Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set

by Sheryl Steines

  They’re not real. He closed his eyes and hummed louder.

  But the hallucinations circled him, singing to him. “Stop!” Sturtagaard screamed.

  “Stop yourself, big ass,” his neighbor replied.

  Silent again in his wing of the prison, the ghosts stopped; leaving the vampire alone in his cell, with the clock ticking above him.

  The hallucinations stopped as quickly as they started. Sturtagaard found himself shaking, sweat pooling on his ice-cold skin.

  Weak and exhausted, he fell into the cot and stared up at the high window. For days the window had let in the hazy light regardless of the moon or sun. It intrigued and scared him knowing how greatly it affected him.

  As Sturtagaard pondered the window, and what it truly was, the giant guards stopped at his cell. The lumbering large feet pounded and scraped and, for the first time, the noise didn’t grate on the vampire’s nerves. The giants grunted in unison after verifying the vampire was still there and then moved on, leaving him to the business of the window.

  “Tell them to hurry before I change my mind!” Shouted Sturtagaard. I don’t have to give them anything, he thought to himself.

  “Mama’s boy! Vamp’s a mama’s boy. You want your mommy? Afraid of the prison, mama’s boy?”

  “You’ll be staked by the time I get out of here, you dumb shit,” Sturtagaard muttered to himself.

  As this was merely a temporary inconvenience, he refused to become one of those vampires, by stooping to vulgarity. The thought made him shudder. For his roommate, it was end of the line or so Sturtagaard tried to convince himself.

  Vampires up and down the hall settled in for the day as the sun crept higher in the sky, the first of the light hitting the tops of the cell bars. Sturtagaard’s neighbor clearly felt his freedom slipping from him; he no longer swore or offered crude jeers. Another minute ticked by, and the quiet gnawed at Sturtagaard.

  Another ping of the clock. The vampire lost all patience. Enraged by Annie and Cham’s disrespect, he flew from his cot and lunged for the cell door, grabbing the metal.

  “Fuck!” he bellowed and ripped his hands from the holy-water-infused iron bar, pulling away skin in the process.

  “Shut the hell up already!”

  Sturtagaard dashed to the pathetic cell sink, running cold water over his hands. Smoke rose from his burnt flesh.

  After several minutes, his skin no longer screamed in pain, leaving only a dull ache of burnt flesh. This was the last straw. Sturtagaard remembered his path to this time and place, greatly aware of how it all fell apart; the zombie army and the death of the princess had crossed the line that once kept him alive. Sturtagaard wanted no more part in this journey. He refused to be staked, or lose his freedom—and with that he decided a course of action.

  Sunlight began its daily sweep across the cell floors, reducing the amount of roaming space.

  “I want to see them now!” His voice reverberated down the stone corridor, but the giants no longer heard him.

  Sturtagaard knew Annie and Cham had pieced it together and figured out who he worked for. Their glances and smirks teased him and gnawed at him all night. The vampire preferred knowing as little as possible and frankly didn’t care what the zombie army was for. Though why else create an army but to take power?

  So who wants the power of the Wizard Council?

  Light streamed in from the window, stealing Sturtagaard’s attention from his present predicament. The window mocked him with freedom and held his fascination because it was made not of glass but rather a material that distorted the light, making it swirl and sparkle in the sunlight.

  The vampire no longer cared that Annie kept him waiting. He could wait a very long time for the bright, beautiful, and fierce Annie Pearce because he was her future, and she was his past. Sturtagaard had challenged Jason Pearce as he would challenge Annie. But more than that, he knew Annie would never let an opportunity pass, especially one that gave her answers. Finally still and calm, with a new plan, the demon sat in the corner of his cell and waited for her to come.

  *

  Rebekah barely slept that night; Anne’s escape from the alley rattled her. At six in the morning, she slipped from her apartment and drove to Grant Park, retracing her steps.

  It occurred to her that maybe Anne escaped through the crowd rather than heading down the alley.

  But I know I saw her in the alley!

