Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set

by Sheryl Steines

  “But you love me for it, don’t you?” The sentiment embarrassed him; he cleared his throat.

  “We should go,” Annie said quickly. They placed books on the floor and left the small den for her back porch. Both of their faces burned red as they teleported to the Snake Head Letters.

  *

  Archibald Mortimer was grumpy and unkempt, and his store was a disorganized mess. Yet somehow the shopkeeper knew everything that happened anywhere in the magical world. His patrons relied on that and trusted him with their secrets and their money because, for the right price, he delivered.

  The Wizard Guard condoned what they had to—his information was always good. For his help, they mostly left him alone while keeping a distant eye on him.

  Annie gazed through the grime-coated windows of the Snake Head Letters. Mortimer was up early assisting customers. He made himself available to whomever needed it whenever they needed it—as long as they had an appointment. They waited as the older man completed a transaction with a wizard neither of them recognized. They had no reason to startle him. Annie didn’t relish in seeing the Mortimer again so soon. Not after sneaking around the last time.

  The customer wore a long, black wool coat, even though it was the end of July, and pulled a small pile of money from one of the pockets. Mortimer counted the cash as the man glanced around the store, his head whipping around with paranoia. Annie ducked away from the window for a moment before peering back through the glass in time to see Mortimer handing a round object to the man. The object was metallic, about the size of a small salad plate. It resembled a large coin. Annie glanced at Cham, who raised his eyebrows. The customer hid the object inside his wrap, explaining the clothing choice.

  Mortimer placed the money behind a large metal door. After slamming it shut, he cast a heavy spell over the door, which Annie knew would make it impossible for anyone but himself to open. The customer sidestepped Annie to avoid her and nearly ran into Cham, who jumped out of the way. Free of the store, the unfamiliar wizard dashed down the street as far away from the Snake Head Letters as he could get.

  Annie grimaced at the store’s stench. The items housed on the shelves had been procured from attics and basements or dank underground tunnels, and they brought with them the smell of old and decrepit buildings. With the warm weather outside, the smell was especially strong this morning.

  The soles of her shoes stuck to the floor.

  Has this place ever been cleaned?

  Shelves filled with tomes of all sizes, some so packed with books that they trickled onto large piles on the floor, blocking half of the narrow passageway. Cham turned himself sideways to get his large frame past them.

  Dim light covered the store, making it easy to hide in the shadows. The brightest light spilled from the office at the back of the establishment. Mortimer rustled papers and clanked metal while working. Annie and Cham moved forward, making no effort to hide their presence, and the sound in back ceased. Annie stopped.

  Uncomfortable silence filled the shop. A white-hot spark shot from the back room, hitting the cash register and ricocheting into Annie’s right shoulder. She ducked behind the counter, applying pressure to her wound and chanting a healing spell.

  “Mortimer thinks it’s a surprise attack!” she shouted.

  Cham dashed behind a row of bookshelves toward the other side of the store, taking the long way to the office. A second fireball flew past him, knocking several books off the shelf. The pile scattered across the floor. With another spell, a tome exploded above the Wizard Guard. Papers, bindings, and covers cascaded to the floor like snow. A third spell threw an ironclad treatise from the shelf. As gravity pulled it downwards, Cham ran, and the book filled the space he vacated. The impact reverberated, shaking and rattling the old windows; the shelving unit quivered beside Cham.

  While Cham remained to distract Mortimer, Annie ran from her hiding spot, keeping low and using shelves and piles of merchandise to protect herself from the errant spells. Pressing herself against the back wall, she inched her way toward the office door. Another spell soared from the room. Annie touched the door frame, creating a barrier. Mortimer’s spell crashed against the invisible protection jinx; sparks exploded in the office.

  “Bloody hell,” a small voice cried out from inside the office.

  Annie stepped in front of the doorway and crossed her hands over her chest as Mortimer cowered behind the dilapidated desk chair.

  “Whadda ya want now?” complained the old man, clutching the chair.

  Cham stiffened behind her. Mortimer caught his reaction and loosened his grip on the chair. Annie stared at his gray greasy hair that protruded out from his head as if he had been electrocuted.

