The prosecutor became abruptly firm. "Doctor, in your medical opinion, was Ryan's anatomy significantly different from the Young One?"

Susan stared at Ryan, who was waiting for her reply. "Yes," she said at last, "significantly different."

Susan could see the next question coming before the one word slipped from the prosecutor's lips.

"How?"

Ryan was waiting for Susan's answer, as was the rest of the room. Susan released her breath, unaware she had been holding it. "The Young One's anatomy was more similar to a human being's. He lacked many of the adaptations Ryan possessed, adaptations which made her so unique."

"Unique," the prosecutor said, savoring the word. "And did you form any opinion as to why this difference existed?"

Edward stood. "Objection, your honor. Calls for speculation."

Abigail's eyes were not on the attorney but on his client. For once Ryan did not hold her gaze, but rather looked down at her hands. Abigail turned her attention to Edward. "Overruled. Susan Ryerson is a medical doctor and capable of rendering an expert opinion on this matter."

Edward took his seat, his misgivings growing. Ryan turned her attention back to Susan.

"I thought perhaps it was because Ryan was so much older," Susan began, "that she had changed over time-"

"Oh really," the prosecutor interrupted smoothly. He strode across the room to Susan and leaned against the railing in front of her. He lowered his voice, and his words were slightly mocking. "Is that what you really think?"

Susan held his gaze for a moment, then looked past him to Ryan. She shook her head. "No," she said simply, "that's not what I think."

The prosecutor maintained his position a moment longer, then abruptly stepped back from the railing. He bowed slightly.

"Thank you Dr. Ryerson, that is all I have."

Edward was surprised by the abrupt ending. Evidently the prosecution did not wish to pursue their line of questioning any further although he was uncertain what they had just established. He wrote on the pad in front of him, knowing any whisper would be heard throughout the hall. He handed the message to Ryan. It read, "Is there something I should know?"

Ryan shook her head. "Ignorance is bliss," she said aloud. Abigail stared down at her, eyes gleaming. Edward stood.

"I have no questions for the witness, your Honor."

Edward took his seat Susan vacated the stand. Ryan glanced over at him. "How much do I pay you for such brilliant cross-examination?" she asked wryly.

He pushed his chair into the table. "Not enough," he said briskly.

Susan took the seat on Ryan's other side, glancing over at her apologetically. Ryan shook her head as if it were no matter. But as she glanced up at Marilyn, who was now regarding her thoughtfully, she knew the damage had already begun.

The prosecuting attorney stood and addressed Abigail politely. "Your honor, I would now like to call to the stand Marilyn de Fontesque."

Marilyn moved to the stand with elegant grace. She settled comfortably into the seat, her eyes on Ryan.

The prosecutor bowed to her. "Madam," he began respectfully, "would you please describe the circ.u.mstances under which you first came to know the defendant."

Marilyn smiled, as if the memory gave her great pleasure. "Yes, I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was in France during the first part of the 15th century." She turned to Abigail. "We had not seen Victor in some time when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere with this half-wild creature in tow."

Abigail nodded in agreement, as if the memory also gave her pleasure. Evidently joining in on Marilyn's testimony did not seem improper procedure to her.

The prosecutor saw no problem in it, either, and addressed his questioning as much to Abigail as he did to Marilyn. "And can you describe your impression upon seeing her?"

Both were thoughtful, and it was Abigail who responded first. "I thought she was exquisite. So young, and yet so powerful," she remembered fondly. She shrugged. "And of course, so impossible."

The prosecutor raised an eyebrow. "Why impossible?"

Marilyn fielded this question. "Victor should not have been able to Change her. He was too old and too powerful."

Abigail nodded her agreement. The prosecutor nodded as well. "For the record, your honor, would you state why Victor was too old? We all, of course, know why, but I think it should be explicitly stated for the record."

Ryan did not hide her derision. An explicit statement had nothing to do with procedure. An explicit statement had everything to do with creating an impact.

Abigail gazed at Ryan knowingly. "Certainly, counsel. Procedure dictates." She smoothed her robes and began to tell her story.

"Ours is a hierarchy of power. Unlike normal man, who grows more frail as he ages, we grow more powerful. The more powerful we become, the less capable we are of being destroyed, until we come to a point where death is no longer a threat."

Abigail took that moment to glance at Ryan. "At least in theory." She turned back to the courtroom, continuing. "We also become more powerful through the act of Sharing. To Share with One more powerful than yourself is the greatest pleasure because the younger is strengthened by the blood of the elder." Abigail appeared to momentarily digress, "Although sharing with a Young One is a pleasant experience, nonetheless. And it is one of life's greatest pleasures to Share unto death."

