Free Persuasion by Martina Boone Page B

from Barrie, Eight, Seven, and the judge, who looked a little bit like God-as-played-by-Morgan-Freeman, there was the prosecutor, the court reporter, the defense attorney, and Cassie herself. But Barrie’s cousin seemed to fill the room. With her combination of near-black hair and deep blue eyes, Cassie was always the focal point, but today it was more than that. Slouched in her chair, she gave off waves of resentment, glaring at Barrie until her attorney poked her in the ribs. Even then, Cassie didn’t bother sitting up.
    Judge Abrams studied everyone from behind his desk. “Allright, now. Y’all understand why we’re here? This isn’t a trial. Not yet. Ms. Willems”—he nodded at Cassie’s attorney—“has asked the prosecutor to have the case kicked over for pretrial intervention, and Mr. Allgood”—he nodded to the prosecutor—“feels disinclined to agree, seeing as he wants the defendant tried for kidnapping, which wouldn’t be an eligible offense. The case has been sent up here to me after a bit of arguing back and forth.” He slid his glasses down his dark, freckled nose and pinned Cassie’s attorney with a stare that made the woman squirm.
    “You two”—he waved a hand first at Barrie and then at Eight—“are here because making amends to the victims is a key part of the PTI process. You being the kidnappees, as it were, I want to hear what you have to say.”
    Cassie’s attorney half-rose from her seat, her deep auburn hair bouncing in a low ponytail. “Your Honor, if you’ll look at the facts of the case, you’ll see that the charge of kidnapping isn’t warranted. All my client did was slam a door closed. At worst, that’s a matter of—”
    “Is your client admitting to unlawful confinement, Ms. Willems?” The judge leaned forward. “Because if I remember the law, and I believe I do, that’s pretty much the definition of kidnapping here in South Carolina.”
    “Your Honor!” The attorney was young and attractive, although unlike Cassie, she didn’t seem to do anything to try to use that in her favor.
    Not that, for the moment, Cassie was using either her looks or the charm she could so easily turn on and off. The realization made Barrie sit up in the round-armed chair and study her cousin. The Cassie she knew would have been leaning forward, watching the judge with wide blue eyes, looking innocent and beautiful and lost. This Cassie, on the other hand, showed almost no interest in the judge. She sat there, pale and hollow-eyed, still slouched and rubbing her temples, squinting against the light that shone through the open blinds in the window behind the judge.
    Barrie knew that body language. She’d lived with her mother’s migraines, and she suffered them herself. She’d managed to ignore Seven’s symptoms in San Francisco, but that had been before she’d known he was bound to Beaufort Hall the way she was bound to Watson’s Landing. Now she noticed how often he squinted and rubbed his temples when he thought no one was watching.
    The Fire Carrier had given magic to all three families. The oldest direct descendant in both the Beaufort and Watson families was bound to the land in addition to having a stronger version of the gift than anyone else.
    Why wouldn’t Cassie be bound to Colesworth Place? It made perfect sense. Wyatt dying in the explosion had left Cassie the heir to the Colesworth curse. Gift, curse—did it matter?
    Between the angle and the light shining through theblinds, Seven’s face was hard to read as he sat beside Barrie. She scooted toward him in her seat and tapped him on the leg.
    “Last night in the lane, you said none of us has a choice,” she whispered. “Did you mean only Watsons and Beauforts, or does that include Cassie, too?”
    “Now is neither the time nor the place for this conversation.” Seven kept his profile to her, his eyes locked on the judge.
    “Is Cassie having migraines because she’s in jail?” Barrie insisted.
    “She’s