“Hey, Bekah. Whatcha doing here so late?”
The reporter jumped in her chair. “I… oh. Hi Stacey. You startled me. I thought I was alone. I’m just working on an assignment.” Clicking on a new window, her hands shook with nerves.
The college intern was dressed in slacks too large for her that hung off slim hips and a white button-down shirt. She craned her neck to look at the rest of the piles on Rebekah’s desk.
“I’m finishing up some research. Yours must be important. Is there anything I can do?”
Rebekah slammed the file shut, pulled the folders together, and neatly stacked them beside her.
“Nah. Just a project. I think I’m good.” She shoved the folder inside her bag and rested her hand on it as if to protect the contents.
“Guess you found something. Anyway, I thought I’d ask. See ya.” Stacey bounced away, her long, blonde hair floating behind her.
Positive Stacey wouldn’t return, Rebekah opened her computer and pulled up the Internet for another search of Anne Pearce.
*
Sprawled across her bed, Annie scribbled on a pad of paper, crossing out and re-marking her notes. The television hummed behind her with some show she’d never seen before. The light flashed as the scenes changed; one commercial came on and then another. Her temples pounded from stress and lack of sleep. Too tired to run downstairs and make a potion, she ignored the pain.
The meeting with Jack and his follow up call, left her stretched too thin. Their conversations replayed in her mind on a loop and each time she ended up punching him in the face. It wasn’t his fault. His stress was palpable and he passed it on to her.
Glancing at her notes, names swirled on the page: Rathbone, the associate, Jordan, Amelie, Sturtagaard, the Orb of Eridu. The letters, the words, the timeline of the murder, and the events of that night and since danced around her head; the pounding, like a beating heart, increased. Annie could no longer concentrate on anything other than going after Rathbone, which terrified her.
Whispers and rumors had followed her father’s death, and many in the Wizard Council believed Rathbone killed her father with an untraceable spell—something the Wizard Guard hadn’t been able to prove enough even to bring the wizard in for questioning. Jason Pearce’s broken and battered body, coated in a glamours to mask his suffering weighed heavily on Annie. Samantha’s sobs still rang in her ears.
Ryan, best friend to Jason and godfather to Annie and Samantha, fiercely protected the girls at the funeral. Annie caught sight of Rathbone and cringed as he paid his respects, a smug and satisfied smirk creasing his face. Annie, a young yet powerful witch, tried hard to break away from her godfather and confront the man, but Ryan held her shoulder firmly. With her head low, she turned once to look at the coffin. With one last glance at her father cloaked in magic, his child vowed to get the man who killed him. But the trail eventually grew cold—or someone made sure it did. Now, Annie finally had her chance.
Why am I not happy about that?
Annie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples; the television hissed beside her. Bothered by the low hum of voices, she waved her palm and shut it off. When she opened her eyes again, a picture of her favorite people smiled back at her. It was taken when they were sixteen at Great America Theme Park, their arms casually draped around each other, their faces smiling and dripping with water and sweat. She was leaning into Cham, almost resting against him, his arm draped around her shoulders, his head close to hers. Annie smiled, remembering that day. The upside-down roller coaster had spun, twisted and dropped much like flying a broomstick. The faster the ride flew on the tracks, the more they screamed. It was the most relaxing, the most fun experience Annie had since her father had died the summer before.
Placing the picture beside the one of her father, she grudgingly turned back to the pad of paper and scribbled the word “employer,” circling it for emphasis and also circling “associate,” wondering who that might be. A deep yawn reminded her of the early morning time, and the agony in her temples grew more severe. She swung her legs out, ready to mix a pain potion, but the picture from Great America stared back at her. Before getting out of bed, before thinking about the consequences, Annie picked up the phone and dialed his number.
“Remember Great America?” she asked.
Chapter 16
Annie paced along the edge of the pond near the Chamsky farm. It was after midnight, and the moon hung low in the sky, full and bright, its light reflected against the still waters. Annie knew Cham would come; no matter how inconvenient her requests, he rarely ever denied her.
