“She’s not dragging him back to the mansion, is she?” Annie asked, but as the last word came out of her mouth, the form turned down yet another street.
“You good to go?” Without waiting for Annie’s reply, Spencer dropped his grip on her arm and picked up his pace. Her shorter legs had to work twice as hard to keep up with his longer stride.
The new street was quieter, darker with fewer street lamps to guide them. Annie slowed her pace when she could no longer see the shadow of Amelie and her victim. She closed her eyes and focused her breathing while concentrating on the sound of shoes scraping against the pavement.
To her left, she heard more scuffling as the victim thrashed and fought to get away. Annie pointed toward the small plot of land between two houses, where a single car garage at the center of the plot leaned to the right.
“There,” Annie whispered.
They slunk around the garage; the shuffling grew louder. There they heard a groan of fear as the man pleaded for his life. When that failed, he began to cry heavy tears. Annie and Spencer ran across the back wall of the garage.
“No! No…” his voice trailed off as though he was too tired to fight, as if he knew and had accepted he was about to die. Annie and Spencer turned the corner.
“Let him go!” Annie ordered. She held out the stake and shone her flashlight in Amelie’s amber eyes, nearly blinding the vampire. Amelie hissed and bared her fangs.
“Let go, Amelie!” Annie repeated. Amelie tossed the victim against the garage wall and ran. Spencer followed.
The victim, clearly shaken, slumped against the wall.
“Get out of here now!” Annie yanked the dazed man to his feet and pushed him toward the street. “Go!” she reiterated.
Still in shock, the man stumbled into the darkness.
Annie lost sight of her partner and resorted to listening for the echoes of several footsteps of different weights and gaits. The wind whistled through bare branches, battered stucco, and sent shutters swinging against a stone façade. Annie stood at the center of the street, the wind whirling around her, and in the midst she still heard the soft growl.
As Amelie stumbled forward, Annie held the flashlight steady on the princess, illuminating her pale skin, her dusty blue eyes, her brown hair. Even in death, she was radiant. She was still the girl that Annie had so carefully studied, observed and searched for online.
Annie tossed the stake and caught it, feeling cocky. She expected Amelie to jump when it smacked her palm, and smiled when the vampire did. But then, so did Amelie as she approached.
“So it is you. Princess Amelie,” Annie said.
The vampire’s black, angry eyes squinted and she pursed her purple lips. “Don’t call me that!” Her voice echoed through the otherwise silent neighborhood, drawing attention to them.
Footsteps clacked against the street.
That better be Spencer!
Annie glared at the stumbling vampire and took a step closer to Amelie.
Shadows flashed from the corner of Annie’s eyes. Spencer walked a tight perimeter around them, finally stopping behind Amelie. The vampire swayed as she took one more step closer to Annie.
Shadows realigned and moved around Annie.
What the hell?
Tired and sore, Annie knew this was it. They had the vampire. “Okay. I won’t call you that anymore. What would you like me to call you?” Annie asked.
“Your worst nightmare,” Amelie growled. Unsteady, she stumbled again.
She needs to feed!
The sun would soon break the horizon; the gray sky was warming with orange. The vampire should be feeling the heat, should at least notice the street was lightening. Instead, she was fully focused on Annie. Amelie licked her lips in anticipation.
Spencer pressed the stake into Amelie’s skin; the vampire startled and growled.
“I highly doubt you’re anyone’s nightmare, Amelie.” Spencer said.
Amelie sniffed the air and glanced to the sky.
“Stake her now,” Annie urged. Spencer pushed the stake. Pop, pop, pop, pop…
“May I ask you your name?” Amelie inquired. The shadows adjusted; the sun rose.
“Stake her now, Spencer!” Annie shouted.
BOOM!
Flying. Screams. Smoke. Heat.
Who’s screaming?
Annie lifted her head.
Dizzy. So dizzy.
She lay back on the hard, cold ground that rumbled and shook beneath her.
