“The body started decomposition, so the girl wasn’t turned.”
“I’ll call the VAU,” Cham said.
It would be pretty standard removal. As Annie and Cham waited for the team to assemble and arrive, Cham conjured a large tarp and laid it in the open space. Together, they floated the girl from the floor and lay her on the tarp, folding the edges over her lifeless body.
“Crappy luck, huh?” Annie sat down next to Cham on the staircase, resting her head on his shoulder.
He absentmindedly stroked her hair as they listened to several furry animals scurrying around the building. An air duct popped softly, and cars from the main street a block away hummed through the open window.
“Someone teleported from up there. The signature’s still strong. We just missed him,” Cham said.
“I’m exhausted. Can’t wait for this weekend.” Annie yawned and closed her eyes.
“You know, Dave’s in town this week. He should be here for Saturday.”
“He is? I just hope we can still make it,” she said dryly.
“Why don’t you come over tonight? See Dave now, just in case we can’t later.”
“Yeah, I don’t need sleep. Sure.” Below them, a large door whined open as the door cut across the floor. Several pairs of shoes clicked against the hard cement to the stairs. Each step up, the stairs wobbled and the hand rail squeaked. Annie and Cham parted and stood as the VAU made their way up the stairs.
“Hey Annie, Cham,” said Graham Lightner, the team’s manager. “At least we made it in time this time.”
While Annie and Cham collected samples of teleportation trace for later comparison, the VAU methodically finished wrapping the girl’s body, shrinking it and placing it in an easy-to-carry bag. Another pair on the team took care to remove all traces of blood and the rubble across the floor, leaving the warehouse as the Wizard Guards had left it their last visit.
*
They met in Grant Park, a large acreage of open parks, statues, and fountains. Rebekah found an empty seat along the short wall, facing the large water fountains that projected the faces of Chicagoans, the water spitting from the images of the faces.
As a journalist, Rebekah knew how to watch people, read their emotions, sense if they were having a good or bad day. Today, she spied children as they ran through the fountains, their harried parents corralling and minding them or dragging them away from the water. Other adults ignored their children, preferring to talk on their phone while their kids ran in and out of the throngs of people enjoying the water. It was the perfect place to meet. No one noticed she was there.
Buses and taxis drove along Michigan Avenue; the tour bus stopped and let out several tourists. Rebekah watched them walk toward the restaurant and gift shop where they would most likely purchase a souvenir T-shirt or possibly a magnet in the shape of Lake Michigan.
Other tourists snapped pictures on their cell phones and uploaded them to Twitter or Facebook before moving on to the next famous sight to see.
Rebekah patted her jacket pocket, which held the coveted tickets Arnold had requested. She sighed and continued to people-watch, spying a cute couple farther along the wall. Their small brown bag held more items than Rebekah thought possible as they pulled out cookies, cupcakes, sandwiches, pop cans, and other baggies. She wondered how it all fit. Crossing her legs, she played with her phone until Arnold finally joined her.
“Hi, Arnold.”
Arnold sat his short, soft body beside her and squinted at her with light-blue eyes hidden inside thick round glasses. His pale, nearly sickly skin made her think the computer genius didn’t get out much.
She was just thankful Arnold was willing to help her, though it always came with a price attached to the favor.
“Did you get the tickets?” he asked.
“Do you have my file?”
Arnold pulled a USB drive from the pocket of his blue collared shirt that matched the color of his eyes almost perfectly. Before handing it to her, he glanced around at the tourists and locals, realizing quickly that no one cared. Satisfied, he handed her the flash drive in exchange for the envelope with the tickets.
“Are you in loads of trouble?” she asked.
“Nah. I know how to fix it, so I’m not. I hope what you’re looking for is worth it, though.”
“I’m not sure yet.” Rebekah had a feeling in her gut that training told her to trust, which led her down this path. Did I cross a line? She fidgeted with the drive, rolling it around in her hand before shoving it deep inside her purse as if to forget she had ever asked Arnold to download the file for her.
