Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set

by Sheryl Steines

  “It’s great. A little weird at times, but I love the work,” she answered, returning her attention to the headmaster.

  “I knew back then that you’d make a great Wizard Guard. Actually, I think you’d be a great teacher.”

  Her eyes drew up in surprise. She couldn’t hide it and burst out laughing. The headmaster didn’t join in; his expression was solemn and serious. “How do you figure?” Annie finally asked.

  “I hear things.” Headmaster Turtledove looked at her with a grin and rested his chin in his hands.

  “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Well, if you ever have the desire to teach the next generation, I’d love to have you here. Black magic protection, potions, whatever you’d like.”

  This isn’t a joke. “Oh. Okay. If I ever get the urge to teach, I’ll let you know.” She glanced away, which was easy to do with so many items to stare at.

  “So, Ms. Pearce. I know you’re busy and have a reason for being here. I won’t keep you from your business. How can I help you?”

  “I have a little time. You don’t have to rush me out. Unless, of course, you’re busy.”

  “Anything for you, Ms. Pearce.”

  *

  “So this elf, he’s outside?” The headmaster pointed to his door. Guilt sat in Annie’s stomach.

  I should have called. “I am so sorry to spring this on you, but he’s driving Zola crazy, and it’s only been a day. I really need to keep him away from the black market while we investigate this murder.”

  The headmaster smiled, sat back in his chair, and folded his hands under his chin, thoughtfully looking at her. “You know we find a place for everyone here. I think the stables can handle him, if he’s as unhygienic as you say.”

  “I’m really, really sorry about this.” She apologized again, knowing dumping Bitherby on the school wasn’t nice of her to do. “He destroyed my kitchen, and Zola’s not at all happy.”

  A hearty laugh escaped the headmaster’s lips; his eyes twinkled. After a moment, he said, “I’m not joking when I said you should teach.”

  Her smile faded. “Okay. Say that this is a serious conversation. What would I teach?”

  “A wizard guard and a potion master? I see a lot in your potential.”

  He handed her a sheet of paper, a class outline written in neat handwriting.

  “A special lecture?” she asked.

  “Think about it. It’s a one-time lecture, seniors only. It’s something I’ve been playing around with. I thought of you immediately.”

  Just outside the heavy wooden door and stone walls, they could hear the sound of thrashing. “Crap,” Annie shouted and lunged from her chair.

  That damn elf!

  She skidded out of the door with Headmaster Turtledove close behind. The giant knelt beside the elf, his hands firmly on the small creature, holding him to the floor. Up and down the hallway, pictures hung askew or had fallen to the floor, tapestries had been ripped from their hangings, and doors swung open.

  “I am so sorry,” she said again.

  “You always bring me the most unusual things,” he said with a smirk on his face, referring to one of the adventures Annie had while still at school.

  A silver-tipped love bird, known to reveal hidden treasures to worthy people, had appeared to Annie late one night while studying. Ignoring school rules, she dragged Dave Smith with her and followed the bird to a restricted wing of the school, where a hidden passageway was revealed to them. After escaping and locking the door to the tunnel Annie and Dave had discovered a box of unknown origin that had of course eventually made its way back to the headmaster.

  “Have you ever opened that box?” Annie asked as she remembered the entire night and the punishment that followed.

  “Nope. It’s well hidden, should you ever think of stealing it.” He smirked.

  “As you say, I’m a wizard guard and potion master. I’m sure I could find it.” Annie winked.

  “Well, I will hold you to it,” he said as they began the work of assimilating the elf to school life.

  Chapter 12

  The lemony-fresh scent invaded Annie’s nostrils as she entered the house. Zola must have spent the morning scrubbing every remnant of the elf from the kitchen and living room. It shined, but the cleaner tickled Annie’s nose.

  Annie’s gleaming table top was still covered with files and books about the Ring of Solomon and Middle Eastern design. An ever-growing case file teetered against her right hand.

  After an eventful trip to the school to drop off the elf, Annie was exhausted, and her arm hung limply. She pushed aside the pile and laid her head on a bare patch on the citrusy-scented table.

