I observed the people pacing the marble courthouse hallway, fingers twitching while talking on their cell phones, their nervous energy becoming a palpable buzz in the air. The whispers of attorneys huddled in small clumps with their clients to talk defense strategy drifted up and down the hall. Malthus’s law firm represented humans, but specialized in supernatural representation, a way to keep supes off the human radar. I wondered how the heck anyone defended a vampire or any supe in a human court. Your Honor, the defendant owns a large dog that escaped on the night of the full moon . . . Malthus emerged from the courtroom across the hall, impeccably dressed in a navy suit and shined shoes, almost forties old-fashioned with a handkerchief tucked in the jacket pocket. He chatted with the younger attorney accompanying him and then approached me. “Success?” I asked him. “Success was a given,”
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