The cute couple Rebekah had been watching packed up the remainder of their food and garbage. It had only been ten minutes, but they were moving on. Holding hands, the young couple took a stroll through the fountain on their way to the waiting tour bus. Rebekah watched them enter; they popped up on the upper deck, open to the air. The girl snuggled against the boy as the bus took off for the next stop on the tour.
“Her file is odd.” Arnold’s voice sounded high pitched and somewhat squeaky. It would have annoyed her except for the statement.
“What do you mean odd?”
“Just read it.”
*
Her file is odd.
His proclamation rang in Rebekah’s head. Why? She thought she had seen it all and couldn’t imagine what Arnold referred to.
Nervously she glanced around the office space. Each reporter had a personal workspace that attached to one other. These stations were placed in neat rows and columns, the overall effect pleasing and orderly.
The USB drive whirled in her computer as Anne Pearce’s police file loaded and became visible on the screen.
Odd? Unsure what to expect, Rebekah clicked on the first file, Anne’s personnel records. It was nearly empty.
Anne Elizabeth Pearce, born July 23, 1987. According to the record, she joined the Chicago Police Department five years ago, at the age of 18. Scrolling through the record, Rebekah found nothing of Anne’s academy days, no scores, no performance appraisals, no grades.
Thinking the officer might have come from another city, Rebekah dug deeper into the records. No disciplinary issues, no complaints from residents, no commendations. Anne was a beat cop with only two cases noted, and there were no transfers.
But she called herself a detective.
Scanning the records for the date Anne passed the detective’s test, Rebekah felt her frustration boil. She kept clicking and reading, but the file contained nothing more than incomplete half stories.
The two cases represented in the file were unsolved deaths of undetermined cause, neither of which qualified Anne to consult on a double homicide, especially not the investigation of the princess’s murder. Now Rebekah understood Arnold’s proclamation. The hairs on the back of her neck stood out as a warning—yet Rebekah was determined to discover Anne’s secret.
*
Home for only two days, Dave Smith decided his visit was far too short, especially since he lacked substantial time with his friends since they were busy on their latest case. When he learned they were coming home, he abandoned his packing—leaving the suitcase open and his clothes piling out—to order a pizza and flip on the television. While waiting for delivery, Dave settled on a documentary about magical creatures, quickly becoming engrossed in the snake that writhed around on the screen.
“How can you watch that stuff,” Janie Parker asked one of her three best friends. Dave smiled and shrugged, turning the sound to just a whisper.
“You like the law. I like the animals.”
Footsteps pounded up the staircase, the sound echoed through the thin apartment walls. “Sounds like they’re home,” Dave said as the front door of his shared apartment with Cham opened. “Seriously? You really believe that?” Cham asked. It sounded like an argument.
“Yeah. I do.” Annie pressed up against him, holding her own if his one-hundred-pound weight and twelve-inch height advantage meant nothing. “I c
an prove it, too.” She smacked his chest.
“And you’re fighting about what this time?” Dave called out.
Annie turned and ran to Dave, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her hair rubbed against the underside of his chin, and the scent of strawberries and vanilla wafted up to him. The familiar fragrance made him long to stay home and not head back to Colorado for work.
“I thought we’d miss you. It’s been so crazy here,” she said, squeezing him tightly.
Cham smacked Dave on the arm before making his way to the kitchen. The refrigerator door swung open. “I’ve been home for two days and no love.”
“Oh, poor baby.” Annie shoulder bumped him before plopping on the sofa beside Janie. Annie and Janie friends since they were three, met the boys at thirteen when they started Windmere, one of four magical boarding schools in America. Though Annie and Dave once dated, they moved past the difficulties that came with breakups and now felt comfortable together again. So much so that Annie rested her weary feet on Dave’s lap as she leaned into Janie resting her head on her friend’s slender shoulder.
“It’s good to be home,” Dave exclaimed as they settled in for the night.
*
Hours later, a pizza box lay on the floor, with one piece left in the middle. The television, with a low hum, flashed light across the dark room. An easy, comfortable silence fell between them, mostly because they were tired but partially because the four of them didn’t always have to talk when they hung out together.