  “Not so good in paradise?” he scoffed.

  “The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner we’ll leave,” Annie said. Her eyes bore through him with a strong warning.

  What little confidence Mortimer presented vanished, and his face fell.

  “You sold a book to a nonmagical,” Annie said. “I think you called it a Book of Shadows.”

  “Yeah, and?” Sweat beaded and dripped from his forehead, and his fingers drummed against the chair. He clearly knew he was caught; his eyes darted while the gears in his brain attempted to formulate a lie to appease the Guards. Mortimer shrunk at Annie’s glare.

  “It was all in fun,” Mortimer wheedled. “He knew about us, too. Didn’t he?”

  Annie shuddered at Mortimer’s attempted playfulness. “It’s illegal. We should haul you into Tartarus, dumbass!”

  Mortimer squirmed under her intense stare; his knee knocked against the rolling chair, and it swiveled, squeaking loudly.

  “How much time for selling a black magic book to a nonmagical?” Annie asked Cham.

  “Selling to a nonmagical, exposing magic, and lying about it? That’s a life sentence,” Cham said.

  “I got nothin’ to say.” Mortimer backed into the wall straightening his back to appear more formidable. Annie and Cham didn’t flinch. The only power the shopkeeper had was knowledge.

  He’s sniveling and weak.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll call Tartarus and let them know we’re coming,” Annie said.

  She touched the door frame, ready to remove the protection spell, and smiled as the old man continued to press against the back wall until it creaked against his weight. “Or we could forget this little indiscretion if you answer some questions.”

  I’d rather take him to Tartarus, she thought.

  His eyebrows rose. Clearly he was intrigued by her offer.

  “The Orbs of Eridu, ever heard of them?” she asked.

  “A myth, don’t exist,” Mortimer advised.

  “Wrong answer. The Council owns one,” Cham said.

  Mortimer sighed, softening his demeanor as he realized he was caught in another lie. “Sold one a few months back. Powerful magic, them orbs.” He said this mostly to himself and shook his head. Stepping forward, the old man waited for Annie to remove the barrier. She slid her palm across the opening until the film disappeared, and Mortimer skirted around her, dashing behind the counter. Searching the disorganized piles, he grabbed a stack of papers and searched for one sheet in particular, tensing when he found the invoice he wanted.

  “Here.” Mortimer handed the receipt to Cham with shaking hands. “Basil Rolf.”

  “Who’s Basil Rolf?” Annie asked.

  Although this wasn’t a name on their black wizard watch list, something was vaguely familiar about it.

  Probably a false ID, anyhow.

  “What did he look like?”

  “What did he look like? Sheesh, he was tall and thin-like, but not as tall as him.”Mortimer pointed to Cham. “His face was hidden by a dark hood. Don’t remember much else. Paid with cash and left.”

  “And you recorded it with a sales receipt. Why? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “A purchase like this? Thought it might come back around, ya know?”

  The shopkeeper
sat on the stool behind the counter, next to a vintage cash register with bronze buttons and a glass case at the top. It housed tabs labeled with dollar amounts. Annie somehow doubted that he’d ever actually used the register.

  “What color hair did he have? Did he have blue eyes? Scars, tattoos? We need more than that,” Cham said, leaning closer to Mortimer. Both he and Annie cornered the shopkeeper behind the counter.

  He flinched. “I didn’t see his face. Brown hair, maybe a little gray. It poked out of the hood. It was purty, too.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t see his face. No jail time with what I got,” he said. Mortimer made an attempt to move from the counter, but Annie grabbed his wrist and pressed down with her thumb, causing his hand to go numb.

  “It depends on what you’ve got,” she advised.

  “All right. All right. Let go now.”

  She released the pressure but held on to his greasy wrist, grimacing at his stench.

  “Man called me up a few days ago, asked if I had more. Said he needed four and was one short. Needed it for the Day of First Sun. Something about a surprise attack. Which don’t make sense. Good magic is the best that day. But it ain’t my problem anyway.”

