Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set

by Sheryl Steines

  Worried he’d be next, Gladden cowered under his desk, waiting for the master to calm down—or, best-case scenario, leave. His partner continued to rage. A chair flew into the corner, knocking a pole to the ground. That corner of the tent caved in.

  The creatures and wizards who had been summoned scattered before the angry djinn took his fury out on them. With them left the others who had been in the aisle conducting business, leaving all the booths empty of patrons and vendors. The lack of voices, of familiar din, of the normal commotion in the aisle gripped Gladden with fear. He was now alone in this part of the market. His body quivered uncontrollably.

  Ezekiel stood seven feet tall. His strength was camouflaged by his thin, wiry frame. He wasn’t to be underestimated, a mistake Gladden promised himself he would never make again, as the djinn ripped the desk top from the sides of the desk and threw it. The heavy piece of wood flew into the air, scattering objects and papers in all directions before landing across the tent. With the sides of the desk no longer holding up the top, they crashed inward, landing on Gladden, who was still cowering in the dirt.

  “You screwed this up. You’re to blame!” Ezekiel bellowed. Gladden couldn’t meet his eyes; they swirled between black pools and raging fire.

  “N—no. No. I didn’t kill Benaiah! I never saw him come back. Don’t hurt me!” Gladden recoiled, covering his head with his hands.

  “Who killed him?” Ezekiel’s voice boomed across the tent and carried down the aisles. Those still in the market trembled.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know who did it. It wasn’t me. I didn’t take the ring! I didn’t go to the morgue!” Gladden squealed.

  Ezekiel strode across the small tent. His heavy footsteps pounded against the ground, vibrating and shaking the items still inside. “I handed you this market, and look what you did. Idiot! You screwed it up. The police, they’re all over. I told you to take care of it. You made it worse. I should kill you!” The djinn stopped and looked through the singed tent flap.

  “No! No! Master. It’s that girl and the old dude she was with! The elf! They did it. They must have taken the body.” Gladden knelt deeper, so close to the dirt he could smell the musty odors. His arms still cradled his head in protection.

  Ezekiel knelt down beside the cowering Gladden and grabbed the wizard’s arm, yanking him up.

  “The girl, that old man. Yes, they’re wizard guards. Yes. The Wizard Guard was snooping around. They must have the body and probably my ring.” For the first time in days, the djinn smiled, which pulled his taut skin against his skull and revealed protruding yellow teeth. “Forget the man. Go for the girl. She’s injured and only got away because of him. Find her!” he hissed.

  Chapter 11

  It took all Annie had to keep herself from working the case and heading to the Snake Head Letters, the only wizard book store, to gather information about the ring. She stayed in bed after Cham left for work and curled under the covers long past the time she normally rose. Finally, when she was no longer tired, she climbed out of bed and trudged down the stairs.

  If it weren’t for the pain, she would have gone for her morning run. Instead, she took a stroll through the neighborhood, letting the fresh air wake her. By the time she returned home, her arm no longer hurt.

  Annie entered her house from the back porch, immediately noticing a trail of food: fruit and crackers headed from the back door around the deck to the access panel.

  Bitherby!

  She rushed to the kitchen window, where Zola lifted an oversaturated towel from the counter and tossed it in the pile of garbage in the corner, where the can had been knocked over and the contents spilled to floor.

  “Oh, crap.” Annie yanked the screen door open and rushed through the back hall. Immediately, she was tripped by shoes, jackets, and clean laundry, leaving a trail across the floor. Tiny little footprints covered her clean clothes.

  What the hell?

  Zola grumbled loudly, Annie rushed to the kitchen where a cauldron sat on top of the stove and flames danced wildly under the thick cast iron. Steam rose, and the potion flowed like lava from a volcano, like the substance on the towel.

  “What the hell happened?” Annie shouted at Zola, knowing it wasn’t her fault.

  “That elf troll!” Zola shouted back. Her hands cut through the air as she cleaned the horror that was now Annie’s kitchen.

