The voices grew closer, yet they were still off in the distance, traversing the large clearing. It would be a while before they found him.
Not relishing the thought of being discovered, Stonewell glanced around the clearing, searching for the shadows of the security officers against their flashlights. When he saw none coming, he waved his palms across the first layer of loose dirt, pushing it to the side of the grave. He stopped for a moment and waited again, not just for the security guards but for the Wizard Guards. He expected they would arrive at any moment, assuming they were still looking for him. When no one came, he continued to remove heavy earth with swipes of his palms. It felt good to use magic.
Reassured that he was alone, Stonewell removed several cubic feet of dirt. All the while, every sound in the darkness made him jump. He would stop and turn toward the sounds, anxious he’d run into the security team that patrolled the lands surrounding the royal residence—even worse, he feared the Wizard Guard.
He continued to remove dirt from above the grave, heaving it onto a growing pile. He quickened his pace; he didn’t want to get caught messing with the grave.
Streaks from flashlights illuminated the thick, dense trees that encircled the clearing. He could hear harsh German voices growing louder, stronger.
Stonewell ducked behind the large oak tree as Amelie’s headstone lit up with streams of light.
“There!” Footsteps sloshed across the wet grass, heading toward the grave, obviously tampered with—and toward the bag. He had forgotten the bag. In that moment, the man inside realized he was nearly free and began shouting.
Stonewell tossed a spell around the thick tree trunk, swiping his palm in the direction of two security guards, just before they reached the mysterious bag. Little did they know it contained a half drugged homeless man.
“Help me!” the man shouted, just as the team of security officers was hit by Stonewell’s jinxes. Both men stopped mid step, their faces frozen in confusion, their arms up and wide.
Poking his head around the tree trunk, Stonewell surveyed the landscape. There were no other security team members in the vicinity. The only noise came from the man in the bag, who was squirming and calling for help.
Stonewell’s first order was a swift kick to the bag; he heard a crack in the man’s ribs. “They’re gone. You won’t be saved,” Stonewell sneered and returned to removing the dirt in the grave.
His back hurt. It had been years since the rotund man had completed any form of exercise. And yet he continued for three hours, until he finally saw the cement tomb at the bottom of the hole. He wiped sweat and dirt from his face, using the sleeve of his expensive suit, which was already covered in mud. He bent over and stretched his back while he wiped away loose dirt from the coffin cover, revealing the bronze plaque on the cement lid. The humble sentiment simply read, Amelie Victoria Maxillian, Rest in Peace.
Stonewell stood next to the hole. Beside him, the victim sensed his time was drawing to a close. He struggled against the binding that held him inside the bag. He screamed, swore, punched at the bag, but he was no match for all the sticking spells and other magical jinxes used to prevent his escape.
While he continued to panic, Stonewell threw a jinx at the moving mass, immobilizing him.
Exhausted and running out of time, Stonewell stood at the edge of the hole, held his palms upward, and raised the heavy cement lid, floating it up through the grave and setting it on a clear patch of grass. Shining a light inside, he examined the coffin—still polished, nearly pristine—it lay untouched by air or time. He jumped down, and touched the coffin; adrenaline coursed through him as he raised the lid, unsure of what he’d find.
The silk lining was ripped to shreds and covered in streaks of blood.
The newly risen vampire lay still, wrapped in an emerald green dress with a crystal bodice, covered in blood. Stonewell started when he looked in her angry black eyes. Having been in complete darkness for so long, she blinked rapidly as she gained use of her vampire vision.
“What took so long?” she sneered.
“I know, love. It couldn’t be helped.” He smiled and reached for her hand, but the agile young vampire rejected his assistance. Using her taut, strong muscles, she bent her legs beneath her and pushed herself up without difficulty. Towering over him, she pushed him aside and leaped from the grave.