  Annie glanced at Cham. It sounded to her like Rathbone.

  “If he’s missing the fourth orb, can he recreate one?” Cham asked.

  “They’re made from ancient magic that no longer exists. I told him there ain’t no more. Not happy ’bout it.” Mortimer shook his head and caught Annie’s eye; her hand remained around his wrist.

  “He’s trying to harness the magic of the Day of First Sun. Is there anything strong enough to do that?” Cham pressed.

  “Sure. Lots of items are strong enough to harness the magic. Any powerful artifact can be used—and with the orbs, whoa. That’s strong black magic there, that is. Even with the three, as long as you know how to use them.”

  “Do you have any idea what ‘Basil Rolf’ might use instead of the orb?” Annie released some pressure on his hand, encouraging him to talk.

  “What powerful artifact does the Council have in the Hall that could hold so much magic?”

  “What’s the word on the street?”

  “Let go, already. I’m talkin’.”

  She eyed him before further loosening her grasp.

  “There’s something missing from the Council. Some say it’s a ruse to hide what’s goin’ on. Maybe not. Someone’s collectin’ the dead. A lot of ’em. Lotta bodies to control. Don’t know how they’ll do that. Guess they needed the orbs.”

  “Yeah, yeah. We know about the army and the overthrow. They’re reanimating the bodies on the Day of First Sun. So the athame is powerful enough to use instead of the fourth orb?” Cham said, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his chin.

  “Some folks think it’s just a ruse to keep the Guard away from what’s really goin’ on. Didn’t think the athame could be removed from the Hall.”

  Annie released his wrist. Mortimer rubbed the bruise with a gnarled hand.

  "An inside job," Cham said.

  “What’s that?”

  “So Stonewell gets kicked off the Council years ago and hatches a plan to overthrow the government? He hires Rathbone to do it. Why? What’s in it for him?” Annie asked.

  “He has something on Rathbone, maybe? Rathbone isn’t a lackey, though. He’s the boss. What did you hear?” Cham asked, turning to the shopkeeper.

  Mortimer shrugged. “Connect the dots, did ya? Rathbone’s dirty, Stonewell’s not much cleaner. There’s murderin’, thievin’, lying, and cheatin’. Any of them will do it.”

  “Any thoughts on what that might be?”

  “Okay, okay. Think, girl. Rathbone killed your father. Why? What did he know?” The wizard waited for Annie to come up with an answer. When she didn’t, he continued, “Stonewell knows he killed him, and he knows why.”

  For a moment, the world spun around Annie until she was able to regain her composure.

  Dad, what did you walk into?

  “Anything else we should know?”

  His smirk disappeared; he backed away again, roughly shaking his head. “Whoever killed Amelie killed your father. Stonewell knows it.”

  “He’s blackmailing Rathbone?”

  “See, you’re a smart girl.”

  Annie squirmed in the hot, stuffy store, nervous energy coursing through her again.

  “Honestly, Mortimer. I’m so over you. Just tell us where you got the orb you sold Rathbone.”

  “At market. Guy’s name was Jano—no, Johnny. Maybe Joey. Short, fat, and bald. Sells different items from all over.” He paused, and his eyes settled on the ground as if thinking. “No. No, Joseph. Definitely Joseph. And he didn’t have no more. They’re rare, and only four were made. Went by him last week in case, though. Rathbone must’ve found another dealer for the fourth orb.”

  “So, where can we find this Joseph?” Cham walked to the other side of the counter.

  “You’ve been to the black market. Go in, off to the right, two rows over, and six stalls up. Tell ’im old Archie sent you. He’ll fix you up, if he don’t kill you first.” Mortimer started to laugh and then said, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll call ya if he calls me.”

  As they left the shop, his laughter ran behind them, and Annie heard him slip off the stool.

  *

  Rebekah returned to the pile on her desk, which was growing quickly. Some pictures of Anne Pearce and Jack Ramsey in deep conversation toppled to the floor. A picture of Anne and her partner, name still unknown, leaving Jack’s apartment with that book sat on top of the pile.

