“Good for her.”
What demons? What’s he talking about?
There were so many more questions she could ask, but she really didn’t think she wanted to know.
Annie walked to the window. In the beautiful spring day, people congregated at corner where their hotel stood. Still with little else to discuss, they pointed to the room where the Americans were staying and grew increasingly excited when Annie glanced out the window. Whispers, rumors, and half-truths—or possibly full truths—wafted up to the room, though Annie couldn’t be sure. She backed away and pulled the heavy drapes shut, plunging them into darkness.
After summoning and enlarging her field pack, she tossed it on the bed.
“Annie?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.
“They’re still talking about us, I think.” Annie said. She scrambled around the room searching for any hint or evidence that they had been there. “We need to leave.”
Spencer followed Annie around the room, retrieving all magical items. With a cleansing crystal, Spencer pulled magical energy back into the stone.
“So why didn’t you kill this Anaise?” Annie asked Sturtagaard, mostly to keep her mind from wandering back outside, to the blame that was being heaped on them.
She glanced at Sturtagaard when he didn’t answer right away. He stared at her as if she ought to know the answer. “What?” she asked.
“I couldn’t kill her. It wasn’t time. So where are we going?” Changing the subject, the vampire smirked. Annie tossed him a small jinx. “Damn it, girl!” he shouted. She strode to him, slapped him across his thousand-year-old face and shoved a gag in his mouth. After summoning a stake, she held it into his chest, pinching his skin. He startled.
“Make this hard for us and I will stake you!”
Beyond the door, footsteps clicked against the wood floors and a heavy weight plodded toward their room. A knuckle rapped against the door.
Sturtagaard’s fangs protruded from his mouth; his eyes grew wide, and he smirked. The visitor rapped again. Annie held her finger to her mouth, advising Sturtagaard to remain quiet as they levitated his chair into the armoire and closed him inside the tight space.
Backing away, Annie ran a finger through her hair, gently messing it, then pulled her collared shirt from her pants. Meanwhile, Spencer messed the bed and yanked off his shirt. When they had done what they could, Spencer opened the door. In the hallway, the day manager, Albert, stood with two police officers.
“Monsieur.” He glanced around the room at the rumpled bed, at the girl with messy hair. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Sorry for this… interruption. The police have questions.”
“Sure. Sure, please come in. My wife and I were…” He glanced at Annie who shrugged and backed toward the window.
Spencer stepped away letting the men enter the already constricted room that now felt claustrophobic.
“Madame,” the police officer said with a tip of his cap. “I apologize for interrupting your… honeymoon. But we have an issue. We have several witnesses who claim you and monsieur were in town last night.”
Annie, not frightened of nonmagical police officers and unaffected by interrogations, put on a façade; she let her eyes nervously dart across the room while her hands balled into fists.
“Yes. Yes. We went to the bar. For drinks.” Her voice wavered slightly. It was all she could do to not roll her eyes.
“What’s this about?” Spencer asked.
“The bomb. I’m sure you heard the explosion?” police officer number two asked. He was taller than his partner by at least a foot. He barely fit in the small room; his head grazed the low ceiling.
“Yeah, we heard the bomb. It was hard not to. The entire block is destroyed. We weren’t able to see the damage until the next morning. It was so chaotic, smoky. What does this have to do with us?” Spencer asked. He followed Annie’s lead; where she was the shy, terrified woman, he became the angry American male. Most people trusted her more than him.
“We’re interviewing everyone in town. Anyone who saw or heard anything before and after the explosion. Did you see anyone out and about looking suspicious?”
“We were…” she glanced at Spencer. “We were walking east. I needed to clear my head. The wine.” She giggled. The sound felt foreign in her throat. As it passed her lips, Spencer nearly bit a hole in the side of his mouth to keep from laughing. Annie stared at the police officer to keep from laughing herself. “I’m sorry, we… it happened so fast. There was shuffling like running and popping and then the explosion. I just don’t remember seeing anyone.”
Annie debated whether to bring Louis Van Alton into this. She thought better of it.
We really should bring him to America with us.
The officer turned back to Spencer and handed him a card. “How long are you in the country?”
“We’re heading out tonight. We have family to visit before we go home. May I ask why that’s important?”
The police officers exchanged glances. Annie and Spencer recognized the look between partners.
They believe we’re responsible for the bomb! Annie wished she had the power of telekinesis.
“We ask, as a favor to the investigation, that you remain in town. Several witnesses saw you turn onto Pl. Saint Louis just before the explosion.”
Annie squeezed Spencer’s hand.
“Just ask us what you want to know!” Spencer ordered.
The police officers, for no other reason than height reminded Annie of Laurel and Hardy comedians, one being shorter and fatter, the other tall and lanky. Visually, they made an interesting pair.
“Did you blow up the street?”
Annie clenched both fists. “No. Why would we? What would we gain from that?”
Her voice quivered nervously, but in reality Annie channeled her anger and used it.
“Why did you go down that street?” the short officer asked. He no longer pretended to be friendly or cared to keep his temper.