“You never did tell me if you caught him.” Dave summoned the last piece of pizza and polished it off in two large bites.
“Catch who?” Annie responded, a sly smile creeping across her face. Her attention remained on the television, where a long, serpent-like creature with spikes on its head slowly devoured an otter-like creature called a billdad.
“Eww.” Annie made a face and turned away.
“Really? That grosses you out?” Dave laughed. “You kill stuff all the time.”
“Yeah, but vampires burn up into ash.” She pointed to the screen. “That’s gross.” And yet Annie resumed watching.
“That serpent’s a stoor worm, and it’s eating your favorite, a billdad. It’s amazing footage because the snake’s so rare and only seen in the Caves of the Dead. It lives off the magical signatures there. It’s the first time they’ve been able to film one. And billdads, they live in your backyard.” Dave adjusted his position, sitting on the edge of the cushion, mesmerized by the documentary.
“Yeah, they used to tear up the backyard. I chased them all the time. Chased one to Mrs. Welter’s yard, even.”
“I remember that. We crawled under the hedges trying to catch that stupid thing. She caught us and thought we were cutting her roses.” Janie laughed at the memory of growing up three houses from Annie.
“She loves both of you now.” Dave said.
Annie gazed at him, tall and tanned from working outside. He looked incredibly fit and happy, which was a good look on Dave.
“You never answered. Did you find that vampire yet?” Dave asked again.
“Have you read the nonmagical or magical news at all today? It’s all over Wizard Hall,” Janie said.
Cham, conjured the day’s paper and flung it at Dave, who caught it midair.
The front page of The American Sphinx told all about Princess Amelie and her magical death. Dave crinkled his eyes in confusion. “How’s the princess’s death related to us?”
“The case is ours. No more vampire for us.” Annie watched as a different stoor worm devoured a rabbit.
“Oh.” Dave scanned. “Jordan Wellington? He looks familiar.”
“Windmere, six years ahead of us. And, based on his school ring, he lived in Halder Dorm,” Annie responded. She grimaced; the snake on TV had curled into a ball, with the rabbit’s outline still visible in the snake’s swollen belly.
“Damn. I’ve missed a lot. And this Jordan guy. He did it?”
“Either he did it or knows who did. Keep up,” Cham laughed.
Dave sent the paper flying toward Cham’s head. In one swift move, Cham held up his palm. The paper stopped and flew back toward Dave—landing at his feet.
“Does this mean you’re working tonight? My last night here?” Dave asked.
“Have to find Jordan. Wait, your last night?” Cham asked.
“Well, free night. Parents tomorrow.”
“We can wait a few more hours,” Annie suggested and leaned backwards as Janie braided her hair.
*
Cham shook his broken crystals in the palm of his hand. They clanked a dull empty thud, irritating Annie.
“Give me them.” Before he could volunteer them, she summoned the rocks to her palms. Exasperated, Cham kept quiet; they both knew that once the magic strands ripped apart, they couldn’t be repaired. Amused, he watched Annie tap them, wave her hands over them, and poke them. After failing to repair his crystal, she shrugged.
“You should’ve bought a new one,” she said.
Cham summoned the two halves and joined them together where they fit almost perfectly and stuck tightly together. “Yeah, but this fit my hand and worked with my magic.” He maneuvered the crystal across the map for effect.
Annie rolled her eyes and projected her scrying crystal to his lap. With the intrusion, he looked at her.
“I don’t like the lack of control with the string.” Cham sent the crystal flying back at her.
“You’re just pissed because yours broke.”
He glared at her for a moment. Tightness felt heavy in his chest. Though he rather liked his crystal, it didn’t scry or capture magic well anymore. Maybe he liked being stubborn when she interfered.
“What?” she asked innocently.
Cham flicked a low jinx toward Annie, the kind of spell that did nothing more than prick your skin. This, however, pinned her arm to the sofa. Not one to ignore or back down in a duel, she whipped a return jinx that hit him in the head, causing his curly hair to sprout large tendrils. He dropped the crystals and map as he tried to stop his hair from growing to the floor—finally reversing the spell before hair grew to his waist.
