“Introduce yourself,” Julius said.
The man cleared his throat, and with a somewhat apologetic look at Professor Harding said, “My name is Doctor Karl Wainsworth, and I’m also a director at Bernstein’s.”
“And why are you here today?”
“I was asked to run tests on a blood sample by yourself, Chief Director.”
“And where did this sample come from?”
“From the ex-ranger standing beside you, sir.”
“And you’re absolutely sure of this?” Julius said. “You can positively guarantee that the sample was not tampered with in any way?”
“Yes, because I took both the blood and DNA samples myself.”
As murmurs ran through the room, the U-bolt holding my chains in place snapped open. A heartbeat later, the red light that indicated the cage was locked flicked across to green. The collar remained in place, but at least I could now move if I needed to.
Good, Jonas said, obviously catching my thoughts. Because you will need to get out of that cage fast. The shit is about to hit the proverbial fan.
I don’t suppose you care to illuminate me on how?
And spoil the surprise?
I snorted softly and flexed my fingers—and then froze, waiting for the autosentries to react. They didn’t, but their deactivation failed to make me feel any safer. Not when so many armed guards remained in the room; not when we had no idea just how many of them might be loyal to Dream or the woman they knew as Hedda Lang.
“And what did your results reveal?”
“That the ranger has a mix of genes that has not been seen since the war.” Wainsworth glanced across at his fellow doctor. “If we apply the same principles to my samples as to the one Doctor Harding investigated, then despite the fact that Ranger Galloway had an illustrious career during the war and was heavily involved in the cleanup and rebuilding process after it, he is also a déchet.”
And by what piece of magic did you arrange that bit of nonsense? I asked.
His amusement ran through my mind, as warm as the sun on a bright summ
er day. In case you’ve forgotten, we were in a rift together. There’s no other trickery—magical or otherwise—needed. The results are fact, not fiction.
Another murmur ran across the room. My gaze flicked to Dream. Her expression was anything but happy, but I wasn’t getting any sense that she was overly worried by the current turn of events—probably because even if Wainsworth’s testimony took the prospect of my being a dreaded déchet off the table, she still had me for all the other crimes.
“And what do you believe is the reason behind these abnormal readouts?”
“I believe the cause is the same one that led to Ranger Galloway being outcast—he is a declared rift survivor.”
Dream snorted. “There’s no record of Galloway being caught in a rift with a vampire.”
“There’s no such record for any survivor,” Julius stated. “As you should be well aware, Hedda. Nor is there any requirement either these days or back then for survivors to declare such information.”
“Be that as it may,” Dream said. “There is also no record of Catherine Lysandra being a rift survivor.”
“No, because many still fear the specter of being outcast, as it remains in law even if it is no longer applied.”
Dream drew in a breath and released it slowly. “None of which alters the depth of her other crimes. I demand her sentence be deportation to the Higain penal settlement.”
Where I would, undoubtedly, meet with an untimely end. At least I would if she had her way.
“You cannot demand anything,” Julius said. “Please bring in my second witness.”
Get ready to move, Tiger. Cat, Bear, make sure that guard on the left side of her cage doesn’t get the chance to fire.
With pleasure, they intoned grimly.