  Right as she started dozing off, her phone buzzed against the wood. She glanced at the screen. “Hey, Bucky, any info for me?”

  “Hi to you too, Annie,” he said.

  Even from the other end of the line, Annie could hear his fingers fluttering across a keyboard.

  Does he do anything other than type? “Sorry. I just get so excited when you call,” she teased.

  “Yeah. I know you, Annie Pearce,” he responded. “Just to let you know, your victim is much harder to find than I expected.” He never stopped typing. It was possibly another project. Annie wouldn’t be surprised if he was multitasking.

  “Okay. You can find anything, what’s the problem?”

  The clicking stopped. Bucky sighed deeply, surprising Annie. She couldn’t remember a case where he was ever stumped over the data.

  “The name Benaiah isn’t exactly popular. I thought it might come up easily. I ran it through every wizard database I could, starting with the Middle Eastern databases. When those led to nothing, I ran it through the rest but still came up with nothing. Then I searched with his picture through the nonmagical databases.” Bucky stopped for a minute, tapped a key on his keyboard, and the printer whirled to life in the background. “I searched with the fingerprints and did a facial recognition search. Annie, there was nothing. Benaiah doesn’t exist in the cyberworld.”

  While Bucky continued to type, Annie pondered this. It wasn’t uncommon for wizards to be off the nonmagical grid. If they were, they most likely kept a low profile in the magical one as well.

  “Well, I’m disappointed but not surprised. Did you put out a notice to all Wizard Guard units in that part of the world to see if anyone knows who he is?”

  “I sent the picture to the Middle Eastern Wizard Guard and had a hit on the brooch, as you know.” More clacking of keys. “Here’s something new from within five minutes: the Middle East Wizard Guard asked if we noticed any tattoos on the body. Did you see anything?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Hold on a sec.” Annie shuffled through the crime scene photos and pulled out each of the pictures of Benaiah, expecting that the investigators would have taken pictures of any tattoos for identification purposes. “Nothing on the body except for the burn mark. I didn’t see anything at the autopsy, but I could check with Perkins, see if he noticed something. Did they tell you what we should be looking for?”

  As Bucky typed again, she stared at the photos of the dead body—his legs, feet, hands, arms, torso, and back—all the skin was clean.

  “The name Benaiah. They said it’s an ancient name, not very common today. They think he could be from an ancient order.” Bucky stopped speaking, and the keys stopped clicking.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Check your email.”

  Annie pulled up the email and read it. Beside the picture of the brooch was a hand-drawn picture sent by their sister Wizard Guards from across the globe. The design was the same. “That’s from his brooch! What does the design mean, then?”

  The printer hummed as Bucky continued to print off information. “Exactly. I’m copying everything for your file. And…” He stopped for a moment, a long pause. “Okay, the Wizard Guards have no idea who he is, but like I said, they think he’s part of this ancient order known as the Fraternitatem of Solomon, a group
that procures items supposedly belonging to King Solomon. They are the self-proclaimed protectors of the ancient artifacts. I’m telling you, this brooch has their panties in a bunch.”

  “Okay, so if the brooch is from their group and if they’re charged with protecting the ancient artifacts, why was he planning on selling at the market?”

  “Motive for murder,” Bucky offered. His pace of rhythmic typing remained consistent, but then he paused for another moment. “The guards say the Fraternitatem is a mysterious group they’ve only been aware of for the last fifty years and still know virtually nothing about. They have run up against them several times and always note the link because of the brooch design which is called a Solomon’s knot. They’re sending me what they have on them and apologize for the lightness of the file. I’ll have that for you when you come in next. Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I should be in tomorrow, unless something happens.” Annie mulled over the new information for a moment. “The Fraternitatem of Solomon. I’m gonna jump to conclusions and say they are responsible for Benaiah’s death, based on their goals and the fact that he had the ring. Though before we go up against this group, I’m curious why one of their own would try to sell what they’re supposed to be protecting.”

