PPC Book Nine

Chapter One

Olivia

"So you understand, Doctor Watkins, that you must answer honestly," Mr. Ichiro folded his hands as he peered across his desk. "The prosecutor will try and derail the testimony we've discussed if you give her even the smallest chance. Your colleague's life is at stake here."

"I'm not letting some green DA bully me on the stand, Yoshi." A lopsided grin lifted the Professor's still too-thin lips. It might have shamed the Devil if such a being existed. "Brodsky will have plenty of reasonable doubt on his side."

"That's precisely what I thought you'd say, Nathaniel." Mr. Ichiro's eyes lit with a sparkle of humor I envied. I hadn't been able to muster anything in that particular emotional department. Not since the night we lost Tony.

I bent my head over the stenographer's notebook, a stream of shorthand flowing from the pen in my hand as I recorded their conversation. The Law Offices Of Dunstable and Ichiro had recording devices, of course, both the mundane and the magical kind. But I needed something to keep my hands busy, especially since I'd gone off my diurnal medication.

At first, going off all the Adderall and Strattera had been a profound experience. Questions about how I'd been living struck my thoughts like thunderbolts from on high. Was this how normal nocturnal people felt all the time? Did other owl shifters live on those medications or off them? Why did my parents think I had to be diurnal anyway? I hadn't imagined that having this much energy was possible and my imagination was like a perpetual motion machine.

"Well, I suppose that's all we've got to cover for this meeting, Nathaniel." Mr. Ichiro stood up and held out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist.

"Gotcha." Professor Watkin's grin only got bigger and more mischevious. "We'll be leading the hootenanny in that courtroom, Yoshi. No doubt." He shook hands with Mr. Ichiro, then moved his hands to the grips on his wheelchair. It didn't budge. "I hate this chair."

"Don't hate the chair, hate the coma." Mr. Ichiro stepped around the desk and started toward the back of the wheelchair.

"Please, sir," said a voice from the doorway, "allow me."

Sir Albe, the son of the Dunstable half of the law firm, stood in the doorway. I'd almost forgotten he worked here part-time. Must have been nice, having an in besides good grades at the best Extrahuman Law firm in the tri-state area. Then again, Al was technically my packmate in Tinfoil Hat. I had an in, too, but didn't feel too comfortable with using it. I hadn't paid much attention to him during pack business.

I watched Al wheel Professor Watkins out of the office and down the hall, listening to the Professor's snarky comments about requiring licensing to drive a wheelchair. It reminded me of something Tony might say. The hall and Al and the Professor in his chair blurred over in a nanosecond. I closed my eyes. The stenographer's pad fell off my lap. The chair by the desk, used by people who hadn't been in a coma for the better part of six months like Professor Watkins, creaked.

"Miss Adler, thank you for the help this evening." Mr. Ichiro reached down to the floor, then placed something flat and dry in my hands.

"You don't have to thank me, Mr. Ichiro." I curled my fingers around the rescued notebook. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. "Just doing my job."

"Under the circumstances, I'd expect you to work from your dormitory and do your transcription from the recordings." He gestured at the computer on his desk. My boss had a point. All of the audio files went to the tablet he'd designated for my use during the internship we'd arranged.

"Circumstances?" I blinked.

"I'm sorry." Mr. Ichiro inclined his head. "Perhaps I presumed incorrectly, but I thought young Mr. Gitano was your mate."