“Your hand,” Annie whispered.
“What, this? This is nothing,” Sturtagaard sneered.
“We can fix that.” Annie offered.
Steadying himself in an act of defiance—or he was having a temper tantrum? —he kicked over the metal chair. It bounced, kicking up dirt from the cement floor.
He stumbled and swayed from vertigo, making his way to a makeshift kitchen. With his good hand, he threw open a small refrigerator that contained several pouches of blood.
With matching frowns, Annie and Spencer couldn’t look away when Sturtagaard bit off the corner of the pouch and drank the blood in one swig.
When the vampire finished, he tossed the plastic bag in a garbage can and wiped away any remainder of blood with his lips, licking every last drop from his fingers.
“You done?” Annie asked, an irritated scowl on her face. After all this time, watching a vampire feed still made her queasy.
“I can no longer kill, thanks to you.” He held up his hand. Between the stench and the look of it, Annie could see why no one would come near him.
“Really. We forced you to touch the window,” Annie quipped.
Sturtagaard, invigorated by the nourishment, ignored his guests and strode across the floor standing against the window, peering out at the empty street.
“Where’s Amelie?” Spencer’s voice dripped with impatience.
“I let you know the brat’s still alive. I’m not the girl’s keeper.”
Annie summoned a thick, sturdy ash stake from the field pack she always carried with her. The point was so sharp it could easily penetrate through a human breast bone. As she flipped the stake, it landed against her palm with a loud crack. As he always did, Sturtagaard flinched.
Don’t mess with me.
“Do it. Stake me out of my misery.” Sturtagaard beckoned.
“Stop being such a baby. Let me see the arm,” Annie said.
Like a petulant teenager, he crossed the arm under the other and refused to let her examine the oozing discharge.
“Really, jackass. We can make it better,” Spencer bellowed. He picked up the discarded metal chair and sat himself down, scowling.
Reluctantly, Sturtagaard held out his arm for her but baulked at her touch.
“Is that the boy I smell?” he quipped.
“Oh, grow up.” Annie forcibly pulled his arm toward her. The wound was so devastating, so disgusting, she blanched at the odor and the sight of it. Holding her breath, she summoned her flashlight and examined the infected stump.
Just plain gross.
The acidiac window had eaten away his hand leaving behind a ragged edge of exposed bone, muscle and sinew. Blackened skin and pus covered the muscles and tissue, dried blood scabbed over the edge of his wrist.
It shouldn’t be infected or bleeding; he’s dead!
“As a vampire, your body is… well, essentially you’re dead. But this, the muscles, the skin, the arteries and veins, they’re all responding as if they’re alive,” Annie explained. Unable to hide his curiosity, Spencer joined them and glanced at the injured arm from over her shoulder.
“Did you take the last of the antidote?” Spencer asked and handed Annie a bottle of holy water.
“Yes. Yes, you moron! I took the last of the potion!” Sturtagaard’s face grew red with heat, another symptom that shouldn’t happen to a vampire in a dead man’s body. In return, Spencer cast a jinx at the vampire.
“Whatever you think you’re gonna get, forget it!” Spencer shouted.
“Why’d you bring him? I wanted to speak to you alone,” Sturtagaard said.
Annie glared at Spencer, pouty and angry as he leaned against the door. Sturtagaard, responded like a four-year-old brat. She rolled her eyes.
“Grow the hell up, both of you. Spencer if you want to go, go! And as for you vampire, why the hell did you send that article? What the hell do you want?”
“I thought you should know the brat was still alive. I believe I explained that to you already.”
“Yeah, you said that. But you don’t do anything without getting something in return,” Spencer jeered.
“Well, this time that’s all I wanted,” Sturtagaard huffed. “Fix this and I’ll tell you where she is.”
Annie grabbed his arm, squeezed his forearm. He squirmed at her touch. “This is gonna hurt like hell, but it will cauterize the injury and heal it. For some reason, your flesh is alive.”
Sturtagaard flinched as he attempted to remove his arm from her grip but appeared to think better of it. As Annie sprinkled the holy water on the wound, the vampire’s flesh hissed and smoked. He extended his fangs in anger.
Annie continued to pour the liquid across the torn flesh; it continued to bubble, burn, and smolder. Sturtagaard groaned and bent forward as if he would faint. Annie pulled on his arm to examine her work. As expected, the holy water had cleaned away the pus and blood, revealing an exposed stump at the end of his arm.
Annie said, “See, all better.”
Sturtagaard looked at his missing hand; blood had stopped, the smell disappeared, and yet it was still an unappetizing eyesore.
“Won’t help much,” he chided.
“Patience, asshole.” She summoned a bottle of water, poured out the entire contents, and floated it above her palm. It twirled in gentle waves as she warmed the water. When it was ready, she drifted it to his stump and encompassed the open wound. The magic slowly healed the stump. The flesh grew healthier and stronger, enclosing the visible bone, and covering the muscles and tendons. His skin grew and covered the wrist until all that remained was a bumpy end on his arm.
He stared at his new stump; it no longer smelled, it no longer oozed, it no longer hurt.
“Why’d you do that?” the vampire asked.
