With little light to read the detailed reports, Annie turned on dome light. Jack said something under his breath, and though she couldn’t make out the exact words, the gist was something about how they drove him nuts. Annie snorted and turned off the light, switching to her flashlight to peruse the racing results. Her ex-boyfriend, Charlie Andrews, had won his sixth race of the season, and his team was favored to win over the Canadians next week. Seeing his name made her heart speed up.
“Charlie’s having a good season,” Cham said dryly. He had never been a fan of the man.
“Goody for him.”
Annie skipped over the nonmagical news, having had her fill for the day, and finally settled on the Wizard Council reports, perusing the standard stories about hiring’s, retirees, and policy changes.
“Oh crap.” Annie pulled the paper closer as if that could explain the brief notice she saw. How the hell did that happen?
“What?” Cham said, reaching for the paper. His fingers brushed against hers; a rough scar on his index finger scratched the back of her hand, a reminder of the memorable injury he had gained at survival training when they first entered the Wizard Guard. So much blood, before she managed to stitch the gash.
“Gonna tell us?” Spencer asked, glancing over her shoulder trying to read in the dim light.
“Looks like the Golden Athame’s gone missing.”
“Excuse me?” Cham, just as confused by the mention, followed her finger to the small paragraph.
Cramped, warm and dark in the car, made it that much more difficult to comprehend the theft or the misplacement of an object that had been so securely stored at Wizard Hall. In the front seat Gibbs mumbled, “…Stonewell.”
“Yeah, he claims it just disappeared,” she explained.
“There’s something not right with him,” said Spencer.
“What, he walked up to the storage box, and it was just missing? He really thinks we’d believe that?” Cham said.
“So what’s the Golden Athame?” Jack asked, pulling into the parking garage of the hotel.
“Think of it like the Liberty Bell or the Statue of Liberty. It’s very important to our history,” Annie said.
“What’s an athame?”
“A ceremonial knife used in formal wizard ceremonies. It’s been around since the founding of the Wizard Council and was a prize for winning a battle that created the first Council.”
Those history lessons had lived with Annie long after her formal lessons ended. She didn’t tell Jack the whole story, about how a wizard tribe had created the Golden Athame before the Battle of Chekagou, a war between two factions of wizards and witches in 1679 that took place just outside of modern-day Chicago. When the hexes, jinxes, and deathly spells stopped, when the smoke cleared, when the winning side secured its power, the Golden Athame became a spoil of war. In a way the athame reminded the Wizard Guard of the cost of war and the benefits of remembering.
“How did it go missing? I’d think your security is much better than ours,” Jack said as the car rolled to a stop.
Gibbs grunted and jumped out before the others even unbuckled their seat belts.
“You’re right. It is,” Cham defended. “Stonewell’s an odd little man in charge of an artifact collection. My guess is that he probably created a distraction for something else.”
That’s tomorrow’s problem, Annie thought as she climbed from the car. They strode into a seldom-used utility door, which Cham held open for her. Following Jack, they traipsed through a dark hallway, out of the way of the prying cameras that held court outside of the hotel.
*
As the biggest story of the year, Princess Amelie’s death brought in a large crowd of reporters and journalists of all mediums—newspaper, radio, television, and the internet—from all over the world. The street wasn’t large enough to accommodate the numbers that descended near the hotel where Princess Amelie had died. Tables, chairs, and tents created temporary offices, leaving the typically quiet neighborhood angry and calling for police action. The police helplessly maintained the crowd in the makeshift perimeter, forcing many residents to rush into their homes in order to avoid the chaos as best as they could.
Rebekah Stoner stood in the update area for over an hour, waiting for the promised 2 a.m. update. When the update was late, all who waited assumed there was nothing new to report and headed back to their makeshift offices to prepare for the morning reports.
Too keyed up to remain in the pits and growing anxious in the street, Rebekah battled her way through the crowds, the barricades, and the cars into open space and fresh air. The semi-quiet couldn’t calm the feelings gnawing at her. Crossing the street and skirting away from the chaos, Rebekah headed to her waiting car.
