been the standard. What kind of background checks do you guys even do?”

Mrs. Wu interjects. “And what initial agreement did you make with Dexter Grif?”

Simmons, still glaring at Hargrove, says, “He promised if I pretended to be oblivious and gave him real food, he would make sure I didn’t get my memory wiped. I told him I wanted to learn about magic, and he agreed to answer my questions.”

“And is that when you first began to attempt to cast spells?”

“No,” Simmons says. He stops. He carefully doesn’t look towards Grif and the kids, but he knows Church is probably failing to hide a guilty expression. He thinks over his words, trying to remember how Doctor Huggins used the truth to obscure Church’s real identity. “It wasn’t until October that I acquired enough information about magic and spells to even attempt anything.”

“And what spells did you attempt?” Hargrove asks.

Simmons glares at him. “Nothing that involved trying to kill–” For a second his mouth tastes bitter, and he buys a startled second of wondering if trying to turn Felix temporarily mortal counts as trying to kill a witch by wildly waving a hand towards Drell and the other Council members. “--the Council.”

“Answer the question!” Drell barks.

Simmons tries not to glare at him too. From the way Drell glowers at him, he knows he doesn’t succeed. Again choosing his words carefully, he looks at Mrs Wu instead and says, “I tried anything that I learned about. I, uh, managed to burn myself blue. Tied my dad’s shoelaces together. A speed spell. Mostly little stuff until last August.”

He stops, half-holding his breath. If they ask about the not-so-little stuff, there’s no way he can avoid talking about saving Carolina and Church’s lives and their involvement with the Felix and Locus breakout.

Something in his expression must have alerted Mrs. Wu that they were treading dangerous ground, because she gives him a thoughtful look and asks, “And then Doctor Church began teaching you?”

Relieved, Simmons nods. “Exactly! We made a lot of progress.”

Hargrove stares intently at him. “What spells did Doctor Church teach you?” If he’s hoping Simmons will say something incriminating, he’s going to be disappointed.

“We started out small. And stayed small, mostly.” Simmons huffs out a breath, remembering the growing frustration as Doctor Church kept him repeating beginner level magic over and over again, when he’d known he could do more with access to the leyline and enough effluvium. “Doctor Church wanted me to do simple spells like Apples to Oranges. I knew I could do more. Just because I’m limited by effluvium and having to use incantations doesn’t mean I can’t–”

“Cast spells like breaking the familiar spell?” Hargrove asks. He raises an eyebrow. “How did you even begin to think you could manage that? Surely Doctor Church and Dexter Grif told you it was an impossible spell to break.”

Simmons bares his teeth at him. “It wasn’t, though, was it?” As irritation flits across Hargrove’s face, Simmons adds, “Besides, I didn’t know it was impossible. I didn’t ask them.”

That gets a startled look from both Mrs. Wu and Hargrove.

Mrs. Wu recovers first. “You didn’t tell them you were planning to try and break the familiar spell?”

“No.” When Mrs. Wu stares at him, he feels the back of his neck prickle with embarrassed heat. “They might have told me not to.” They would have, he thinks, remembering Grif’s panic when he was briefly human again. Probably a good idea not to mention that, though. “I borrowed a lot of Doctor Church’s books because I knew it was a sealed spell, but I think he just assumed I was curious about everything to do with magic.”

Past Hargrove and Mrs. Wu, he catches Doctor Church rubbing at the bridge of his nose, clearly repressing a sigh. Simmons tries not to feel guilty for deceiving him.

“So I started studying sealed spells and how people have broken them.” Despite the situation, curiosity makes him lean forward and look at Mrs. Wu. “Why are kids even allowed to learn how to seal their spells? Maybe teach them that when they’re adults. Just a thought.”

Mrs. Wu looks a little wry at that, but Hargrove interjects.

“So when did you decide to break Dexter Grif’s spell?”

Simmons hesitates.

Hargrove smirks faintly. “Answer the question.”

“Last November,” Simmons admits.

There’s an eruption of noise from the gallery at that.

He looks at Grif, sees the shock on his face as Grif mouths at him, “November?” It’s drowned out by the crowd noise, everyone equally shocked, but apparently for a different reason because as Drell slams his gavel down and barks for silence, one last person says, sounding amazed, “He figured out how to break a Council spell in a year?”

“Last November,” Mrs. Wu says, looking slightly shocked herself before her professionalism kicks in. “How did you pursue this goal of breaking the familiar spell?”

Grif is still staring at him. Simmons hastily focuses on Mrs. Wu. “Uh, like I said, I read a lot of books. Tons of them. There were so many dead ends. Then I started looking into things that could be conduits and help me channel the effluvium more effectively.” He makes a face. “There was a whole thing with a cursed crystal that tried to trap me in a nightmare realm, but uh, Grif got me out of that. After a lot of trial and error and a lot of learning about magical geology, eventually I figured out quartz would be the best conduit.”

“Simply using quartz isn’t enough to break a Council spell,” Hargrove protests.

“No, it isn’t,” Simmons agrees. “No, that was just the first breakthrough. After that it was researching how to amplify incantations. I used up so much chalk figuring out the right ritual circle.” He looks down at his hands, remembering how the chalk had dried out and cracked his skin until he’d bought his weight’s worth of hand lotion. “And then when it came to the incantation–”

Drell clears his throat warningly.

