…..CHAPTER 16…..
October 30th
Isaac woke to the sounds of yelling. “Catch him! Follow him and catch him. And for god’s sake, don’t forget the tranquilizer gun!” Dad’s voice snarled.
Isaac sat up from the backseat of the limo, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Dad?”
He powered the window back up. “Go back to sleep, son,” Dad growled from where he sat by the window, his head moving around to try to see better out the window. “Lay back down.”
Isaac obeyed about laying down, but he was too wide awake now. The limo periodically rolled forward and stopped. They were keeping pace with something.
Someone.
Ah. A witch hunt. Dad’s men had found one.
Outside the vehicle he heard, barely because of the near full soundproofing, excited voices. The limo rocked suddenly, and Isaac found himself slipping on the smooth leather, head-first into the wooden wall. “Ow,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his head.
“Back us off the mound, Herbert!”
The limo reversed, and settled. Isaac looked at Dad again, saw the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
Five minutes later, the door opened and Dad motioned to someone outside.
An unconscious boy was tossed unceremoniously onto the carpet of the limo between their feet, a puddle of unnaturally loose limbs, wild blonde hair too long, scrawny, clothes worn. His bruised face lay slack from whatever drug they’d hit him with. Isaac stared at him, horror and a pang of personal fear touching his spine like fingers of ice.
He was just a boy. And he wasn’t much older than him.
Isaac sucked in a sharp breath. He looked up at Dad in shock. “That’s a witch?”
Dad’s eyes were on the boy with undisguised greed. “Indeed. At last we have him. He’s a powerful one, that got away. Take us home, Herbert. We’ll drop Isaac off and then head to the catchment.”
“Of course, sir,” Herbert said mildly.
Isaac opened his mouth to protest. “But Daddy, I want to see the catch…”
“No. It’s late already, and your mother is worried.”
Isaac came out of the dream/memory with a curse. “Goddammit. No wonder…” he whispered. He opened his eyes to the ceiling, with a furious scowl. The boy. The witch agent Oliver. Fuck! He hadn’t had the sense of familiarity until after he’d released the witches at the catchment. After he’d had time to calm down and think about that witch waving for him to just go, take the witches he’d managed to rescue, and leave.
Had Oliver recognized him? He hadn’t had a sense that the man had, but who knew? Being a Tame, he was probably quite used to deceit. Isaac ignored the little niggle of guilt at that thought.
And then he sighed. Dillon was rubbing off on him. So Isaac unpacked that guilt. True, Oliver was a federal witch, and he likely had to keep shit to himself, and probably had to lie through his teeth during situations Isaac had no clue about. But Oliver was also working to find catchments and other illegal witch activities to remove abused witches from dangerous and terrible situations.
Isaac smiled wryly. Being in a catchment himself, no doubt this was Oliver’s way of lancing his own wounds.
Isaac’s smile shifted into a cold grimace. Who knew that his and the Tame witch’s goal was the same? And what was up with them crossing paths in a similar situation years later? He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or whatever the hell people called it.
Kipling was behind bars. His dream had come true at last. Well, mostly. He’d prefer the old man was dead, but time would take care of that soon enough, he supposed. It was Gregory that Isaac worried about. For all his patience and subservience to his father, Gregory was ready to assume the Kipling throne, and he’d done everything he could to secure his place. Not that his place was in danger. But Gregory had consolidated his hold.
Scrubbing his face with a growl, Isaac rose and glanced at the clock. Almost six in the morning. Nearly time to get up anyway. He headed for the shower with a grim smile.
Today would be a big day. He was going to the courthouse. He was going to see them in their chains and orange jumpsuits… The arraignment was today, and he couldn’t wait.
Braden Kipling was finally going down, and his family was going with him.
God he missed his brother and sister. So much.
Isaac stood in front of his closet, staring blankly at his clothes, dripping from his shower and not caring. His mind whirled. Could he do this?
Should he do this?
Shrugging aside his misgivings Isaac picked out a pair of light gray slacks, dark gray shirt, navy blue tie with light gray diagonal stripes, and his black dress shoes. Checking himself in the mirror, he nodded. He looked bland, inconspicuous. He reached out to snag his fedora and plopped it on his head.