“It was dark, late, people had been drinking. I highly doubt anyone from the bar saw what they say they saw. We didn’t walk down that street, and we didn’t set off the bomb. We headed east, but the bomb exploded behind us.” She couldn’t help but let her police observation enter the conversation.
Should I make them look foolish?
A clack of a shoe echoed inside the large wooden armoire used as a closet. Annie refrained from glancing at either Spencer or the closet. She held her breath.
“Did you hear that?” The tall lanky officer asked. His gaze fell to the armoire.
“Mice?” Spencer asked with a sheepish grin. Albert frowned.
“Yes, well, ma’am, we’re trying to find out who would have set that explosion. You arrived late at night and came to the hotel under mysterious circumstances. Why are you here?”
Spencer, no longer acting, strode to Annie and placed a protective arm around her shoulder, stepping between her and the men. “We’re driving through France. I was tired from driving, and we thought pulling over to get a good night’s sleep would be our best option. We couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. Just because this seems weird to you, doesn’t mean it is!”
“I assure you, we’re not singling you out. We ask all witnesses the same questions. We just want to assess why you were seen near the location of the bomb,” the tall police officer said.
Albert pressed against the door jamb and said nothing as his eyes darted from person to person, following the quick pace of the conversation. Annie thought his eyes might roll from his head.
“Coincidence,” Spencer said.
“That’s not a coincidence. What were you attempting to do?” the tall police officer asked.
“Nothing. We were near the street. We saw no one. There were several people in the bar, just before closing. A brunette and some drunk guy left before us. The rest left as the bar closed. We passed the street, walked to the wall to look at the valley and the lights, the moon light was dim and low in the sky by then. My
wife needed air.”
“And you saw no one but heard popping, shuffling, and the bomb?”
“Yes,” Spencer reiterated.
The partners glanced at each other. Annie and Spencer recognized the skeptical look partners give each other when they know the witnesses are withholding information.
“We’re not accusing you. If you think of anything else, please let us know. And just note, we strongly suggest you remain here one more night. Albert will make sure you have what you need,” the short, heavier officer advised.
Both officers tipped their caps before leaving the room. Albert offered an apologetic half smile as he exited.
Spencer slammed the door after them.
Chapter 11
The air was piney, and smelled as though a rain storm had just rolled through. Amelie sniffed and hoped for iron, but there was none. She hadn’t seen a human for hours.
Battling hunger would always be a vampire’s most pressing problem. For a taste of blood, they would change their course, lie, cheat, steal, seduce.
After missing her last meal, Amelie’s blood thirst was overwhelming. It made her twitchy, mean, and sometimes reckless. The endless traipsing through the pathless forests back to Amborix did little to quench that thirst.
She glanced at her phone and reread the message: “Not now!” she grumbled. Angry, she shoved the phone in her pocket like a petulant child who didn’t get her way.
Damn Louis!
As a newly freed vampire, Amelie had reached out to Louis, a childhood friend she knew she could manipulate and use, and who would never leave her. Always loyal, weak minded, and in love with her, he was her perfect choice.
Until he set off the bomb!
It was clearly his fault that she was walking from France to Amborix, why she was rushed out of Dinan and away from the lovely sweet-smelling bodies with warm blood running through them.
Amelie easily jumped the narrow creek that cut through the thick trees. As much as she wanted bathe in her anger for Louis, to revel in it and plan his punishment, her mind wandered back to the couple who recognized who she had been once upon a time.
Who were they?
With nothing but time, she had little to do but remember. The woman’s chocolate brown hair had fallen in frizzy waves around her face. She smelled like strawberries and cream. A delicious thought came to Amelie: she was certain she would meet the woman again and wondered how she would taste. With her mind on other things, Amelie stepped downward, missed the flat, dry land, and slid her expensive leather boots into a muddy mass. The thick mud started hardening when she yanked the boot out. Amelie groaned and kicked her foot against a tree, scraping the mud from her foot.
“Damn it. I liked these.”
Half clean, she jumped from the mud and sniffed the air for that sweet, irony scent. She would take any living creature, if she could find one.
Shaky with the insatiable need for blood, she pressed on, nearing the end of her journey.
A small fawn, not much older than four weeks, poked around a tree trunk and stared at Amelie, frozen with fear. A smile crossed Amelie’s lips, a grotesque ugly smile with fangs poking out from the corners of her mouth. She lunged so quickly, the deer was unable to move and was overtaken easily. Her powerful thighs squeezed the deer around its soft middle; her thin strong hands squeezed the neck of the animal, pinning it against the ground. Scared, the deer thrashed about but was unable to free itself from Amelie’s grip. Its blood pumped as fear coursed through it. Amelie let out a growl.
Overpowered by the scent of blood, she leaned over the deer, sunk her teeth in the deer’s neck and sucked. The creature tasted of wet, moldy leaves and grass. She couldn’t stop, her desire insatiable. As she rubbed against the small creature, its beating heart slowed. The deer stopped thrashing and fell limp in the undergrowth. Even after it had died, Amelie continued to suck the rest of the blood.
