Tealight candles glowed with lit flames around the witness bench.  It smelled of warm incense and sweet vanilla throughout the courtroom as the vampires in the gallery leaned in, eager to see their witness materialize. 

Wynter had provided one of her grandfather’s old coats to place on the witness box, as every summoning needed something that had once belonged to the deceased if they could not use their remains.  Gwyneira rested a gentle hand on Wynter’s shoulder as their expert medium prepared the summoning spell.  It never was easy to bring forth the dead from their resting place, but with the family’s permission, she’d convinced them that their grandfather stood the greatest chance at helping them.

The sworn-in expert, Camilla Oakheart, connected the candles placed on the floor with lines of salt before cutting her index finger to seal it with drops of her blood.  Summoning the dead always required blood of the living.  

Potent energy swept across the courtroom with Camilla’s incarnation.  A silvery green mist encased her body as she cast the spell, and slowly, an opaque figure emerged from the plume of forest-hued embers.  Although still opaque, Mr. Blackthorn’s ghost was as vivid as the rest of them there.  Honestly, he had a touch more color to his ghostly form than some of the vampires in the gallery.

“Mr. Blackthorn.” Gwyneria approached the witness box.  “Forgive me for disturbing you this chilly night.  I know I’m not the only one who has kept you from resting.”

Mr. Blackthorn adjusted his black bowler hat as he cautiously perused the gallery of vampires before him.  He wore the black pinstripe suit that they’d buried him in, as Wynter had claimed it to be one of his favorites.  “All is forgiven, dear.  I’m well aware of why I was summoned here tonight.  Those bloodsuckers ripped my corpse right out of the grave.” He pointed a ghostly finger in the direction of Mr. Caldwell’s two clients.  

“Objection, Your Honor!” Mr. Caldwell sprung out of his seat, and Gwyneira swore steam was coming out of his very reddened, curved ears.  “Mr. Blackthorn could not have seen who stole his corpse from beyond the grave.  He only wishes to help his granddaughter win an unjust settlement.  There’s no way his claims can be proven either.”

 

Hushed whispers filled the courtroom, enough that Judge Valdine had to use her gavel to silence them.  It wasn’t everyday that the vamps witnessed a ghost testify, and Gwyneira knew it was sure to perk their interest.  While Judge Valdine’s opinion was the only one that truly mattered, Gwyneira was all too aware of how important those of the gallery could be too

Vampires had influence amongst each other.  Even Judge Valdine knew that if every vamp in the gallery behind them believed Mr. Caldwell’s clients’ guilt, she’d make a fool of herself to rule in favor of them.  What more proof could she offer than the dead himself pointing his finger at the owners of Hallowgate Cemetery?

Unfortunately, Gwyneira knew it wasn’t enough proof to charge them with desecrating a corpse. Or illegally selling it.  But at the very least, she could make them pay a hefty fine for allowing them to misplace him.  She hoped in the next few weeks the detectives would find a lead on his missing corpse, even if they only uncovered parts of him.  

Gwyneira cringed to imagine what had happened to poor Mr. Blackthorn.  She was relieved enough that his spirit had no clue either and couldn't even pinpoint where his body had gone.  Looking back at the counsel table where Wynter sat, squeezing her husband tightly, her heart tightened to think about the bat cops flying to their door to deliver the news of finding Grandpa Blackthorn’s remains.  

It had to be hard enough to lose him before, and now, it had to be like reopening old wounds of grief that were starting to heal.

Mr. Caldwell didn’t bother to cross-examine Grandpa Blackthorn, which Gwyneira found quite interesting. She had anticipated him to try proving he had no genuine proof that his clients had any knowledge about what had happened to his body.  Perhaps he realized there was no point in arguing it.  Not when they had the literal ghost of the stolen corpse telling them all plain as day that the Night brothers had unearthed him.

Not long after Mr. Blackthorn testified, Judge Valdine made her ruling.  The owners of Hallowgate Cemetery were held responsible for the loss of Mr. Blackthorn and had to pay a hefty fee.  They also had to hire proper security for the morning and night shift to prevent any other corpses from vanishing off the property.  Judge Valdine gave them a week to hire on the new help, even generously offering them a list of potential employers for the job. 