Closing the door and shutting out the world, she found the silence a welcome rest. On the radio, a DJ discussed the shocking death of the princess. Not wanting to hear more of the same, Rebekah changed channels, but even in the dead of night this was all anyone cared about.
Finally popping in a cassette tape, Rebekah broke into her cooler to grab her third sandwich of the night. She chewed on a dry tuna sandwich and almost convinced herself that it was hungry work reporting on the story of the century, being part of history.
Am I really part of history or just recording it?
While the journalist pondered the meaning of her work, she took a swig of water, wrapped up her garbage, and shoved it inside a bag on the floor of her car. Still unable to focus on her newest notes to prepare for the early report, Rebekah peered into the dark parking lot, the only person here awake. The reporter was acutely aware that the rest of the world had gotten it right by sleeping in the middle of the night. Yawning, she turned up her music and hoped it would keep her from drifting to sleep.
Shadows crept up behind her, slithering closer, growing longer, almost touching the heel of her shoe. She stepped aside to avoid them but they jerked and twisted, stretching out for her. Rebekah ran away from the purring cat. Soft at first, it grew louder the closer it came to her, crying out to her. The cat sounded sickly or in trouble, mewing anxiously. Its paws reached for her.
Her eyes flew open. Her heart pounded in her chest. She took a deep sip of water to try and calm her nerves as a black sedan pulled into the parking lot. The clock read 2:43 a.m.
What are they doing here now?
The car slowed and pulled into a spot two rows from hers. Before the engine shut off, a man with stringy blond hair and a leather vest jumped out of the car. Rebekah ducked below the dashboard, shut off her radio, and slowly popped up again just enough to see who else exited the car.
The second to exit the car was a familiar looking man, in a dark blue suit. Rebekah took a long look at him as he glanced around the parking lot.
The FBI agent from the double homicide!
Two men and a woman joined the agent disengaging themselves from the car. What is she doing here? Rebekah asked herself. She recognized the CPD officer who had argued with the FBI agent at the double homicide. Seeing them working another scene together piqued Rebekah’s curiosity. She fumbled with her cell phone and snapped a picture of the group just before they entered the building.
*
Clunky and loud, the service elevator carried the group to the top floor of the hotel. As pulleys raised the elevator upwards, Gibbs pulled his vest away from his skin, switched weight from foot to foot, and tapped his hand against his leg as the numbers grew higher. Already uneasy around Gibbs, Jack glanced at him and felt himself grow more anxious in such strange company. Annie turned toward Cham and raised her eyebrows, to which Cham shrugged in response. The elevator screeched to a stop, jerking before the doors slid open. Jack exited first, followed by the others.
Two pieces of crime scene tape crossed each other, blocking entrance to the room. While Gibbs and Spencer examined the entry, their crystals moving deftly over the locks and hinges and the two square feet of space outside the door.
“There were two stationed here all night?” Spencer
clarified.
“Yes. All night.” Jack answered. Neither of their crystals lit up, so he removed the tape and let Annie and Cham inside.
The private foyer opened into a large living space, complete with a full kitchen and large television.
“I think this suite’s as big as your apartment,” Annie commented to Cham. The Wizard Guards removed their own crystals and began examining the suite for leftover magical energy, heading toward the bedroom where Amelie died.
“I should be so lucky,” Cham said as he found a different path across the thick, plush carpeting, passing paintings in multiple colors and a statue. “Damn that’s ugly.”
Annie chuckled and returned to her epidote rock, a dark green crystal, sensitive to magical traces left in the air. The crystal shined brightly in varying ranges of light as she continued down the hall toward the bedroom.
“So what are you doing, exactly? Is it like the morgue?” Jack asked while following closely behind Annie, intently scrutinizing her work. Their paths were uneven and chaotic, both wizard guards following the trace evidence as it happened that night.
