Free Werewolf Parallel by Roy Gill

case at Court?”
    “No one.” Cameron gave a tiny shrug. “There’s just me.”
    There was a sound like wind blowing on a candle and the light guttered. “That is not a wise choice.”
    “It wasn’t a choice at all, trust me. There was no time.”
    “We’re about to pass the advocates’ boxes. You could still seek counsel?”
    The lantern slowed as the spiral stair touched the next balcony. It led Cameron past a line of wooden crates that reminded him uncomfortably of coffins. A stained and yellowed barrister wig rested at the head of each.
    As he watched, a couple of forest daemons tentatively approached a box, and posted a scroll through a letterbox on top. There was a pause and a puff of smoke rose up from the slot. The wig lifted as the smoke beneath billowed out into a tall thin shape.
    “They’re in luck,” said the lamp. “The advocate has agreed to take their case.”
    The silhouette solidified into a gaunt-faced man with swept-back hair. He shook out a heavy cloak that hung from his shoulders like wings.
    “Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Cameron, as the pale man adjusted his wig using surprisingly sharp fingernails, “but when you say ‘advocate’, you mean
vampire
, right?”
    “Vampires are suited to law. They have a long life, good memory, and are content to study for decades in darkened rooms,” said the lamp. “On the other hand, they do tend to bleed their clients dry.”
    Cameron managed a mirthless laugh.
    “It was not intended as a joke, sir. Many of our best legal minds belong to that clan, and prefer to take their payment in blood.”
    The advocate raised his arms, enveloped one of the furry daemons in the folds of his cloak, and lowered his head. Cameron shivered and turned away. “I think I’ll defend myself. I’ve got enough problems without adding a vampire to my case.”
    “Then we shall proceed. We are nearly there.”
    The balcony became narrower. Eventually the boards diverged, splitting into two paths that ran in both directions around a circular opening, about half the size of a football pitch. At regular intervals around itscircumference, burly bull daemons stood to attention beside gleaming metal winches. The Weir lamp came to rest by the balustrade, and Cameron peered over.
    The wooden panelling of the Court walls gave way to densely packed brick, and then in turn to bare rock. A warm sulphurous wind blew in his face. From somewhere deep below, a distant red light rippled and pulsed, reminding him of the tunnel that led to Daemonic.
    He couldn’t see the bottom at all.
    Cameron cleared his throat. Heights had never been his favourite thing. “That’s the Court?”
    “As I said, it lies between the worlds.”
    “There’s nothing down there – just a drop!”
    “There will be. The jury is going in now.”
    On the left-hand side of the pit, a line of daemons and humans were being guided down steps onto a suspended platform, not unlike the sort used by window-cleaners to access the sides of very tall buildings. Working as a team, four bull daemons began to turn the winches at either end. Sweat rose from their swarthy flesh and jets of steam pumped from their nostrils as the platform was lowered, and the jury vanished from sight.
    “You’re completely out of your depth, you know.” Leather shoes clicked on boards, and Cameron turned to see Dr Black. He gave a smug smile and brushed dust from his lapels. “You’ve no idea what you’ve got yourself into, have you, boy?”
    Cameron’s brow furrowed. The humans he’d met on the Parallel had been eccentrics or scholars; adventurers, visionaries or mad men. Even his gran, who had prided herself on her respectable appearance,had revealed a knife-sharp inner core. It was as if the Parallel Inheritance – that strange power that burned inside them – always found a way to creep to the surface. They were all outsiders – and Cameron counted himself in that category – different in some way, by fate or by