When there was nothing left, she rolled off the deer. Dizzy, she lay in the wet underbrush and stared at the small patch of sky through the tree canopy.
The blood filled her up, satisfied the immediate need. But Amelie hadn’t learned to live in the moments of time when the clock stood nearly still. She was bored. She hated the slowness of the travel; it was in those moments that the flow of memories haunted her. Today it was all she could think of.
Home!
A distant whistle blew; it reverberated through the trees and bounced to Amelie. She sat up from the underbrush, wet with leaves in her hair and stuck to her jacket. She sniffed the air, and a faint scent of smoke and grease wafted to her. She couldn’t help but smile.
A train whistle cut the air. Amelie ran.
Branches battered her skin and scratched her cheeks and her hands. Obsessed with returning home, with the thoughts of the queen, Amelie barely registered the stinging and open wounds.
The train whistle pierced her ears again with a high-pitched shrill. Amelie leapt over a pile of brush and a fallen tree trunk. Her footing was so nimble, they easily carried her across uneven terrain. She climbed higher up the mountain.
Amelie’s footsteps matched the sound of the train wheels that chugged along the tracks.
Rushing water pounded in her ears even though she was a long distance from the raging river that rolled through the valley.
Nearly there.
With each step, the anticipation made her fearless, and her fangs extended on their own.
The terrain traveled upwards.
Amelie jumped up and over a hill. The narrow river was swollen with melting snow. Whirlpools sprang out at the river’s bend where white water bubbled and flowed.
Stepping back, Amelie took a running leap, flying across the eight-foot-wide river. Her toe slipped into frozen water. She dragged her foot through the mud. Her strength and the tautness of her muscles held her upright; she maintained her balance and continued running without missing a step.
The whistle rang again through the trees.
Amelie’s eyes never stopped darting across the landscape. She sniffed the air.
The embankment!
Amelie grabbed the branch above her head and swung upwards. Dropping back down, the vampire continued to climb the steep hill. She reached another low-hanging branch and flew upwards, much like swinging on the monkey bars at the park, something she had never done before. She rose higher without breaking a sweat, without her lungs burning with exertion. At the top of the hill, she swung one last time and dropped within feet of the tracks.
The vampire hid behind the nearest tree. The train shrieked through the forest and echoed off the mountains. Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.
She stood at the top of the mound where the train sped by; her clothes rustled around her. When the train whistle blew, she held her hands over her ears, protecting them from the loud shriek.
Closed cars rolled by, shaking and sputtering against the track. She stepped closer to the train as a car with an open door rolled beside her. Amelie ran matching its speed. Reaching for a hand rail, she pulled herself upward, slid inside the car packed with boxes and waited for her return home.
*
Scenery flew by in a green blur.
Amelie’s memories flowed. She let them envelope her, seep inside. She stared at the ring she wore on her left ring finger, a large gray pearl, a gift for her sixteenth birthday. It was the only piece of her former life that she carried with her. She had no idea why they buried her with it. It held no precious memories now; it was just a thing, given to her by her mother.
Mother had been so proud of the gift. Amelie hated it in life and in death; it was a reminder of that hate—for the ring, for her mother, for the life that made her a prisoner.
She twirled the ring around her finger, took it off, and stared at the silver band. It would take no more than a second to toss the ring out the open train car, to be done with it forever.
She couldn’t let go.
Just like she couldn’t let go of the fury toward her mother, to
ward the life she represented.
She placed the ring back on her finger, stood, and held onto the metal handle at the open door.
Hanging out of the door, she felt the wind batter against her body; her hair flew wildly about her. “Woo-hoo!” she shouted, caring little if anyone heard her or saw her stealing a ride in the train car.
Until the train slowed.
Amelie ducked behind the boxes as the brakes squeaked and sputtered and the train glided to a stop.
A din of voices descended on the train as employees began to unload several of the cars. She heard grunts as heavy boxes were hauled into carts, which squeaked and bounced against the hard earth.
As she smelled blood wafting in the air, saliva covered her extended fangs. Workers passed the open door, back and forth as they unloaded and loaded cargo. Bored, and growing hungry again, Amelie snuck to the edge of the door and listened intently to the jovial sounds of the employees.
“Help me! Please help me!” the vampire cried out.
Someone came running. A flashlight lit up the inside of the car, roaming across the boxes and along the walls before a man jumped aboard.
“Is anyone here?” he asked, his accent thick.
Amelie ran her fingers through her hair, tussling her long locks. Using a long fingernail, she scratched her cheek deep enough for blood to drip from the wound.
“Here. I’m in here,” she cried out.
The railway worker, turned toward the voice, his eyes widened. “Princess Amelie?” he asked, his confusion plainly visible across his face. He crossed himself and stared to the sky just as Amelie’s fist made contact with his mouth. He crashed to the floor of the car, and the princess dragged his limp body behind the large storage crate.
“What…” he drifted off, his nose bleeding.
Amelie sniffed wildly as she smelled the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The scent of iron wafted to her.
She yanked his head backwards.
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 78