When he teleported in, his six-foot-four body displaced the air, making a sound much like a gentle breeze through summer leaves. Lost in her thoughts, Annie felt his presence and knew he watched her, so she stopped and looked at the water.
“Great America?”
“I woke you. I’m sorry.” Glancing across the pond, she saw the raggedy outline of the trees against the moonlit sky, dark and ethereal, peaceful. Annie breathed deeply, the cool night air waking her.
Tossing his broomstick on the ground, Cham joined her. The full moon’s reflection shimmered in the water as a breeze skimmed the pond; small ripples washed against the edge near their feet. Annie stuck in a toe; it was cold, never warming in the unseasonably cool summer.
“Yeah,” Cham acknowledged. “Did you take something for your headache?”
“I’m sorry I called. I just can’t sleep.”
Cham felt the heaviness in her sigh.
“You okay?”
Am I okay?
The breeze became a wind, and the waves grew larger, rolling in against the edge of the pond. Annie wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing them for warmth. Cham stepped closer and embraced her. She placed her head against his chest, softly sighing.
“It’s Rathbone and my dad.” Her voice, a near whisper.
The smell of strawberries permeated Cham’s nose as he breathed deeply into her chocolate brown hair. As if on cue she turned and enveloped herself in his arms; her petite hands rested against his lower back, her head against his chest. With each breath, her shoulders rose and fell. Feeling her shudder slightly, Cham held her tighter against him.
They remained locked together for a time before she pulled away, finally sitting in the cool grass and placing her head in her hands.
“How am I going to do my job with this nagging pit in my stomach? I… I can’t separate between my dad’s murder and Amelie’s.”
Tears gently slid down her cheeks, but they didn’t release the old feelings and the tension they caused. It only reminded her what she had lost.
“You’re awfully close to this. Do you want me to lead this one?”
She smirked and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You really want to deal with FBI Man?”
Cham frowned and stopped. “Not really. That guy bugs me. I think he likes you.”
“And that bugs you?”
“Yeah, it does. And you’re dressing up for him,” he admitted with a touch of anger. Annie winced in confusion. And though Cham wanted to reach for her, his hands remained in his lap.
“Jack’s a nice guy. And no, I’m not dressing up for him. You just need to learn to work with him.” Annie didn’t know Jack well enough to convince Cham of anything else regarding the FBI agent.
“He’s not good enough for you. He’s too old and not magical.”
“What does that have to do with anything? My dad was older than my mom by ten years and she wasn’t magical.”
“You want date him?” Cham had no reason for pushing her. It seemed a waste of time to fight about Jack and yet he kept pressing.
Annie playfully punched him, but his eyes furrowed in an angry brow. He found a rock beside him and chucked it into the water.
“No. I barely know him. He needs us, and we kinda need him, especially now. How did we get into this stupid conversation, anyway?”
“I offered to take the lead. I think I might enjoy that.”
“Turn him into a slug and I’ll duel you.”
“Yeah, go on and try.” When he rolled his eyes, Annie punched his arm. “Ow.”
“So, Mr. Tough Guy? I know I can fly better than you.”
She summoned her broomstick and was halfway across the pond before he could catch her.
*
“We have no proof,” Ryan said.
He paced his den—stomping across the kilim rug while his wife, Kathy, sat on the couch, crying softly, both unaware that Annie hid outside the door, watching. As much as Annie wished to be there with them, she couldn’t move.
“Ryan, it’s too late to worry about that now. We have Samantha and Annie to care for. We need to keep them safe. That’s our job now.”
Annie’s heart pounded wildly, desperately wanting to know why her father died. Shaking and weak, she wrapped her arms around herself and slid to the floor.
“You think I don’t know that? I’ll do anything to protect those girls, but I have to stop Rathbone. He killed my partner because Jason knew something. He’s dead, and I should have been there!”
Annie’s tears fell uncontrollably.