Stonewell hoisted himself from the hole, slipping in the wet earth and landing in the coffin. Amelie sneered. Rather than watch him struggle to free himself, she paced her gravesite. Impatiently, Stonewell teleported to the grass, bent over and sucked in a deep breath.
“I’m famished,” Amelie cooed through purple, pouted lips. Her hair fell wild around her face; her dress slipped from her shoulder. She licked her raw and bloody fingertips, the result of scratching away her coffin lining as she tried to escape. She groaned in delight.
“I’ve brought your first blood, Your Highness.” He bowed low to the princess as he showed her the bag with the victim squirming inside.
“Don’t call me that!” she shouted. Her voice rolled through the trees.
“Yes. Amelie. Here. Here’s the food I promised.”
Stonewell, once a high official of the Wizard Council, now succumbed to being Amelie’s slave as he untied the strings that held her first victim inside.
As a young vampire she knew nothing about the art of the sensual kill. She pounced on her prey, ripped opened the bag, and held the victim to the wet grass. She sniffed him and licked his tender neck. He struggled against her vampire strength; she held him tighter, bound his hands behind his back in one of her delicate hands and pulled his neck backward, giving her room to sink her fangs into the artery. Warm blood passed her lips, and she sucked deeply. Her first taste of blood was all she needed to understand the ecstasy in that moment. A slow groan of pleasure escaped her as she writhed against her first victim. As he was drained of life, he no longer struggled against her grasp, so she loosened her hold on him until he finally went limp.
She held him in her arms until there was nothing left inside of him and pulled her sharp teeth from his neck. Amelie licked the last drops of blood from his neck, licked her lips of whatever she hadn’t sucked and then tossed the corpse to the ground. She stepped over him, sashaying to the man who saved her from her confines.
“My master,” the vampire cooed. She smiled coyly, averting her eyes from his lecherous stare.
The princess is happy!
Stonewell smirked to himself as he reached for her hand. He shivered at the icy chill that emanated from her skin.
“Did they notice, my dear?”
Amelie shrugged. “I have no idea what happened to me after I died,” she hissed.
It’s unlikely they found the vampire tracks beneath that thick, golden hair at the back of her head.
“They did a fine job. Fine job, indeed.” Stonewell glanced at the mess he created, reached down for the dead homeless man and pulled him toward the coffin. He was still very heavy.
“I’m so hungry,” Amelie whined. She pressed her lithe body against him.
“I need to clean up this mess. We can’t give anyone a reason to investigate this grave. They will know you aren’t here,” he said as he dumped the body inside the coffin.
“Now,” Amelie said as her breasts and hips curved against him. Heat rushed through him as her every touch aroused him; even the cold chill from her skin felt alive.
“I will find you someone to eat. Now let me finish,” he ordered and lowered the coffin lid on the dead man.
“Now!” she screamed.
Amelie grabbed Stonewell’s wrist and twirled him around to face her. Confusion and fear lined his face.
“Now, my dear. I’ll fetch you someone new. Le-let’s go. We’ll go, now,” he muttered as he glanced at the frozen security team feet from where Amelie held his wrist.
But Amelie was no longer interested in the man who freed her from her prison. Pulling him to her like a rag doll, she yanked o
n his chin, pulling his head back and exposing his neck. No longer able to wait for the taste of iron, she sank her fangs deep into his neck and let the blood flow.
He cried out. “No! My love, no!”
Stonewell struggled as all victims did when they realized they were about to die. She felt the life slip from him as his muscles went slack and the light faded from his eyes. Cyril B. Stonewell’s body slumped against Amelie as she sucked from him all that he had.
Six Months Later
Annie gladly stayed in bed past eight in the morning; when she woke, the sun was bursting through the curtains, blinding her. She blinked and took a deep breath. The pain of the last few weeks, of several misfortunes on the job, slowly faded away.
Beside her, Cham slept peacefully. His injuries had been far worse.
Sleep faded away as the sun rose higher and her bedroom grew lighter. She sat up and gained her bearings. Freshly laundered clothes lay in neat piles near her bed.