“This takes samples of magical energy in the area. When we have a suspect, we can compare it to their magical trace, but we can also tell what spell was cast,” Annie said, continuing down the hallway.
“More magical DNA?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Cham said in amusement as if Jack were stupid for not understanding. He stopped smiling when he realized the FBI agent shouldn’t know anything. Then he switched to longing for Jack to be elsewhere so they could continue their work in peace.
“So how long does magical energy last in the air?”
“The leftover energy lasts about a week. The longer it’s in the air, the weaker it becomes. We’ll have a good idea when the spell was cast.” Annie locked onto a specific trace, an interesting energy trail created by a skilled wizard.
His stomach churned but Jack couldn’t contain his curiosity and followed so closely behind Annie that he left little room between them. When she stopped walking, he ran into her.
“Sorry.” Jack’s cheeks burned red.
“What did you find?” Cham glared at the FBI agent and stood in front him to get a better look at Annie’s crystal.
“The trace is weaker toward the bedroom. They killed Amelie first, and then a fight of some kind took place out here.” Annie pointed in the direction of Spencer and Gibbs, who were doing a quick sweep of the living spaces.
“Okay, so how did they get past the guards at the front door and in here before anyone saw them?” Jack asked. He turned toward Spencer and Gibbs. The two Wizard Guards continued mapping magical trace in the living room and methodically worked their way back to them.
“They probably didn’t come through the front door. Maybe teleported through the sliding door in the living room. Though, if Jordan is magical…” Cham followed the trace to a spot directly between Annie and Jack. He pushed the agent to the side and stopping at Annie, who looked back at Cham, his jaw perfectly clenched, his face flush.
“So what do you think, Annie?” Jack asked, moving around Cham and trying to ignore him.
How are we going to make this work? Annie thought, sizing up Jack and Cham before answering. “How many traces do you have?”
“Three,” Cham answered curtly.
“That’s what I got. Listen, Jack. Depending on what trace we find in there and what Spencer and Gibbs find in the living room,” —she pointed back toward the team—“my best theory is that they most likely came through a bedroom or bathroom window. Amelie was killed immediately. We already saw that. I’m guessing Jordan didn’t kill her. The killers probably ambushed her, but we won’t know until we analyze the trace and find Jordan.”
“But you’ll be able to find out who killed her?”
Annie looked at Jack, his face expectant and hopeful. “We will figure it out, and we’ll hand you the evidence in a nice package tied with a bow. No one will be the wiser.”
I wish it were that easy, she thought to herself. She didn’t want to disappoint the FBI, but sometimes even magic couldn’t help figure something out. Annie whipped her palm in front of the door and took a peek inside the bedroom.
Everything was beige: beige carpet and walls, cream-colored bedding askew on the bed, satin pillows sliding to the floor, tan curtains falling off the rods. Footprints covered the carpeting, the fight plainly visible like a map.
“I didn’t see pictures of the footprints on the carpet. Did they take a picture of it?” Cham asked.
Jack perused the file quickly. “Yeah. They noted it.” He showed the pictures to Cham, who nodded and grabbed the photo.
The art above the bed hung askew with a large crack through the glass. A crystal chandelier hung suspended over the massive bed at the center of the room but was missing several crystals, some of which lay cracked or broken on the floor.
“You’ll track the footprints?”
“On it.” Cham headed through the chaotic mess as Annie followed the magical energy to the bed where Amelie died.
“Where was she on the bed?”
Jack handed her the photo; Annie, imagining the dead girl lying crosswise on the king bed, guided her crystal over the spot.
“Why isn’t it working?”
“Jack, shush.” Annie stood beside the bed. “She was hit here.” Annie pointed to her chest, the same location where the trace was found on the princess. “Standing, Amelie wouldn’t have landed like this.” Annie stared at the photo. “The princess was on the bed, maybe here.”
