We have the fairy. Want her back? You can have her in exchange for the ring. Wait for further instructions.
Crap!
Dialing his phone, Spencer paced through the kitchen until Lial Peng picked up the phone. Lial, new to the main branch of the Wizard Guard, happened to be the best tracker in the department.
“We have a problem,” Spencer said.
News traveled fast amongst the wizard guard, so Lial already knew. “Annie’s Aloja is missing isn’t she?” he asked.
“Someone took her. I just found the note,” Spencer advised.
“I’ll be there in five.”
*
Arriving to Annie’s house, Lial went to work tracking the fairy and capturing her good magic in order to scry for her.
If she didn’t come when Annie called, she’s hidden or worse.
“Are we telling Annie?” Lial asked. He traversed the house, following the magic belonging to a wizard who wasn’t Annie, and catalogued the spells used to determine which trace he would use to track.
“Cham told Annie I was looking for her. Telling her I brought you in might not be a good idea at the moment. Annie needs to stay hidden,” Spencer advised.
“Fair enough.” Lial collected all that he could find, including the new teleportation spell he found on the front porch. It was the strongest trace he had. “I’ll find him, no problem. But the market is changing. We need to be careful how we approach this.” Lial took out the newest incarnation of the black market map.
The map was magically linked to the market; as the aisles changed or moved, the map reflected the modifications. It was an ongoing report of the physical space. Lial stared at the map, and his eyes blinked rapidly as he reviewed the additions and corrections.
“Lial?”
“It used to be a wheel,” he said softly.
Spencer stared at the map and agreed. The black market was no longer recognizable. Once the shape of a spoked wheel, the map now resembled a maze with a large square at the center. Several of the passages dead ended, while other aisles were loops. “What the hell did that djinn do?”
Lial didn’t answer. He removed his scrying crystal and attached it to the magical trace found outside the front door. After he maneuvered the crystal over the map, it remained lifeless and dull.
“He might not be at the market,” Spencer suggested.
Lial tried the map of Chicago. For the second time, the crystal refused to light up. Lial called Bucky for information pertaining to Gladden Worchester anywhere in the state of Illinois.
“Here you go. It must be some case, if you’re all in on it,” Bucky said, immediately sending over the address.
“You have no idea,” Lial sighed. With the information, he tried a third time to scry for the wizard in the South Side of Chicago, where his address was listed.
“Damn,” Lial murmured when the search returned nothing.
“He’s trying to clean up his mess. There’s a possibility the djinn had him killed,” Spencer said.
“Where does that leave Zola?” Lial asked and tapped his hand wildly against the map.
In one last effort, he used the map of the entire world—a large, three-foot-by-four-foot piece of paper—and slowly, methodically started in one hemisphere and moved to the next, looking for anything resembling trace or the person of Gladden Worchester.
“It’s a shame we can’t scry on fairy magic,” Spencer said sardonically. Thanks to an evolutionary process, fairy magic was unable to be traced or tracked and therefore couldn’t be used to scry. It was what kept the Aloja fairies safe—unless they were kidnapped.
“I think we need to tell Annie,” Lial said with a heavy sigh.
“Market first, and then Annie,” Spencer said.
*
Annie and Gibbs had warned them of the changes to the market with a very specific description of the portals and the protection spell disintegrating. It was blurring the line between the magical plane of existence and the nonmagical world. Spencer and Lial knew what was coming, and yet neither could hide their shock when they stepped inside a lesser-used portal and took to the market before them.
“How can it smell even worse?” Lial commented as he covered his mouth with a piece of fabric. The normally foul stench that clung to clothing and hair was more powerful, more rancid, and heavier, than it had ever been.
The market no longer teemed with hordes of patrons, and no longer hummed with the careful work of elves and trolls that toiled in the muck and stalls, cleaning and keeping order to the chaotic marketplace.
Dogs ran through the aisles in search of food, rooting through what little garbage piles they could find. A dog fight started between two overly shaggy dogs. Their teeth bared, they barked rapidly until one crawled off.
Cats slunk at the base of tables, abandoned by their booth owners. They ambled across the littered dirt, stained with liquid—possibly blood and remnants of potions that were tossed. Dung heaps grew in the corners, in the middle of the aisles, and on top of abandoned artifacts and other goods. A group of snakes slithered across these piles, forked tongues moving in and of their small mouths.
“This is far worse than I imagined,” Spencer said in awe before the pair headed toward the incinerators, which were no longer in their familiar location at the back of the market along the outer aisle. The market was no longer round and no longer consisted of dissecting aisles. They glanced up and spotted the smoke rising in the air, hanging over the market as a dark, black cloud. Spencer and Lial followed the nearest path headed in the direction, though it undulated and curved through a confused mess, a space that looked more like a zoo in the final stages of decay.
They were followed for a time by cats and dogs, who seemed curious as to why these two humans were still in the market since there were so few humans left. Eventually, the shapeshifters grew bored and trailed off, heading to look for food or entertainment.
“We really should rescue the shapeshifters from the market,” Lial said as they followed a curve that led to a dead end—a wall without doors or windows, stained with years of dirt and grime, rotted from neglect.
