The hum of the protection spell vibrated against her skin and in her ears. Annie braced for impact.
They crashed into the magical protection, Annie tumbled four feet to the ground, landing on her tender shoulder. The shattered broomstick fell around her.
“Crap!” She rolled over. Two large hands the size of plates lifted her up, pulling her through the gate and laid her in the dead grass. Squeals and cries filled the courtyard when Gibbs tossed Bitherby to a giant who caught him midair.
“Let go! Let go!” Bitherby shrieked and kicked short, thick legs. The giant was undeterred.
Annie shivered, cold from the wet snow and from the wind that blew across the lake. Gibbs, Shiff, and Brite lobbed matching hexes and jinxes to their welcome party. Bodies knocked from brooms that were still racing in the air landed with heavy thuds on the hard earth. One man lay unconscious as a giant roughly yanked on his arm, dragging him through prison gates.
Sparks flew, ash dirtied the white snow, and smoke and the stench of burning flesh wafted to Annie. She lay dizzy with pain. The world spun. Annie fell…
*
Weightless, she floated in the clouds. Angry voices, distant and hazy, wafted to her a million miles away from where she lay.
Where am I?
A groan escaped her lips. It took several minutes, maybe hours, even days before the fog lifted, before the voices grew louder and clearer with anger. The paralyzing grayness lifted, and the clouds shifted and blew away. Annie opened her eyes to the harshness of the room; it spun around her, and her stomach churned.
When Annie shifted, the cot mattress squeaked. Voices stilled. She pulled herself up, but lightheadedness overwhelmed her so she leaned back against the cold wall.
She had been heavily medicated. The aftertaste stuck in her cotton mouth.
“Annie, you’re awake.” Relieved, Ryan rushed to her, even before Cham had a chance to join her on the cot. Ryan hugged her, patted her hair, and gingerly touched her shoulder.
Though Annie knew Ryan loved her—he had cared for her since her father died—he had never coddled her.
What the hell?
She glanced at Cham through Ryan’s stifling hug; his jaw was tight, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He looked away.
“Who’s gonna tell me what the fight was about?”
They hid from the question, looking away and staring at fixed points in front of them.
They’re fighting about me.
Uncomfortable and lightheaded from the medication, Annie crawled under the covers to stop the nausea.
“Annie…” but Cham couldn’t answer. Ignoring Ryan, he fluffed the flat pillow, gently placed it under her head, and pulled the blanket to her chin.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re safe now,” Ryan tried to assure Annie. She closed her eyes as if not seeing her friends would make them disappear.
“I was safe at school,” she said through gritted teeth. “So don’t pretend it didn’t happen. What were you arguing about?” When she reopened her eyes, she glowered at them. They each squirmed under her angry stare and exchanged glances before answering her.
“We were discussing who knew you were being moved. Why Gibbs, Shiff, and Brite failed to bring you here safely.” Ryan was angry; his glare directed at Cham was cold.
“This isn’t their fault, and why you blame Cham makes no sense,” Annie murmured.
“Annie, this shouldn’t have—”
She held up her good hand. She didn’t want to hear it. “How many did they get?” she asked.
“All four. They’re in prison now. You need to rest.” Cham said. The room spun again, and closing her eyes did little to assuage the movement. She reached for Cham. His warm hand wrapped around hers.
“Ryan, go home and tell Kathy I’m okay.” It was an order, but through her slurred speech, it held no weight.
“No. I already called her.”
“Then don’t interfere.”
Cham fidgeted beside her. His leg bounced up and down on the cot and rattled the bed.
Annie unwrapped herself from the blanket, sitting up before swinging her feet to the cold floor. Taking a breath, she stood and fought the fogginess in her head. When she felt steady, she headed to the table across the room.
“Annie, please sit,” Ryan pleaded.
“Please stop! Everyone, stop! This is bad. You’re fighting, and Zola’s missing! Just stop!” Feeling little stronger with each step, Annie inched her way to the table, to the uncomfortable metal chairs that squeaked as she sat. “Where is everyone?”