Before the retort came, Annie flew out of her seat, running toward the back bedroom, but his long strides reached her quickly. Cham grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up, swinging her around, and tossing her back on the sofa. Annie responded with a hex, sending him up to the ceiling and holding him there.
“You spend way too much time together,” Dave said. He waved his hand toward Cham, releasing him; Cham crashed to the floor. “You’re both nuts,” Dave added, heading to the kitchen for a snack.
Annie grabbed Cham’s hand and pulled him off the floor to continue their search for Jordan Wellington.
Chapter 11
The cave, a consistent 65 degrees, reeked as only a room without ventilation or windows can. The musty, stale air made Jordan sneeze as he trudged into his hiding spot, dragging his supplies behind him. Just beyond the light cast from outside, Jordan dumped his items and sat down in the dirt.
He dared not move any further into the caves, afraid to get lost in the many miles of passageways. With a clear view of the entrance and out of sight in the shadows, Jordan hoped anyone poking a head inside wouldn’t notice him. It was just after midnight, so Jordan had several hours before the park opened and visitors enjoyed the caverns.
Weary, Jordan built himself a small fire that he kept contained in a fire pit using found rocks in the entrance cavern. It did little to warm him; the cold, damp air seeped into his bones, and his muscles shook violently. Even the sleeping bag wrapped around his shoulders could not ease the ice settled deep inside.
Flames crackled and hissed. The light cast odd shadows against the stone wall, trapping shapes in the grooves of the tunnels. When Sturtagaard snuck away for the night, his shadow was elongated and bounced along, almost gleeful. It unnerved Jordan until the vampire left the caves after telling Jordan he’d return just before dawn.
Jordan had gone home for help, having no other friends or family to call on. Mother had expected and prepared for him—by shuffling him away from the house and imploring him to wait in the guest cottage. Before he left, she eyed his traveling companion suspiciously but said nothing.
She must be beleaguered from fighting with Dad. Jordan sighed in his sleeping bag as the flames danced beside him. The bag Mother had left for him lay open at his feet. The food, cash, camping gear, and change of clothes—all welcome—would last him a few weeks. By then, the orb would be back with Rathbone, and Jordan would be far from here.
After an hour of pacing in the guest cottage and suffering under the vampire’s continuous glare, Jordan heard a commotion from the main house. Glancing out the window, he saw Mother’s small frame stumbling toward the cottage with Father charging after before catching up to his wife and storming ahead of her.
As the door opened, the elder’s voice boomed and bounced against the wall, shaking the small room. “Leave now! You are no longer welcome here, and I no longer have a son!” Those words echoed in Jordan’s ears. Absently, Jordan added several twigs to the fire. Wet from the dew, they sent choking smoke into the already stuffy uncirculated air. He coughed and sputtered, and his body shook until a sip of water calmed the cough. He nervously glanced around the room, but that did nothing to allay his fears.
Those words, which Jordan was sure were the last his father would ever speak to him, were more than words. Jordan placed meaning on them, associated with the look on Mother’s face. Her soft, pale skin and her purple eyes carried fear, sadness, and disappointment. Jordan never had time to explain his innocence.
Mother, I’m so sorry.
A log popped as the fire danced in the small pit, it’s shadows bounced and hopped across the stone of the cavern. Distant sounds of claws on rock, of creatures running through the forest, had Jordan on edge. At every sound, the fugitive expected the police—or better yet, the Wizard Guard—to catch him.
Maybe I want them to find me.
The vampire twitchy, irritated, and a bit irrational finally left for the night, off to hunt, which for him was merely sucking the blood from a victim and calling it food. While Jordan was glad to be rid of the vampire even for a few hours, his stomach churned knowing what the creature intended on doing. No longer wanting one of his sandwiches, Jordan tossed it into the fire and watched it burn, leaving him filled with guilt and anger.
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