“Yeah, why, Annie?” Spencer muttered.
“I know it wasn’t to help me hunt.” Sturtagaard moved his arm around, jabbed it in the air as if he were throwing a punch.
Annie held the pointed end of the stake above his heart with enough pressure for the vampire to feel the pinch against his skin. Sturtagaard flinched.
“So where’s Amelie?” Annie asked. Should she slip and puncture the chest cavity, he’d burst into flame and disintegrate into a pile of ash.
And what harm would that be?
“She’s north of here in a small town called Dinan.”
Annie pushed a little deeper, which seemed to unnerve Sturtagaard. “I’m not lying, girl. I saw her, and I thought you’d like to know the brat was back.”
Sturtagaard had been a vampire for over thirteen hundred years, not because he was a good, law-abiding demon but because he was smart, resourceful, and would play either side of the law to his benefit.
He wants something.
As part of the Wizard Guard training, all trainees studied Sturtagaard because he was tricky, a liar, and had on several occasions helped or hindered the Wizard Guard and the Wizard Council on cases.
“So I’ll ask again, what do you want?” Spencer said.
“Next time bring the other boy,” Sturtagaard spat.
The stake pinched the vampire. He attempted to turn away from the point that was nearly piercing his skin. Annie sensed his discomfort and knew he was feeling pressure that burned against his skin.
“What do you want?” Annie may have asked again, but she knew what he wanted.
He wants to come home.
“I want permission to go back to the U.S.”
Annie glanced at Spencer, who shrugged and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah. We figured. So why?” Annie asked. She released the pressure on the stake, though it hung close to his chest. “And don’t lie. We’re not in the mood.”
The vampire stared at Spencer. Annie thought he might be debating how much to tell without giving away his whole plan.
“I wish to return to the U.S. I have business dealings I would like to attend to.”
“Really. Building another zombie army?” Spencer asked in
credulously. “We’re watching you.”
“Have I told you, I like the other boy better?” the vampire said to Annie.
Annie balled her hand into a fist and walloped Sturtagaard across the mouth. The vampire, unprepared for the hard punch, flew backwards, stumbled into the nearest shelving unit, and toppled to the ground. With his fangs extended, he let out a low growl.
“What the hell, bitch?” he roared.
“What business dealings?” Annie asked as she shook out her hand, which vibrated from the hit to his hard jaw.
Damn that felt good!
“The market’s gone, no thanks to you.”
“And?” Spencer asked.
“The seedy underbelly you like to keep such careful tabs on is scrambling to preserve relationships, to…” he stopped and smirked. “Or should I say, the one that you didn’t watch so carefully.”
“Fine. Stay here and lose out on whatever deals you’ve got in pipeline. Why should I care?” But since the collapse of the Black Market, it was becoming apparent to all Wizard Guard units across the world that they would be fighting crime differently. They would have to seek out smaller, better-hidden markets across the world, most of which they had no way of finding.
He could be useful yet.
“I need back in!” Sturtagaard demanded.
“Fine. You want back in. So why should we trust you? How do you know she’s in this town in Northern France? You tracking her?” Annie asked. She leaned against the countertop and glowered.
“Yes. I saw her in Dinan. I thought it prudent you know she was alive and where you could find her. So having said that, let the Wizard Guard know that I’ll be returning as soon as I find a boat that will take me over,” he said confidently.
“Fine. You can come home after you help us retrieve Amelie AND kill her. When that’s done, we will take you to the states,” Annie said.
Both Sturtagaard and Spencer raised their eyebrows in confusion.
“Huh. Annie?” Spencer wiggled his finger, motioning her to join him away from Sturtagaard.
“You know he can hear us whispering, right?” Annie smirked.
“What the hell are you thinking?”
“Simple. I got the letter a day after the market was eviscerated. When he sent the letter, the market was still functioning.”
Spencer glanced at Sturtagaard and back to Annie. “Sorry I doubted you.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to be around him any more than you do, but he has a point. The market’s gone. We don’t know where the next one will spring up. Let him think we have a deal. We have our motives, he has his. We can watch each other.”
“Fine. Fine. This gets better and better,” Spencer grumbled.
“Yeah, but you know I’m right.” Annie smiled and tilted her head toward the vampire. “You have restraints?”
Spencer sighed. “Fine.” He strode to the metal chair, tossed it to Sturtagaard. “Sit,” he ordered and waited for the vampire to oblige.
“What?” His eyes widened as Spencer knelt beside him. He summoned several black bands with a square at the center. “What’s that?” the vampire asked.
“Just something to keep you out of trouble,” Spencer said as he placed the first band around Sturtagaard’s thin ankle. Spencer waved a palm across the black box, and secured it with a sticking spell.
Spencer and Annie placed the additional bands around their own ankles and snapping them in place. Once set, Sturtagaard’s band began to blink and whistle.
“See, you deviate more than 10 feet from us or kill us, not only will you not be able to remove the bracelets, but yours…” Spencer snickered loudly. “Your bracelet will release the acidiac poison into your system.”
“That’s not funny,” Sturtagaard whispered. Whatever color the vampire had suddenly drained from his face.