Leave it to Zola to clean when she’s ill.
Annie grimaced. Even her Aloja fairy, protector of women and children wasn’t safe and had been kidnapped as a way to get to Annie. The fall of the Black Market affected every one of them. She could still see the dead when she closed her eyes.
All those people.
Cham was unaffected by her movements as she climbed out of bed and followed warm, wafting smells of food cooking.
She wasn’t surprised to find Zola busy in the kitchen.
“Why aren’t you resting?” Annie asked, wrapping her own weak, tired arms around her friend.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Zola turned and this time gave Annie a warm, motherly hug.
“I’m done sleeping. The food smells good.” Annie helped herself to eggs and toast and carried them to the den.
“Go rest!” she called as she let the sofa envelope her.
“After you and Cham are cared for.” Zola began in the den, rearranging piles of folders and notes, picking up Annie’s work from her last case, the one that changed the makeup of the wizarding world. Annie couldn’t even begin to understand the consequences of losing the Black Market. Not yet.
As she took a bite, she watched Zola work. The fairy grew restless with Annie staring at her.
“I need to stay busy. It’s when I’m alone I remember,” Zola said as she picked up a pile of folders labeled with Wizard Hall stickers.
“Wait. Can I see those?” Annie held out her hand. It was Zola’s turn to look at her with edge.
“You need to rest too.” Zola ordered. Her wings, which had been broken when she was kidnapped, hung loosely behind her, sad and shapeless. She sighed and handed Annie the folders. “No work,” Zola said and straightened a pile of folders on top of her laptop.
Annie lay her plate on the ottoman and opened the first of four folders she found in the Wizard Hall records chamber. It was her father’s last case.
He met the Fraternitatem.
Her mind raced with thoughts of her dad—the last week of his life, the last day she saw him, what his last hours must have been like at the hands of the Fraternitatem. She knew they were responsible.
But why?
The question brought her back to the missing fourth file, which hadn’t been in the records chambers. Ryan suggested it might be hidden in the house.
I need to find that file!
Her hands had been tied at the conclusion of her last case, when the Fraternitatem was set free for the sake of the magical world. And though their crime started the dominoes that led to the end of the Black Market, Annie wouldn’t be able to let it go. She didn’t trust them and believed that at some point in the future, they would come back to haunt them.
So where would Dad hide a file?
Annie glanced around her small den. She had checked her bedroom, her closets, the guest room, the garage.
The basement probably?
Feeling a cold chill blowing in from the large sliding door, she summoned a hoodie and zipped it to her chin before heading to her basement.
In all the years she lived in the house as an adult, the basement was the one room she hadn’t tackled. It was as messy and disorganized as it had been when she was a kid, crowded with junk and boxes filled with stuff belonging to her sister Samantha or to her father. They were small hills and mounds of a life well lived.
I’ll check those later.
Annie surveyed the packed room—the cement walls, the return air vents, the laundry room at the far end—and chose to start with the obvious: the utility room.
It was a long, thin room along the back wall of the basement, completely unfinished. It housed the washer and dryer, water heater, furnace and air conditioner.
The light illuminated a dull and dingy room. There were only a few places the room could hide a box, places Annie and Samantha would have missed any time they did their laundry. She glanced behind the heater and furnace, then behind the washer and dryer. Knowing it wouldn’t be so easy, she began to thump the walls, assessing the thumping for voids in the wall.
He didn’t hide it here.
Her attention was drawn to the metal chair leaning against the wall. Still attached to the leg was the iron shackle that had trapped Zola before she was abducted and taken to the Black Market.
Why did the clean-up team leave that here?
Annie picked up the shackle, which was still covered in Zola’s blood and hair. She summoned an evidence bag and secured it, though it didn’t much matter; the man who tortured Zola was dead.
Sighing softly, she stepped back into the main basement. Her eyes scanned the walls, the floor.
