Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set

by Sheryl Steines

  “There was only one on the body,” Annie said. Gibbs grunted. Annie dialed Perkins Abernathy in the lab to verify the number of energy signatures that were really on the body.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Perkins asked.

  “No. Gibbs reads four here.”

  “And they all lead to one pinpoint of magic? That would be nearly impossible for four separate spells to be cast and hit the exact same location, to create one six-inch-long mark across a victim’s chest. Like four different archers slinging their arrows and having all the arrows land in the same spot.”

  “I know,” Annie said, “but that’s what we see.”

  “Okay, Annie. I’ll check and get back to you.” Perkins sighed.

  “So do you think the spells mixed and made it appear like one spell so we wouldn’t know?” Annie asked Gibbs after she hung up on Perkins.

  “Maybe.”

  Gibbs and Annie held a total of four crystals, one in each hand. Easily they followed and tracked the magical trace toward the parking lot. Each spell was strong, well-cast and impossibly accurate.

  They met at a location where four individual spells belonging to four different people had been cast. Wizards had been standing in a neat row. The remnants of their footprints confirmed that.

  “This isn’t the kill spell,” Gibbs said.

  Annie examined the spells she had captured in her own crystals. “What kind of spell do you think?”

  Her phone buzzed, a call from Perkins Abernathy. “What did you find?” she asked.

  “Five spells. Four summoning, one kill shot,” he said.

  “Thanks, Perkins.” She hung up and turned to Gibbs. “You’re right. There are four summoning spells and one kill shot.”

  Gibbs tracked the magical energy back toward the portal and past the kill spot. He stopped at the turbulent air and ran the crystal through the portal.

  “Was he entering the portal when he was hit?” Annie asked.

  Gibbs continued to follow the trace in and out of the portal. “Summoned from inside the portal and dragged to the kill spot, looks like.” He followed the trace back toward the body drop.

  “So,” Annie queried.

  Gibbs was quiet, lost in his thoughts. “Matches what Perkins found. Summoned from the portal, died here.” He glanced inside his crystal again, then back to the ground. His eyes darted from the four footsteps to the portal and back to the drop site. “Scenario?” he asked.

  “Well, based on the magical trace, the footprints, and the drag marks, I’d say he was coming to the market to sell the ring and was chased here by the four people who cast those spells. My guess, just based on human nature, is that he stole it from them and was caught before he got inside the market.” Annie stopped for a minute. “He swallowed or magically hid the ring in his stomach and figured they were angry enough to kill him. They did so, but they couldn’t find the ring. Which leads me to my initial question: Why the hell did they leave the body here, outside the portal? Why not take the body with them?”

  “Some didn’t care—they took care of business and left. Thought the ring was hidden elsewhere,” he murmured.

  “Either that or they were discovered and had to leave, or…” Annie looked at him, a serious grimace across her lips. “Or they weren’t from the U.S. They might have been unaware of our procedures or the traffic flow into this park” Annie sighed.

  And that led back to the Middle East.

  Chapter 7

  “Do you have to go back to the market tonight? It’ll still be there tomorrow,” Cham whispered, so close to Annie’s ear that his warm breath tickled her skin. His soft lips grazed her neck, her collarbone. Annie’s breath sped up. She clenched a fist to keep control.

  His kisses rose up the back of her neck until she arched backwards and ran her fingers through the soft curls at his neck. He slipped a warm hand inside her shirt, but she unclenched her fist and pulled his hand away.

  “I have to go,” she groaned.

  Cham’s lips caressed hers, and his tongue pried open her mouth. She had no desire to stop him as his tongue met hers. Annie nibbled his bottom lip, and her breasts heaved up and down against his chest. She clung to him, wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her into his lap. She sunk into his kiss, deep into the warmth as his tongue continued to play with hers.

  Reluctantly, Annie opened an eye after another minute. The light of the streetlamp outside her window drew her away from him and pulled her out of his protective embrace. She sighed.