"In fact," Abigail said mildly and without remorse, "quite often, the younger ones are killed. Only the very strong of the Young will survive. They are either seduced by their mentor or others, and are killed or enslaved. Even if they are enslaved they may not survive the pa.s.sions of their masters. It is only when they reach a certain age, usually several centuries, that they move beyond death and are not threatened with destruction."

"Victor was too Old to Change Ryan," Abigail said simply. Abigail was thoughtful for a long moment. "The politics of Sharing are complicated beyond belief, and the power amongst our Kind is determined by many things, the most important being who created you."

Abigail took that moment to cast a significant look at Ryan before she continued. "The older the mentor at transformation, the more powerful the Young One will be. However, after a certain point, we are no longer capable of reproducing because as we age our blood becomes too powerful for humans and is toxic to them." She shrugged. "So although the Old Ones would create the most powerful of our Kind, they are completely barren. The task of procreation is left to those who survive their infancy but who are not yet Old Ones. The very Young cannot reproduce because their blood is not powerful enough and the very Old cannot because their blood is too strong."

Abigail paused to impart another significant glance toward Ryan. "Again, this is in theory."

Edward took this opportunity to stand. "Then how could Victor have possibly created my client?"

A heavy silence hung over the courtroom. Abigail's eyes did not leave Ryan. "That is what we all want to know."

Ryan rolled her eyes as Edward took his seat. "That was a marvelous move. Thank you."

Edward felt no regret over the question; Ryan had brought this upon herself by not giving him all the facts. He realized there was much beneath the surface of this trial.

The prosecutor stood, turning his attention back to Marilyn. "Madame de Fontesque. Now you stated you felt Ryan possessed an unnatural power for her age. Were there any other incidents where you were again struck by this *power'?"

Marilyn nodded, her eyes on Ryan. "Yes. It was shortly after Ryan had the pleasure of meeting the Borgia Pope."

Ryan's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but Marilyn saw it. Her pleasure at the reaction was evident in her tone. "It was the first time I saw the extent of Ryan's temper." She turned to Abigail, speaking conversationally. "Oh, I had seen it before. Ryan could be quite deadly when angered. She once cut a man in two, springing to defend my honor."

Susan was surprised to see that Ryan actually looked embarra.s.sed at this revelation. Abigail nodded in agreement, as if this incident did not surprise her. Marilyn continued.

"But Rome was the first time I had any premonition of how powerful she was," Marilyn paused, growing more serious, "and how powerful she would become. Even fully bled her body was heated by a fire that had no source."

For whatever reason, many in the courtroom turned their attention on Ryan, as if trying to see what secret her physical form could reveal.

Ryan was staring at Marilyn, an enigmatic expression on her face. In a seemingly purposeless gesture, she raised her hand and stroked her chin. She began tapping her teeth with her fingernail, as if deep in thought. But her eyes were clearly focused on Marilyn.

"Ouch," Ryan said softly, her hand jerking away from her mouth. Her attention was now focused on her index finger, which she slowly drew away to look at.

A single drop of crimson rolled down the edge of the finger towards the palm. Ryan gazed at the drop with a slightly concerned expression on her face.

Susan felt the tension in the room increase a thousandfold. Every eye in the great hall was now riveted on the tiny drop of blood rolling unchecked down Ryan's hand. Even Edward turned and physically moved himself away from the wound.

Ryan watched the blood continue its downward descent as she held her hand upright in front of her face. She appeared bemused by the injury, as if uncertain how to care for it. She looked past her hand to Marilyn, who had frozen at the sight of the blood. Marilyn tore her eyes from the scarlet to look at Ryan, but the blood was still between them.

Ryan held Marilyn's gaze, the slightest trace of a smile about her lips and a knowing look in her eye. She very deliberately moved the finger to her mouth, touched the red to her lips, and began to gently suck the wound.

It was too much for Marilyn, who turned away.

Ryan turned her attention to Abigail, who was as aroused by the scene as Marilyn. She knew how close Marilyn was to being completely out of control, because she herself was as near. She was also aware of the considerable unrest in the room.

"Dr. Ryerson," Abigail in a dry but strained voice, "would you please attend to your patient?"

Susan glanced around the room, then picked her purse up from the floor. She retrieved a large Band-Aid from the back of her wallet, then turned in her chair. She knew full well the game Ryan was playing, but she wondered if Ryan knew how close these people were to attacking her.