Despite himself, Simmons scowls. “Which would only work for Grif. It was specific.”

Hargrove looks down his nose at him. “You are claiming that a simple piece of quartz and an incantation was enough to break a Council spell?” Skepticism drips off every syllable.

Indignation floods Simmons. “Hey! It wasn’t just a simple piece of quartz! I learned about leylines, how they worked, and spent months at one with that quartz, letting it absorb the magical energy! I soaked it in naturally occurring spring water overlapping a leyline under six full moons and six new moons! I kept it close so it absorbed a little of my magic every time I cast a spell.” He gestures at his neck, trying to get them all to visualize the necklace. “I made the chain for the necklace myself!”

He waves his scarred hand at Hargrove. “I worked hard on that quartz! That's just the least of it, on top of nineteen lines of the incantation! You try rhyming–”

“Enough,” Drell says sharply. “We get it. You worked hard on that quartz.”

Simmons looks at Mrs. Wu and catches her studying the jury. He glances towards them too, and is startled to find they look fascinated. Well, if they’re curious, then he’ll give them what they want. He squares his shoulders.

“I did everything I could to make sure the spell would work. I even investigated books from the Mortal Realm about quartz, just in case someone had accidentally stumbled on a new way to use it. I did a whole visualizing thing with the rock every morning for weeks, staring at it and just imagining Grif human again. I went down every single avenue I could think of. There’s nothing simple about that! The amount of magic I poured into the chalk itself alone–”

There’s a warning cough from Drell and Simmons briefly pauses, trying to figure out what to say that isn’t too detailed.

“Why?”

Simmons looks towards Mrs. Wu, realizing that he’s breathing hard. Her expression is impossible to read, no matter how much he studies it. “Why what?”

“Why did you put so much effort into this?”

Simmons stares. Isn’t it obvious? Is this because she needs it on the record? He knows she’s mostly been focused on keeping Doctor Church out of jail, but she’s met Grif. She heard everything the stooge said.

He snaps, willing her to understand, “Because it had to work!”

Mrs. Wu looks back. “Why did it have to work?”

A frustrated sound escapes Simmons’ lips.

“Objection,” Hargrove says. There’s a faint smirk on his lips, though he’s positioned himself so the jury can’t see his face. He gives a slow, mocking shake of his head. “Badgering your own witness, Mrs. Wu?”

Simmons bristles. “Who asked you?”

Hargrove spreads his hands. He looks up towards Drell. “I also object on the basis of relevance. Does it matter why he believes he did it? The mortal was clearly manipulated by Doctor Leonard Church.”

“Manipulated?” Simmons growls. “Doctor Church probably would have stopped me if he knew what I was trying to do!”

“And yet you pursued it behind his back, knowing that both he and Dexter Grif would have told you it was impossible,” Mrs. Wu says. “Why?”

Because he’s my friend!

Simmons opens his mouth to snap that, and almost chokes on the strange mixture of sweetness and bitterness in his mouth. The truth spell objecting, he guesses, rubbing a startled hand across his lips as though he can chase the taste away.

“How can something be true and false at the same time?” he mumbles under his breath. “How does the Truth Tooth quantify truth? How was it tested for accuracy? Did–”

“Stop muttering and answer the question,” Drell snaps.

“What were you trying to say?” Mrs. Wu asks, looking intent.

Simmons flounders. “I– I was trying to say he’s my friend. Which is true!”

Mrs. Wu nods, like this is unsurprising. And then she smiles at him, not the smile she tried to hide under her professionalism when her husband visited bearing food, but an unrestrained one. “That’s not the whole truth, though, is it?”

Simmons opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, but he doesn’t know what to say as sweet and bitter magic mingles on his tongue, waiting for him to speak.

Mrs. Wu is still smiling at him as she asks, “May I have your hand, please? The left one.”

This feels like a trap somehow, and yet Mrs. Wu is looking at him like she’s got an ace up her sleeve. Simmons slowly puts out his hand, acutely aware of the patterned scars on his skin. Her fingers are cool as they wrap around his wrist and hold his arm up towards the jury.

A few of them lean forward, one adjusting her glasses.

Mrs. Wu’s voice rises over the confused murmuring from the crowd.

“Mr. Simmons, how did you get these scars?”

“F-from breaking the familiar spell. The quartz’s chain.”

“Was that an accidental side effect of your incantation?”

Simmons blinks. “Accidental? No. The research said…. To seal a spell, every book I read said that the best methods are casting your spell with, uh, strong intent, spilling blood, some, uh, pain, uh–” His words catch in his throat, not from the spell but from the flustered heat prickling his skin as he adds quickly, “Uh, and true love's kiss. That sort of thing.”

“You sealed the spell,” Mrs. Wu says with emphasis. “With blood.”

“Of course,” Simmons says. She’s still holding his hand up towards the jury. He resists the urge to tug it away from her. “I couldn’t let them break it. Especially if–” He stops, not because the truth spell is filling his mouth with the bitterness of an attempted lie, but because even the thought chokes him.

“Especially if?” Mrs. Wu prompts.

“Especially if the– if the worst happened.”

“What would be the worst?”

Simmons can’t help but dart a glance towards Grif, who’s staring at him, unblinking. He finds himself studying Grif again, the broad shoulders, the messy long hair, the warm brown skin, the little crease he gets between his eyes when he’s stressed. A memory he wants to keep, even if he knows the Council could decide to strip Grif out of his head and not leave a single trace of him.