  “Where is he?”

  “Under the house,” Zola growled.

  “Zola, just leave it. I’ll clean it up after I send Bitherby to Windmere.”

  “Annie, that elf is a pig. Just… just get rid of him.” Though her voice was steady and calm, Zola was angry. Annie always knew that when the fairy’s emerald-green eyes turned grayish green, she was in trouble. Today, those eyes were fully black.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. We… I didn’t really think through what to do with the elf until I got him a job. I’ll go take care of it.” Annie left through the back door, sidestepping the mess, and followed red footprints in the snow. Zola grumbled as she moved items, slamming them against the once pristine countertop.

  So much for the relaxing, healing day.

  An access panel resided on the side of the porch. Annie tugged at the removable lattice, sucked in a breath, and flashed a light inside. Even just the thought of climbing inside hurt her tender, swollen shoulder. Instead, she sat outside the opening, staring at the elf curled in the corner. He was sleeping and dreaming, and his little legs kicked out as if running. A moan escaped his lips. Annie floated the flashlight to him and tapped his shoulder.

  The elf jumped, his small hands flying up, and smashed his head on the underside of the porch. “What, miss? What you do that for?”

  He held his hands across his face in self-defense as the light blinded him. His green-gray skin hung off of his tiny frame as if several sizes too large for his petite frame; it was covered with dried bits of food and glistened where the potion had spilled on him. Annie blanched.

  “You destroyed my house.”

  “You brought me here, miss,” he said as if it was Annie’s fault. Still, the elf stood and bowed in respect.

  “Clean yourself up. I’m taking you to school.”

  *

  As with Tartarus Prison, teleportation wasn’t permitted inside the perimeter of Windmere School grounds. Annie landed with the elf in a secure approved area, surrounded by a circle of trees, large enough to contain great numbers of people. She couldn’t help remembering her first family weekend at Windmere, when her sister Samantha was a freshman here. Annie had been a gangly little kid, clinging to her dad’s leg when they teleported. Even though hundreds of other students and their family members had teleported in along with them, the area seemed big enough to accommodate the hordes that visited. Today it felt small and isolated.

  She landed with Bitherby clinging to her as if he might fall through the teleport and land back at the black market. His sticky hands left marks on her legs, remnants of the potion he had been trying to create.

  So what else is new?

  She pried the elf from her.

  “Bitherby, no one will hurt you here. I need you to behave, or there won’t be much else I can do for you. Can you do that?” He nodded.

  I hope that means he understands.

  The snow-covered stone path meandered gracefully along the hill from the teleportation area to the school. Short, square bushes, thin with naked branches were planted on both sides of the path; by summer, they would be full and green.

  Still angry at the state of her house, Annie hiked to the front entrance in silence. She was sure the elf had told her everything he knew about the ring and the master. All she needed to do was keep him safe until they resolved those issues.

  I promised.

  Beyond that, Bitherby was more trouble than he was worth. She was relieved to no longer be responsible for his protection—though now that she was here, guilt settled in her gut at the prospect of leaving the elf with her former headmaster without
asking permission first.

  As they rose along the hill, the roof of the main building of Windmere appeared. Annie’s jaw dropped as the school came into full view. As a student she would come home to a large colonial building with white clad siding, a black roof, and pillars that towered over them, standing guard like soldiers.

  Today, she was greeted by a large lodge with massive logs for walls. The green metal roof stood out against the white gray sky. It looked so different, and yet she still felt a familiarity with the grounds and the place. Annie was home.

  How long since I was here last?

  She ticked off the years in her head since she had graduated, just before she turned eighteen. She was surprised to realize it had been five years since she had been back.

  Annie remembered clearly the thousands of books in the old library. The memory was so vivid and strong that she could smell the dust and age. Her mouth watered thinking of the food in the dining room, and she smiled thinking of relaxing in the dorm lounge with her friends or exploring hidden and restricted corners of the school. It was then that Annie realized how much she missed being here.

