Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
After we make the Assembly deeply uncomfortable, the girls take their seats beside their partners. The shifters—never combative to begin with—remain watchful and silent.
The vampires, taking their cue from their Grand Master, back down—predatory stillness replacing the earlier flare of temper.
Fred flashes me a grin and gives me two thumbs-up.
Beryl, evidently bored now that the drama has dipped, dozes across Fred’s lap as if none of this concerns her in the slightest.
The Ministry of Magic, however, is not finished with me.
Even though Lander looks ready to throw down, the councillors press on with their questions. One mage in particular, Councillor Reep, is relentless, pelting me with sharp, accusatory queries as if volume might substitute for proof.
“Did you, at any point, intend to undermine the authority of the Ministry?”
“Did you knowingly conceal the presence of dangerous magic from us?”
“Did you tamper with the memories of Ministry staff?”
“Intention is difficult to quantify,” I reply evenly. “But I can tell you what I did—and why.”
I fold my hands on the lectern so he cannot see them tremble. The wood is smooth beneath my palms. “I prevented a soul transfer spell from coming to fruition, stopped a massacre, and ensured the knowledge of that spell died with the people who tried to use it.”
Murmurs ripple through the hall, a low tide of unease.
“And the memory tampering?” Councillor Reep presses, eyes bright with self-satisfaction. “You admit that was deliberate?”
“Yes,” I say. “So no one else could recreate what was done to me.”
“You see?” He sweeps a hand towards the other councillors, theatrical. “She admits to repeated use of highly specialised, uncontrolled magic without Ministry oversight. She wipes minds at will. How can anyone here pretend she is safe?”
Oh, look at that. It seems I have my first volunteer. Councillor Reep forgets that in any room, knowledge is the ultimate power.
While I answer, I split off a fragment of myself. Inwardly, filaments unfurl, slipping through the Ministry’s records like threads through cloth. That part of me sifts through documents and names, hunting quietly for what I need.
Councillor Reep does not stop talking.
“Do you deny,” he continues, “that you restrained my colleagues in a manner designed to humiliate and terrorise them?”
“I deny that humiliation was my goal,” I reply. “My goal was to stop them from killing me.”
Across the hall, Riker snorts. Even the Alpha Prime’s mouth twitches, the smallest betrayal of amusement. Lark glares at Councillor Reep like she is measuring the distance to his jaw.
Councillor Reep ignores it, leaning forward, knuckles white on the desk edge. “You are too powerful to be allowed to operate without strict supervision. You pick and choose which laws you obey. You have already admitted to deceiving Councillor Kane.”
Guilt flares, sharp and familiar—but I do not let it show. I keep my face composed, chin lifted.
“You have broken more laws than any of us know,” he goes on. “Who is to say you won’t do so again the moment we relax our guard? Who is to say you aren’t lying now?”
While he sharpens every question into a knife, my detached fragment finds it.
There.
A chain of messages. Encrypted, but not to me. I see Meredith’s name, then Councillor Reep’s. Dates. Times. References to “the island,” to “the house,” to “paperweights in position.”
Everything I need.
Now that my face mirrors my emotions, it is hard not to smile. I keep my expression neutral; only the slightest tilt of my head betrays that anything has changed.
“With respect, Councillor Reep,” I say, “I am not the one who organised a covert raid on a neutral island and authorised the use of illegal magic.”
He stiffens, colour rising in blotches. “What are you implying?”
I lift my hand.
Paper answers the call with a soft, whispering rush. New folders appear in front of every leader—everyone but him.
A hush falls as people flip them open. The sound of pages turning is suddenly deafening in the quiet.
“Councillor Timothy Reep,” I say mildly, “the rest of the attendees now have access to your private correspondence with Councillor Meredith Jackson. You are implicated in both the attack on my home and the assault on the paper mages’ island.”
For a breath, he freezes. Then he surges to his feet, face mottled red. “This is an outrage. Fabrication—”
A nearby shifter simply plants a firm hand on his shoulder and forces him back down, rumbling a low growl.
Pages rustle as faction heads read. The human representatives go pale. The vampires’ eyes glitter with cold interest. Knox’s mouth curls in a very unkind smile.
“Verify this,” Dayna orders, already on her feet, raising the documents. Her voice carries—crisp, controlled, and utterly unimpressed. “Now. I want a full authenticity check—origin, timestamps, routing. Everything.”
She beckons an aide.
“For the record, this is highly irregular.” The aide snatches the paperwork and bolts.
The questioning continues while we wait, though it has lost its edge. The other councillors’ questions turn cautious, measured; no one wants to sound too much like Councillor Reep.
Within fifteen minutes, the aide returns, strides straight to Dayna, leans in, and murmurs in her ear. Dayna flips through the marked pages, expression icy.
She glances at Lander and gives a single, sharp nod.
“It’s all true,” she announces. “Fully verified. Origin signatures match Councillor Reep’s personal devices. The routing is consistent with internal Ministry channels. Nothing has been altered.”
A ripple passes through the hall—shock, anger, and something like grim satisfaction.
The shifter delegation goes utterly still—the kind of stillness that means violence is only a breath away. A couple of vampires smile with their teeth, and the human reps look like they might be sick.
Lander rises slowly, smoothing his sleeves. His movements are precise, almost elegant. Despite the wards that dampen his magic, the air changes—tightens. It hums as though a wire has been pulled taut and is about to snap.
“Councillor Kane—” someone begins.
Without a word, he stalks across the hall. Councillor Reep half-rises, spluttering protests, but Lander gets there first. He fists a hand in the councillor’s collar and hauls him bodily to his feet.
“You—you have no authority—” Councillor Reep yelps, thrashing.
“On the contrary,” Lander says, voice calm and deadly. “Conspiracy to break the treaty. Collusion with a rogue councillor. Authorising illegal magic on neutral ground. I’ve got more authority than you’re going to like.”
This is the man they thought they could point at me like a weapon.
He marches the councillor up the aisle. A couple of guards hurry to fall in step, but it is Lander who does the dragging, ignoring the man’s flailing limbs. Councillor Reep kicks once, stumbles, and is all but carried the rest of the way.
At the doors, Lander glances back over his shoulder, eyes briefly finding mine.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he calls, tone almost light. “I have some internal affairs to attend to.”
The doors swing shut behind them with a satisfying thud.