Annie climbed on the bed where Amelie had lain twenty-four hours before. Jack cringed again. They were tampering with the crime scene. The Wizard Guard shouldn’t be here, let alone on the bed where the victim died. But Jack said nothing as Annie’s crystal, sensitive to magic, glowed brightly as it connected to the magical trace.
“She’s hit here and falls back.” Annie held the crystal in the air, against the invisible trace that Jack took their word that it was there. “It’s strong but older than the spells in the hallway, and it fits the time frame. Damn, someone used a very powerful spell. Amelie didn’t have a chance,” Annie said.
Jack shuddered. “Did she suffer?”
I don’t know, Annie thought. Upon being hit with the spell, the heart stops beating, blood stops pumping, the breath ceases, rendering the body truly frozen in time.
“The spell killed her instantly. Most likely, she didn’t feel anything and probably didn’t know what was happening.” Not quite a lie, not quite the truth. Annie returned to the crystal, running it over the bed but discovering only one magical trace. Against a nonmagical the spell that killed Amelie was the only spell required.
“Why was Jordan not here?” Annie perused the dresser drawers. Male clothing still filled the drawers.
Cham tinkered in the bathroom, which was also large and encased in beige marble. The tub easily fit four. Candles, no longer lit but well used, covered the top of the tub that was still filled with water. The sink was devoid of any items, since all the originals were safely contained at Wizard Hall and the fakes confined to FBI storage.
“They entered through the bathroom,” Cham called out. He reentered the bedroom.
“Yeah. It’s a basic entrance spell. Any witch or wizard could enter through a closed window by phasing through the glass. I figure, they came in, found her in the bedroom, killed her immediately. Do you get a sense Jordan was here?” Spencer asked.
“Not when she was killed. There’s nothing defensive in here,” Annie surmised.
“Jordan probably heard them after they killed her and came in to see what happened,” Cham explained.
Jack headed to the bathroom, to the small window to the right of the bathtub. The privacy glass was all of two feet wide by three feet high, and there were no latches in which to open or close the window that sat ten stories above a very busy street. Curious, the agent touched the glass. Cool to the touch, it felt just as sturdy and secure as the
glass in his own bathroom window at home.
“How?” he asked.
“I can’t explain magic. It’s in us, and the right combination of stuff—of ingredients or words—can make things happen. They knew the room. They chanted a spell and teleported. That’s it.”
Jack touched the glass again, closing his eyes. An image of a hazy, fuzzy light came to mind. “And it’s here? There’s remnants of a spell? I can’t feel it.”
The soles of Annie’s rarely worn flats clicked against the tile bathroom. She felt the newness of the shoes. I should have worn my boots.
Annie sighed and held up her crystal for Jack. “It reads the trace energy and lights up when it finds it, but it’s activated by the magic I was born with. Watch.” Maneuvering the crystal against the glass, she sparked the crystal to life with a burst of green light. “Now you try.”
Jack palmed the crystal much like Annie had and ran it against the glass. It remained dull, a dark green with dark and light striations throughout. Annie placed her hand over his activating the magic; the crystal burned under his touch and Jack lost his grip on the rock. Annie froze the rock before it smashed on the tile.
“Sorry,” Jack said. “So sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got excellent reflexes,” she said while holding up the rock.
Jack returned to the bedroom, where Spencer and Gibbs had started on the dresser and the closet, combing through Jordan’s belongings looking for clues to where the boyfriend might have run off to. Cham glared at Jack as he entered.
“Leave him alone,” Annie whispered as she passed.
“What the hell was that about?” Cham responded.
“Just leave him be. He’s harmless,” Annie gently reminded him.
Spencer confirmed their theory. “There were four different teleportation spells cast. They fit the timeline, though one of those spells was cast twice.” Spencer explained.
“Jordan leaving and coming back for his stuff, maybe?” Annie pointed to the men’s clothing now piled on the bed.
“I did find one poorly cast trace. Maybe Jordan left because his magic is off, so he couldn’t defend himself. Maybe he returned for something left behind,” Cham suggested.
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