He swallows.

“What would be the worst, Mr. Simmons?”

Mrs. Wu gives his wrist the lightest squeeze, the gesture enough to make him look back at her. She gives him an encouraging smile, something in her eyes that makes his stomach twist with the uncomfortable feeling of being seen and maybe understood.

“Forgetting him,” he admits. “I had to– if I covered all my bases with sealing the spell, then even if they….. You know.” With his free hand he waves at his head. “Then at least he’d be human.”

Mrs. Wu nods. “So you covered all your bases. You cast with intent, endured pain, spilled your own blood.” She pauses, and then says deliberately, “And then there’s true love’s kiss.”

Simmons freezes. He doesn’t look at Grif this time, but he can feel the prickling heat under his skin, burning his cheeks and ears, even his throat and the back of his neck. He manages a noise, which apparently is too inarticulate for the truth spell to object to.

“You did kiss Dexter Grif as the final part of the spell, didn’t you?”

“I–”

“Objection!” Hargrove says. “Sappy.”

Mrs. Wu says quickly, “According to Grimoire versus Kilmore 1848, any objections on the grounds of sappiness must be overruled if we’re discussing true love.”

“True love!” Hargrove scoffs. His stupid wizened face wrinkles with disgust, though he keeps control of himself enough that the jury can’t see his expression. “Council members, my colleague is clearly clutching at straws. This is desperate attempt to distract us from the actual charges–”

Simmons almost looks at Grif during this, but it feels safer to look anywhere but at him. He looks up at the Council, where Drell is rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, objection–”

Skippy signs something frantically and Cassandra leans in and whispers into Drell’s ear.

He growls. “Seriously? I knew Skippy was a romantic but–”

Cassandra whispers again.

Drell throws up his hands. “Fine! Objection overruled. But you’d better convince us this is true love, Wu, or we’ll retroactively uphold the objection.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Wu says. She turns a steady gaze on Simmons, who is trying very hard not to think about the phrase true love being thrown around. He’s not really succeeding, but he’s trying. “Did you kiss Dexter Grif as the final part of the spell?”

“I–” The word comes out as a squeak and Simmons snaps his mouth shut. His face heats more as he swears he sees a jury member covering his mouth to hide a smile. He can almost feel this stupid truth spell hovering at his shoulder, waiting for him to try to lie. He licks his lips. “To– to cover–”

“A simple yes or no, Mr. Simmons,” Mrs. Wu says, gentle but relentless.

Simmons squirms. She’s still holding out his hand. Several of the jurors are staring at that too, and he wishes he could tuck it away in his lap, safely out of sight. His face gets even hotter.

“Yes or no,” Mrs. Wu repeats.

He stares at her. She’s implacable. He thinks she could ask the same question a hundred times with the same patient inflection. When he finally answers, his lips taste honey sweet.

“Yes.”

Mrs. Wu raises his hand again to the jury. “Baliff, if you could take photographs of Richard Simmons’ hand. I present Exhibit G: the scarred hand of Richard Simmons that proves he used blood and true love to seal his spell.”

There’s a murmur even as the bailiff steps forward, summoning an old fashioned camera and beginning to take pictures of Simmons’ hand. The light bulb flashes temporarily blind him, but he’s not deaf. He can hear when Hargrove says, “Objection. You haven’t proven true love.”

Mrs. Wu sounds unruffled. “Mr. Simmons, you went behind Doctor Church’s back to do all this, correct?”

“Yes,” Simmons says, trying to blink the spots away in his vision.

“No one helped you?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you enlist Doctor Church’s aid? You knew he was married to a mortal. He might have been sympathetic.”

“He–” Simmons pauses to rub at his eyes as his vision slowly clears. All this magic and they’re still behind technology wise enough to still blind people by taking photographs. “With our experiments, he was being so cautious, and with his kids and wife…. I was sure he’d never go along with it. He, uh, I mean. He was excited about my potential, but we weren’t friends. What if he said no or tried to stop me? I couldn’t let Grif be a cat for seven more years.”

She finally lets his hand go and Simmons quickly drops it into his lap.

“Seven years is nothing,” Hargrove declares. “Breaking the spell wasn’t an act of love, but one of hubris. You yourself have repeatedly acknowledged the risks involved, and yet you couldn’t wait. Surely the loving move would be the safer option, waiting those seven years so–”

Simmons glares at him. “Nothing? Maybe for most witches, seven years is nothing. But for me? It would have been forever!”

Hargrove sneers down his nose at him. “Let us end these theatrics and have the truth spell reveal the self-serving mortal you are. You wanted to prove to Leonard Church that he had underestimated you, to impress him. You wanted Dexter Grif in your debt–”

The shout tears itself from Simmons’ throat. “That’s not why!” It’s not until Hargrove has to look up to meet his eyes that Simmons realizes he’s standing, glaring down at the man who keeps trying to ruin his life, Grif’s life, Doctor Church’s life.

Hargrove’s sneer doesn’t fade. “Then why? Enough dodging around the question. Answer plainly for the Court! Why did you break the spell?”

“Because I love him!”

The courtroom erupts with noise, but Simmons only distantly hears them. His own words are ringing too loudly in his ears, repeating over and over again. He can’t look at Grif. He has to look at Grif.