“They’re nearby. But this can wait. You have a concussion,” Ryan said.
“It can’t wait. Bring them in!” She rested her head in her hands.
“Okay,” Ryan whispered.
Feet shuffled, and chairs squeaked. After a few minutes, Shiff and Brite, Milo and Lial, and Spencer and Gibbs entered the room, an icy chill hanging over them.
Did they hear the argument?
“As far as I remember, this is my case,” Annie announced once everyone was present. “So this is the problem.”
The assembled group waited patiently for Annie. Her pursed lips held back the vomit she thought might come up. She took a deep breath and felt their stares on her as she gathered her thoughts.
“Annie?” Ryan asked.
“Someone knew when I arrived at Windmere, and someone knew when I left.” Her brain filtered through her stay at Windmere. There were exactly two people who were there when she arrived, though several teachers knew they were leaving.
The teachers wouldn’t have turned me in!
She thought of the man who blamed her for bringing the elf to the school. Her stomach churned for no other reason than that he had called someone at the market and turned her in.
“Annie, who knew you were at Windmere?” Milo asked. Annie knew he already knew the answer.
“Headmaster Turtledove and the stable master, Mr. Jacobi. I saw one teacher protecting the border when we left. I suppose there were more. I have a hard time believing any of them would turn me in.”
“Headmaster Turtledove was there both times, Annie. We’ll have to bring him in,” Shiff advised.
Annie sighed. Only a student from another school would even suggest that! Of the group assembled, Shiff, Brite, and Lial hadn’t attended Windmere.
“Mr. Jacobi was there too. I don’t know him,” she argued. “The headmaster didn’t do it. He wouldn’t.” Annie was argumentative; it came with the pain and discomfort, but she believed in her heart that her former headmaster wouldn’t turn her in to anyone anywhere, especially the black market. If Mortimer would take a beating before he gave her up, she had no doubt Headmaster Turtledove would too.
“How do you know, Annie?” Lial asked.
“Because I know him. He wouldn’t.”
Annie rubbed her temple. A headache pounded.
Think. Think.
“What about Archibald Mortimer? He knows me. Do you know what else he said?” she asked. Anything but blaming the headmaster.
“Annie, he’s unconscious. We won’t be able to ask him. The hospital will call me when he wakes,” Gibbs said.
“You’ll have to consider the headmaster as well as the stable master,” Shiff advised again.
Annie glared. “It’s not him!”
Milo listened intently to the argument. When he had enough of the impasse, he pushed his chair away from the table and hoisted himself up with much difficulty. Whatever was ailing him appeared to be getting worse.
Annie expected him to scribble on the whiteboard, but he looked off to a corner of the room as if gathering his thoughts.
“Have we found Zola’s location?” he asked Lial.
Lial pulled out a map of the market. “It’s changing and shrinking and growing. The aisles are moving, but this here—this is always the same. I’ve been watching all day. I think this is the dungeon, and I think we start here, if we can get back in.”
“What do you mean,
if we can get back in?” Milo accused.
Lial and Spencer exchanged glances. “Well, the portals appear to be failing. We need to get in now,” Spencer said.
Milo paced. Annie lay on the table and closed her eyes as if that could block it all out.
Zola!
Cham placed his hand on her head. All she could concentrate on was Milo’s boots that shuffled and dragged against the floor.
“Talk to the elf about the black market. Get confirmation, find out any secret passages. Just do it. We need to find Zola before we lose the market. Shiff and Brite will go in with Lial when we know for sure how to access the dungeon. Ryan, you go home. Cham and Gibbs I assume are staying here with Annie.”
“Uh, where’s the elf?” Spencer asked.
Eyes darted around the room. Bitherby was nowhere to be seen. Brite and Shiff headed out to find him.
“While they’re searching for the elf, Gibbs, what did the attackers say?” Milo asked.
“Nothing. They won’t admit to who sent them or how they knew where Annie would be. I recognize two of them from the market. Realizing that, I’ll make the jump; Gladden sent them to finish the job.”