  “I have to go soon,” she whispered. Cham groaned slightly and detangled his hands from her hair.

  “Later.” He kissed her one last time before Annie climbed from his lap and glanced out the window. The silver Prius belonging to none of her neighbors was parked across the street where it had been since she arrived home. She wouldn’t have given it much thought until she took a bag of trash outside and saw Rebekah Stoner sitting inside. The reporter was like a pit bull with a tight grip, and Annie suspected she wouldn’t let go easily.

  “The reporter’s still out there,” she told Cham.

  “She’s definitely persistent.” Cham glanced though the sheer drapes as the reporter sipped from her thermos. “You really need to have Graham deal with her.” Cham put an arm around Annie’s waist and pulled her into his lap where he nuzzled her neck.

  “Another problem for another day.” She leaned into him, accepting his kiss. His left hand fell to her breast. She let it rest there.

  He pulled away. “Annie, she’s already figured out way too much. You need to have it taken care of.”

  “I know.” She planted her lips on his to keep from discussing it further. His deep, slow kiss made her head spin. She moaned and writhed as his fingers caressed her nipple.

  A cell phone vibrated against the coffee table.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  “Don’t go.”

  “Dead body, outside the portal. I have to go. Gibbs is ready.”

  Reluctantly, she sat up and straightened out her shirt. Cham stared with a wistful gaze.

  “What?” She ran her fingers through her hair, flattening and detangling the bushy mane.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “I wish I could stay.” She breathed deeply, taking in his spicy scent before letting him walk her to the back door, away from the reporter.

  Snow fell, not heavy enough to distract her teleportation but just fluffy enough to be pretty.

  “Be careful. Call me when you get back. I’ll come over.”

  “Always.”

  Cham’s face was a blur as Annie took off and floated away from that warm and lovely space. She landed easily behind the evergreen trees where it was cold and dark. Gibbs was already there and was assessing their safety through the thick, snow-covered evergreen branches.

  “Well?” she asked.

  Gibbs glanced at her. His sharp eyes examined her, leaving her feeling exposed. He finished his observations with a smirk. “Your shirt’s buttoned wrong,” he said, then returned to the clearing.

  Embarrassed, Annie zipped her jacket to her chin. “There, can we go?”

  He grunted, and she followed him onto a seldom-used, narrow path. She wrapped her arms around herself as the snow fell.

  I should’ve worn a heavier coat.

  The chilly air blustered and blew the snow like a whirlpool. “The reporter’s staking out my house again,” Annie said as she pushed a branch out of her way. Snow blew in her face.

  Nothing rattled Gibbs, though he stopped momentarily as if gathering his thoughts before continuing down the path. “Call Lightner and have her dealt with.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Gibbs grumbled something unintelligible. Annie knew he was irritated that she hadn’t taken care of the reporter.

  I’ll get yelled at later.

  The teleportation spot was a mile from the lesser-used portal they were planning to use tonight. It was a well-hidden, difficult portal to access, and in th
e dark the snow-covered path was slippery and rough. Annie’s heavy work boots had trouble gaining solid footing.

  Low-hanging branches caught in her hair and scratched her coat as the path continued to narrow. The sound irritated her like nails on a blackboard bothered others. She twisted sideways to avoid the sound, but her boots got twisted and tangled in the underbrush and a tight tree root. Annie shook her foot out of the frozen tangle of foliage and slipped against the tree. Finally freeing herself, she picked up her speed to catch Gibbs and his long, steady strides.

  All portals were hidden either behind trees and boulders or created in difficult-to-access locations. This portal had been generated behind a six-foot-wide evergreen and hung above a small patch of ground covered in needleweed, a magical ivy that attached itself to anything that came in contact with it. The only way to the portal was through a very thin path four inches wide. Tonight, the path was covered in snow.

  “Hold a light out,” Gibbs ordered in that irritating way he sometimes spoke to her.