  “M’father built this path.”

  Bitherby’s small voice pulled her away from the memories. She glanced at the elf, never having thought about his life prior to working at the market.

  She stopped and viewed the mile-long path, built of ancient stone. Until that moment, she had never given it a thought as to where it had come from. Annie knelt, wiped away an inch of snow, and touched the rough, bare rock. It was cracked with age and had dead moss growing in the joints between each of the carefully laid stones. They were bleached from the summer sun—almost white yet not, a little tinge of beige peeking through, probably the original color. She pictured hundreds of tiny hands laying each piece. It must have taken months at least.

  “Are your parents still alive?”

  “Aye, miss. Not safe for me to go there though. Shall we?” With an open hand forward, Bitherby motioned for her to continue, a complete gentleman as his little legs moved forward. She jogged to catch him, across the uneven stones laid centuries ago; it occurred to her that Bitherby’s dad was probably over two hundred years old.

  The wind gusted across the valley and traveled up the hills, burning and stinging her cheeks at the same time. They turned one more bend in the stone path, leading to a metal gate that snaked around the school grounds, which were undulating, sinking, and rising across the hills and valleys for over a thousand acres.

  Two gates were covered with a large magic knot, four interlocking circles with arrows that pointed north, south, east, and west. At the center of the knot was an electric intercom with direct access to the security team inside the school. Annie pushed the button; a pleasant, disembodied voice answered, “How may I help you?”

  “Annie Pearce to see Headmaster Turtledove.”

  “One moment, please.”

  While they waited to be let inside, Annie stared at the new building, at the ski lodge that sat high atop the hill overlooking the school grounds. Large timber walls and several chimneys clad in river rock rose up the walls and out of the roof. Smoke billowed out of the chimney and dispersed as it hit the cold winter air.

  Their presence was quickly approved. The gates swung open, and a giant guard met them at the entrance. The giants were the same creatures that guarded Tartarus Prison. They were descendants of the ancient race known as the Hundred Handers, beings that had once protected the gates of Hades. The guard who greeted them was smaller than other giants. Annie estimated he was only seven feet tall, though he was as thick as he was wide.

  His large feet scraped across the stone and pounded as they hit the ground. Each step vibrated against the frozen ground; Annie felt the tremors under her feet.

  Even in this bitter cold, the giant wore a thin, long-sleeved cotton shirt under a sleeveless tunic. With his thick arms, he opened the tall, dense doors to reveal the new entrance foyer.

  Bitherby grabbed hold of Annie’s leg. His tiny body quivered against her. “I changed my mind, miss.”

  “Giants are safe and gentle as long as you don’t piss them off. It’s fine.”

  Bitherby was not convinced. Annie peeled him from her leg, but he grabbed and squeezed her hand as they entered the large foyer.

  The doors slammed shut behind them, blanketing them in warmth from the massive fireplace in the corner of the foyer. Surrounded by large, colorful river boulders, a fire blazed and danced. Students congregated on ottomans and overstuffed sofas while waiting for the afternoon class bell to ring.

  Annie tried to hide her surprise; the entire foyer and fireplace hadn’t been here when she was a student. The only thing remotely similar was the large stone staircase winding up to the second floor and the dining hall still to the left of the entrance doors.

  The giant turned up the colossal stone stairway. Beneath every footstep, Annie felt the uneven wear created by centuries of students trudging up and down. Her fingers grazed the stone handrail. It was sturdy and unmoving, though covered with cracks and gouges, proof that students lived here.

  Several students lounging by the fire spotted Annie with the giant. Their conversations turned to hushed tones, possibly wondering who she was and why she was here.

  I feel very old.

  Before she reached the top of the staircase, the class bell rang, sending the quiet hallways into a controlled chaos. Students poured from the dining hall, the classrooms, the foyer. They ran up the stairs and around her until she was lost in a sea of children. Bitherby was sucked into the crowd. The giant, unfazed by the throngs, ambled along toward the office Annie knew so well.

