Crime Spells

“Gasoline?” I said, trying not to overplay my incredulousness. “Your Honor, Brickstone mansion was built of stone. Gasoline couldn’t burn that place down. Nor could it cause an explosion of the magnitude described in the other reports. I got assigned this case while Mr. Palmer was standing alone in front of Judge Lewandowski. I didn’t get the file until late last night. That’s why we’re here. If I’d had any of this information, I would have asked for dismissal then.”

Varona rolled her eyes. “Your Honor, Mr. Palmer is a very dangerous man-”

“If that’s true,” the judge said, “you should have waited until you had a real case before charging him. I’m going to drop all the charges against this poor man, and I’m going to instruct his attorney to get him to the hospital immediately.”

And the gavel came down.

Palmer turned to me. His mouth was open, and his eyes were wide. I’d never seen a man look so astonished.

“That,” he said, “was pure magic. You’re amazing.”

I shrugged. It was less egotistical than agreeing. Then I touched his arm. “You heard the judge. I have to make sure you get medical treatment.”

Palmer nodded. We walked out of the courtroom together, and I surreptitiously checked my watch. Another two hours before I had to be back. I actually could take the guy to get medical care.

Besides, the judge would probably check, so I wanted to be able to prove I’d followed instructions.

“You know,” I said as we walked down the stairs, “you might want to pull every favor you have and hire a good attorney. Because the prosecutor’s office will come after you again.”

“I’m not worried,” he said.

“Yesterday, you were ready to chuck it all.”

He smiled. “Yesterday I had no idea what a good defense lawyer can do.”

I permitted myself one small smile of satisfaction.

We walked in silence through the hallways that co

As we waited, Palmer turned to me. “You seem to love what you do.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Because you appreciate the challenge.” That sense I’d had of his intelligence came back. He’d seen through me faster than most did.

“Yes,” I said.

“Would you consider continuing to defend me?”

“If they charge you again, you can come to me,” I said, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Then I realized I already had a strategy in place. I’d work the evidence, and if that turned against us, then I’d get a few shrinks to examine the family history and Palmer himself and declare him mentally incompetent. He’d probably get time in a mental hospital or some outpatient counseling, but that wouldn’t necessarily be bad-if all those articles on his past had even a smidgeon of truth.

“Good,” he said. “Then you won’t mind handling the most difficult part of the case.”

And Lord help me, I thought he was still talking about the criminal case. Because egotistical me, I said, “The difficult part of any case is my favorite part.”

Which is how I ended up here in this glade, surrounded by willow trees and strong oak and all sorts of green plants I don’t recognize. A place where the breeze is warm and smells of roses, and the little creatures who bring me food and drink have human faces and multicolored wings.

You see, the most difficult part of the case is arguing to get Palmer’s magic back. Apparently, the magical world has laws and rules and regulations just like ours. And while there isn’t jail per se, there are worse punishments, like taking away someone’s magical abilities.

Palmer is Chicagoland’s greatest wizard. He can wave a wand and bring down lightning from the sky to ignite a puddle of magically enhanced gasoline to destroy a mansion made of stone. (And yes, I checked just before I got whisked here. There was a lightning storm that night.)

It seems no one here cares that Palmer destroyed the house. They’re not even that upset that he managed to kill the beings inside, which were-if the files I have scattered across the grass are to be believed-dragons that could assume human form.

Seems the dragons had a plan to steal every treasure in the City of Chicago, starting with the contents of the Art Institute but ending with very human treasure like the Chicago Bears-the actual team members, not the team ownership. When dragons steal a city’s treasure, they don’t move it. They just take over the city. Chicago would have been a haven for evil-that’s what Palmer says-and after seeing the folks who run the magical justice system, I’m inclined to believe him.

Not that I have to. I just have to defend him. I have to make the case that even though he used his magic injudiciously and caused sixteen deaths and-worse, under magic laws-called attention to himself in the nonmagical world, he was justified in doing so.

Palmer’s right; this is the most difficult part of the case. Not to make the argument-I’m great at argument. But to understand the stupid magical laws. I have to know the system before I can beat it.

Which is why his magical friends dumped me here, in this glade which is run by faeries. And what I didn’t know at first was these faeries are the kind Rip Van Winkle ran into on his famous night of bowling and carousing. These folks control time. They make it go slow or they speed it up.

Palmer promises me I’ll have all the time in the world to do my research. I won’t lose a day of my life. I’ll be here, I’ll make my arguments, I’ll win my case (I’d better, considering what these people can do), and then I’ll go home as if nothing’s happened.

Of course, I’ll be a little older, a little grayer, a little paunchier. They can’t completely negate the effects of time on a human being.

But, as Palmer says, now at least I’ll know how people seem to age overnight.

As if that’s supposed to cheer me up while I sit here in sunshine-filled hell, eating the best food and drinking tea by the gallon, reading parchment and watching tiny replays of arguments made through the ages.

And I do mean ages.

Magic has existed a long, long time. Longer than the United States. Longer than the Magna Carta. Longer than England or the Roman Empire or ancient Greece.

Our laws aren’t based on Greek conventions or English common law. They’re a modification-an improvement (believe me)-of magical law.

Which just makes it all the more confusing.

And, I’m told, defense attorneys aren’t required here. So no one goes into that side of the magical legal system.

After reviewing one-one-thousandth of the documentation before me, I can see why. It’s hard to defend these people against anything. And not just because of the convoluted law, but because of all the things they’ve done.

Fortunately for Palmer, I’m not one of those liberal-hippie types who gets appalled when his client is actually guilty. I’m not in this to provide a fair trial. I’m in this to provide the best defense I possibly can.

Because I like to argue, and I like to win against impossible odds.

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.