I hate questioning wizards. They sit there in the witness box and give me that look: that raised-eyebrow, upturned-lip sneer that says they'd sooner alter their clocks than give me the time of day. My boss reclines in his corner office and laughs into his latte, but he can afford amusement. No wizard worth his wand fears another.
I'm worth every inch of mine, every dead inch. Mercen the Mundane, that's me. Blank as a wall and with far less to recommend him, as my criminal law professor once said. I always did like criminal law.
I take a deep breath and push my glasses up my nose.
"Mr Ambrose," I say, "are you acquainted with my client?"
The witness examines the ceiling. "Not personally, no."
"Had you met him previously?"
"Only in passing, at other seminars. I doubt he would remember me."
"So in other words..." I turn to face the jury. "He had no reason to attack you."
Silence. Several brows crease. At the far end of the bar table, Noakes stops twirling his wand.
I fix my eyes on Ambrose. "Well, Mr. Ambrose?" I say, the pitch of my voice raised.
Ambrose stares at me. I stare at him. He stares at me and I give a little wave of my wand. He doesn't know my wand is impotent.
"All right, you got me." Ambrose slumps in his seat. "We'd known each other for years. I did it. He caught me with his wife, took a swing at me and I turned him into a mailbox."
Being a wizard defense lawyer is too fucking easy.
Opening: Kerin.....Continuation: anon.