  While students passed, Annie stopped at the top of the staircase where a large wall was covered in pictures. Students from past years smiled back at her: the best in class, the broomstick racing teams, the potion making teams, the chess teams, the choir. Her past exploits greeted her like an old friend. She even found the picture of Charlie Andrews her ex-boyfriend. After six months with Cham, Annie felt less bitter about Charlie. Being here in this building, she was even a little sentimental.

  Caught up in the memories, she didn’t notice she was alone in the hallway with just a few stragglers running to beat the final bell. A door slammed shut, bringing her back to the present; she realized Bitherby and the giant weren’t with her.

  She sprinted down the hallway, holding her limp arm against her shoulder. The two were waiting for her by the arched entrance belonging to the headmaster. She grinned at the waiting giant and pulled on the heavy metal handle. The door’s hinges groaned.

  “You stay here,” she ordered Bitherby. The giant placed a plate-sized hand on the elf’s head; Bitherby squeaked. His eyes pleaded with her to not leave him, but Annie knew he was safest with the giant.

  I hope.

  Annie closed the door behind her, entering a short hallway that led to the headmaster’s office. Whether it was to endure punishment for some crazy scheme or to receive attentive caring after her father died, she had seen the inside of this office more than any of her friends or classmates.

  While the rest of the school had made incredible changes to décor, Headmaster Turtledove’s office was the same as it had been the last time Annie was here. The circular room with the beautiful arched window on the far wall overlooked the expansive school grounds, which were currently blanketed in a thick layer of pristine snow. Beyond the open lands, large evergreen trees stood tall and thick, a natural perimeter for the school grounds.

  Fitzgerald Turtledove sat behind a massive carved desk along the side wall, reviewing piles of paperwork. Behind him, bookshelves wound around the curved walls from the window to the door where she stood. The shelves were bloated with books from potion making to magical history. Between the tomes, a grand collection of cursed objects, crystals, crystal balls, athames, amulets, scrying crystals, cauldrons, candles, and wands were stuffed in any nook and cranny, leaving no blank space on any shelf.

  A pair of cursed
mummy hands caught Annie’s eye. She thought back to her education, remembering that if mummy hands were found on your travels, you would be led astray and eventually die.

  Headmaster Turtledove had taught her to collect, study, and learn from all of these objects; it was the only way to understand and protect the magical world. Before she could knock, he glanced up, smiled, and invited her in.

  I’m not sure how long that smile will last.

  “Well, well, Ms. Pearce, look at you. I haven’t seen you since you graduated. I can only assume your visit is due to needing something,” Headmaster Turtledove teased her before offering a warm hug.

  Headmaster Turtledove hadn’t changed as much as the school. When not teaching or interacting with students, he wore relaxed jeans and a Hawaiian shirt and kept his long hair held back from his receding hairline in a loose ponytail.

  “You know you saw me last summer at the Wizard Council state dinner,” Annie said.

  He chortled lightly and sat back in his desk chair, folding his hands over a large tome.

  “Yes, well, you haven’t been back to school since graduation.”

  Though he wasn’t wrong, Annie laughed in a way that said she had no care in the world, like she was a student away from home.

  “And how’s Mr. Chamsky? I’m assuming you two are still Wizard Guard partners.”

  Her cheeks burned red. “Not anymore,” she said.

  His eyes twinkled as if he had expected that to happen. Annie felt warm and flushed.

  “When you see him, please give him my regards.”

  “Yes, sir.” She offered a smile but failed to meet his gaze, finding herself slightly embarrassed. She continued to survey the room.

  “So how’s the job?” he asked politely, pushing aside his book. Just outside the large window, a broomstick flying class was taking place. Young students screamed in delight as they rose their sticks in the air. Annie glanced at the window; a student teetered precariously on the two-inch-wide broom, righted herself, and flew away.