“There must be hundreds of them. That’s a massive undertaking that we probably should have started planning when Annie came to the conclusion that they were shapeshifters,” Spencer replied. “Just where do we put them, and how do we change them back?”
“I don’t know, but the incinerator’s on the other side of this wall,” Lial pronounced, jumping up to get a view over the fence. He summoned his map of the market, of the new design. “We need to walk all the way back where we came in order to get right back there,” he pointed to the wall.
“You’re kidding,” Spencer said incredulously.
“Sorry, dude. No one’s controlling the magic. It’s running itself, I think. And to be honest, the paths have changed since the last I looked. The market’s gone.” Lial stuffed the map back inside his field pack, shrinking the entire bag.
The two turned left and followed the new path toward the incinerators.
As they passed more abandoned booths than they ever could imagine and a flock of sparrows that had found a picnic table covered in herbs and other potion ingredients, Spencer commented, “Shapeshifters are cats, dogs, and snakes. These birds—they’re not human shapeshifters. If they can fly through that hole in the protection spell…” Spencer pointed upwards toward where thick smoke escaped through a crack in the protection spell. “What else is getting out? I think we need a crew in the forest.”
Spencer texted a message as they trotted around the market. They turned down the passage to the incinerators, where they were stopped by a thick, choking smoke. It poured from the incinerator tubes, rolling out in thick black puffs. The furnace area was a wall of black, charred smoke that was too thick to enter. Without any more room to hold it, the smoke blew into the market.
Backing away, Lial found an empty booth, and unrolled his map. Trying one more time to pick up Gladden’s magical energy he ran the
crystal over every centimeter of the map, but to no avail. He pocketed his crystal, and as he started to roll the map, he noticed something. Re-stretching it on the table, he bent closer to the page.
His finger, caked in smoke and dust, trailed the path outward from their location to a wall. A wall that opened into nothing.
“There?” Spencer asked.
“Yeah. It’s like there’s something here. Maybe a hidden room. I say we go there,” Lial suggested.
Passing through the square that was formerly the center of the market was an excruciatingly slow journey; they had stepped through a migration of refugees. A mass exodus of vendors moved forth—some with their wares piled high on small carts, others shrinking their entire life’s work into bags and hauling them over their shoulders. They seemed sad, disinterested, angry as they trudged their way to the portals and out of the eyes of the Wizard Guard.
Lial and Spencer took the scene in. Their eyes darted from patron to patron, from the stall owners still working with clients to the vampire that was speaking in hushed whispers to another. Pointing at them.
“We need to go,” Spencer said.
They turned down a less used path opposite the mysterious wall. To avoid the crowds, they teleported to the nearest portal, stepped through, and headed home.
Chapter 20
Just after dawn broke, Cham left Annie at Windmere School and headed to her house to salvage what remained of her father’s folders or the Book of Shadows. He hoped Zola found her way back home.
“Anything on Zola?” Cham asked Spencer. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach as soon as he saw his fellow wizard guard.
If Spencer is here, that can’t be good.
“We’re pretty sure she’s at the market. Between the smoke and the folks still there, we were run out.”
“You haven’t told Annie yet?”
“Not until we know for sure what’s happened to her. They had her locked downstairs and moved her. I’m sorry, Cham. We tried.”
Since Cham had been there last, Annie’s house had been cleared of evidence and cleaned. The rope and chair had been shrunk and placed in evidence bags, and the mirror and cabinet had been cleaned up and disposed of. Spencer was sorting through the papers, laying them in neat piles on the kitchen table.
“What’s the plan for finding Zola?” Cham joined Spencer, pulling what could be saved and placing each salvageable sheet where it needed to go.
“We need backup. It’s not safe in there for us. Whoever’s still inside is all for themselves. It’s a mess.” Spencer sighed.
They sorted in silence, yet the pile seemed to remain large, and the stench of smoke continued to permeate the room.
“Hey, thanks for taking care of all of this.” Cham said.
“No problem. I’m just sorry we couldn’t get at Zola.” Spencer sighed, resting his hand on a tall stack of paper. “From what I can tell, Gladden used black magic to gain entrance to the house. We’ll need to ward off some of that. The Fraternitatem is probably smarter and better prepared.” Spencer tossed a pile of notes on top of an open folder.
“Who’s on it?” Cham picked up a piece of the Book of Shadows and laid it on top of the bindings.
“Southwest unit. Shiff and Brite got here about an hour ago. They’re researching the spell used to break in. Then they’ll reverse it and strengthen the spell. Annie’ll be able to come home again.” Spencer offered a smile. The late hours affected him too.
“Annie wants something to do. Is this stuff ready for her?”
Spencer pulled another pile from across the table, opened file number two, and stored the pile there.
“Just a few more pieces. Listen, I’ve read through what I could in Jason’s notes. The only relation between the cases is definitely the Fraternitatem of Solomon. They’re dangerous, and they were definitely leaning on Jason about those stones,” Spencer said. He pulled the stacks of folders in a neat pile.
