A-Cup Angst Ch. 11

Jamie was led by the two guards down a short corridor lined with normal, wooden doors until they came to another room with a rotating wall. After they passed it, they found themselves in a room filled with benches. Another, older man sat in manacles and looked utterly miserable as two guards stood over him. Jamie was steered towards a door at the side, before he could even take a closer look at the men. The door led to a small room with a table and two chairs. Jamie was made to sit in one of the chairs.

The guards left and Jamie spent a few minutes both working through his rising rage and beating back his rising sense of panic. The door on the opposite side of the room didn't have a handle or a knob that would allow for it to be opened from the inside. The door he was led through didn't either. Jamie huffed in frustration. He was obviously caught by the French authorities, which baffled him as they had been in american airspace, heading towards Iceland when the vampire had attacked them.

His bafflement gave way to a quiet despair. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to pay for killing Harris. He drew deep breaths and held them, and chanted and rubbed his thumbs to his ring fingers, but none of it stopped his heart from beating wildly or his throat from drying up. He was sweating profusely, despite the air conditioning.

If he was in France, somehow, that he might be granted an extradition hearing. His hopes soared as he knew that extradition processes were lengthy and complicated, subject to all sorts of appeals and the like. He could have as much as a few years in the relative safety of the french penal system. Every day he could spend away from Section's clutches seemed like a blessing and an opportunity to break free and avenge himself. Then he remembered that NATO had bases all the way up in Greenland. Could they have flown that far? It didn't seem far fetched to him that there would be french MPs in a NATO base. If that was the case, then his grim fate of being at the mercy of Harris' heir was to come to pass very soon.

He didn't know how long he was left to sit there in the quiet. Finally, the door opposite him opened and a middle aged, balding man in a dark suit entered and said, "You are mister Jamie Jacobs, yes?" Jamie nodded and the man smiled. "Ah, good! I am Georges Loran and I have been appointed as your defense attorney during these proceedings." He set his briefcase down on the table and opened it.

"What proceedings," Jamie asked. "Where am I?! What is going on here?! Where are my friends?!"

The man smiled patiently and began to take documents out of his briefcase. "You are in the central jail of the General Directorate for Supernatural Safety of the Fifth Republic of France," Georges said, matter-of-factly. "Location: classified. You are charged with premeditated murder and your friends are being held in this facility as well. Now, time is of the essence so I suggest that we-"

"Hold on, hold on, hold the fucking fuck on," Jamie shouted. "What fucking murder?!"

Georges opened a folder and flipped through a few pages before saying, "The charge is that of premeditated murder of Ionas Samaras, committed on the twelfth of-"

"That was done in necessary self defense," Jamie protested.

Georges' face lit up with a smile. He pulled out the other chair and sat down. "Tell me all about it."

Jamie looked at the man in suspicion. "You're my defense attorney, right?" Georges nodded. "Everything I tell you is between us, right?"

"Everything you tell me is protected by the Civil Code and cannot be used against you either during these proceedings, or any other," Georges said. "However, I must warn you that I am required to report to the authorities if you begin asking me to take illegal measures to remove certain witnesses or tamper with evidence."

"Yeah, yeah," Jamie said, "that's ok, it won't come to that." He gave the smiling man another skeptical look. "Are you sure you know about french legal procedure? Shouldn't we have a french lawyer with us as well?"

"But, mister Jacobs," Georges' smile faltered as he said, "I am a french lawyer with twelve years of experience in these matters."

"Oh," Jamie said and nodded. "Well, that's ok, then. Your English is very good. Fooled me."

Georges chuckled politely. "I speak only a few words of English, mister Jacobs. The Court's halls are enchanted with a spell that facilitates understanding despite language barriers, so I guess I could compliment you on your French."

"Ah," Jamie said as he nodded.

"Now, let's get down to the matter at hand, shall we," Georges said. He flipped through the pages of Jamie's file and let his eyes pour over all of it. "The prosecution has, in its files," Georges paused as the door behind him opened. The vampire woman stood in the doorway, sporting her insolent grin. Jamie couldn't stop his eyes from glancing at her bosom, now partially exposed by the deep cut of her slinky, maroon dress. "Mistress Sylvie, what are you doing here?"