The shock in Grif’s face, the gray tinge to his brown skin, makes Simmons want to hide behind the witness stand or maybe throw himself in the nearest volcano. He opens his mouth to backtrack, can feel denials bubbling up from his stomach – Love him like a friend, a bro, and fellow homie, just loving my bestie – but the truth spell stops the words in his throat before he can even make a sound.

He’s still staring at Grif as Mrs. Wu clears her throat and says, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have heard and witnessed Richard Simmons under the truth spell. He freely admits that he broke the familiar spell, but it was for true love’s sake. All of this was for true love– Doctor Church’s love for his wife, Richard Simmons love for Dexter Grif. There is no conspiracy against the Council here, only two people trying to help the people they love.”

“Objection,” Hargrove says, but it’s almost a wheeze.

Drell snorts. “Hey, if Wu wants to do her closing statement now so we can get this over with, she can go ahead.”

Hargrove says, stronger and a little more sure of himself, “Sir, the prosecution generally gives their closing arguments first–”

“Fine, fine, whatever. Get on with it. Unless Wu has more questions for the mortal?”

“No, sir, no further questions,” Mrs. Wu says with a quiet satisfaction in her voice. For a second she steps between Simmons and Grif. The satisfaction is in her smile as well as she nods at him and says, “Mr. Simmons, you may leave the stand.”

Simmons hesitates. Leaving the stand means going back to the defense table, which means getting closer to Grif and his look of shock. How long does the truth spell last once you’re off the stand? Will he be able to make some excuse when he gets there?

“Mr. Simmons,” Mrs. Wu prompts gently.

“Right,” Simmons mumbles.

He doesn’t quite drag his feet, aware that every eye feels like it’s on him, but it still feels like the walk back to the defense table feels like eternity. He avoids looking at Grif, tries to distract himself by checking in with Doctor Church.

He blinks. Doctor Church is smiling. Broadly, even the corners of his eyes crinkling. When Simmons meets his eyes, Doctor Church gives him a small nod and says sincerely, “Well said, Richard.”

“Uh, thanks?” Simmons says, torn between confusion and a startled pride. “I–”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Hargrove intones. His voice buzzes in Simmons’ ear like a mosquito. “You have spent the last three days listening to witnesses and the defendants themselves. There has been a lot of talk. But actions speak louder than words. The evidence has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt Doctor Leonard Church's guilt. Richard Simmons freely and gleefully admits he broke a forbidden spell and sealed it! Do not let their words sway you. We are not here to discuss Council law. We are not here to discuss the defendants’ feelings. We are here to sentence Doctor Church and Richard Simmons for the crimes they have committed. Doctor Church may claim he planned to tell the Council and the community about Richard Simmons, but evidence proves that he cast those wards to hide his experiments. They–”

“Simmons,” Grif hisses at him. “Look at me.”

Simmons doesn’t. He stares blindly forward, his vision swimming a little as heat floods his face.

“Simmons. Simmons. Simmons.”

There’s a sudden pressure against Simmons’ neck. The flick of a finger, Simmons realizes as Grif does it again, a little harder.

Simmons spins around. He’s half-braced for Grif to be grimacing, but instead he sees the shock in Grif’s face giving way to something else, something familiar. It’s the same look he wore before they kissed at the end of the spell, a wondering warmth in his eyes. Simmons wants to–

And for the first time, that nebulous, desperate want takes shape before he can stop it. He leans over the back of his chair, suddenly grateful for the nearness of the defense table to the public benches because it means Grif is within easy reach.

Grif meets him halfway. His kiss drives away all lingering doubt.

“Mrs. Wu, control your client or I’ll be forced to ask the Council to have him escorted from the courtroom!”

Hargrove’s waspish command brings Simmons back to himself. He doesn’t jerk away though, stays as close to Grif as he can, drinking in his expression, tasting something even sweeter than honey, and trying to fend off the despairing thought that he might lose this just as quickly as he’s gotten it.

Behind them, Cassandra coughs and says, “Mrs. Wu, if you could remind your client that Malcolm has a right to give his closing statement without interruption?” There’s a decided lack of a bite to her words. She sounds almost…amused?

“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Wu says.

Simmons looks at her a little defiantly.

Mrs. Wu gestures with a flicker of a smile across her face.

He realizes she’s advising him to move his chair back closer to Grif. He obeys, putting it close enough that he can feel Grif behind him and reach back to hold his hand with his scarred one, gripping it tight.

Hargrove clears his throat, looking displeased, and says, “I suppose that will do. As I was saying….”

Simmons tries to tune Hargrove out. It’s easier with Grif behind him, who snorts under his breath every time Hargrove tries to make Simmons out to be the boogeyman in every witch’s closet.

Finally Hargrove says, “Do not be swayed by sentimentality. Look at the facts, which prove that Leonard Church and his associate are guilty. Make the right choice. Find them guilty on all charges.”

He sits down with one last pointed glare towards the defense table.

Simmons glares back.

Mrs. Wu rises to her feet.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, three days ago my colleague here stood before you all and claimed that Leonard Church spent fifteen months planning to turn a mortal into an untraceable assassin to overthrow the Council. He claimed that Richard Simmons was delusional, that he could not cast spells himself, that the breaking of the forbidden spell was a test run for a coup.”