What was here when Dad was alive?
It felt so long ago, and Annie grew weary and tired from her injuries. Rather than tackling the boxes, she headed for the stairs, stopping short at the sight of the crawl space door at the floor.
Would he hide it in such an obvious location?
Annie had never been in the crawl space, let alone seen what was stored inside, if there was anything at all. The thought of the bugs and rodents creeped her out.
Sitting on the cold floor, Annie pushed against the panel that should have slid open easily. It was stuck and swiping her palm across the opening did little to dislodge the flimsy door.
Annie summoned a crystal and held it at the door, maneuvering it across the panel, top to bottom. The rock glowed white and gray, an aged light.
The magic in the crystal read as old.
Eight years old maybe?
“Hey.” Cham rubbed his eyes of the last bits of sleep as he climbed down the staircase. “Whatcha doing?”
“I think I found a hiding spot.” She handed him her crystal so he could read the magic.
Cham looked at the crystal quizzically. “Uh… that’s a really simple spell,” he noted.
Maybe Dad assumed no one would ever look here.
“You really think it’s as easy as that?” Annie asked. It surprised her how simple a spell her father used.
“Yeah. I do.”
The doorbell rang. Annie and Cham glanced at each other.
“I’ll get it. You open,” he offered and headed upstairs.
Annie scooted closer to the crawl space door, casting a reversal spell against the thin panel. It creaked and popped and slid open with an easy touch.
“Really, Dad?” Annie murmured. With her flashlight burning, she stuck her head inside the space. Musty, dusty scents wafted to her: the dirt floor, the cobwebs, a possible nest in the corner. She shuddered as the light roamed the small space stopping on the box in the corner.
Is that…
The box had been there for years, covered in dust and water stains. She backed away, not wanting to crawl through the bugs, snakes, or mice that might be living in here.
Duh?
Annie summoned the box, the same brand that stored the printer paper at Wizard Hall. It easily floated to her. She laid it on the cement beside her, almost frightened to see what was inside.
“You got an
unmarked package,” Cham said, handing her an envelope addressed to Annie Pearce with no return address.
She glanced at the barely legible scribbled handwriting and felt the package, which was light and pliable.
“Odd. But look,” she announced proudly, showing him the box.
“So Jason did hide the file. You okay to look inside?”
I wonder if I am?
Ryan had given Annie his full support to investigate her father’s case. She lifted the box and floated it beside her as she walked up the stairs with her unmarked package.
“I don’t recognize the handwriting,” Annie said as she tossed the package on the table beside the box. She moved her crystal over the mystery package. The rock didn’t glow.
Annie squished the package between her fingers.
Paper?
She held the mail to the light, but the envelope was thick and opaque, offering her no clue as to the contents. Curious, she ripped open the seal and peered inside.
Well, that’s not what I expected, she thought as she slipped the contents on the table.
“It’s… what the hell, this is a French newspaper.”
The paper was well read, and folded with purpose, revealing a black and white picture attached to the article. The red ink circling a head was hard to ignore.
Annie summoned a magnifying glass and examined the picture as Cham looked on from over her shoulder.
That face!
“Oh crap,” she exclaimed as she held the glass and stared into the picture.
“That can’t be.”
They stared at a picture of Princess Amelie, alive and walking among a crowd.
Chapter 1
The sun kissed the eastern horizon as the day slowly crept awake. For the creatures who ruled the night, this was a languid final moment of freedom, packed with vigor, fury, or the last sensual kill before being forced inside away from the killer sun.
As the sun moved across the sky, the landscape rolled from the orange of sunrise to the purple of sunset. As beautiful as these moments in time could be, they were deadly for the vampires who didn’t retreat in time.
Smug and brash, the young vampire, formerly known as Princess Amelie of Amborix, laughed at the sun, dared it to touch her arm as she lunged inside the main foyer of the abandoned mansion owned by the remaining Van Alton family of France.
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 68