Gwyneira considered it a win in her book.  

Although they hadn’t a clue of where Mr. Blackthorn’s remains were, his spirit could rest slightly knowing that his family was well taken care of.  She really hoped the bat cops on the case could return him to his proper grave, where he belonged, but a dreaded inkling told her it was unlikely they’d ever find his remains if they truly were sold on the black market.

After Camilla returned Mr. Blackthorn to the afterlife to which he belonged, Wynter and her husband prepared to head out.  Gwyneira ensured they both still had their ID cards on them, as they’d still be effective on their trip home as well.  She ignored the belligerent Night brothers who flashed their fangs at her when she walked by with her briefcase bag in tow.  Of course, Nightshade had no qualms about showing her sharp teeth either and offered them a hiss in parting.

Gwyneira would be sure to give her extra treats for that whenever they got back to the office.

“Ms. Grimheart? If I could spare a moment of your time.” Mr. Bloodworth pushed off the wall he’d blended like a shadow into, those piercing crimson eyes burning a hole right through her.  He offered a polite enough smile.  

“What is it?  Make it quick because I’m about to head out.” Gwyneira walked ahead of him, but with his agile vampire speed he’d already reached the door and propped it open for her.  

“Of course, I know you’re a busy woman.” Mr. Bloodworth slowed his silent steps to match her pace, keeping a respectful amount of distance between them as they crossed down the corridor.  “A little birdie whispered in my ear during court about a new vampire client you’ve taken on.”

“Is that so?” Gwyneira’s heartbeat quickened, and she hoped he hadn’t picked up on it.  “You know all about attorney-client privilege, correct?  So you know I can’t divulge much else to you.”

“There’s no need.  I wouldn’t ask you to break the sacred oath you’ve taken here. I know how you witches tend to uphold your laws and morals.”

“Then why bother to ask?” 

“Criminal cases and vampire clients aren’t really your expertise, are they now?  Let me offer a favor and take Emrys Hawthorn off your hand.” That polite smile had curved into a predatory smirk, one that warned her he wasn’t merely asking as a favor.

“What do you know about Emrys Hawthorn?” Suspicion laced her voice.  

“Everything.  Likely more than you do.”

“Why do you care?” Gwyneira asked with a deepening frown.

Mr. Bloodworth raked a hand through his short, wavy black locks.  “A favor of the family.  Like you, I also value attorney-client privilege.”

So, it was the Hawthorn family that had hired him.  Very interesting.  It also begged the question of what in the hells had Emrys gotten himself into?  If such an esteemed attorney like Bloodworth was offering his assistance, she couldn’t imagine why Emrys wouldn’t want to accept.  

“Next time I see Mr. Hawthorn, I’ll pass on the information that you’re willing to take him on as a client.”

“Do you happen to know where he’s staying by chance?” Mr. Bloodworth asked.  “His father and brother are quite worried about him.  He was staying at that sleazy inn, the Sleeping Bat, I believe?  But apparently he hasn’t come back since the cops investigated.”

“Sorry, but I’m not sure.  He’d mentioned something about staying with someone for a while, but he didn’t give me any address or further details.” Gwyneira lied so effortlessly. 

It was a bit thrilling, if she were entirely honest with herself, but she blamed Emrys and his reprehensible fangs for rubbing off on her like that. Lying to a notorious vampire prosecutor would do her no favors. 

“I see.” Mr. Bloodworth nodded, lips pursing in a tight frown. “I know you like helping people, Gwynevere.  But trust me, Emrys Hawthorn is not a vamp you wish to soil your good name for.” 

“Well, I certainly appreciate your concern for my good name, Mr. Bloodworth.” Gwyneira clenched her briefcase bag close to her chest. “But I really must get going now. So if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside, but as she walked away, she felt his burning glare on her backside. 

Why in the devil did Mr. Bloodworth care so much about Emrys? Or better yet, how much had his family paid him to pretend like he cared?