She pauses, looking at each juror before she continues with cool deliberation.

“Now he has changed his tune. He asks you to ignore the answers Leonard Church and Richard Simmons gave under a truth spell. He asks you to focus on the bits of evidence that support his outlandish accusations and not the evidence that has proven that Leonard and Richard planned no coup. He asks you to ignore what is directly in front of your eyes: the obvious truth of my clients’ motivations. He asks you to ignore that they were compelled not by hubris or malice, but by true love. Love for Allison Church and Dexter Grif led them to perform experiments and see if a mortal could cast magic. Love for Dexter Grif compelled Richard Simmons to turn him back into a witch and seal a spell with blood and pain and true love’s kiss because he couldn’t bear to spend another seven years as his guardian.”

She turns and smiles towards Doctor Church and Simmons, gesturing and murmuring something under her breath that sends a swirl of lavender magic looping around Simmons’ hand still holding Grif’s.

He blinks and lets go as he holds his hand up, watching as the magic covers his skin. It’s cool and on the edge of feeling cold, like a slight mist, before the magic fragments and each scar of the interlocking chains glows a brilliant, illuminating lavender.

Mrs. Wu turns back with a satisfied nod. “My colleague asks you to ignore sentimentality. But what is true love but sentimentality? My clients have no desire to amass power and stage a coup, to dismantle all of witch society. They simply want time with their loved ones and to explore what mortals are truly capable of. I say to you, you know what the right choice is in all of your hearts. Find Leonard Church and Richard Simmons not guilty of all charges and let them go home to the ones they love.”

She gives a low bow before she returns to the defense table.

The lavender magic fades from around Simmons’ hand.

Drell slams his gavel against the wood and snaps, “All right, you heard them both! We’ll break for an hour for lunch, and then the jury will make their decision.” He squints in the jury’s direction and says warningly, “And they better not take too long. This has taken up–”

Cassandra leans over and whispers something. He rolls his eyes but amends, his tone flat, “Take all the time you need to make the right decision. These are serious charges and there will be serious penalties if they’re found guilty.”

There’s a rush of noise as people begin to talk to each other, the jury rising to their feet and filing into a private room for their meal, a few of them already clustered together and whispering to each other, darting glances over their shoulders towards the defense table as they go.

Almost lost beneath the sudden clamor is Mrs. Wu’s quiet, “Mr. Grif, you’re welcome to join us in our waiting room.”

Doctor Church nods in agreement as Grif blinks at them. Then he adds, looking towards Carolina and Church, “Carolina. Church. Join us?”

“Can we?” Carolina says. Her voice wobbles slightly.

“I think everyone will be too focused awaiting the jury’s decision to stop us.”

Simmons finds himself reaching for Grif’s hand again without thinking about it. It earns him a startled look, but one that fades quickly enough into a half-smile, tension in Grif’s jaw but not in his voice as he says, “Come on, I’ll magic us up some pizza or something.”

“Vegetarian?” Simmons asks, forcing a matching lightness into his voice even as they all stand. For a second he can pretend that his life isn’t at stake, that this is the first of many lunches where they hold hands and bicker over pizza toppings.

Grif snorts. “Only for you.”

Simmons doesn’t look back towards the jury box or the Council or Hargrove. Everything has been said. All the evidence has been presented.

Now all he can do is wait and hold Grif's hand and hope.

Chapter Text

Megan would never rest on her laurels or count her basilisks before they hatch, but she can’t help a slight smile of satisfaction remembering Malcolm’s sour expression during her closing statement.

“You’re incredible,” Mason proclaims, passing over a steaming bowl of japchae. He’s of course brought enough for multiple people, though Leonard’s son has opted for Dexter Grif’s conjured pizza.

Megan smiles crookedly at that. “You can say that after the not guilty verdict.”

Mason grins back. “Are you kidding? I saw a couple of the jurors wiping tears from their eyes when Dexter and Richard kissed.”

“They what?” Richard squeaks, half-choking on his pizza. His face immediately goes splotchy and pink.

Church laughs. “Yeah, that kiss is gonna be on the news for weeks.” He pauses and tilts his head in consideration. “Months, if it’s a slow news year.”

Dexter makes a face. Megan is pretty sure he mumbles a curse word under his breath as he slaps Richard’s back and then, with only a slight hesitation, lets his hand rest there as he says, “Sorry, Simmons. Witches are suckers for sappy stuff.”

“Then why did Hargrove keep objecting to it?” Carolina mutters.

Megan could easily explain the different forms of objections in witch law, but she has a feeling it was a rhetorical question. And even if it wasn’t, she has an even more certain feeling the answer would just infuriate Carolina.

Leonard clears his throat. He’s been smiling at Richard and Dexter, but now he sobers. “While I do think Richard has managed to turn the tide of public opinion to our side and many of the jurors, there is still the risk that they might still find us guilty of conspiracy or breaking the familiar spell. If that’s the case–”

“If that’s the case, the Council decides stuff, right?” Church says quickly. “Skippy was swooning over Grif and Simmons, and Cassandra cares about public opinion, so we’ll be fine.”

“Hopefully,” Leonard agrees. “But if not….” He pauses. For a second he just looks at his children. His expression softens. “Malcolm will recommend the harshest possible sentence, which means a century at least. You’ll… Allison is good at looking out for others, but not for herself. Emily and Vanessa will be there to support you all, but–”

“Come on, Leonard,” Church says sharply. “Don’t give us that.”

