Playing With Fire - Katie MacAlister [71]
The man at the end of the table, a dark-skinned man with lovely brown eyes, grimaced as he glanced at the papers before him. ‘‘I am Monish Lakshmanan, currently acting head of the watch. You are Cyrene Northcott?’’
‘‘I certainly am!’’
‘‘I am pleased to inform you that the charge against you of assault has been dropped due to lack of evidence.’’
‘‘And rightly so, since I never did assault . . . er . . . that person.’’ I backed out of the corner from which I found myself with as much aplomb as was possible, which admittedly wasn’t a whole lot.
‘‘The dragon in question,’’ Monish said with a slight emphasis, his eyes watchful, ‘‘refused to make a statement, and in fact, left the building rather hurriedly.’’
‘‘He was a liar,’’ I said, tossing my head in a trademark Cyrene gesture.
‘‘She did not say much to allow us to make an assessment either way,’’ he said.
I forced a light, lilting laugh. ‘‘You fell for that cross-dressing act? I would have thought someone in the watch had more sense. You can take it from me, Mr. Lakshmanan—that dragon was no lady.’’
The moment of silence that followed was pregnant with unspoken words.
Monish cleared his throat and slid a glance toward the mage next to him. ‘‘Indeed. We cannot help but find your presence here somewhat of a coincidence, Miss Northcott. Your sister is arrested and tried for crimes against a number of individuals, and that very same day you are brought in on an assault charge that is mysteriously dropped.’’
I tried to school the surprise I felt at his words from showing on my face, arranging my features to display vague indifference, instead. Sister? Monish had said sister, not twin. The word ‘‘sister’’ was never used to indicate a doppelganger, except occasionally by the originating twin as a form of affection. But everyone else always referred to the two people as twins, not sisters—which could only mean that Monish and the others did not realize the truth of our relationship. Savian knew I was a doppelganger, as did Porter. Why did neither of them tell the committee? I gave a mental head shake—the whys weren’t really important now. What did matter was that the two thief takers and Cyrene had managed to keep my origins quiet, and that, I saw, was the key to Gabriel’s plan for my escape.
‘‘Well, of course it’s not a coincidence,’’ I said, thinking as quickly as I could. I allowed outrage to fill my voice. ‘‘She’s my sister! Do you think I’m going to stand around and let you guys do who knows what with her? This whole thing about poor May being a thief is ridiculous. Ridiculous! She’s as innocent as I am!’’
The second the words left my lips, hindsight pointed out that that claim wasn’t, perhaps, the most judicious to make at the moment.
‘‘Indeed,’’ Dr. Kostich said, speaking up for the first time since I’d marched into the room. He gave me an appraising glance that I had a horrible feeling saw much more than I would have liked. ‘‘I find that statement difficult to believe.’’
I lifted my chin in haughty scorn, allowing a slight sneer to enter my voice. Mages and elemental beings had a long history of disagreement, and I knew that Cyrene was no fonder of him than I was. ‘‘Do you question my word, mage?’’
‘‘It is not your word I question, naiad,’’ he answered smoothly. ‘‘It is, perhaps, your identity that I wonder at.’’
‘‘My identity?’’ I scoffed, throwing as much disbelief as I could into the word. ‘‘You don’t believe that I am a naiad?’’
‘‘You are very much like your sister,’’ Monish said slowly as both men eyed me. ‘‘Are you twins?’’
I couldn’t lie. Both men looked too savvy to not sense an outright untruth when spoken. Subterfuge was one thing—that was natural to a doppelganger. But I seldom spoke lies