Every morning she waited just a minute longer before running for the door, allowing the sun to kiss her skin, playing a perverted game of chicken. So far the princess was winning.
Glistening streaks of orange light crossed the steps to the house and hit the edge of the door. Amelie watched the sun rise a little higher, touching the tip of her expensive leather boots. The sun’s heat and light inched its way up her leg, but Amelie remained stony and defiant. The morning ticked away.
The empty mansion protecting her stood still, no longer beautiful or even clean. It had lost its grandeur long ago and now sat covered in thick dust, smelling of mold and age, its furniture and window coverings a reminder of what had been. And yet it remained, long after its former occupants had gone, its new purpose to protect the vampire from her only nemesis: the sun.
Amelie still stared at the sun and felt the warmth at her knees, still taunting the sun to cause her damage or even kill her. She gripped the door handle, smooth and loose in her strong grip.
The house groaned awake as the only human occupant busied himself with whatever it was that he was doing. His fear and adrenaline wafted to her, intoxicating her.
Time meant nothing to Amelie anymore; there was no need to sleep or eat in the traditional sense. It left her endless minutes and hours to do as she pleased as long as she hid from the sun.
She could simply enjoy the sun as it covered the once grand turnabout in front of the house, as it crawled up her taut body, teasing her, taunting her with her vampire death. Warmth and light were so near to her now; she could almost feel them kissing her cold skin. She glanced down and looked at the light covering her thighs. It touched her finger tips, which tingled as her blood reacted to the sun light, the deathly start of a vampire’s final death. And yet Amelie couldn’t move from the spot. The new vampire was fascinated by her body and what she could and what she could no longer be.
When her fingers began to smoke, Amelie pulled away, no longer interested in mocking the sun. She stepped inside, sneered at the sun and slammed the door shut.
With hours to kill, Amelie headed inside with her fingers inside her mouth to cool the burning tips.
She hadn’t asked to be a vampire. Prior to being turned, she’d never had any idea that the world of magic existed. Looking back on the period of time just before she died, she realized just how much her former boyfriend Jordan Wellington had hidden from her. The medicines he carried with him, the medallion he wore around his neck.
Damn him!
And yet if she really thought of what that single moment in time when it all changed—when they stole that orb together, causing the men to come after her—Amelie really couldn’t lay blame on Jordan for her death and rebirth. Because she knew that if she had never met him, never traipsed across the United States with him, she would still be alive as it were, trapped in a world bound by duty and honor that stifled and trapped her. Ironically, her death set her free.
The scent of fear led her to a cozy den in the back corner of the mansion where she took a seat on a sofa aged by the sun and years. The corners were worn through, and padding and fuzz lay in a pile beneath her feet. Like everything else in the mansion, it had been left to rot. The remaining Van Alton family had little interest in doing anything with the place. It is why Louis brought her here, to this place abandoned on the outskirts of town.
As perfect as this location was for Amelie’s needs, their time here was nearing its logical conclusion. Once enough dead bodies were discovered in this area, fingers would point to the new couple who had been seen around town, to the exotic girl that no one had recognized but many were wary of.
Three weeks in any location was her maximum amount of time. They were nearing that quickly.
Vampires, demons who infested their hosts and took over the souls, were merely a shell of the human they once were. They would remember their past life but they would live differently as things and clothes and money meant nothing in their new reality; the only thing a vampire needed was blood. Amelie, however, would remain a princess in need of houses, clothes, the finest things. It was a strong need, so she required help and thought to find the man who once loved her.
The stench of his fear made her smile.
Amelie glanced at her phone, read the message quickly, and grimaced, tucking it back inside her pocket. She was here now and not leaving again for the time being, stuck inside with the one who cowered in the dark shadows, as if that could hide him from her.
Amelie lounged against the stale, smoke-covered silk sofa and closed her eyes, not for sleep but to keep her eyes from tricking her into seeing something that wasn’t there. A mouse scampered across the wooden floors, its nails clicking and clacking. It headed toward the kitchen, which was empty of food. The house creaked and groaned as cool spring breezes battered the aging building. A loose shutter banged against peeling stucco.
She readjusted her position on the sofa; human footsteps shuffled against the cold stone floor, hesitant and fearful. She scoffed as a short, stout form cautiously entered the room.
“Where have you been?” Amelie mocked. Louis Van Alton, her childhood friend, shuddered at the iciness.
“I… I was closing up the… the… the house for your return,” he stammered.
Amelie stretched her legs across the sofa and laid her head against the worn, lumpy armrest.
“You were… were… were… closing up the house. You were supposed to tell me where we are going next. The townspeople are getting too inquisitive. You know I can’t stay here any longer.”
Louis squeaked. Without electricity, without the internet he would have to return to the small village in hopes of finding a computer. He couldn’t remember all of his family homes—where they were and who was living where—and he felt as though he were running out of places to take the princess. He rested himself against the wall, his knees beginning to knock against each other.