  “Vendetta, revenge, bad seed, undercover operation,” Bucky volunteered.

  Annie chuckled. Even in the magical world, any of those would be a possibility. “All that magic we found at the scene. The four spells. Do we have a match for those by any chance?”

  “Nothing in our databases. I’ve sent those out. The Middle East Guard is running it against their database. In their email, they’re insistent that they don’t have much and that this magical trace is the most they’ve ever had before. I’ll let you know if we get any hits. If you need anything else, call.”

  “Thanks Bucky.”

  After hanging up, Annie opened her locked cabinet, the one she knew Cham had used the night before. She was surprised to find the pin covered in a sticky substance, probably blood. Cham would have cleaned the lock after use. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  Who used this?

  She thought about what Zola had said to Cham.

  I’m not safe.

  With a shaky hand, Annie cleaned the lock before pricking her finger with the pin. Her skin snapped, the lock opened, and the cabinet door popped open. She expected the ring to be missing, but it was still sitting in the plastic bag on top of her family’s Book of Shadows.

  Annie held her crystal above the ring, confirming it was still the same magical ring. When she was sure, she placed it back inside the cabinet and pulled out her tome.

  She heaved the book on the table. It wasn’t always useful because Annie’s family hadn’t always been Wizard Guards and therefore hadn’t had experience with some of the things she and her dad had seen.

  And I’ve seen things that even Dad wasn’t exposed to.

  Annie didn’t expect to find anything helpful at all. The ring had been thought of as a myth until now, and no one really knew about the Fraternitatem of Solomon. The pages flipped underneath her spell and fell open when she found what she was looking for. Surprised she stared at the page. It was a passage about the Cave of Ages.

  What the hell? It’s not the Fraternitatem, so why did it stop here?

  Immediately, she recognized her father’s handwriting and swallowed the lump in her throat as she fingered the curve of his S, his slant toward the end of sentences. He had hated paperwork and always rushed to finish. Annie touched the ink while reading about the case, one involving a stolen rock—several rocks, in fact—that possessed the ability to see into the future and return to the past.

  The Chintamani Stones?

  Rocks flooding the market. Either loose rocks or attached to rings, amulets, hilts of athames.

  The wearer can view the past and future?

  I’ve been told they’re the Chintamani Stones. They really exist.

  Being sold in the black market. Rathbone acting as liaison between the market and ????? Still have no name for the group trying to procure these stones.

  Group somewhere from the Middle East. Only told me they were after the same stones I’m looking for.

  Followed them to their camp location, could only glean they’re somewhere from the Cave of Ages?

  Cave of Ages—ancient cave supposedly housing the treasure of King Solomon. The cave is a blue-hued, shimmering cave that can be seen from miles away if you’re in the desert at night. It wasn’t thought to have existed.

  Okay, and this has to do with the Fraternitatem how?

  Interspersed within Jason Pearce’s notes were doodles. He wasn’t a doodler, and yet they were scrawled all over the page. Annie was the one who doodled when she was bored or preoccupied. She drew things with meaning about cases and clues.

  I wonder…

  She reviewed the drawings, the curves, the angles, the squiggles, the mark in the corner that was hidden in another marking. She took out her magnifying glass and found the word Fraternitatem with a question mark next to it.

  Turning the book, she followed the curves of the lines he had drawn, looking for anything thing else weird or hidden. She summoned a flashlight and used the pinpoint light to examine the paper, looking for changes in ink or in the paper itself.

  I see…

  Her fingertips grazed the center of this passage, where she felt a tiny rise. It was so small, she couldn’t have found it without the flashlight, but now she couldn’t not see it. Summoning a straight pin, she poked a hole in the paper and pulled up gently until her fingers grasped what was inside.

  It was a miniscule scrap of paper, not worth anything.

  But Dad hid this inside the Book of Shadows.

  Annie held her crystal across the paper and read an old magical trace that she was sure her father had cast eight years ago. She waved her palm across the paper, and it grew to its full size.