  Even though Annie was the lead on this case, it wasn’t worth an argument. She pulled out her quartz crystal, swiping her palm across the pink rock. It cast a dim light, enough for Gibbs to send a spell across the patch of needleweed to reveal the still-green fauna. When the small trail was visible, they skirted along the path, avoiding the foliage.

  All the portals radiated icy air, colder than the thirty degrees of the rest of the forest. Annie shivered and lowered her hat around ears. A gust of wind blew and swirled around the trees, whistling through the branches.

  The portals are active.

  Rebekah should have sensed danger, depression, or sadness, and that alone would have made her flee the area if not the portal itself. That was the purpose of the portal and the magical protection around the market. But Rebekah had known it was there, had put her hand through the portal, and had felt the power, the magic. Annie grazed this portal with her fingertips—icy. She pulled her hand away and blew on her fingers to warm them.

  It was electric, buzzing.

  “Annie. What’s wrong?” Gibbs noticed her hesitation.

  “Hear that? Something’s different with the portal. The wind. It’s…” She bent closer to the portal and heard what Rebekah must have heard. “The static. It’s popping,” she said. Static formed when the nonmagical and magical entities mixed and fought for control of this sliver of space. But tonight it was audible, like a radio station out of range. Gibbs listened intently as the air crackled.

  “Different,” he agreed.

  Annie summoned her cursed athame that was stored in a binding around her calf. With a tight grip, she plunged the knife inside the portal, sparking it to life. A swirling tornado hung before her that pulsed and expanded. Lightning flashed violently, brilliantly lighting the area. She stuck her hand inside; lightning struck again quickly.

  “Something’s going on,” Gibbs said as they crossed the enlarged threshold together. As the last foot crossed the entrance, the portal shut behind them, plunging them into the noisy market.

  Though it was dark and cold with a layer of snow on the ground outside the market, the inside was a balmy consistent seventy degrees. Anyone inside was unaffected by activity beyond the protective shield. It was how this market had been maintained for many millennia.

  Annie scanned the familiar cornucopia of black magical accoutrements: crystal balls, herbs, body parts, and creatures that roamed the aisles. Wizards dressed in traditional clothing or street clothes crisscrossed the market as they went about their business.

  A high shrill rang out above her. She examined the thick stone wall that wove around the perimeter of the market. It stretched high above them and met the protection spell. Annie did a double take. In an empty corner of the market, snow fell through the protection spell and cascaded gently to the ground. It must have breached the spell for a lengthy period of time; there was quite a large pile melting in the corner. Annie touched Gibbs’s arm and pointed.

  He followed her gaze to the wafting snow and summoned a bit of it, examining it before it melted away. “The protection shield is breaking down,” he said.

  Above them, beyond the haze of smog, dust, dung, and smoke that blanketed the market, a patch of Chicagoland sky was visible. In that small patch, the market haze was sucked beyond the protection spell, escaping into Busse Woods.

  “That reporter did more than sense the portal,” Gibbs reflected.

  Annie nodded. “I thought the same thing. I haven’t been to the market in weeks. I wonder when and what happened to make it break down. Coincidence, or is it related to John Doe and the ring?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter if it is. The protection shield is breaking down. That’s a problem for everyone,” Gibbs commented, his gaze still in the night sky. A gust of wind from the woods blew in through the protection shield, swirling the hazy mixture and dissipating the fog. The visible sky was clear and beautiful.

  “Did you and Mrs. Cuttlebrink discover anything about the ring?” Gibbs asked. They moved to a sparse crowd.

  “We think it’s the Ring of Solomon.” Annie lowered her voice. Gibbs pulled her arm, yanking her from a large contingent of wizards who, based on their thick accents, seemed to be from Germany.

  “Is she sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  Gibbs held his finger to his lips, and they entered down a busy aisle.

  The black market didn’t exist in Busse Woods, only the four U.S. portals did. The physical market lived on an alternate plane of existence that was accessed through these portals. There were magical entrances scattered throughout the world, and the protective shield allowed the portals to remain hidden and safe.