Louis Van Alton knew what Amelie was. She had told him a sad tale to gain his trust when she first came to him. Her charms were enough to make him give up what little he had left. She had been his friend since childhood; he knew and loved her. But now, all he felt was abject fear and loathing.
“I… I only have your best interests at heart, princess.” He bowed so deeply, he nearly toppled forward. Amelie threw the nearest object within her reach, a large porcelain vase. It sailed through the air, missing Louis’s head by centimeters, and crashed into the cracked plaster wall, shattering to dust.
“Don’t ever call me that again!” she screamed.
As quickly as her anger exploded, it was replaced by a high, throaty laugh. “Clean that up, will you, dear?” Her sweet, kind voice indicated nothing of what just happened.
She stretched her arms above her head. Her breasts heaved and rose upwards as she took pleasure in recalling the night’s kill. Her heightened senses brought the night back from her memory as if she were still in the ball room with the music playing and the champagne flowing. Her victim had been a beautiful man who only felt fear in the moment of his death. She cringed as Louis got to his knees to clear her mess.
*
The box from the basement had been left on the table in the kitchen, a pile of papers beside it, hiding what Annie didn’t want to reveal. Periodically, as friends and family came to visit that day, she’d glance over quickly, reminded of what waited for her in her future. Janie and Dave were the lone visitors staying most of the day.
“We should go. They’re exhausted.” Janie Parker proclaimed as she cleared a pile of plates.
“I’m fine,” Annie protested and switched spots on the couch. She hadn’t forgotten the newspaper article or the fact that her single biggest case was coming back to bite her in the ass. It was at the forefront of her thoughts, but she didn’t want her friends since childhood to know how concerned she was.
“You’re nodding off.” Dave Smith chuckled and headed over to help Janie with the dinner dishes. Annie glanced at Cham. His eyes fluttered o
pen.
“You sure you don’t want to tell them about Amelie?” Cham whispered.
“Why worry them? They’ll know tomorrow when I’m back at the office.”
“You can’t protect them from everything that happens,” Cham reminded her.
“No work tonight. Just normal,” she said and pulled her arm around Cham’s belly. She lay her head on his shoulder. Sometimes she could hear rattling in his lungs. Mostly he was nearly healed from his experience being trapped in elf dormitory when the Black Market fell. She shuddered; he wrapped his arm around her.
“See, you’re about to fall asleep,” Janie quipped. “We can go.”
“Just sit. We’ve been trapped in the house, and we’re going bonkers. Just stay and watch the movie,” Annie said.
“Here then, if you insist.” Dave handed them a large bowl of popcorn. Annie’s mouth watered.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dave asked, snuggling into the chair beside her.
“Yeah. Stop asking.” She threw a piece of popcorn. Dave opened his mouth in time and crunched the kernel.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, just when the twist was revealed, Annie got up, and headed to the kitchen. She had hidden the envelope, keeping it away from her friends. For just one more night, they didn’t have to worry about the fate of the magical community.
It’s exhausting hiding the truth.
She took out the envelope and stared at her name, her address, the postmark from France.
Who sent this?
So engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the footstep coming to the kitchen. “You okay?” Janie’s soft voice startled her.
“I’m fine.” Annie shoved the envelope back under the pile of papers.
“I’ve known you since we were three. I know when you’re lying. What’s up?” Janie didn’t wait for an answer and pulled on the pile of papers.
“Don’t touch it. It’s evidence,” Annie said. She reached out and held Janie’s hand. “I didn’t want to say anything tonight. I just wanted normal. You know?”
“Tell me,” Janie pleaded.
“I received a package earlier today. I don’t know who sent it. Only that it was sent by someone in France.”
Janie looked at the pile. “What was it?”
“A French newspaper. A picture of Princess Amelie at the center.” It was Annie’s turn to glance at her friend. If Janie were frightened or worried, she didn’t let it show across her smooth, clear face.
Annie took out the envelope, holding it with a tissue and pulled out the article. Janie stared at the picture. “It could be a stock photo. It could’ve been taken years ago,” Janie said with purpose.
“You don’t know that,” Annie said. She shoved the paper back inside the envelope and placed it back under the pile.
“You don’t know it isn’t. Send someone to look and don’t worry.”
“I can’t do that,” Annie murmured.
“You’re supposed to be healing. Your arm, remember?”
Annie took a deep breath. Her arm still pinched, but she hadn’t needed more rest. She didn’t want tonight to be anything other than time with friends.
“You’re right. Let’s finish the movie.” She let Janie interlock their arms and lead her to the family room. She was no longer tired, only achy and concerned for what she would find when she went to France.
Chapter 2
Annie tossed a rubber ball in the air and twisted her wrist, watching the clear ball spin and dance at her magical command. Bits of glitter at the center of the ball sparkled under the artificial office light.
She took a deep breath but coughed from the effort. Her lungs still burned from the fire at the Black Market only days ago.
She tossed the ball again, merely an exercise in finding her focus as she worked to get a handle on this newest problem.
Where the hell did this ball even come from? she thought, then sighed. How the cheap rubber ball came into her possession didn’t matter. It was there and doing nothing to help.