Perfect. He’d be able to conceal his features just by tilting his head down. Kipling likely wouldn’t recognize him anyway, but better to be careful.
He ignored the niggling voice of conscience that said if he really wanted to be inconspicuous, he wouldn’t go at all.
With his matching suit jacket and his khaki overcoat over that, he looked like a law-school student or a young lawyer.
“Hey Wallace, can I borrow your car?”
“Sure man. I don’t work today. Have it back by five, though. I have a date.”
“Can it be more like six? I don’t know when he’s going before the court, or how long it’ll take.”
Wallace scowled at him. “No. I’ve been trying to pin Cassie down on a time and day, and she just agreed. You’re not gonna fuck that up for me.”
Isaac gritted his teeth. “Alright. I’ll have it back by five.”
Wallace nodded. “If you don’t, I know where you sleep.”
“I’m not scared of you, Air boy,” he said with a grin.
Wallace grinned back. “Forgetting that Fire can’t live without Air?”
“Forgetting that witch Fire doesn’t need Air to survive?”
Wallace rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Have fun.”
“Fun, right,” he muttered and snatched up the keys to the car.
Just before the door closed behind him, Wallace hollered, “and grab some milk and eggs on the way home, loser!”
Nerves jangled through his whole body the entire way to the courthouse. He parked in the nearest parking structure, paid the fee, and hurried down to the entrance, phone in hand, pretending to stare at it importantly. He was really good at staring at his phone as a disguise. So difficult, staring at my phone, he thought with a smirk. He amused himself sometimes.
Isaac asked for directions to the proper courtroom, made his way there. Since it was high profile—besides being federal level shit—a courtroom had been set aside for this trial. That didn’t mean other cases weren’t heard in the room, just that this case was always in one location, and there were a lot of armed men, cameras, and even a police dog.
Isaac approved. Even if it made every hair on his body rise in anxiety of being discovered.
He spent the morning being bored out of his mind.
How the fuck did anyone survive law school? He wanted to claw his ears off and his eyes out. The drone of lawyers, the back and forth between them, the judge…it was enough for Isaac to need a drink. Full alcohol. No shots shit, pour him a full goddamn glass. Or three.
Lunch came and went. It wasn’t until nearly three that Isaac heard the bailiff calling for Braden Kipling.
Isaac carefully didn’t tense up, didn’t bother looking up yet, played it casual. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old man brought into the room.
Rage ignited inside. He had to rein it in fast and hard before he allowed himself to slowly look up and around, expression bland. He saw Kipling, then ducked his head once more, watching him under the brim of his hat.
A woman to his right gave him a scowl, which he ignored. Yeah lady, I’m an asshole that doesn’t take his hat off inside. Sue me, since we’re in the right place for it.
Isaac stared at the man in the thousand dollar suit. He might be restricted to a jail cell, but he was allowed to dress up for his arraignment. How fucked up was that? No one else was allowed to get dolled up and show their best face, why should he? The fucker should be in orange, with not only handcuffs, but leg shackles.
God. These people of the court would shit their pants if they knew what Kipling was capable of. It was academic to them, that Braden Kipling had killed people. They all thought the man had ordered hits or some shit.
They didn’t know Kipling’s hands were bloody in every sense of the word.
Isaac listened as the lawyers did their dance. He stewed and steamed, every instinct aching to lash out at the old man, his hatred and grief consuming all his urges toward discretion and self-preservation.
“Court date set for…”
Isaac didn’t hear it, focused on Kipling with rage and loathing in his soul.
For one second, his hands flashed red.
Isaac leaped up and strode from the courtroom, head down toward his uplifted phone. He wasn’t sure how he maintained his cover, but he did.
He hoped no one had seen his magic. Isaac doubted it, or someone would’ve said something.
Dropping down into the seat of the car, he gripped the steering wheel, the creak of the leather cover mingled with the sounds of his uneven breathing.
Kipling was in jail. He had to remember that. These last few days of wearing a suit, of finding a bit of freedom from his cell by going to court…it was all just counting the minutes until Braden Kipling was behind bars. Permanently.
Maybe then Marcus and Ariana could rest in peace.