"The prisoner is to be compelled," she said, her voice smooth as silk. Jamie's eyes darted to Georges in desperation. He didn't like the sound of that.

Georges protested by saying, "I have not prepared my client for-"

"And how would you have prepared him to answer on this matter," Sylvie inquired, politely. She handed Georges a piece of paper and he unfurled and inspected it. Jamie couldn't quite bring himself to face the vampire that had taken him and his crew down in two seconds flat. His insides churned, giving his discomfort a physical dimension.

"This is a valid court order," Georges said, absentmindedly. "What are these charges against the security of the Fifth Republic?" Georges set the paper down and rifled through the papers he had brought. "I have not been informed of-"

"Why would a criminal defense attorney be informed of matters of national security," Sylvie asked. Her tone was still polite, her voice silky smooth, yet Georges seemed nervous under her scrutiny.

Georges looked at Jamie and said, "Go with mistress Sylvie. There is nothing I can do. This is all perfectly legal."

Sylvie walked over to stand by Jamie's side. "Perfectly legal," Jamie asked incredulously. "What are they going to compel me to do!?"

Sylvie hooked her hand under Jamie's bicep and said, "Calm down, mister Jacobs. We are only going to compel you to answer a few questions that are pertinent to our national security. We will not be asking you anything about the criminal charges that have been leveled against you." She lifted him out of his seat, gently, but insistently. "We do not intend to hurt you any more, or any less than you deserve, mister Jacobs. And if you do not deserve to be hurt at all, than we will not hurt you at all."

Her voice was warm, cordial, yet Jamie could not bring himself to relax in her presence. If she wanted to, she could drain him to death with but a thought. The realization that she could have killed him at any moment during the long time that he had spent unconscious, but didn't, calmed him down. "Don't I get a phone call," he asked of Georges.

"Unfortunately, no, mister Jacobs," Sylvie said. "Not until this matter of our national security is resolved. Come along!"

He let her lead him out of the room and into a marble floored corridor. Unlike the hallways that led from the cells, this one was illuminated by natural light streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. Looking out at the city beyond the windows, Jamie recognized the place was warded against people knowing its exact location, just like Bastion was. The view told him nothing about where he was and he could not commit it to his memory for later research.

"Mister Jacobs," Georges said, following them out of the room, "aside from this matter of national security, you will also be asked if and when you used your magic to take a life and-"

Sylvie cut him off with, "And he will answer truthfully, as everyone must." Georges stood in the doorway of the small room and watched Sylvie lead Jamie away.

Jamie's legs could barely function anymore. He was going to be made to confess taking so many lives. He felt like the beautiful woman was leading him to slaughter. "Don't I have a right to remain silent," he asked with a trembling voice.

"This is not an american movie, mister Jacobs," she said. "Also, not on this matter. All casters are compelled to answer the murder question before the court proceedings against them start, regardless of why they were arrested in the first place." She walked him steadily down the corridor, their footsteps on the marble floor muted by the rich wooden panels that covered the walls.

Jamie licked his lips nervously. He was on the verge of hyperventilating. His only hope of evading whatever the French did to murderers was if they were bluffing about being able to make him tell them the truth. The petite vampire that took out his crew and was leading him to his doom, was living proof that his hopes were unfounded. "Why," he said.

Sylvie shot him a look as they rounded a corner and ascended a brief flight of stairs. Jamie was unable to tell what kind of a look she had just shot him. "As a caster of your caliber and accomplishments must surely know, mister Jacobs," Sylvie said, "when a caster takes a life directly with their magic, it leaves a mark upon the caster's spirit, or soul, if you prefer. That mark then preys upon the mind of the caster, reinforcing aggressive thoughts and suppressing rational ones. At first, the effect is subtle, but it grows over time until the caster is eventually transformed into a remorseless murdering machine."

Sylvie led him through a set of tall, double doors and into a richly appointed courtroom. Jamie couldn't appreciate the decor as his mind replayed the thousands of victims that had fallen before him. The vast majority of them had been shot dead by his gynoid with enchanted ammunition. Some had been killed by his slaves and he himself had literally beaten to death dozens of the Syndicate's bosses, only using magic to make them feel it all. He felt a spark of hope as he, technically, had not used his magic to directly kill all those people.

