Casting a sidelong glance at the prosecutor, Addy rises to her feet. “This is the move for dismissal in the State vs Roger Acz case, your Honor.”

When the judge looks up from the file on his desk, Addy dons her Prepared and Helpful Lawyer smile and gestures modestly to the neat stacks before her. “We should be able to clear this whole matter up to your satisfaction before lunch, your Honor, and then you can get to the serious cases this afternoon.”

Ignoring the choked protest from the table to her right, she holds up a slim folder impressively tagged for easy perusal. “I believe this will give you a more organized overview. Bailiff, if you would be so kind?”

Judge Sedzia frowns down at the ream of papers scattered haphazardly in front of him and then at the elegant folder with its tantalizing file flags in bright colors. He gestures impatiently at the bailiff who scrambles to retrieve the file from the smiling lawyer.

Oh, he knows them. Of course he knows them. Julius knows them all like a rat knows its fleas, the light of ambition just as telltale as the stench of a wet dog in rainfall, the disappointment to follow the promise. He knows the good old boys and their good old ways, and he definitely knows their silly pins and postures and infinite capability for cocking up a case. Prosecution, defence, all coming to the same in the end, just depends on the pin and the posture’s particulars.

Julius knows them.

“Addy.”

She gives appearance of mild surprise beneath the professional demeanour. That makes sense. Julius likes to say as little as humanly possible in court. He doesn’t like court. Not even back when he actually liked things. Not the point.

With a gentle flick of movement, Julius gets out two fingers pointing to to adjacent jurors, keeping eye contact with Adrianne as he lightly taps his pocket with one hand to denote a membership pin and proceeds to very gently mime a slit throat.

That ought to get the point across nicely.

Most of the potential jury members seem some mixture of bored and annoyed. Solveig has seen that all too often, but she still can’t wrap her head around it. It’s jury duty! A chance to help justice! And these people look like they have better things to do. Like it was an inconvenience.

But to her relief, at least one or two seem to follow the proceedings with the necessary attention. Neatly turned out, proper in posture and almost eager in expression, these are people who have to care about justice being done. With as subtle a smile as she manages, she catches Ms Vogada’s eye, then nods slightly at them.

Rosa looks over the jury pool anxiously. One of them looks entirely too excited to be here, as if she is waiting for a play to begin. She’s a lady of middle age, with pinched features and a lipstick-smeared mouth that looks like it’s just tasted an old lime. Rosa rises diffidently and displays her arm-band identifying her as a member of the Defense team. Judge Sedzia bobs his head impatiently, turning his hand in a get on with it motion.

Rosa glances at her notes. “Mrs. Chisme, this case concerns accusations of adultery and murder. What do you think of that?”

Mrs. Chisme’s lips barely part. “I don’t like either of those things.”

Rosa’s eyes widen. “You don’t? I mean, of course you don’t. Wait…you don’t like adultery and murder?”

Mrs. Chisme shakes her head. “No, I don’t like that. Not one bit. My husband cheated on me, and also he was mysteriously murdered.”

“Oh my goodness!” Rosa says, flushing, putting one narrow hand on her throat. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry!”

The corner of the woman’s prunelike mouth quirks slightly. “I’m entirely over it by now. He’s long gone and good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Rosa’s heart is hurting at her image of this woman suffering from her twin agonies. If anything, she would suffer terribly by remaining through this trial, re-living through Mr. Adz’s plight her own experiences with a spouse who had run off with his lover and been murdered. It would just be too painful.

Certainly, Rosa feels it keenly. “So, would it be true to say that a case like that might cause you to relive painful memories?”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Chisme shifts in her seat. “I would relish the chance to revisit this point in my life.”

She looks like it, too. Rosa looks at the Defense table, trying to catch someone’s eye.

Last night had been a bit anxious for Adrianne as she had gone over all the things that might go wrong during the trial. Roger Acz is not the sort of client any attorney feel comfortable seeing on the witness stand. Between his nerves and his excessive sweating, he will not look good to jurors, no matter how much smoke she wafts over the mirrors she plans to hold up during the proceedings.

After a glass or two of Merlot, Addy had finally dug the special candles out of the box in the top of her closet. She had promised herself the last time that it would be just that but here she was again, breathing in the scent and waiting for the familiar voice of her spirit guide.

Aaaaadriaaaaane

The guttural sound as he breathed her name had made her shudder. “Don’t, Maurice! You know I hate that sort of thing.”

A throaty chuckle had irritated her, as it had been intended to do. “You need an ace up your sleeve, darlin’ an’ you need old Maurice to point ‘er out to you.”

The smugness in the cockney voice was nearly as hard to bear as the theatrics, but he had been right - she needed a tip and he was the only spirit guide she had. “Her? My key juror is a woman? How will I know her?”

“Oooo! In a bit of a state, you are! Months of ignorin’ yore old pal, an’ now you need sumfink it’s all business and be quick about it! That’s not manners, love, not a bit of it.”

So Addy had made small talk and listened to the spirit’s complaints about any and everyone he had ever met until she had been ready to scream. Finally, he had sighed and agreed that time and the candles were getting short and left her with an image of gray hair and gold spectacles.

“And she will be sympathetic to Roger and sway the others? You’re sure?”

“Would old Maurice steer you wrong, Addy? Ta, love!”

He had, she had reminded herself as she blew out the candles, on more than one occasion, but she was desperate.

And so, with her eye on the gray-haired Mrs. Stodkie, Addy misses the sneer and allows Mrs. Chisme to be seated.

Mortimer coughs and singles out a specific man from the jury. This guy looks like he’s a bit too awed by being a courthouse to begin with, as though he’s been personally given this great responsibility by divine right.

“You there, tell me something. Your kid’s teacher says magic users are five hundred times more likely to suffer from acne. Your kid doubts this and asks for proof, so she gets in trouble. Who would you say is right?”

The man thinks for a few seconds before nodding gravely. “The teacher, of course. I’m sure he’d know what he’s talking about.”

Mortimer raises an eyebrow. “Do you think magic users would be more likely to suffer from acne?”

“Ah, well, I… I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What if I told you magic users don’t have acne, ever?”

“I… is that true?”

Mortimer takes a deep breath. This man is clearly not qualified to be in a jury, and in his experience that’s a very low bar around these parts.

He elbows Adrianne. “That guy, he’s too stupid to exist. He’s going to believe anything they tell him. If we’re lucky, he holds everyone around for several extra hours trying to make up his mind.”