A stubborn glint appears in Leonard’s eyes. “We have to consider all future possibilities.”

“Not if they suck!” Church crosses his arms.

Carolina steps close to Leonard, her expression fierce. “They’re not taking you away from us and Mom again. They’re not.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Kai has a jailbreak plan if we need it,” Dexter drawls.

Megan isn’t entirely sure he’s joking, but it cuts through the tension nonetheless. She makes a show of pinching the bridge of her nose and saying dryly, “Mr. Grif, if you could avoid discussing future criminal activities in front of me, I would appreciate it.”

Dexter smirks in her direction. “Sure thing.”

Church latches onto the joke. He grins at Leonard too, though it’s a little forced. “Huggins would probably be happy to help, though. She and Tex are friends now.”

“What?” Leonard says blankly. Some of his tension is wiped away from disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” Church’s grin widens. “They’re pals. Huggins went over after her turn on the witness stand and never left. She might move in!”

Now Leonard looks thoroughly distracted from his earlier speech. “Hilary Huggins is not moving to Westbridge. She is perfectly within her rights to visit, but–”

Church grabs his chest, widening his eyes dramatically. “Dad! You’d separate me from my mom? That won’t look good for the press.”

He’s clearly about to needle Leonard some more, but Carolina laughs and grabs him around the neck, dragging him closer to her. “She’s not moving to Westbridge.”

“Ah,” Leonard says, looking relieved.

“She and Mom are friends now, though.”

“....Ah.”

Megan exchanges a look with Mason. She watches his eyebrow rise, a silent question of, Do we want to know? She gives a minute shake of her head even as curiosity pricks her. It’s not her business, at least not since they refused to let her in on their secrets and use it to save them in court.

But she admits to being curious at why the entire family, Leonard’s wife included, is on such friendly terms with someone everyone else would consider a homewrecker.

“Plus Sam’s been baking up a storm,” Dexter adds. “No one’s been going hungry.”

Megan and Mason both whip their heads towards him, Megan so quickly that she feels a slight twinge in her neck.

“Sam?” Mason repeats.

For once Megan can’t get a read on her husband’s tone.

Dexter stares back. “Yeah. He’s Sam now.”

Richard looks puzzled. He looks between Dexter and Mason and starts to say something, then flushes and looks distracted as Dexter leans down to whisper something in his ear.

Megan pushes down the mixed feelings churning her stomach. From the look in Mason’s eyes, she sees him considering what that means, that Ortez has started calling himself by his actual name again. He looks almost hopeful.

Megan is more dubious. It’s a promising sign that he’s dropped the Locus alias, but that doesn’t take back all the trouble he brought down on Mason’s head. That doesn’t take back everything he did and what he would have done to Massachusetts if Dexter hadn’t persuaded him otherwise.

Hopefully he’s changing for the better. Megan still has no desire to be anywhere near him or discuss him further.

Mason glances her way. Whatever he sees in her face has him clear his throat and say, “Good to know.”

“Enough yapping, let’s eat,” Church says around a mouthful of pizza.

Carolina wrinkles her nose at her brother.

Megan studies Richard and Leonard. Leonard is watching his children as they begin to tease each other over Church’s manners, his expression the softest she’s ever seen it. Richard is still flushed, sticking as close to Dexter as possible. His half-eaten pizza slice is forgotten in his hand.

Megan gestures. “Church is right. Let’s eat. I refuse to be known as a lawyer who lets her client faint because they haven’t eaten before the verdict.”

When the jury files back into their seats, Carolina stares at them all. It’s been an entire day on tenterhooks, waiting and waiting and waiting as the jury deliberated. Her dad had finally sent her and Church home, and they’d spent half the night sitting together watching her mom wear a hole in the carpet.

Carolina can’t read their expressions, other than they’re all clearly nervous. Is that a good thing? Are they worried that finding her dad and Mr. Simmons not guilty will make Drell mad? Or is it a bad thing? Maybe it’s a bad thing. Maybe–

Church leans over and grabs her hand. “I can hear you thinking, sis,” he whispers. He squeezes her hand. He gives her a smile that’s only slightly forced. “Trust in the power of love.”

Carolina snorts out an unwilling laugh, and then goes silent as Drell slams his gavel down and says, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

The foreman, an older witch with curly silver hair, rises. “We have, sir.”

“Finally,” Drell growls. “Get on with it!”

The foreman clears her throat.

There is a sudden pressure in the air like a gathering storm before an enormous scroll appears in front of the jury box with a sudden pop of displaced air. It looks old, slightly tattered at the corners and yellowed with age, but there’s still a silvery gleam of magic around it as it floats there.

It unrolls. On it in pulsing dark black ink are the names Leonard Church and Richard Simmons. Below each name are the three charges in the same black ink.

The foreman clears her throat again. “We, the jury—”

“Louder!” Drell thunders.

The foreman jumps, but this time her voice comes out louder, if a little unsteadier.

“We, the jury in the case of the Other Realm versus Leonard Church, find both defendants not guilty of violation of the Charitable Acts law, conspiracy against the Council, and the breaking of a forbidden spell.”

One by one the charges disappear from the scroll.

“So say we all.”

Invisible trumpets blare, stopping Carolina’s triumphant yell in her throat.