Again, she flicked her finger and changed the direction the ball spun. It wobbled as it whirled five feet above her head, until she thought back to the French newspaper.
Annie glanced quickly at the article open across her desk, long enough for the ball to plummet to down. The rubber bounced several times on the hard surface before flying onto the floor and rolling under the bookshelves stacked in the corner.
Oh, well!
Since receiving the article, Annie had magically translated the French and read and reread the story about a peace march held in Paris, France, only a week ago. Though the article didn’t raise any flags, speak of the princess at all, or offer Annie clues as to who sent the newspaper, the message was clear. Princess Amelie of Amborix was alive and walking around as a vampire.
Who wants me to know this?
She stared at the incredibly crisp and clean black-and-white photo; a reader could easily make out several faces in the crowd. And Amelie’s face was clearly visible, circled in red ink.
She dyed her hair.
For Annie, the change in color hid the princess just enough to pass quick glances, but upon really looking at her face, Annie was surprised no one else took notice.
Or had they and we didn’t notice? We’ve done that before.
She scribbled a note on the pad of paper as a reminder to have Bucky Hart, the Wizard Hall computer guru, search the internet for anything they could have missed. After underlining the directive several time, Annie returned her attention to the picture. She knew without a doubt it was Princess Amelie among the crowd, wearing a sneer across pouty, perfect lips—and those eyes. They were the darkest, blackest most inhuman eyes she had ever seen.
Not even Sturtagaard ever looked so angry.
The unmarked package had arrived at her house only yesterday, devoid of an explanation note and return address.
Annie’s personal life had been, up until recently, separate and safe from her job. But after the reporter Rebekah Stoner had stalked her for months believing she was a witch, and after Gladden Worchester broke into her home looking for the magical Ring of Solomon, Annie had taken extra precautions to be safe.
This, she knew, had to have come from someone who knew her and knew where she lived.
So who do I know in France who wants me to see this?
And that’s all Annie knew for certain. The envelope arrived through the United States Postal Service by way of Paris, France; the postal code was visible in the upper right corner of the envelope.
After testing the envelope and the newspaper for hidden potions, powders, fingerprints, or residues, Annie wondered if it had been a magical creature, which had no fingerprints.
But what magical creature knew her, knew where she lived, and knew her connection to the princess? Bitherby and Huxley still lived at Windermere School of Witchcraft, and neither was around for the princess’s murder.
Their friends?
She quickly decided that wasn’t the path to investigate. At a loss, she leaned back in her chair and felt the tenderness in her left shoulder, her injuries from the last hours of the fall of the Black Market.
I should go home and rest.
She had left Cham at home to tend to his own injuries and came to Wizard Hall to deal with what could potentially be huge fallout. It left her exhausted with an uneasy feeling she couldn’t put a finger on.
Annie pushed the newspaper to the side, left her standard office chair, and sat in one of the big, comfy club chairs opposite her desk. She curled against the high back and folded her legs under herself. The chairs and the red walls of her cubicle were meant to comfort Annie. Even the many pictures of friends and family she stored on the bookshelf and the credenza behind her desk should have relaxed her. Today, though, the anxiety sat in the back of her head, and her office was just an office. She summoned the newspaper.
Who sent this?
She ran a finger across the opening of the envelope. It had been thoroughly t
aped, not licked. Someone had carefully assembled the package to reach her without leaving any evidence behind.
“Is that it?” Annie jumped when her Wizard Guard partner, Spencer Ray, appeared in her cubicle. She hadn’t heard his footsteps or his familiar gait as he made his way down their hallway. He entered without an invitation and sat in the second chair beside her, crossing long, thin legs in pressed blue jeans. His pant leg rose, revealing very funky socks which Annie thought looked like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. She chuckled quietly.
“Yeah,” she answered, handing him the envelope. She watched him as he read each word, as he absently ran his fingers through his neatly manicured head of highlighted hair. After scrutinizing the picture, he summoned a magnifying glass for a clearer view of Amelie’s face. Even with the wig or newly dyed black hair and heavy makeup it was obvious to each of them, this was the Princess.
He continued reviewing the magazine article, moving the glass up and down, observing every centimeter of the paper. He finally stopped, moved the paper closer to his eyes and stared again.
“So, who wants you to know she’s still alive?” Spencer asked and handed her the article.
“That’s the question,” Annie said. “Someone who knows magic, who was close to the investigation and knows me.” She slid the article back into the packaging and shoved the envelope into a folder, starting a new case.
“What about Jack?”
What about Jack?
Spencer was referring to FBI Special Agent Jack Ramsey, who had called them in to work the Princess Amelie case eight months ago. Jack had also alerted them to the John Doe murder outside the now-extinct Black Market just weeks prior.
“No. I don’t think Jack would have sent the article. He’d call, scream, yell. Besides, he just got back from Hawaii. Not France,” Annie said.
He would definitely call me if he saw Amelie alive and walking around.
“What about Stonewell?”
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 69