Annie lifted her head from the table, and glanced at Gibbs. “Not the Fraternitatem?” she reiterated.
“Annie, they could not have acted more surprised when I questioned them about the group,” Gibbs said. “After capturing some magic, we could tell immediately. Their magic is not as sophisticated or precise as the Fraternitatem.”
“Humor me—does their magic match the crime scene?” she questioned.
“We did a precursory test for the magic. It’s definitely not a match to the clearing at the portal,” he replied.
A last-ditch effort for Gladden to save himself. I’m not surprised.
As Annie contemplated the new information, Shiff and Brite entered the bleak, cold conference room—without Bitherby.
“The elf is gone,” Shiff announced.
Chapter 24
When the humans fought, Bitherby snuck out. It had been easy to leave the small conference room; the humans were busy…
Busy being mean.
No one knew he had gone.
Bitherby had spent his life in the shadows. It was how the elves survived living in the black market, and it was how he escaped. Putting his head down as he came to the security desk, he waited until the nice lady sitting there rushed to the shouting to see what was happening with the Wizard Guard. Bitherby simply pushed open the exit door and ran outside.
The elf worked toward one goal and nothing, not the Wizard Guard, Miss Annie, or the security at the prison could force him from his mission. He jumped inside the tall grasses that bordered the lane to the teleportation area, hiding himself as he made his escape.
A blustery wind continued to blow, and even the tall grasses couldn’t keep the wind from pushing against the small elf. Bitherby ducked his head low as he anxiously stepped into the teleportation area, where he had last witnessed an attack. While he debated his decision to leave, his eyes darted across the grasses and trees looking for trouble. He took a deep breath and hoped the wind wouldn’t whisk him away as he teleported to Busse Woods, outside the farthest, most difficult portal in the forest.
The conditions were no better in the forest. Bitherby fought against the heavy wind as he walked onto the nearly nonexistent, overgrown path lined on either side with a thick cluster of thin young trees. The undergrowth was deep and moist with a thin layer of new snow. Bitherby ducked a low-hanging branch, avoiding the sharp branches only to find himself eye level with another branch.
At the patch of needleweed, the elf teleported and precariously landed between an evergreen and the portal with barely any room to maneuver. The cold air washed over the elf, and he shivered as the portal popped and hummed. He glanced around his location ensuring he was alone.
The wood handle of his cursed knife was smooth in his rough hands. He twisted it, getting a good hold of it before plunging the two-inch blade into the entrance. The air spun and sparked. A torrent of wind pushed the elf into the tree behind him. Fighting mightily against the tornado, Bitherby lunged into the portal and landed face first in the silky loose dirt.
The market seemed settled and quiet in the morning, Bitherby expected to see no one in this section and worried he would stick out. After jumping through the portal, he couldn’t have imagined the scene.
Rancid smoke hovered over the market, still unable to escape through the protective shield. With so many merchants no longer selling their wares, there was no need to light the candle lamps that lined each side of the aisle. Bitherby no longer worried he’d be discovered.
Bitherby had only gone from the market a few days. He glanced in the direction of the dormitories. Where they should be they weren’t, so he searched for the source of the smoke—the incinerators. Finding his trail, he headed to where he knew the dormitories must be.
Bitherby crept behind a long-haired collie. Bothered by the elf, it stopped and sniffed him, licking the greenish skin across his nose.
“Not now. Lead me to the incinerators,” the elf squeaked and swatted the dog’s snout. The dog growled and turned, Bitherby crouched alongside the beige-and-white dog, following the new outer path to the incinerators.
The pair rounded a curve, coming to what had once been the center of the market. Though its location was now at the south end of the marketplace, little else about the market center had changed. Several dead trees still greeted them at the entrance, and the stage at the far end was still there, though covered in soot and ash.
Birds chirped, and a dog barked. The wild sounds masked the footsteps heading in their direction. Thinking it was a demon—or worse, the master coming after him—Bitherby smacked the dog and ran for it.
