The judge threw his plume on the table, agitated. Judge Malika fixed her frown on Taran. “What did you say?”
Nobody flashed a vixen grin better than Taran. “I said, ‘I’m not a witch. Ass. Hole.’”
Emme whimpered, ready to hurl from the stress. Shayna giggled and threw an arm around Taran. “She’s just kidding, dude!”
No. Taran didn’t kid. Hell, she didn’t even know any knock-knock jokes. She shrugged off Shayna, unwilling to back down. She wouldn’t listen to Shayna. But she would listen to me.
“Just answer the question, Taran.”
The muscles on Taran’s jaw tightened, but she did as I asked. “I make fire, light—”
“Fire-breather.” Captain Personality wrote quickly.
“I’m not a—”
He cut her off. “Shayna Wird?”
“Well, dude, I throw knives—”
“Knife thrower,” he said, ready to get this little meet-and-greet over and done with.
Shayna did throw knives. That was true. She could also transform pieces of wood into razor-sharp weapons and manipulate alloys. All she needed was metal somewhere on her body and a little focus. For her safety, though, “knife thrower” seemed less threatening.
“And you, Emme Wird?”
“Um. Ah. I can move things with my mind—”
“Gypsy,” the half-wit interpreted.
I supposed “telekinetic” was too big a word for this idiot. Then again, unlike typical telekinetics, Emme could do more than bend a few forks. I sighed. Tigress, fire-breather, knife thrower, and Gypsy. We sounded like the headliners for a freak show. All we needed was a bearded lady. That’s what happens when you’re the bizarre products of a backfired curse.
Misha glanced at us quickly before stepping forward once more. “I will present Mr. Hank Miller and Mr. Timothy Brown as witnesses—” Taran exhaled dramatically and twirled her hair like she was bored. Misha glared at her before finishing. “I do not doubt justice will be served.”
Judge Zhahara Nadim, who resembled more of an Egyptian queen than someone who should be stuffed into a powdered wig, surprised me by leering at Misha like she wanted his head for a lawn ornament. I didn’t know what he’d done to piss her off; yet knowing we weren’t the only ones hated brought me a strange sense of comfort. She narrowed her eyes at Misha, like all predators do before they strike, and called forward someone named “Destiny.” I didn’t know Destiny, but I knew she was no vampire the moment she strutted onto the dais.
I tried to remain impassive. However, I really wanted to run away screaming. Short of sporting a few tails and some extra digits, Destiny was the freakiest thing I’d ever seen. Not only did she lack the allure all vampires possessed, but her fashion sense bordered on disastrous. She wore black patterned tights, white strappy sandals, and a hideous black-and-white polka-dot turtleneck. I guessed she sought to draw attention from her lime green zebra-print miniskirt. And, my God, her makeup was abominable. Black kohl outlined her bright fuchsia lips, and mint green shadow ringed her eyes.
“This is a perfect example of why I don’t wear makeup,” I told Taran.
Taran stepped forward with her hands on her hips. “How the hell is she a witness? I didn’t see her at the club that night! And Lord knows she would’ve stuck out.”
Emme trembled beside me. “Taran, please don’t get us killed!”
I gave my youngest sister’s hand a squeeze. “Steady, Emme.”
Judge Malika called Misha’s two witnesses forward. “Mr. Miller and Mr. Brown, which of you gentlemen would like to go first?”
Both “gentlemen” took one gander at Destiny and scrambled away from her. It was never a good sign when something scared a vampire. Hank, the bigger of the two vamps, shoved Tim forward.