  Rebekah followed the sidewalk to the alley marked by the dumpster, the car no longer parked in the tight space. Could Anne have hidden out of sight if she knew the journalist followed her.

  I didn’t take the time to search.

  Both buildings on either side accessed the alley with a single metal door. Rebekah jiggled each door handle and found both locked, neither containing a keyhole.

  Twirling around and taking in the entire area, the reporter was at a loss for how Anne Pearce had been able to run down the alley and suddenly disappear.

  Unable to let go of Anne’s mysterious departure, Rebekah tried desperately to convince herself that her improbable idea made no sense. Disappearing into thin air was not even remotely possible, and yet her gut screamed at her to accept it.

  Rebekah Stoner headed to the library against her rational judgment, turning to section she had never perused before. She had been unaware just how many books existed on the occult. Tomes about tarot cards, natural healing, herbs, crystals, spells, hexes, paranormal activity, psychic abilities, and other magic lined several sections of bookshelves.

  Skeptical, the journalist found the material daunting, only wanting to find a book that encompassed several magical topics, not such specific themes. Rebekah read each title carefully, taking several from the shelf, and finally settled on a large tome, taking it to a private table in an empty corner. Broomsticks, portals, teleportation… her head spun, surprised by the serious nature of the subject matter. Either the author was plain crazy… or there was something to the magical transportation.

  The more information Rebekah gleaned, the more uneasy she became, finally settling on the idea that Anne had teleported from the alley to elsewhere.

  This is crazy; magic doesn’t exist.

  And yet Rebekah was intrigued with the idea that Anne escaped the alley without heading into either building. Hiding the title cover against her chest, she headed for self-checkout and took the book home.

  Chapter 17

  Beyond the borders of Tartarus Prison lay a desolate landscape, an uninhabited bird refuge. The prison sat at the center of the island, isolated and difficult to reach. Witches and wizards rarely ventured to the prison on purpose, and nonmagical’s were only interested in birdwatching on the island, though they often reported overwhelming melancholy or strange sounds in this part of the island. Most stayed clear.

  Erected in response to the Salem Witch Trials of 1692, Tartarus’s mission was to house magicals who put the community at risk. Up until the witch trials, witches and wizards had given no thought to keeping their gifts a secret. This lasted until innocent people were accused of witchcraft, forcing real practitioners into hiding, afraid to perform magic even in the privacy of their homes. Some, however, refused to give up so much a part of themselves, continuing to practice magic in public, leading to some disastrous accidents and backfired magic. Soon after this, the Wizard Council passed secrecy laws to ensure safety for all.

  The first prisoner sent to Tartarus, a man named Bildrick Hagen, was a wizard immigrant who claimed to not know about the new wizarding laws. He loved to perform illusions in the open. Even though his spells were innocent, he was put on trial and sentenced to serve six years at Tartarus. Unfortunately, he enjoyed the free room and board quite a bit, and found his way back in there a short time after his release. Today, though, the prison primarily housed the most dangerous and darkest practitioners of black magic—allowing the Wizard Council to maintain order without exposure.

  To ensure those incarcerated couldn’t leave, teleporting directly in and out
of the prison was impossible. For those who worked there, an enclosed spot to the south of the prison, hidden by pine trees as wide as they were tall, created a perfect arrival space. Annie and Cham landed in this grassy area, which was dotted with several broken tables and benches in order to create the illusion of a picnic area.

  Affected by the spells around the prison, both Wizard Guards felt the cold and dread as they neared the prison. The turrets came into view, including the one that housed Sturtagaard.

  The entrance to the prison grounds was guarded by a large gate that featured at its center a metalwork depiction of a manlike creature with one hundred hands, known as a Hundred Hander. Once these creatures had guarded the gates of Hades; today, their descendants protected Tartarus, although they no longer possessed one hundred hands but instead looked rather human with two.