Hot, rancid smoke filled her nostrils. Still-burning embers rained down to the street, and the smell of burning hair filled her nostrils.
“Annie!” A distant voice called out for her. Sirens whirled.
“Wha…” Hands curled under Annie’s arms. Pain wracked her shoulder as she was half carried, half dragged along the pavement. Wetness from the dewy grass slowly spread up her ankles.
“What?” she tried to ask.
“Shush. Not yet!”
What happened?
Strong, rancid smoke billowed across the street, hovering. Her lungs burned.
Confused, panicked voices, clamored about what to do. Colored lights whirled and cut the darkness and lit up the houses. Metal clanked and squeaked.
Annie shook, from the cold and wet and pain. Her feet bounced against uneven pavement. A wooden door flew open.
Suddenly there was no more light, complete silence, a soft cushion.
“What happened?” she murmured.
“Shhh.” Spencer’s cold hand touched her shoulder. Annie groaned, her head rolled sideways.
Sirens blared.
Stop!
Lights spun like a kaleidoscope against the ceiling.
A shadowy form watched out the window.
Footsteps pounded the pavement, water flowed. A bright white light flashed across the walls.
Shaking hands lifted Annie’s wrists, fingers pressed against her neck. Warmth spread from her head to her shoulder to her feet. She closed her eyes.
“Come on, Annie.” His voice was cloudy, fuzzy, distant.
Red and blue lights swirled.
Where am I?
Spencer’s hands framed the side of her head. Warmth spread behind her eyes, down her neck.
“Annie, can you hear me?”
“Warm,” she murmured.
He cradled her head in his hands, gently lifting it to his lap to rest there.
“Annie, wake up!” he shouted.
The voices became clearer, louder. They were frantic, almost frenzied. Footsteps drew closer. Someone gently placed her head against a musty seat cushion.
Hot smoke seeped under the door, which was hanging askew on its hinges.
Annie coughed. “Fire,” she murmured.
“It’s a mess,” he responded.
She opened her eyes. Spencer’s silhouette was framed by the window; the morning sun broke the horizon and cast a warm glow against his skin.
He ducked below the window and held his finger to his lips while footsteps clinked away until they couldn’t be heard.
“Annie,” he said. His face, inches from hers, was lined with worry at the corners of his mouth and across his forehead.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
“Can you sit?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “What happened?” Her words were groggy, gravelly. His hands guided her up, but she fell against her bent legs and rested against her knees.
“I think her boy toy threw a bomb,” Spencer said. Annie stood, dizzy and concussed. The room spun quickly.
“I need help,” she said falling against her partner.
“I figured. Lean against here.” She held on to a work bench, which groaned under her weight. Spencer glanced out the window, cracked open the door and wrapped his arms around Annie. “Let’s get you back to the hotel,” he said and lifted her to teleport.
Chapter 9
A narrow alley cut from the hotel to the small businesses nearby. This morning it protected
Annie as Spencer peered around the corner of the building, observing the chaos on the street.
Voices echoed against stone buildings, concerned or angry about the explosion that had occurred just a few blocks from the hotel.
Smoke still hung over the village, and the stench clung to their clothes and hair. Ash floated and rolled across the street, and still-glowing embers cracked and popped, burning the new leaves just growing on the trees.
Annie shaded her eyes from the soft orange glow that, in her concussed state, seemed bright and harsh. She closed her eyes and lay against the rough stone wall. The noise of honking horns and blaring sirens overwhelmed her, so she covered her ears as well.
Spencer focused on the scene in the street. He glanced up at their window at the front of the hotel. Annie watched him and shivered on the ground as a cold breeze whipped down the alleyway.
“Spencer,” she murmured with a mouth that felt like cotton. She licked her lips, but both her tongue and lips were dry. She rolled her head to the side.
The night fell into focus.
It was a bomb.
“Our window is still open. It looks like the hotel’s been evacuated. We’ll have to be careful.”
“Okay,” Annie mumbled.
“You okay? We’re almost there,” Spencer said.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Fine…”
He picked her up and held her tight as he teleported to their room.
