Vivian invited Oliver to speak, and he laid a hand on his amulet as if covering his heart. “You offered her a job, if I remember correctly,” the highest-ranking member of the coven stated. “Perhaps this is a ploy to get yourself a black witch on your payroll, Mr. Kalamack. A legalized black witch who you think is…good at heart.”

The auditorium buzzed, and from the front row came Jenks’s high-pitched “Go to hell, Oliver! Rachel isn’t working for no scummy politician!”

Vivian gestured to the bell, sending a clear pinging out to silence the crowd. “If I may bring the conversation back to what we’re here for?” she said when they quieted.

Oliver leaned over to look at her. “And just what is that, Vivian, if not holding witches accountable to our laws? Laws that have kept us safe for thousands of years?”

Trent was walking toward me, a faint smile on his face as he sat in the rickety folding chair beside mine. His expression was both confident and satisfied, and not any of it was from Lucy babbling in his arms. Something was up, and I probably wasn’t going to like it. “You took advantage of this to find out if I was a good witch?” I said softly. “And you wonder why I don’t like you?”

“See the course through,” he said, careful to keep from touching his amulet. “There will be hell to pay, but I will see you back on this side of the lines before I’m done. Trust me.”

Frustrated, I sat and crossed my arms over my chest.

Vivian had taken the floor, and slowly the crowd became quiet. “Rachel Morgan and Gordian Pierce knowing black magic is only part of the issue here,” she said, head rising to take in the edges of the room. Her voice had taken on the cadence of a storyteller, and I fidgeted. “This is more than a trial of black witchcraft, but a question of how far we allow accepted morality to stretch to maintain the public safety. Two days ago, I was sent to watch Rachel on her journey here. Two days ago, I was certain that black magic, under any circumstances, was grounds for shunning.”

Oliver leaned forward, eager for the kill. “And now…,” he drawled.

She hesitated, took a breath, then let it out. “Oliver, we’re in trouble,” she said, her voice heavy with concern. It was as if she was speaking to him alone, and I felt a stab of alarm for what might come out of her mouth. “Rachel wasn’t the reason the arch fell,” she said, then, for all the good it did, held up a hand against the rising crowd.

“It fell because of salt-dissolving adhesive?” Oliver muttered, but his voice was completely overwhelmed by the crowd’s noise. Beside me, Pierce grimaced, trying to look positive but coming across as ill. To my other side, Trent was stone faced. I couldn’t tell if this was part of his plan or not. On his lap, Lucy was falling asleep, the bright lights and heat hitting her hard.