  The gates swung out, granting Annie and Cham access to a twenty-foot long archway. The stone tunnel ended in a set of massive doors made of wood with a metal plate at the center. Annie and Cham held their right palms over the metal, casting a spell that sent their magical signatures to the guardhouse. Once their identities were verified, the doors opened to a large courtyard choked with weeds. Any grass that may have grown in the courtyard was now brown and dry from lack of care. Three small, skeletal trees in the corner of the courtyard remained of the once-beautiful gardens. Cold and uninviting, the courtyard discouraged visitors from meandering and kept them moving to the final entrance, a small, nondescript industrial door made of glass and metal. Beyond the doors was a small reception area where Annie and Cham were waved through.

  Outside the interrogation room in Turret Three, Gibbs and Spencer observed Sturtagaard through a two-way mirror. Since he had been agitated all morning by Annie and Cham’s tardiness, it occurred to the Wizard Guards that the vampire may have started losing his mind as the prison was designed to do. The vampire continued pacing, occasionally pounding on the mirror.

  “Annie! Annie Pearce! I’m done with you. They can’t stake me fast enough to be rid of you, girl!” Sturtagaard yelled and pounded the glass again.

  “Think we made him mad?” she quipped just outside the interrogation room. Cham shrugged as they entered.

  “Okay. We’re here. What the hell is so important?” Annie sat at the table. Cham hovered close by.

  Sturtagaard leered at them, his eyes black pools of pure anger. As a warning, Annie summoned a stake and rested it on the table in front of her while retaining a tight grip on the smooth and pointy wood. The vampire stared at her up and down and then looked at Cham, who balled his fists.

  Though the demon had called for them, he offered no information and instead sat patiently, inhaling the stuffy prison air. Annie exchanged glances with Cham, who checked his watch. The vampire sniffed and sneered at Annie.

  After wasting twenty minutes, Cham said, “I’m done,” and headed toward the door. Sturtagaard didn’t flinch and matched Annie’s gaze. She shrugged and stood.

  “If I talk, my employer will have me staked. I’d like some reassurance that you won’t do the same.”

  Neither turned, though they both stopped at the doorway. Annie rolled her eyes, and Cham glanced back at the vampire, no longer a creature of strength. He actually appeared small sitting in the interrogation room.

  “Answer all our questions. No games.” Annie faced Sturtagaard, who squirmed in his seat.

  “You heard right. I was hired to find the bodies for a zombie army. How you heard is beyond me. I was careful.” Sturtagaard spoke with arrogance and resignation.

  “You need to stop trusting the black market,” Annie said dryly.

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” The vampire grimaced and crossed his arms.

  “So who wants to overthrow the Council?” Cham asked, still clutching the door handle.

  “My employer. I’ve told you, I don’t know who that is. I always dealt with his associate. He’d show up, leave notes, or send others with messages. I’ve never contacted him.”

  Annie regarded the vampire carefully.

  I don’t trust him.

  “Come on, now. I can’t give you information I don’t have.” Sturtagaard leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. Back in the game, playing with them, gave him a little more strength to follow through on his best-laid plan.

  Annie strode across the small room, stopping behind the vampire, and placed a stake to his heart, although she was undecided on using it. “Funny and charming’s not gonna work today. Especially since your little army is somehow related to the orb and Princess Amelie’s murder. Connect them.” She pushed the sharp point into his skin, nearly breaking through. Sturtagaard jumped.

  “I’m talking. Release the stake, girl.”

  Annie held the stake steady, neither wavering nor bowing to the vampire. “Keep talking.”

  “Fine,” he muttered. “I was hired to build an army of the dead. Zombies specifically. That’s what I was paid to do, and then last week my employer ordered me to find the orb and return it to him. I have no idea why. That’s all I know.”

  “How big of an army? When was delivery to take place?” Annie let up on the pressure, but it relieved nothing; Sturtagaard still felt it there above his once-beating heart.

  “As many as I could make by September first.”

  Annie grimaced. Cham’s face reflected her emotions. They didn’t need to check the calendar or research its significance: the Day of First Sun, a powerful and ancient holiday.