“So she’s really in Dinan?” Annie verified.
“Yes,” Sturtagaard replied.
“Great,” Spencer said before hitting the vampire with a jinx. All six feet of the vampire went limp and slipped from the chair to the ground.
“I already like him better,” Annie said as she pulled out the lining from Amelie’s coffin. With it she began to scry for the princess.
“He’s not lying.” She glanced at Sturtagaard splayed across the dirty floor, his tongue hanging from his mouth.
“We could have just scried for her and gone there instead, you know,” Spencer quipped.
“What, and miss all this? I know this isn’t ideal, but I don’t want to be surprised by his true motives. I’d like to find that out before we get home. I also want to know where that market’s going to spring up.”
“I’ll give you that. Let me get the plans made, and then we can get the asshole to France. I’m hoping to be home tomorrow night.” He slid off to a quiet corner and dialed Wizard Hall.
While Spencer made their plans for the night, Annie folded up the map and checked Sturtagaard’s anklet. It blinked.
“All set?” she asked when Spencer returned. His phone beeped.
“Yeah. We’re staying at the Hotel Arvor. It’s at the center of town. Here are the coordinates to teleport to. The hotel room should be booked by the time we land. You okay to land first and get us the room? I’ll follow soon after with him.” Spencer pointed to Sturtagaard, who groaned in his sleep.
“I’m on it. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to teleport,” Annie said as she glanced out the window toward the empty street. With no one around, she opened the door just enough and teleported away from Paris.
Chapter 7
The street was a narrow cobbled path leading up an incline toward the center of town. Annie, again nauseous from expending so much energy to teleport into town, leaned against a rock wall overlooking the valley. As it was late, only a few homes and buildings were lit; their lights twinkled below her.
Refreshed from the breezes, Annie crossed onto the street and walked to the hotel. Three tile steps led to the double doors, which welcomed her inside the small, dimly lit lobby of Hotel Arvor.
Pink-and-black tile covered the floor, leading to a shiny black reception desk. where a slight and slender man with dark hair and a thin mustache sat at the ready. He smiled when she walked in.
“Hi. Reservation for Ray. Spencer and Anne Ray?” she said as she drummed her fingers against the wooden top.
The man, glanced cautiously. “Yes, madam. You just recently called. So late at night,” he added, accusatory.
She offered a tired smile. “We were trying to make it to Paris tonight, but were just too tired. This hotel seemed like a lovely option.” If it eased his mind he did not show it.
“Well, yes, madam.” He passed her a register to sign, glanced at her once more, then grabbed the room key and led her up the narrow stairs to the first door at the top of the stairs.
“And your husband, madam?”
“He’s parking and unloading. He’ll be along in a little while,” she said and offered him a few francs from the pile they pilfered from Wizard Hall. In order to always be prepared, Annie and the Wizard Guard could obtain world money from the cashier as needed. The man smiled and took the money, handing her the key.
“Merci.” Annie smiled and closed the door behind her.
She listened for his footsteps, suspecting he was listening for hers. Grimacing, she jingled the door handle, startling the man. Soon enough, his footsteps clicked against the wood floor, deliberately and slowly until she could no longer hear him.
The comfortable room contained a large bed, desk, armoire, and, most importantly, space enough for a sleeping bag.
She threw open the window, stuck her phone out, and calculated her location before sending it to Spencer. When he acknowledged her, she plopped on the bed and waited for him to arrive.
Spencer had teleported an unconscious vampire from Paris to Dinan at the northwestern corner of the country—a sleepy little village with narrow streets along the river Rance.
It took less than two
minutes for Spencer to stand before her, holding a limp Sturtagaard.
“He’s still asleep,” Annie commented and helped Spencer tie the vampire to one of two antique chairs in the room.
“Yeah. And I don’t have to listen to his mouth.” Spencer pulled the magical rope taut against the vampire’s chest and added a sticking spell, ensuring the vampire wouldn’t be able to release himself.
“When will we tell him the anklets aren’t quite as magical as we let on?” Spencer asked as Annie secured his feet, and his hands.
“Maybe he won’t notice and we won’t have to tell him. Sometimes he can be dimwitted,” Annie said as she finished. “I think this should be good,” she pronounced. “I guess it’s time for you to come in. Right, sweetie?” she added in a sing song voice. For the time being, she and Spencer were husband and wife on their honeymoon.
“I’ll be back Missus,” he joked and teleported back out the window to a location down the street from their hotel.
With him momentarily gone, Annie sat against the headboard on the bed and sank against the pillow, resting for the first time in hours. The building popped and creaked, voices outside of the room grew closer, and footsteps clicked against the wood floor. Spencer said something to the night manager before popping the door open just enough to slip inside.
“Hey.” Spencer sat beside her on the king-sized bed and kicked off his shoes. “He’s still quiet?”
“Yeah. Any problem from the night manager?” Annie mumbled, nearly asleep.
“We came in too late.” Spencer held her hand and rested back against the pillow. “Otherwise, I think he believes we’re newly married. Damn, I’m tired.”
“If you want to sleep on the bed I’m too tired to care,” she yawned and slipped herself under the covers.
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