“Annie didn’t think it was related. Though… she mentioned an archaeologist that Jason met while working the case. I want to talk to the archaeologist and see if she knows how the ring works and possibly anything about the Fraternitatem. Since she mentioned the ring to Jason, that is.”
“Her name is Dr. Arden…” Spencer glanced at the notes. “Dr. Arden Blakely. If you need help with that let me know. We’ve all been pulled from our other cases.”
“One sec,” Cham said and dialed his phone.“Bucky, can you find an archaeologist named Dr. Arden Blakely? Worked for the Field Museum. Chicago to start.”
“Sure, Cham. Is she a suspect?” Bucky tapped the keyboard on the other end of the line, already searching for the archaeologist.
“No. Person of interest. Just a hunch.”
“No problem. Just a second.” Bucky typed another few strokes and then gave Cham an address for the archaeologist Arden Blakely in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago.
“Thanks Bucky. That was quick.”
“You gave me an easy one. And I’m in the middle of something else. Do you need anything else?”
“I’m good, thanks. Get back to what you were doing.”
Spencer glanced at Cham. “Gibbs is guarding Annie. What’s next?”
“I’ll take this stuff to Annie and then head to the archaeologist.”
“I think Lial and I will take another look at the market and plan how to get Zola out.” Spencer placed the folders and miscellaneous papers in a bag for Cham.
“Thanks. Keep me posted,” Cham said and headed out.
*
Rebekah knew there was something odd about Anne Pearce; it had gnawed at her for the last eight months. Diligently researching and scraping together an unusual amount of material, the journalist quite by chance had learned more than expected about a world once unknown to her. It had started with the occult section at the local public library. Slowly, over time, she pieced together unfathomable facts that seemed unlikely—and yet they fit. They explained Anne Pearce.
The more entrenched in the strange information and places Rebekah found herself, the more anxiety crawled inside and took hold. Since investigating the crime scene in Busse Woods, that chill in the air and general paranoia became her constant companion, along with the feeling she was being stalked. Her only solaces were her apartment and her work. Unless she was out with a group, the reporter rarely left home.
Leaving the studio at ten in the morning after the morning report, Rebekah passed through the doors to the parking lot just as three people she didn’t recognize entered, their badges hanging from their necks. She observed them stroll down the hall and disappear into the door leading to the stairs. When the door slammed shut, the metallic thud resounded in the empty hallway. The journalist, with a bad feeling at the pit of her stomach, ran to her silver car.
Her heart pounded in her ears, and her hands shook while fumbling with the keys. With a deep breath, Rebekah managed to get the keys in the ignition and turn the car on. The engine hummed softly. She flipped the car into reverse, then into drive, and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The wheels churned, and smoke rose from the tires as she peeled the car out of the lot.
Though it was only mid-morning, traffic moved slowly on her way to her apartment, which was less than ten miles from the studio. It took her an hour to arrive.
Rebekah’s heart still raced as she parallel parked in a spot on her street, bumping into the car behind her. Taking a heavy breath, Rebekah hiccupped, shut off the car, and rested her head against the steering wheel to cry.
The neighborhood bustled with people traversing the sidewalk to and from the bus or train stations a block to the west. One block from her apartment to the east were the shopping district, small stores, drug stores, and other outlets.
After taking another cleansing breath, she opened her door and saw a familiar face heading down the sidewalk. The man, his face so recognizable, glanced at her and smiled before picking up his pace toward the bar at the end of the street.
How do I
know him?
Across the street, a familiar-looking couple headed in the opposite direction. They crossed the street at the stop sign, turned once, and smiled at Rebekah before heading on their way.
But I know them too.
Paranoid, Rebekah slammed the car door shut and lunged inside the gate to her apartment building. She flew up the steps, taking them two at a time, until she reached the fourth floor. She entered her apartment and threw the door shut.
“Hello Rebekah,” Graham Lightner said, just before he slammed a jinx on her.
*
Cham landed on the quiet street along with Emerson Donaldson, a Wizard Guard in training. Running with a hunch, he felt their surprise visit to archaeologist Dr. Arden Blakely might be less stressful if he had a female officer with him.
He zipped his coat to his chin as the bitter wind from the lake blew through the street; Emerson held tightly to her hat as the gust descended on them.
Few cars were parked on the city street in the middle of the day, and anyone still home was safely huddled in their houses. Cham and Emerson walked cautiously, verifying each address and scanning the street for wayward folks with an unfortunate need to be outside. Two houses up the street, a woman was bundled in a thick parka so that she resembled a large jelly bean teetering on thin sticks. Only her eyes were exposed. As Cham drew closer, he could see that they watered heavily in the wickedly bitter wind. It didn’t stop her from waiting patiently for the small white terrier to sniff the fire hydrant before lifting its leg and peeing on the already iced-over apparatus.
Even when the dog finished, the woman glanced up at the sky, wiped a tear from her cheek, and let her dog meander to another spot of brown grass. Shivering violently, her dog made no move to return inside and seemed rather content to sniff the ground.
Cham and Emerson realized they were at their location. The woman stood in their way on the chipped, cracked sidewalk to the building. They loitered tolerantly as gusts of wind chilled them. The woman didn’t seem to notice.
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