Lee twitched violently. “Miss Frost,” he said loudly, “doesn’t mean to imply-”
“That she killed him?” the reporter asked. “You are saying that you killed him?”
Lee raised his arms, shouting something, but was drowned out as the reporters surged in. Flashbulbs flashed. Cameras pressed inwards. As Lee and Yao tried to fend them off, I got angrier and angrier. I wanted to belt out that yes, I had killed him, and no, I wasn’t sorry. And it was true. But saying it would torpedo any chance I had of getting Cinnamon back.
Finally I could stand it no more. I straightened up, looked out over Lee and Yao, and picked out a reporter standing on the steps just beyond them. I made direct eye contact, and he shoved his microphone over Lee’s head and into my face. I leaned in and spoke clearly.
“Everyone, please, step back, you’re obstructing the stair.”
Then I walked straight forward between Lee and Yao, gently moving the reporter aside with my hand as I passed. I heard scrambling and splutters behind me, but I just kept moving and hopped right into the open door of the limo. Moments later, Lee and Yao followed.
“Drive,” Lee said, slamming the door. He settled into the backwards-facing seat opposite me. “Damn. That was a hell of a trick.”
“I used to date a musician,” I said. “She taught me a few tricks about working crowds.”
Helen covered her face as Lee choked a little. “She… ah… well,” he said. Then he recovered. “Still, let me do the talking from now on. You can’t go around torpedoing yourself-”
“Have you been briefed?” I said. “Was I not completely honest with the police?”
“We had been hoping to quash that testimony,” Lee said, now openly glaring. “We can’t claim that your confession was coerced if you’re going around corroborating-”
“My confession wasn’t coerced,” I said. “So your argument was going to be that the jury should trust me now because I was lying before?”
“Trust won’t have anything to do with it-we’re going get as much evidence thrown out as we can and argue self-defense, but without you testifying,” Lee said. “Innocent people look terrible on the stand, but the unrepentant look worse-”
“I-didn’t-do-anything-wrong,” I said, gritting my teeth.
“So you think,” Lee said. “But you don’t seem to have realized that your own approval of your actions is meaningless if a prosecutor disagrees-and she can convince a jury.”
“But Valentine was a serial killer.”
“He was never arrested and prosecuted,” Lee said. “He just died, by your hands, via magic-and Paulina Ross just loves making examples of people who kill with magic.”
I leaned back in the limo as Lee went on. I wondered how much this was going to cost me. Surely they weren’t going to take a criminal defense on spec the way they had done with the lawsuit by the Valentine Foundation. Then the bigger problem came back to me.
“What is this going to do to my custody case?” I said. “It can’t look good.”
“Oh, hell, Miss Frost,” Lee said, frowning, “you’re right, it certainly can’t help.”
“That’s not our most immediate problem with Cinnamon,” Helen said. “Earlier tonight I contacted the foster parent, Jack Palmotti, and it turns out he was frantic. Apparently Cinnamon brought something home that was meant for you, and he didn’t know what to do with it.”
“What’s happened?” I asked, mouth dry.
“Cinnamon’s getting kicked out of the Clairmont Academy.”
A Problem Student
I bore down on the glass doors of the Clairmont Academy, watching my reflection loom large in the glass, Doug at my heels. I was not in the mood. But I couldn’t leave Cinnamon’s fate in the hands of a foster parent I’d never met and school administrators who didn’t care. Then the doors slid aside, once again revealing Catherine Fremont, looking-relieved?
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, glaring down at her. “After all the effort we spent to get her into this school, I’ll be damned if I see you just boot her out-”
“That’s so refreshing,” said a male voice, and I looked over to see a shag-haired man in a red-checked shirt limp towards us from the waiting area. “I didn’t think you were going to show, but I’m so pleased you actually came here to fulfill your parental duties.”
“Jack!” Doug said sharply. He wasn’t just my ride; he’d been Cinnamon’s tutor since… heck, even when she was in the hospital. But I’d not expected him to know more about what was going on than I did. “That was completely uncalled for. Dakota’s a devoted parent.”
“Doug, please,” Jack said, “you haven’t dealt with these parents like… I… ”
He trailed off as I glared at him. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said coldly.
“Jack Palmotti,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Cinnamon’s foster father.”
Fremont shrank back from the two of us. After a moment, I extended my hand to him.
“Dakota Frost, Cinnamon’s adoptive mother,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”
Palmotti glanced between us. “So, Miss Frost… what is your relationship to Doug?” he asked. “It’s low to circumvent a court order by sending a friend in the guise of a tutor.”
“Doug is the fiance of my best friend,” I snapped, “and I resent the insinuation-”
“Please, please, everyone,” Vladimir said, appearing from nowhere, stepping up between us, touching both me and Palmotti on the arm. “We’re all here for one reason: Cinnamon.”
I sighed. He was right. “Mister Palmotti, where are my manners?” I said. “It is my pleasure to introduce you to Doctor Yonas Vladimir, Cinnamon’s math instructor. Yonas, please meet Mister Jack Palmotti. He’s taking care of Cinnamon while the court case is resolved.”
Vladimir and Palmotti froze for a moment. Apparently I’d broken their ‘let’s get everyone angrier’ script by apologizing and introducing them politely. That was nice. Perhaps I should try it more often. Finally it was Palmotti that spoke, directly to me.
“So you know her math teacher,” he said, with a half smile. “That’s encouraging.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry I was snappish. I… just lost a close friend.”
And then I choked off, staring into the distance. Doug put his hand on my shoulder. And then Palmotti put his hand on my arm tenderly. I glared, through the edge of tears, but instantly I could see that he’d lost someone-I guessed, from the pain and the sympathy, his wife.
“I am so sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me my suspicions. I wasn’t trying to make it harder on you right now. And I know it’s hard on you-believe me, I understand.”
Our little group was admitted to Dean Belloson’s office, a double-sized version of Fremont’s office at the end of the row, containing a youngish, pudgy man with thick glasses who I first took to be Belloson’s secretary before I realized there was no office beyond the one in which we now stood. There, the five of us sat in a semicircle of chairs opposite the Dean.
“I understand this may seem precipitous,” the Dean said, “but young Miss Frost has skipped nearly a dozen classes this week, totaling almost three full days of class time.”
“I’m sorry,” Palmotti said, “I just can’t make her do anything, much less go to school.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, it took me a while,” I said. “And precipitous is precisely the word I’d use for kicking a new student out after only a few days of absences.”
“Did you not read the Guide for Students and Parents?” the Dean said. “Didn’t my staff explain it to you at the entrance interview? This is not a public school, open to all comers. We have very high standards. Three consecutive days of unexplained absences-”
“ Unexplained? ” I said. “What do you call that business with Burnham? You can’t expect perfection when she’s just been taken from her mother-wait, scratch that. Why is this even an issue with all that I’m paying you? This is a disciplinary issue between me and Cinnamon.”
“Miss Frost,” Dean Belloson said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead, “it isn’t that simple. This isn’t a warehouse, and we’re not storing Cinnamon for a monthly fee. She’s a person, and a student, but not your typical student. Handling her takes extra effort.”
“You knew when you took her she was an extraordinary needs student,” I said. “Are you or are you not equipped to deal with werekin?”