  A map of the Cave of Ages!

  “What’s that?” Cham asked, surprising her. She hadn’t heard his familiar gait enter.

  “Hey.” She explained the map and the cave and the possible connection to the Fraternitatem.

  “Okay. And this is related how?” He kissed the top of her head.

  “Sorry. I’ve been busy here. The brooch Benaiah wore is a Solomon’s knot, the symbol for the group whose sole purpose is to protect ancient artifacts once belonging to King Solomon.”

  “Ah. Now I get it. The ring.” He smiled and pulled up a chair beside her. “You were supposed to rest today.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I had planned on it until the elf destroyed the kitchen and pissed off Zola. I had to take him to Windmere.” She rolled her eyes.

  Cham glanced around the kitchen and took a whiff. “That explains the clean smell in here,” he said. “So this is the map of the cave?” He picked up the map and examined it.

  “Not sure. Dad came in contact with this group when he was searching for Chintamani Stones that were flooding the black market eight years ago. He only made the smallest mention in the Book of Shadows. Anything I can learn about the Fraternitatem will be helpful. If they’re that powerful, we might not be able to touch them for the murder.”

  “And the Chintamani Stones are the same ones that are in the ring?” Cham asked. He reached for the Book of Shadows to verify for himself.

  “Yes. Mrs. Cuttlebrink confirmed the stones in the ring were part of these Chintamani Stones.”

  Cham skimmed through Jason’s notes. “Rathbone worked for them,” he said.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe I might have to look into Dad’s death again,” Annie said. She was sure that wasn’t the direction to take the case. Oftentimes artifacts rotated through the market every few years.

  But then, Rathbone had admitted to killing Jason Pearce, and this case was at the same time her father died.

  Cham’s eyes crinkled with worry.

  “They killed Benaiah for the ring. We need to get the ring out of here,” he sa
id with finality.

  Annie had nothing to dissuade him. He and Zola are right.

  “So what’s your next step?” Cham asked.

  “Mortimer. I think he might have an idea of who Benaiah is. If not, he might know something about the ring or the Fraternitatem.”

  “And your arm?”

  “It’s fine. I’m working tomorrow. And you—did you get into the market to confirm the shapeshifters are our missing wizards and witches?”

  Cham frowned. “Our crystals were useless in the market. There is so much magic they couldn’t read individual spells. And once we took them out, Emerson and I had to leave. The Wizard Guard is being watched.”

  “Who’s researching the spell found at the missing persons’ homes?”

  “Emerson and Mrs. Cuttlebrink are on it, though they haven’t had much luck. It appears to be an ancient spell, but not a wizard-created one.” Cham wrapped his arm around Annie’s shoulder and kissed her cheek before he softly whispered in her ear. “Feeling okay tonight?”

  She pushed him away, but her hand lingered in the middle of his chest. “Just curious. Did you forget to clean the blood lock yesterday?”

  He glanced as the cabinet. “I could have forgotten, but I’m pretty sure I cleaned it. Why?”

  “It was dirty when I pulled out the book this afternoon.”

  “Sorry. I’ll be more careful next time. So how do you feel? Hungry, tired, in pain?” He smirked. She knew what he really wanted.

  “Not as stiff as you.” Annie kissed him as he teleported her upstairs.

  Chapter 13

  The Snake Head Letters was built on the outskirts of Chicago, across the street from the border of Evanston, Illinois. To hide the store in plain sight, and ensure nonmagicals weren’t tempted to patronize the establishment, the building was imbued with heavy magic that changed the store’s façade depending on who walked by. A mother with small children might see a sports bar while a single man might view it as a dollhouse shop.

  To Annie, the store was nothing more than an ancient, run-down building with cracked windows that were covered in a thick layer of grime. Before entering, she stood by the window and glanced inside, noting the owner, Archibald Mortimer, in a heated conversation with a witch. Annie’s hand rested on the ancient green trim, which peeled off at her touch. She wiped the lead-based paint chips on her pant leg and pulled the rotting wood door open by its loose knob.