His hopes fell as he thought back to the one event of his life he wished he could forget. The assault on the boat where their parents had been held. After they had found them bruised and broken in body and spirit, they had drained dozens of the Syndicate's mercenaries to restore their families to health and sanity. No matter how he tried to spin it, they had used their magic to drain those people of their life forces. He could only hope that using the resulting life force to heal could count as a mitigating circumstance.

Sylvie sat him down at the bench for the accused and he winced in memory of the Syndicate's caster he had taken prisoner at their clinic and drained of life force to make a skin covering for Nova. There was no way he could get away with draining a life to complete a Terminator. He did, however, do that right alongside Rose and Sandra, so maybe he could share the blame for it. And the monster he had killed by boiling his innards and suffocating him with his own filth certainly had it coming to him. That had to count as necessary defense of the dozens, if not hundreds, of innocent young women and newborn babies he was going to kill. Jamie told himself it must count.

He swallowed again. He was going to fight this court with everything he had. If all he had was words, then he'd just have to talk his way out of his predicament. His mouth was parched and his throat felt like sand. Jamie reached for the glass of water that was on his table and took a few sips. They did little to combat the dryness of his throat. He looked up at Sylvie. "That doesn't sound right to me," he said.

"What is magic, mister Jacobs," she asked, "but the amplified essence of the magician's soul and will? And every action has a reaction. When a person uses their willpower to snuff a soul, the will to kill is affirmed and amplified by the act itself. And a caster that uses the essence of their soul to kill another soul, gives license to their own magic to slay their own soul, or conscience, if you will."

The casual way she said that made Jamie's skin break out in goose bumps. He didn't like the sound of it. He particularly hated just how logical it all sounded. "What do you do with people like that," he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Their magic is taken away from them," she said. "Without magic, the mark on their spirit is just a distant memory without any effect on their mind." The doors at the back of the room opened and started admitting robed figures. "Stand!" Jamie stood up and watched the men and women that would decide his fate file into the room and take their places behind the court bench. When all eleven were in front of their high backed chairs, they sat down as one. "Be seated!" Jamie sat back down and took the chance to look each and every judge in the eye. He kept telling himself to not glare at them, or stare them down, but that was exactly what he wanted to do.

The middle aged woman sitting in the middle of the eleven robed figures stood up and picked up a file. She opened it and read aloud, "This Court is now in session. In the matter of the Republic versus Jamie Jacobs, we are making compelled inquiries into whether or not the accused used magic to murder human beings and how the accused came to learn of the use of permanent investments of magical power, a secret protected by the General Directorate of Supernatural Security under The Secret Act of Supernatural Security of 1634."

Jamie's brows rose in surprise. He was being tried under a law passed in the seventeenth century? He shook his head in displeasure. He had no intention of getting punished under some law written by idiots that had probably thought mercury was a panacea.

The presiding judge then said, "We will begin with the customary murder inquiry." She gestured to Sylvie and the vampire took Jamie's chin in her hand and forced him to look into her eyes. She drained him of all magical power and set a charm into his mind that made him confess to draining the mercenaries on the boat, the caster from the clinic and killing the crazy terminator creator in the Midwest.

He was then asked which of these drainings were done in necessary self-defense and Jamie responded with, "None." He teared up and began to sob. The crushing guilt at causing all that death suddenly pressed down upon his shoulders. He was stopped from blubbering and squealing that he was sorry by the sight of The Suit walking into his line of sight. Jamie was stunned. He was dead certain that his gynoid had snuffed Harris. He could remember the man's name, after all. He couldn't do that if the man was still alive and still ran Section. Jamie reasoned his replacement was here to personally see to it that Jamie got extradited to the US with all possible haste.

"Director," the presiding judge said, "you are free to ask your questions, now."