She took Ryan's hand in her own, staring at her across the short distance. Ryan gazed at her with cool amus.e.m.e.nt.

She knew.

Susan quickly and efficiently bandaged the finger, wiping the excess blood with a gauze pad and shuttling the pad immediately into her purse. She snapped the latch, never having known a handbag to attract so much attention. She settled back into her chair, smoothing her skirt.

Ryan turned back to Abigail, highly amused over her little triumph. Abigail, as always, was more entertained than displeased by the child's antics.

Marilyn, however, was not the least bit amused. Her fury was evident.

Susan glanced at her friend. It seemed Ryan did not have the good sense to mask her relish of the situation. Ryan gazed at Marilyn, fairly taunting her.

It appeared the prosecuting attorney was not immune to Ryan's considerable charm, either. He stood at a loss until Abigail gently reprimanded him.

"You may continue, counselor."

The prosecutor shook his head to clear it. "Yes, of course. Umm, Madame de Fontesque..." He trailed off, then gathered his thoughts. "Can you describe the next time the defendant demonstrated her formidable temper?"

Marilyn's words were icy. "Why yes, yes I can. I believe that would have been the night Victor was murdered."

Ryan stiffened as if stabbed, and all traces of amus.e.m.e.nt disappeared. Marilyn settled back in her chair, pleased at the control she had regained.

"And could you describe the events leading up to that night?"

Marilyn nodded. "But of course. I have recounted them for the council on several occasions." Marilyn turned her attention to Ryan.

"It was in the early part of the 19th century. Ryan and Victor had established quite an estate in the northwester United States. I came to visit them on numerous occasions."

The prosecutor nodded. "And did you sense anything between them, any strife?"

Marilyn shook her head. "Not at first. Everything seemed well between them. They always thought, acted and moved as one. They fit one another as if they were two parts of the same whole."

Marilyn continued to stare at Ryan icily as she spoke. Ryan swallowed hard and looked away.

"But I began to sense something between them, a type of tension, and I didn't know what was at the root of it."

"And did you ever have occasion to speak with Victor about the tension?"

Marilyn shook her head. "Not directly. Victor was ever one to keep his own counsel and I was wont to question him."

Susan noted how Marilyn, much as Ryan did, slipped into an older version of the language at times. Marilyn continued.

"But Victor did once refer to the growing distance between he and Ryan."

The prosecutor leaned forward. "And what did he say?"

Marilyn looked at Ryan, even now her interest evident. "He said there were things Ryan did not know, and he feared the day she discovered them."

Abigail raised an eyebrow as she looked over at Ryan. Ryan stared resolutely forward at nothing, her posture unyielding.

"And did you ever find out what Victor referred to?"

Marilyn again shook her head. "No."

The prosecutor stepped back, looking over his shoulder at Ryan. Ryan's eyes flickered upward to him, and he stared at her a long moment before he spoke.

"And can you describe the events surrounding Victor's death?"

Ryan's eyes flickered to Marilyn. Marilyn held Ryan's gaze and for once there was no game playing, no layered meanings. Marilyn spoke simply and clearly.

"I was not at the estate the night Victor was killed. I was hundreds of miles away, yet I felt it as if he died next to me."

Ryan bowed her head slightly, closing her eyes, but Marilyn did not see the gesture. She seemed lost in her own memories for a moment, as if seeking a way to describe the magnitude of the event. She spoke in a rare and quiet reflection.

"A volcano erupted in the year 1832, many years after Victor's death. It was such a tremendous explosion you could hear the sound of it as it traveled around the world several times." Marilyn turned to Abigail, who nodded in remembrance. "That was how Victor's death was among the Others."

The prosecutor paused respectfully for a moment, then continued. "And what did you do when you felt this, this mental shock wave?" the prosecutor asked.

"I normally traveled by whatever convenience was available; I rarely if ever traveled by foot. But that night I ran, knowing I could cover the distance quicker on my own."

Susan could feel the tension in the room growing once more as the prosecutor asked his next question.

"And what did you see when you arrived at the estate?"

"I saw a great fire in the night sky, and I knew the manor was burning, even from a distance. As I ran up the road, I could see a figure standing in the opened gate."

The prosecutor's voice was almost a whisper. "And who was the figure?"

"It was Ryan, and she was covered in blood. Not just covered," Marilyn corrected herself, "but drenched, as if she had bathed in a river of blood."

Susan flinched at the account, but Ryan did not. She stared woodenly forward as Marilyn continued.

"I asked her what had happened, and she said *You know what I've done'. I said, *It's not possible, you could not have killed Victor.'"