  “Why on the Day of First Sun? That day favors good magic. We’re stronger that day, not weakened to black magic,” Cham said, deep frown lines across his forehead. The color had drained from his pale cheeks, leaving his freckles standing out like dark patches across his face.

  “Don’t know why. Didn’t ask, and I don’t care. He’s a black wizard. What do all wizards want—to practice magic in the open, to rule the world?” Sturtagaard sneered but wriggled underneath the stake as Annie pushed it a little closer to the breaking point.

  “Wipe the smirk off your face, Sturtagaard. Having free reign won’t be as good as you think, with all the angry mobs, torches, and stakes through the heart.” Sturtagaard swallowed hard, his jaws clenched.

  “Okay, so you don’t know who your employer is. And his associate told you Jordan had the orb?” Cham asked.

  “My associate told me to steal the orb and where to find it. That boy was foolish for stealing it. And yes that’s why his princess is dead.”

  Annie paced along the wall, flipping the stake in the air with each step. It smacked against her palm. With each slap, Sturtagaard flinched.

  “So who’s your associate?” Annie said.

  The vampire halted, shifted in his seat, and folded his arms together before resting them on the table. He made eye contact with only Annie. “He never formally introduced himself. It was all secretive.”

  “And the name?” She flipped the stake again. In the quiet of the interrogation room, the wood smacking into the palm of her hand was loud.

  Ugh, he’s stalling.

  “I want reassurance you won’t stake me. I want to be let out of prison, and I want the Guard off my back!” Sturtagaard said. His voice reverberated off of the stone walls until Annie felt it deeply inside her. She glanced at Cham, who was in charge now. He would extend the offer.

  “If what you’ve told us is true, you’ll have your freedom,” Cham said at last.

  Annie held her breath as Cham held his hand out toward Sturtagaard, waiting for him to take it, magically binding the arrangement. Sturtagaard smiled widely, exposing his fangs as he grasped Cham’s waiting hand.

  “Sarconis,” he hissed.

  Annie looked straight into the mirror and nodded once. Neither Wizard Guard glanced back as Sturtagaard was led from the room.

  *

  “I’m not the case lead,” Annie said poking her head into Milo’s cubicle.

  Milo glanced up at her from behind several piles of paper on his desk. Af
ter pushing them aside, he folded his hands together and sat back in his chair.

  “Rathbone owned the orb. You were fine knowing that yesterday. What changed?” The department manager motioned for her to sit.

  “Rathbone killed my dad.”

  “There’s no proof.”

  “Milo, stop. You know it, the janitors in the basement know it, everyone knows it.”

  “So what did Sturtagaard tell you this morning?”

  Word traveled fast through the small wizard community, at least in the United States. This meant everyone knew she met with the vampire this morning.

  No one should know what he said though.

  “Ryan’s not safe. Actually, the Council’s not safe either.”

  He turned in his chair, held his palm to the wall, and chanted a spell. A bright light dashed around the cubicle, creating a cover around them that made it impossible for outsiders to hear their conversation.

  Annie explained the zombie army of the dead and of the plan to overthrow the government. Rather than commenting, ranting, or making irrational statements, Milo remained thoughtful and contemplative, very unlike him.

  “Who else knows?”

  “Me, Cham, Sturtagaard, Gibbs, and Spencer.”

  “Okay. Do you know what the orb is for?”

  She shook her head. “Not completely sure. I believe it’s a mode of transportation for souls. I’m guessing he takes the souls of his victims, though I’m not sure what Rathbone wants with them.”

  “Where’s Cham?”

  “Verifying his story. We’re looking for a man or possibly vampire called Sarconis. He gave Sturtagaard orders.”

  Milo paced his cubicle, sidestepping piles of paper, books, cursed objects, and garbage. He stopped to read his wall, covered in articles, lists, and notes with scratches and marks. His hands rested behind his back as he rocked on his heels. Annie had known him since her father was a Wizard Guard, but she had never seen Milo so reflective and restrained.