The lawyer stood behind her worn wooden desk. “The prosecution calls Xiander Mavereau.”
A man rose from the front row and swept towards the witness stand. His lean-lined black suit was flat as a shadow. Dark hair started at a sharp widow’s peak and flowed down his back in a long fall like a deep river. Scott paled a shade and his lawyer leaned over to him.
“What’s wrong, Scott? We better not have anything to worry about from this guy. You said that you took care of it,” the thin-nosed public defender whispered.
“I did!” Scott hissed back.
The prosecutor paced just before the witness box. “Mister Mavereau, you are the court-appointed necromancer. I’ve provided you with samples of the girl’s blood and hair. Have you completed the final sight ritual?”
“I have,” said the necromancer with a small, professional nod.
“And can you please tell the court what you saw?”
“Yes, I can.”
Scott sat bolt upright in his hard oak chair. “But he can’t! I poured a ring of salt around her body,” he breathed. “Totally unbroken!”
His lawyer shot Scott a venomous look. “It’s supposed to be ground marble, you jackass. You watch too many movies.”