Ryan stopped in front of the empty fireplace—a cold, black hole. And though it was July, it felt like December for the chill that hung in the room.
“I miss him, too, Ryan.” Kathy crossed the room, reaching for him. He folded her into his arms. “What are you going do?” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a used tissue.
“Find the evidence, link it to Jason, and hopefully by the end of the year, Rathbone will be locked in Tartarus for life.”
“Why isn’t there any proof?” Annie asked from the door.
Her godparents turned to her, their eyes filled with sadness and worry. Kathy ran to her and took her into her arms. “Annie, this is nothing for you to worry about. It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” she whispered in the child’s ear.
Annie shook her head. “It’s not, and I want to know. Why can’t they get that creepy man?” Tears blinded her. She tore away from Kathy’s embrace.
“Because he didn’t physically chant the spell, Annie. He sent others to do his dirty work. Unfortunately, we don’t know who or how. They left no evidence.”
“Why? Why is there no evidence? We have magic.”
“Sometimes the enemy is smart, well-prepared, and ruthless. It’s a lethal combination. We have no idea how anyone got so close to your dad.”
“That man is a coward. He deserves to die.”
“Annie, no, sweetheart. He’ll be punished. He will.” Kathy tried to soothe her, running fingers through Annie’s hair.
“Jason was one of the smartest, the best trained. Something happened… ” Ryan said, his voice trailing off.
“Ryan!” Kathy glared at him, her eyes warning him to stop. She pulled Annie closer to her.
Annie nodded against Kathy, who smelled of light, fruity perfume—like strawberries.
“I think I want to go to sleep.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go.” As Kathy led Annie from the room, she turned once more, glaring at her husband.
*
The memories woke Annie just before dawn. In that period between consciousness and blissful sleep, she clung to the dream before it faded. The sadness, anger, and confusion—a reminder of what was lost.
With the breeze no longer blowing across the pond, the water, smooth like glass, reflected the still-visible moon that washed them in dim light. Not ready to greet the day, Annie remained snuggled underneath the blanket beside Cham, whose arm still draped over her.
Two cell phones screeched, breaking the silence and waking them and the entire forest from their slumber.
“What the hell?” Annie pulled out her cell phone. A message from Tartarus Prison.
Cham rested his head on her shoulder, reading the message. She still smelled of strawberries mixed with sweat and grass—familiar, yet new. They both groaned as they saw the text. Sturtagaard wanted to speak to them.
He’s playing games.
“I really don’t want to talk to him right now.” Annie yawned.
“I’ll talk to him. I’m the lead now, remember?”
Their conversation seeped back into her consciousness. The realization that the man linked to her father’s death was now a suspect in her case was certainly a conflict of interest, so for the sake of the case, Annie gave up the lead.
It’s the right thing to do.
Though she had been sucked into the case by her tenuous relationship with the FBI agent, Annie nonetheless really didn’t want to give it up.
What if I can’t handle this?
“Can I shower first, oh Grand Leader?”
He bumped her shoulder and laughed. “I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind. I’m sure if you ask nice you’ll even get some breakfast out of it.”
“Your mom loves me. All the better to keep the vampire waiting.”
She relished that thought as they teleported to his parents’ home, leaving Sturtagaard to wait.
*
Sturtagaard took advantage of the extra room in his cell and stretched his legs; his hard-soled shoes clicked loudly in the otherwise silent wing. Before long, the sun would rise over the island sanctuary and send rays into the cell, blanketing the small room in light. And by the end of the day the vampire would be huddled in the only corner free of sunlight. Not wanting another day of that, he paced and thought. After several passes across the floor, he could wait no longer and banged on the wall of his cell.
“Get me the Wizard Guards now!” he shouted through the bars. His voice grated against the hard surfaces and disturbed his few neighbors.
“You little pussy! Shut the hell up!” The vampire beside him, even newer to Tartarus Prison than Sturtagaard himself, had been brought in after killing three people.