NOT GUILTY appears on the scroll in glowing gold letters before the scroll explodes into confetti, littering everyone in the courtroom.

Church flings his arms around Carolina, hugging her and laughing at the same time. A second later their dad darts around his chair and hugs them both, relief and joy shining in his face.

Carolina clutches at them. They’re both holding on tightly, but Carolina still feels like she can finally breathe for the first time in days. She buries her face in her dad’s shoulder and breathes out a silent prayer of gratitude.

She doesn’t move even when Drell slams his gavel down.

“ALL RIGHT, DON’T LET THE CONFETTI FOOL YOU. THIS ISN’T A PARTY.”

Cassandra speaks next. She doesn't shout, but her voice carries, clear and solemn. “Leonard Church, Richard Simmons. You have been found not guilty of the charges against you and are free to go. Congratulations, Mrs. Wu.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Mrs. Wu says. Carolina can hear the smile in her voice. “I’m very glad justice was done. Now, I think my clients would like to get home and recuperate.”

“Yes,” Carolina’s dad agrees, though it’s said softly, meant only for her and Church’s ears. “Let’s go home.”

Carolina reluctantly untangles herself from Church and their dad.

Her last sight of the courtroom, beside all the watching eyes that track every step they take towards the door, is Hargrove, sour-faced like he just sucked on a lemon, stiffly extending a hand towards Mrs. Wu and offering a curt, “Well played.”

Dylan Andrews is back on the TV, the news of the not guilty verdict scrolling at the bottom of the screen on endless repeat, but anything she’s saying is drowned out by Salem’s wailing.

Sabrina pats him as he sobs in her lap. She’s swallowing against a lump in her own throat. She and Carolina aren’t really friends, but she’s still horribly, desperately glad that Doctor Church isn’t going to be locked up on Pluto or turned into a familiar and taken away from Carolina again.

“There, there. We’re all glad Mr. Simmons and Doctor Church are okay–”

Salem looks up. “Who cares about them?” he demands, hiccuping. “No one’s ever g-gonna love me the way Simmons l-loves Grif! I’m gonna be a cat f-forever!”

Zelda sighs. “Salem, you only have another seventy years on your sentence–”

“FOREVER! AND NOW GRIF’S EVEN MORE FAMOUS AND HE’LL DO NOTHING WITH IT! NOTHING! WHY, CRUEL WORLD? WHY?!”

“If you’re just tuning in, after four days of witnesses and jury deliberation, Doctor Leonard Church and the mortal Richard Simmons have been found not guilty on all charges,” Dylan Andrews says.

She’s struggling to keep her professional smile from broadening into a sincere one, Ezra can tell. Even Dylan Andrews isn’t immune to romance. He’s still reeling from the shock of it all, but gets himself together enough to laugh a little as Mike says brightly, “Hey, guys! Five questions we have for Grif next therapy session!”

“I have one,” Vera says. “What the f–”

“Do you think he’ll even come?” Ezra muses before Vera can launch into a tirade. They’re playing a clip of Doctor Church maneuvering himself, his kids, and Richard Simmons and Grif into a nearby traveling closet and closing the door on a news camera. “I mean, they’re mandatory, but also the news is going to be after him for interviews. Price will probably give him some one on one sessions until everyone calms down.”

“Oh,” Mike says, looking disappointed.

Dylan Andrews is still speaking. “We’ve heard from various experts throughout the trial, but now that the verdict has been read, we want to turn to the Witch on the Street, get thoughts from the common witch. We will have more from our experts throughout the rest of the day, but let’s go to our correspondent Circe Thorne. Circe?”

“Thank you, Dylan,” says a witch with vibrant pink hair who has flowers currently in full bloom threaded into her braids. “We’re here for a unique spin on our usual Witch on the Street segment, talking to folks in the Other Realm about their thoughts on the Church trial.”

There is a cluster of witches around her. When she holds out her microphone, one bends down to talk excitedly.

“Well, I for one think the jury made the right decision. I mean, it would have been a crime to break up a romance between Dexter Grif and the mortal that loves him, right? And there’s, like, always a loophole, right?” The witch grins. “And hey, that old theory that true love could break the familiar spell was right! Mika owes me twenty dubloons.”

One of the other witches frowns and speaks up. “Well, he sealed it with True Love's Kiss, he didn’t break it with–”

“No one likes a pedant, Jerry.”

“I’m just saying, you’re making it sound easier than it was! Sure we didn’t get, uh, all the details, I mean, but there was enough that I bet there’s going to be copycats–”

“Which will thrill the Council,” another witch mutters.

A fourth witch reaches for the microphone and holds it to her mouth, breathing excitedly into it. Ezra can’t tell if she’s more excited about being on TV or the results of the trial as she gushes, “Well, I think it’s so romantic! I wouldn’t want to date Richard Simmons at all–”

There’s a chorus of agreement at that.

“--but it’s easy to see why he fell for Dexter Grif! That guy charmed Locus and made a mortal fall in love with him so much, um, that he learned magic and, and broke a spell all for him. He must be a smooth talker, you know?”

“And he’s so tall,” Jerry says a little dreamily.

The fourth witch sighs. “Yeah….”

“Hey!” Mike says suddenly. When Vera and Ezra eye him curiously, he smiles back, cheerful and earnest. “New game.”