*
Sturtagaard, still attached to the chair, pulled against the ropes that bound him. As he struggled with the restraints, the chair bounced and squeaked against the hardwood floor.
“The jinx wore off,” Annie whispered. She closed her eyes as Spencer stopped healing her concussion.
“Think he’s mad?” Spencer asked. He walked around to the back of the chair and smacked the vampire in the head so that his head bounced forward and back again, like a toy bobble head. As the vampire continued to wriggle in the restraints, Spencer pulled the muffle bag from his head.
“Where the hell have you been?” Sturtagaard asked. “You lied about those bracelets. What the hell were you thinking?” The vampire sneered until he saw Annie, her eyes closed, a grimace across her lips. “What’s wrong with her?”
“A little concussion,” Spencer said and went back to his partner.
He placed his hands against her temples.
“I just need sleep,” she whispered.
“A little more healing. No sleep yet,” he advised. Redirecting his attention to Sturtagaard, he said, “Yeah. We lied about the bracelets. Miss us?”
When he finished with Annie, her eyes brightened, her face gained some color. “Better?” he asked.
“Not as fuzzy.” She plumped the pillows and glared at the vampire.
Spencer bent low, meeting the vampire’s eyes. “So hear anything good down there?” He pointed to the open window.
“I’m not the messenger,” Sturtagaard growled.
“Fine. Stay in Europe, asshole.” Spencer sat on the bed and watched the vampire squirm in the chair.
“Catch the vampire yet?” Sturtagaard jeered.
“No, we didn’t. So what did you hear?” Spencer asked again.
“They’re looking for you. Those strange Americans.”
“Anything else?” Spencer bared his teeth.
Annie reached another pillow and placed it behind her back. She groaned in the attempt.
“Whatever you did her, her boy isn’t gonna be happy,” Sturtagaard’s voice carried a sing-song quality, trying to goad Spencer into a fight.
“She’s fine. Learn anything else? If not, you’re going back under the bag.” Spencer held the bag for emphasis.
“They think the two Americans are possible suspects in that bombing. What the hell did you two do?” Sturtagaard smirked.
“A bomb exploded on Pl. Saint Louis. Annie was flung from the explosion.” Spencer peered through the heavy drapes. The parking lot was filled with onlookers, some pointing to their window. He pulled away, breathing deeply. “They’re watching us,” he said.
“Awesome.” Annie’s eyes fluttered open and closed again. Her breath rattled from the smoke.
“Open your eyes and look at me,” Spencer ordered.
When she popped her eyes open, she glowered. Spencer chuckled and returned to observing the lingering crowd. “They’re finally thinning out.”
“So where’s Amelie?” Sturtagaard asked. He eyed the muffle bag Spencer left on the bed.
“You didn’t tell us Amelie has a boy toy.” Spencer let the drapes fall shut, no longer interested in the mob. He crossed the room and lit a flashlight, staring into Annie’s eyes. “Nauseated, headachy, dizzy?”
Annie offered a wan, tired smile. “Just the remnants of all three. I’m fine.”
“Just another treatment should do it.” He held both his palms against her temples with another spell to her brain. Low light emanated from his palms, covering her head in a warm glow. Annie took a deep breath and waited for the spell to ease the last of the effects of the injury.
“Any better?” Spencer asked after several minutes of sending the healing spell.
Annie’s eyes popped open. The headache was reduced to a dull ache, the dizziness eased, and her stomach no longer roiled with nausea. “Better, thanks.”
Suddenly the floorboards creaked, and footsteps stopped near their door.
Spencer held his finger to his lips in warning to Sturtagaard to remain quiet and pointed to the muffle bag beside him.
Soft voices speaking fluent French wafted under the gap between the door and the floor.
“What did they say?” Annie asked.
“They said, ‘the Americans are here.’ The other one said, ‘let them rest. We’ll talk at a decent hour.’” Sturtagaard said.