Sturtagaard had listened intently as the Wizard Guard who brought in the newest creature explained to the giant that Sturtagaard’s new buddy had been standing over the final victim, its fangs still draining the blood. “Open and shut,” said the Wizard Guard, whom Sturtagaard didn’t recognize either by sight or scent. The giant gently ignored the Wizard Guard, grunted, and walked the youngster from the cell block, leaving his vampire prey to rot in the same cell block as Sturtagaard. Seeing that this newby vampire had gotten caught so easily, Sturtagaard was livid they were placed in the same maximum security.
“Damn fool. Mind your own business!” Sturtagaard finally yelled at the vampire next to him. When his calls weren’t enough, he hammered on the walls again, finally bringing back the giants and their scraping and pounding against the stone. Insufferable and tedious, they made their way down the hall. He glared at them once they reached his cell.
“I want that damn girl here now!”
Sturtagaard paced—making it across the cell in four large steps—turned, and repeated.
I’m not dying at the hands of that young brat!
Over the centuries the vampire had grown accustomed to his strength, the fear left in his wake and the sensuality of the kill. Annie stood in the way of his return to all that.
The giant guards stood at his cell door and glared at him.
“Bring me the girl!” Sturtagaard demanded. One guard placed himself against the cell door and glowered at the vampire before roughly pushing against the iron bars. Sturtagaard jumped and watched them lumber back down the hallway, leaving Sturtagaard to roam his cell once more like a caged animal.
He thought of Annie, of her luscious, tasty neck, her blood as it pumped through her veins, and what it would feel like to suck the life from her and feel her last shudder in his arms. Sturtagaard slammed his fist through the wall and concentrated on something more lovely. Like the ease with which he was able to seduce women. His exquisite words, manners, and charms broke through any barrier, leaving them to trust the demon. Their physical excitement became his drug; the scent of iron rising to his nostrils thrilled him.
The girl’s lovely, creamy mocha skin shone
in the moonlight. The vampire no longer saw the bars that entrapped him, only the terror in her deep set eyes. Sturtagaard’s fangs extended on their own, a reaction to the blood lust he could not control.
“And where did you come from?” he hissed. The girl stood before him, wearing only a dress torn at the neck, the hem ripped, the fabric hanging loose. Her shoes were long gone, her bare feet caked in mud. She shook her head vehemently and stepped backwards.
“I won’t hurt you,” he purred, his voice soft and reassuring. He reached for her, touching the soft curls that hung from her head and framed her exquisite face. The girl winced at his touch, at the cold emanating from his long thin fingers. Locked inside the cage with him, she had nowhere to run and backed herself into the corner.
“N-n-noo. Please… ”
He kissed the girl’s neck, sweet whispers against her skin. He felt her heart race and her blood pump quickly, as he licked her and groaned. Tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting his face. The vampire pinned her to the wall, and she cried as he sank his fangs into her neck, snapping the skin like a crisp apple. The girl whimpered while her warm, iron-y blood passed through his lips, intoxicating him as it slid down his throat—the groan of pleasure masking his true intentions.
Yes, my dear.
With her blood drained, the girl dropped to the ground silently—and disappeared.
What the hell?
Sturtagaard dropped to his knees, feeling the floor for any hint the girl existed. He touched his teeth, his tongue, his lips. His mouth was covered in spittle; there was no blood.
This place. What was that?
Unsure of his vivid dream—or perhaps a trick of magic—Sturtagaard glanced around the cell. Misty light from the window above shimmered down on him; it waved and hummed as if alive.
The clock across the hall ticked away each minute, the hollow sound pinging in his ears. He had called the Wizard Guards at five-thirty. There was no reason for them to take thirty minutes to arrive at the prison.
A child laughed.
Alone in his cell, Sturtagaard fell to his knees, his hands covering his ears, but it couldn’t block out the growing noise. The vampire hummed while children ran down the hallway, laughing and squealing in glee. They followed a balloon, their tiny hands reaching higher for the string.
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 17