“Go for it, buddy,” Ezra says. He’s not sure what he’s expecting.

“Five reasons to join up if Doctor Church and Dexter do try to overthrow the Council!”

Yeah, Ezra definitely wasn’t expecting that.

None of them even get a foot out of the brownstone’s closet. The second the thunder finishes pealing, the door is thrown open.

Carolina’s mom stands there, one hand still on the doorknob, the other one braced on the door frame as she stares at them all, drinking in the sight of them. Then she charges inside.

Carolina closes her eyes, tears already threatening, as her mom sweeps her, Church, and their dad into a fierce hug that feels like it could last forever. Carolina wouldn’t mind if it did. All the worry and panic and rage from the last few days melt away, squeezed out of her by her mom’s tight grip.

The hug doesn’t slacken, the embrace tight and permanent.

Then there’s an awkward cough next to them. “Uh, we can, uh, just squeeze past,” Simmons says. “Give you all some– urk!”

Carolina lifts her head from her mom’s shoulder in time to watch Grif’s sister grab Simmons and Grif by their elbows and haul them out of the closet.

“Ducking finally!”

“Don’t be weird about this,” Grif says, but he’s smiling a little as he does.

“Weird? Weird?” His sister shakes him as Simmons looks between them and immediately turns bright pink. “You two finally stopped being idiots! No takebacks or avoiding it or whatever the duck you two did after he broke the spell. Now you can finally be as mushy as you want and I won’t even be too much of a witch about it!”

From the stairs, two giggles overlap. One is familiar, Grey’s, but the other takes a second to clock before Doctor Huggins says, “As much as I’d like to see my beloved fake son, I think we should give everyone a few minutes alone. When you’re all ready, Sam has made so much dessert downstairs.”

“I will replace the ingredients,” comes the quiet response.

Carolina’s a little startled when it’s Kimball who snorts out an unwilling laugh.

Grif’s sister smirks. “Yeah, I agree. Dex and Simmons need some alone time.”

Simmons yelps again as she hauls them both further down the hallway and out of sight.

There’s the sound of footsteps as everyone else goes back downstairs.

And then there’s just Carolina and her family. Her mom hugs them tighter until it’s almost hard to breathe, but Carolina doesn’t care, not when her mom lets out a slow, deep exhale and says, “We’re talking about that grenade later, Leonard.”

“Grenade?” Carolina repeats, confused.

She looks up just in time to see a flicker of a wince go across her dad’s face before he raises his hand from where it’s been wrapped around Church’s elbow. He touches her mom’s cheek with light fingers as he offers an apologetic smile and says, “Duly noted. I am very relieved it didn’t go off.”

Carolina’s eyes narrow as she looks between them.

“Great, glad we’ve got that cleared up,” Church says quickly. “Now who wants cake? I’m starving.”

Carolina’s mom huffs, but her expression lightens. “I could go for some cake.”

She loosens her grip and Carolina reluctantly steps towards the stairs after Church, still watching her parents. But whatever she’s missed must be okay, because their dad cups their mom’s face in his hand and leans in to kiss her, softly, carefully, and with such relief that Carolina’s heart turns over in her chest.

Behind her, Church groans.

“Deal with the mushiness,” Carolina says, turning back to him.

“No, it’s not that,” Church says, looking horrified. “I just realized all this crap took our entire vacation. We have school tomorrow!” He looks towards their parents. “...Can we call out?”

“School?” Carolina repeats. It feels like a foreign concept.

Their parents exchange a long look. Then their dad holds up a finger. “One day.”

Church punches the air. “Yes!”

Their dad’s eyebrows rise. He looks almost amused. “You do realize your friends will worry if you’re both out sick, correct? They’ll swarm the brownstone the second the school day is finished, if not earlier.”

“...Crap.”

Carolina also feels her heart drop. Is York going to be upset she didn’t call him? But he’d spent the holiday weekend out of state. Same with Wash and Niner, who’d been visiting grandparents.

She looks at Church. He looks back.

At the same time they both bolt downstairs. Church is closer to the stairs, but that doesn’t matter, not when Carolina swings around him and practically hurls herself down the steps.

She grabs the phone a few seconds before Church.

“Sorry,” she says, laughing as Church huffs in frustration. She watches him eye one of the half-dozen desserts still covering most of the kitchen and break into a plate of cookies, still making a face at her. “Don’t worry, you can call Caboose next. Then I’ll call Wash. I know you need your Hug Bug.”

“Shut up,” Church says around a mouthful of what looks like white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Still, she catches the last bit of tension easing in his shoulders at the promise. They both know Caboose will charge over here as soon as Church explains what happened.

Actually, probably everyone will rush over. At least there’s dessert for everyone.

Carolina takes a deep breath and dials. Above her, she can hear Grif’s sister yell.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN’T REALIZE IT UNTIL THE TRUTH SPELL? YOU KISSED! YOU KISSED!”

“Carolina?” York says, warm and pleased in Carolina’s ear.

She feels herself go slightly pink. She ignores Church’s smirk as she coughs and says, “Hi, York. How, um, how was your vacation?”

“Oh, pretty good. Can’t beat Thanksgiving stuffing. How was yours?”

Carolina huffs out a breath. She looks at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to explain even as Simmons yells something back at Grif’s sister upstairs.

“Okay. So. Everything’s fine now, but, uh, it’s been a long weekend….”