Jamie blinked his tears out of his eyes and sniffed. Director? A voice, whose gender, age, or any other characteristic Jamie could not determine, spoke Sylvie's name and she said, "Yes, Director." Jamie's brow bunched up and he looked at her questioningly. She put more charms into his mind and made him talk. He told the court about how he had taken half the power from Rose and Sandra and all of Sonya's power and had Rose drain Helena of her power and how they had spent power on transforming Helena into his perfect lover and Chris Welling into Helena's perfect lover and how by sheer, dumb luck the amount of sorcerous power he held matched up perfectly with the amount of power Rose and Sandra held between them and was now wielded by Rose alone. He then recounted the afternoon he had spent in the shade of a tree where he had let his need to save his family from the clutches of the Johansson clan guide him in figuring out how to store up power spirits of sorcery.

"Impressive," was The Suit's only audible comment before it left the courtroom.

The lead judge stood up and said, "This inquiry is complete. The trial will commence this afternoon, at three o'clock."

At Sylvie's gesture, Jamie stood up. The judges filed out of the courtroom and Sylvie put her hand on Jamie's. The grief Jamie felt gave way to his rising anger as he felt his magic returned to him. Sylvie led him out of the courtroom and back towards the room where his public defender waited. Angry that he was going to get his magic taken away from him by this vampire, Jamie said, "Tell me, mistress Sylvie, the vampires that you drain, did they transform themselves willingly, or did you have them make the sacrifices while in your custody?"

Sylvie made no comment, but the slight change in her facial expression told Jamie that he had hit the nail right on the head. The secret to her incredible, almost god-like power was that her diet consisted of other vampires. "So, how does that work exactly," he said. "I imagine you're strong enough now to just drain them to a pile of dust, nowadays, but the first one or two you drained. How did you manage to weaken them enough for you to drain?"

Jamie could see muscles rippling under the smooth, taut skin of her cheeks. She was grinding her teeth in frustration. "How often do you need to eat a vampire to maintain your awesome power? Or do you need to eat at all anymore?" He was going to get no response from her on these matters, but he felt so much better after having revealed to her that he gets her power.

"You should really have asked Jessica Stansfield about all that," she calmly said.

Jamie grimaced. The French knew about his hidden superweapon. Desperate to change the topic, he said, "Why was The Suit here?"

"The Director, represented by a suit of armor, or clothes nowadays, is always present when matters of national safety are concerned," Sylvie said.

"You mean, that's the head of the french Section," Jamie asked. "Does every country have a Suit running its supernatural police?"

Sylvie gestured Jamie into the room where Georges sat and waited. Jamie entered and she said, "The Suit of Armor has been in charge of France's supernatural safety since Charlemagne. It currently serves as head of the Directorate. As for the american Section, we loaned some enchantments to them so they could establish their own Suit and rebel against english rule. You have until three o'clock, Georges. Good day!"

"Good day, Sylvie," Georges said. He gestured for Jamie to sit after Sylvie closed the door. "We need to discuss your defense."

"We need to get my people and plan a defense together," Jamie said. "Get their defense attorneys in on it, as well."

Georges looked at Jamie as if he were stupid. "Your 'people' are not accused of anything, mister Jacobs," he said. "As slaves, they cannot be held accountable for something they did at the behest of their master."

Jamie gaped at the man in shock. The cat was out of the bag, now. He sat down, lest his legs give way. "You," he stammered, "you know?" Georges nodded. "The prosecution, too?" Georges nodded again. "What is going to happen?"

Georges obviously suppressed a feeling of disdain for his client and said, "Since neither you, nor the slaves are citizens of the Republic and the enslavement did not occur on Republic soil, you can not be prosecuted by a french court for slavery."

Jamie barked out a laugh of relief. If he was allowed to go with his slaves still in his possession, then it didn't matter one, little bit what the Frenchies did to him, it could all be undone. With interests.

"Of course, they will have to be set free," Georges said.

"What?!"

"Come now, mister Jacobs," Georges said, agreeably, "just because the prosecution doesn't have a legal leg to stand on in prosecuting you for turning young witches into slaves, they will not tolerate slavery occurring on french soil. The american ladies are to be released and the british twins are to be released from slavery to you and handed over to the British authorities that have many outstanding warrants after them." Georges deliberately didn't tell Jamie that he was going to wind up in Section hands and that they will prosecute him for slavery, among other things. He saw no point in telling him since all that was going to have to wait until after Jamie had served his time. Georges didn't doubt for a second that Jamie was going to get convicted. Not with the case the prosecution had against him.