His heart pounded in his ears. He could barely take in air as the smoke poured from the incinerator doors in front of him. He ignored the rancid smell and lunged across the threshold, falling to his knees. Crawling beneath the smoke, Bitherby reached the back door to the basement where the elves and trolls lived. Popping open the door, he took a tentative step down the staircase.
The staircase consisted of two by fours supported by more two by fours and held at a precarious angle with elf magic. They swayed as Bitherby took each step. He held on to the railing as he carefully made his way to the hard stone floor of the basement.
The stairs led into a large room with a kitchen to the left. It was nothing more than a fireplace and a large prep table. Four creatures, one troll and three elves, prepared a morning meal of gruel, which boiled in a large pot. The mostly soupy mixture popped against the thick metal of the cauldron.
Hard biscuits baked in the fireplace were nestled in the hot coals. His mouth watered thinking of the bread, of the warm broth. But what waited for him back at the prison was why he had come back here. Rather than making contact with his brethren in the kitchen, Bitherby slunk to the other side of the basement where bunk beds lay end to end.
Hundreds of beds filled the room. Some were metal, others were shaped from wood planks. They created zig-zagging aisles, making travel through the basement challenging at best.
The elves and trolls not working in the market slept. They lay nestled on piles of dirty clothing, rumpled sheets, and worn blankets. Little bodies in deep sleep rose and fell with each breath. Rumbling snores rattled from tiny mouths.
Single light bulbs hung from thin cords every ten feet, providing Bitherby with just enough light to see inches in front of his face. Knowing the room as well as he did, he sidestepped a large hole at the head of the aisle and headed deep in the bowels of the room.
The room croaked and groaned, and snores and squeaks wafted to Bitherby. He shuddered as he walked through the space, which was so well-hidden underground that even the Wizard Guard knew nothing about it. He missed the warmth of the barn he blew apart. Even the prison felt safer, warmer, sweeter than this.
He continued to Huxley’s bed, kicking a pile of cloth
ing as he felt the edge of each bed, his fingertips grazing rough, dirty fabric. The two elves had grown up together and found themselves in the precarious circumstances of living and working for the black market. It didn’t pay well and offered no opportunities; they lived nearly as slaves. But Huxley and Bitherby worked because that’s what they did, and there was little opportunity for them.
He jumped Miss Annie’s teleport without much thought after Huxley told him what the wizard guard wanted. He’d been worried sick about his friend ever since and hoped to find him safe. And as he thought of that, he wished to be back at the prison even with the humans there. But first he needed Huxley. Bitherby promised himself to bring Huxley with him when he returned to the prison.
Bitherby’s fingers grazed the beds as he passed. He sniffed and recognized the scent that Huxley carried. The elf held his hand over his friend’s mouth, startling the sleeping creature. Unable to scream, he bolted upright and heard a soothing “Ssshh,” beside him. “Huxley, it’s me.”
Huxley removed Bitherby’s hand. “What are you doing here? They see ya and you’re dead.” Huxley’s eyes darted around the room as if the humans lurked in the shadows.
“I need your help,” Bitherby ordered. Huxley’s bruised eyes grew wide with fear, his swollen lip trembled, and his green skin turned ashen white and glowed in the darkness.
“You can’t be here. They find you and kill you.” He quivered in his bed, which vibrated against the stone floor. Bitherby placed a hand on his friend to calm the nervous elf.
“Shhh. You wake everyone. I need help. The wizard guard protects me; she’ll protect you too.”
“Why you come back?” Huxley asked.
“Her Aloja fairy is in the dungeon,” Bitherby whispered angrily.
“You risk your life for her fairy?” Huxley spat.
“Hafta. I need your help. Wizard Guard don’t know the market. Will never find her.” Bitherby wrung his hands and glanced around at his former mates, expecting them to wake and turn him in. They were all still asleep.
Huxley climbed off the bed so he was eye level with his friend. “You stupid elf.”
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