  With the largest population of witches and wizards currently in the United States, the busiest hours were dusk to dawn, though the market remained open twenty-four hours a day. English was the most common language, spoken in many foreign accents, though oftentimes Annie could hear French, Spanish, and even Latin. The large contingent gathered around a booth was definitely German; Annie could still hear their animated voices bounce off of the stall walls from down the aisle. Annie and Gibbs turned down a perpendicular passage that took them far from the German group and toward the incinerators.

  Hidden from the rest of the market were the minor creatures, the elves and trolls that worked behind the scenes. These creatures weren’t fond of humans investigating their space, but mostly they didn’t like humans at all. But Annie and Gibbs made an assumption that one of these creatures might be willing to talk, to trade information for security and safety away from the market. Annie could offer them that; she hoped it would be enough for one of them.

  The busiest merchants, selling the most requested items had booths close to what was known as Market Center, a large square in the direct middle of the market. Aisles farther from the center saw less foot traffic, and fewer animals roamed through the booths, but more illegal or deadly objects and animals were for sale here. It was generally quieter, and their presence was more noticeable.

  The black market was tough, filled with evil wizards, demons, vampires, exchanged goods, and creatures. It was dangerous and dirty, and those that came here for whatever reason did so at their own risk. There was always action; even in the perimeter aisle that circled the market, booths were sparse, with several empty, or broken or missing their canvas coverings. That was a normal day. Today, these booths were deserted; the merchants that sold here had left or were chased away. The only items left were scraps of paper, empty boxes, or a miscellaneous item. Annie and Gibbs continued to the incinerators.

  “Gibbs?” Annie murmured. “What the hell happened?”

  Gibbs glanced through the stalls, his eyes darting across the nearly empty passage. “A lot of ’em are gone.” He seemed as confused as Annie was by the empty aisle and the abandoned stalls.

  “The Ring of Solomon plus a death outside the market might have sparked this,” he said.

  Though animals roamed free in the mark
et, they were of the magical kind—billdads, otter-like creatures with beaver tails, dragons, stoorworms, magical snakes—but in all the time Annie had come here, she had never seen domesticated pets wandering the aisles. A large shaggy dog ate from a garbage can at the end of the aisle while a cat scampered across the top of tents and jumped across the aisle to land on another garbage can, slinking away upon spying Annie and Gibbs. A pack of snakes slithered under a table, and the last of the group swished its tail behind it as the canvas fluttered.

  A short-haired black lab sauntered over, stopped, and sniffed Annie’s shoes. She held out her hand, expecting the dog to take a whiff, but it sat in the dirt and pawed at her as if trying to get her attention. It started to whine.

  She rubbed the dog behind its ear. “Good doggie. I’m sorry. I have no food for you,” she said. As if the dog understood her, it stopped pawing her hand and gave her a snarky look before traipsing back to the empty stall. It barked repeatedly as they walked away.

  “Okay. Was that weird?” Annie asked.

  “Yeah. We’ll ponder that later. Come on,” Gibbs ordered.

  The portal, the snow, the large contingent of domesticated animals overrunning the market.

  How does the ring fit into this?

  The incinerators doors were wide open, and the unassuming sign beside the entrance read: No Admittance, Enter at Your Own Risk.

  Elves and trolls, keenly adept at working in the shadows and hiding from the business that took place in the market, were busy at the incinerators, which were large metal tubes four feet high with an elbow bend into which they tossed in biologicals. When the garbage or the dung hit the fire, it sizzled. Rancid smoke puffed from the tubes and rose into the air, adding to the already thick haze over the market.

  Four rows of ten incinerators filled the large space. Each three-foot-wide hole was manned by two creatures. The work was hot and dirty. The stench and heat of it permeated every pore and seeped into Annie and Gibbs’s clothes and hair as they entered.