“That gives us time to completely heal you. I don’t want them knowing you have a concussion or have any reason to assume we were there,” Spencer said.
*
“Concussion,” Spencer spoke into the phone. With the phone held away from his ear, Annie could hear Cham’s tirade.
“Let me talk to him.” She held out her hand for the phone. Reluctantly, he handed off the phone, Cham’s voice still angry.
“How did you let this happen? Why didn’t you just stake the vampire the first time you saw her?”
“Because she saw us, dropped the victim, and ran. The second time, someone exploded a bomb and she escaped,” Annie said evenly.
Cham stopped. “Sorry, I thought it was—”
“It’s not, and I’m fine.”
“Why wasn’t he there? What happened?”
“Cham. Baby, listen. I happened to be closer to the bomb. It went off just as Spencer was about to stake her. I’m fine. He’s been healing me all night. Please don’t worry.”
“I’m coming,” Cham finally said.
“You can’t. We need to request permission to work here and ask for help. I need you to work it from there. Remember?” She took a breath and waited until she could hear him stop stomping across the wood floor in her house.
“Annie, this is killing me, not being there for you. Knowing you’re hurt.”
“You have to trust us if you’re in charge of tracking us. This is our case. My partner is perfectly capable of backing me up. We’ll contact the French Wizard Guard and have them back us up. You stay put. How are you feeling, by the way?”
He took a breath. “I’m fine. I’m ready to go back to work. I’m ready for Mom to go home. For you to come back.”
“Me too. I’m fine. I promise. By tomorrow the concussion will be gone and we should have a pile of dust,” Annie tried to assure him. She wasn’t so sure.
“So you’ll head to Paris and the Wizard Guard?” he asked, easing back into his professional voice.
“Yes. We need to petition to work there and have them assist us,” Annie reiterated. Spencer glanced back at Annie, and back to the window, staring at the tourists and villagers as they passed the ho
tel.
“If you need me, call. If you don’t, still call.”
“I will. I love you,” she said.
“I love you. Be safe. She’s a new vampire. You know they’re far more reckless, more dangerous,” he reminded her though she didn’t need to be. In this case she was already concerned about the vampire’s actions. She just wasn’t going to share with him today.
“Love you,” she repeated softly.
“I love you. Call me tomorrow.”
She hung up feeling as though she should have said more, but for the time being she didn’t know what that would be.
The sun filtered through the drapes and landed in thin lines across the room, crossing Sturtagaard’s lap. He hopped himself a few inches away, taking the chair with him. It pounded against the wood floor.
“Don’t do that!” Spencer admonished. “You’re gonna draw attention.” Spencer raised his palms, floated the chair up. It swayed and bounced through the air, landing just beside the armoire. “Dumbass. Do that again and I’ll let the sun fry you!”
“Got blood?” the vampire asked flatly.
Spencer sighed, summoned a small blue box, and set it on the bed. With a swipe of his palm, he enlarged the cooler, opened the lid, and pulled out one of several bags of cold blood they had absconded with from the fridge in the abandoned store where they found Sturtagaard. “Here, keep quiet.”
He poured the blood from an open corner, down the vampire’s throat leaving little comfort from the nourishment. When the bag was emptied, the vampire licked the remaining blood from around his lips.
“Create problems, and I’m going to stake you,” Spencer whispered.
“I’ve heard it before,” Sturtagaard sneered. He pulled on the ropes, and stopped.
“Cham’s pissed at me,” Spencer commented as he cleared the cooler.
Annie leaned against the headboard. Beside her sat a bag full of food. She rummaged the offerings before choosing an apple.
“I have a concussion. He’s mad. He just feels helpless because he can’t help.” She took a bite and chewed slowly. Spencer sat on the radiator box peering out the window. Three hours since the bomb had exploded, a thick layer of smoke still hung over the streets, the stench of damp wet smoke and mildew permeated every part of downtown Dinan. “Why do you care? He’ll get over it.” She took another bite of the apple, though it passed her sore throat and felt heavy in her stomach.
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