  Rebekah had staked out his apartment again, surprised to find Anne and that man enter Jack’s building so late at night. They stayed a short time and left with a book. Rebekah increased the size of the picture in order to get a good view of the cover.

  She amplified the picture again, trying to make out the odd shape or symbol on the front cover. It didn’t look like a letter, but beyond that Rebekah was unsure of its meaning or origin. An internet search revealed nothing.

  Taking a chance Rebekah drove to the Chicago Public Library as soon as it opened—heading straight to the occult section, though she still was not sure what the library would have that the internet didn’t.

  With some help from the kindly librarian stationed in the nonfiction section, Rebekah found a book on signs and symbols. Hunched over the tome, she painstakingly perused each page, comparing her picture to those listed in the book. On page 425, she finally matched the symbol: a sign of evil magic.

  The Mark of the Grimoire, etched on all books of black magic, was passed through generations of family members. It held the rules and guides to potions, spells, hexes, and jinxes.

  Rebekah sat up straight, her mind racing.

  Why would Anne be leaving Jack’s apartment after midnight with a book on evil magic?

  Ideas floated around in her mind.

  Are they part of a cult?

  Thinking that was ridiculous, Rebekah considered an occult connection to the cases. Maybe Amelie and Jordan were murdered in a bizarre ritual, or perhaps they were poisoned with a potion. As her thoughts became crazy, jumbled, and terrifying, Rebekah copied the passage exactly as written, put the book back on the shelf, and left the library with her hands shaking, thinking of where this case might lead.

  Chapter 25

  “Did you know about Stonewell?” Cham asked when they landed in the teleportation clearing near the portal. Annie glowered.

  He doesn’t trust me.

  “Sorry. You didn’t seem surprised.”

  “I didn’t lie, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s not a secret that Stonewell and Rathbone are associates, and they run in the same circles as Mr. Wellington. They had some falling out years ago. Ryan felt it wasn’t a direction worth investigating. At least not until now.”

  “So, what happened between Stonewell and Wellington?”

  “All Ryan told me was that Wellington wanted powe
r and left the Council. Stonewell wanted power and was demoted for his ideas. He wants the power back, it sounds like. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter until now.”

  “I wonder what Stonewell holds over Rathbone.”

  “It’s probably whatever got Dad killed.”

  Annie distractedly paced while Cham investigated the path beyond the clearing. “Annie, stop.” Reaching for her and pulling her near, Cham said, “I need you to be okay if we’re going to get Rathbone—for Amelie, Jordan, and your dad. Can you be?”

  “I have no choice.”

  She was so tired emotionally and physically that her voice squeaked, almost too soft to hear. Cham touched her cheek gently.

  “Let’s meet Joseph and see what he knows. Okay?”

  She nodded; he led her toward a seldom-used entrance of the black market in the opposite direction as the main portal.

  The two Wizard Guards climbed over the remains of a large tree, broken in half during a heavy thunderstorm years ago. The top half butted up just against the portal, pushing against it. Annie, so close to the magic, felt the cold, heavy, damp air against her chest, sending shivers throughout her body. She thrust a cursed athame into the mist; it hummed and hissed as if alive. The protection mist shrunk and opened a narrow door to the bazaar.

  Beyond the entrance, the dim, dingy, and noisy market opened up to them. Smoke hung in the air, created from cast spells and thrown energy balls. The smell of burned, rotten flesh and dragon dung overpowered them. Cham pointed to the illegal dragon lying in the corner of a little-used stall. It rested its head in the hay on the floor of the enclosure. As they passed, the dragon glanced up at them, sighed heavily, and turned away. Without backup, they couldn’t enter to help the creature, and Annie made a note to send the Wizard Zoological Society out as soon as they left.

  Ignoring the smells and illegal activities, they followed Archibald Mortimer’s directions from the entrance: off to the right, two rows over, and six stalls up. Annie cringed at the stalls carrying shrunken heads, elf ears, fairy wings, parts belonging to sacrificed creatures.

  “When was the last raid?” Annie asked, disgusted by the items they passed.