The People v. Eleanor Warwick

The thick, clear plastic does nothing to obscure the blue glow within it.

Agent Grey turns the Stone over inside the evidence bag. She can feel warmth on her skin as she traces the rune carved into its surface with her fingertip. It seems rather insignificant as she holds it in her palm. She knows better, of course. It’s an item of tremendous power.

The agency sought a Tempus Stone for quite some time. Some of their experts believe they can use it to neutralize dangerous wizards, and they declared Eleanor Warwick their test subject. Is she really that dangerous? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It doesn’t matter. She’s well known. All wizards in the city would take notice of what they do to her.

From her seat in the SUV, Grey keeps watch on the police blockade around House Warwick. They have been at it for hours and the locals are getting restless. She can sympathize at least a little. She’s kept them largely in the dark, with no idea as to why they can’t breach the House and take the occupants out. A hostage situation is unlikely seeing as how no one is trying to negotiate. The uniforms are left standing about in the cold for, what seems to them, is no good reason.

Her new right-hand man, with Henderson on the bench, steps up to the open vehicle door. A balding man follows behind him with a Class A uniform and a disgruntled expression. “Ma’am, Chief McAdams is here to speak with you.”

Setting the stone to the side, Grey zips up her thick jacket and climbs down from the lofty vehicle. McAdams barely waits for her feet to touch the ground before pouncing. “Just how long do you people plan to block off Riverside and make my men stand in the freezing cold?”

“As long as we need to.”

The non-committal answer only serves to bristle the chief of police. His eyes burn, but he keeps his voice professional. “The Mayor wants this street cleared by morning.”

“I’m sure he does.”

Again, Chief McAdams struggles with what’s left of his composure. “Let me rephrase that: Have this street cleared by morning.”

Agent Grey does not so much as twitch at the command. “I will maintain this blockade as long as I have to and you, the Mayor, and your officers will help us every way you can.”

Poise lost, the chief’s temper flares. “You fuckin’ Feds always think you can waltz in here and start bossing us around! We’ll be taking this to your superiors!”

“As you wish.”

The agent’s passive glare in the face of his outrage maddens him. “Who are you with? FBI? NSA? Who do you answer to?”

“I answer directly to the United States Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

Most are intimidated when learning how high up the federal ladder her superiors reside. Chief McAdams, however, offers a self-satisfied smirk. “Is that right? Well, the Senator who chairs that committee just so happens to be from Carmadie. The Mayor is a friend of his.”

“Then perhaps you should go waste his time and stop wasting mine,” the agent answers with a level tone.

A scowl replaces his smirk. McAdams turns on his heels and storms away. Grey watches him leave with slightly narrowing eyes. Her assistant steps up beside her. “The committee’s going to side with them, ma’am. They aren’t going to let us block off a major street forever.”

“I know,” she responds without looking at him, “but they won’t have to. Warwick won’t be able to stay in there for long. Her psychology won’t allow it. As long as there are bad things happening out here that she might be able to prevent, she won’t be able to stay hidden.”

The experience is disturbingly familiar.

Eleanor stands over the bed as Jessie stares at the ceiling with painful eyes. She and Henry both slowly move their palms along the hellblood’s frame. They don’t touch her, but their detection spells scan and probe her body. Marvin paces back and forth at the foot of the bed, wringing his hands in tension.

The problem is quickly obvious, but both wizards thoroughly inspect the situation before looking up at each other. Henry’s face is grim, telling Eleanor without a word he identified the problem and it’s exactly as bad as she thought. Their impatient patient does not miss their silent exchange.

Jessie sits up abruptly. “What? What the fuck is it?”

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Eleanor gently pushes her back down to the mattress. The lack of resistance she provides illustrates her weakened condition. “Lay down, Jessie. Relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax, Warwick!” she tries to shout with an increasingly weak, raspy voice. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

“As you may recall,” Henry begins, “your ritual had two parts: The introduction of the demon blood and the creation of magical protections within you.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“It was the part where they surrounded you,” Eleanor reminds. “The barriers are put in place to prevent the demon blood from burning through your body. As long as they are in place, the blood won’t have any serious effect on you. They’re tricky to apply properly. It’s the part of the hellblood ritual that usually fails.”

Jessie grasps Eleanor’s wrist and turns her eyes, creased with black veins, toward her. “Warwick. Just tell me what’s happening.”

The vulnerability in her voice is painful for Eleanor to hear. Her voice is usually edged with anger, sarcasm, or bitterness. It’s a voice that could be hard, threatening, and irritating. Eleanor would give anything to never hear Jessie’s voice that hollow again.

Placing her hand on Jessie’s, she tries to appear optimistic as she looks into her eyes. “The barriers are gone. Your blood is poisoning you.”

The reaction on Jessie’s face is angry, but it’s a false anger. The kind one uses to hide fear or sorrow. Even as her face twists into a scowl, Eleanor spots her lip tremble slightly.

“That bitch did this. The one you fuckin’ healed.”

Eleanor nods slowly as Jessie pulls her hand away. At least she isn’t in bad enough shape to stop swearing.

“So,” Marvin finally speaks, “how do we fix it?”

“Henry and I are going to need to look into that. Can you stay with her, Marvin?”

“Of course.” As the wizards make a hasty exit, Marvin takes a seat at Jessie’s bedside. Awkward silence follows, broken only by the hellblood’s labored breathing.

After a few quiet moments, Marvin looks her over with a distressed expression. He can’t help but wonder what might lie ahead for the two of them, whether there is any hope of their flirtations burgeoning into a relationship of some kind.

It’s a selfish thing to think about at the time, he admits, but nonetheless, it’s in his head. Slowly, Marvin reaches out and starts to slip his fingers around her hand.

“Don’t touch me.”

Despite the fragility in her voice, Marvin jerks his hand away as if he realized he’s reaching into the mouth of an alligator. “Sorry.”

Eleanor descends the stairs with the pace of a woman running away from something, while trying not to look like she is.

Henry follows her down, close at her heels. “I don’t know what we have to discuss, girl. There’s only one option here.”

“I can’t do it, Henry.”

“I’m not saying I’m looking forward to it, either,” he answers as they reached the foyer, “but it’s her only chance. We have to repeat the ritual.”

Eleanor stares at the floor. The prospects of making Jessie go through the most traumatic and painful experience of her life all over again nauseates her. “Can’t we skip to the part with the barriers?”

“You know we can’t. That’s not how rituals work. They have to be done in their entirety.”

“I can’t do that to her!” Henry only stares back in the face of his protégé’s sudden shout. Their eyes hold for a moment before Eleanor lowers her gaze. “I just…I can’t hurt her. Especially not like that.”

“I’m not sure I can either, girl,” Henry responds in a sympathetic tone. “It’s ghastly stuff. I mean, who can cause another person that kind of…”

Eleanor raises her eyes, wide with realization. Her mentor stares back, clearly coming to the same conclusion.

“She won’t.”

“She will.” Eleanor storms into the study and retrieves her phone. She quickly selects the number she seeks. “She has to.”