In the bright moonlight, they saw a man… but not a man. He was easily over seven feet tall, very thick and muscular. Whatever he was, he lifted the can above his head with no effort and dumped the contents on the ground.
“That is one big… what is it?” Spencer asked.
Annie flashed her light in the creature’s eyes, temporarily blinding it. She took in its face, its pockmarked skin covered in battle scars, its delicate features for a creature of that size and girth, a long, thin nose, close-set eyes, and squared yellow teeth. To Annie, the creature’s face seemed nearly human. Though he was bigger than even a large human man, she could see his human-like limbs, long and thick, and five fingers on each hand.
“I think he’s a large demon?” Annie asked. But there was something in his quizzical expression, his lack of communication.
Is he human or demon?
“What are you doing, sir?” Spencer asked cautiously, his palms facing the being that he too had been struggling to identify.
There were two basic classifications for demons: humanoid or animalhood. A humanoid demon had delicate human features, relatively hairless skin, and independent thought. They were vampires, furies, succubae, banshees, and the like.
The other demons, animalhood, seemed less like people and were covered in fur or scales. Some had four limbs and a head, but they lacked speech and independent thought. Usually, that particular demon lived in the wilderness, away from civilization and hunted prey.
Both Annie and Spencer saw this creature as something different.
The demon grunted in surprise, offered no explanation for his presence, and in one easy motion, tossed the garbage can at them and ran down the alley.
“Crap, that thing is huge,” Spencer noted as he and Annie charged after it.
For his size and girth, he lumbered down the alley quickly. Fearing exposure if they teleported after it, Annie and Spencer pumped their arms and picked up their pace to keep from losing him in the darkness.
The demon turned left at the next intersection as if he knew where he was going, running faster without tiring. Annie and Spencer followed and were soon dripping in sweat, with cramps in their legs and sides.
Without warning, the demon slid to a stop. Annie and Spencer slowed and crept along the edge of the sidewalk, trying to ascertain what had stopped him so quickly. Blocking its path was an equally tall and sturdy man, his eyes glaring at the creature. Annie observed him quickly but in the dark could only see his tunic, tied at the waist with a thin string and a sword hanging at his hip.
“What the hell?” Spencer murmured
They observed the man with the sword intently. He removed long, thin hair from his face as his eyes darted from the demon to them. He shouted harshly at the demon.
“What did he say?” Spencer asked Annie.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. In an instant, the demon ran one way, the man the other.
“Go!” Annie pointed. She followed the demon, leaving Spencer to chase the man.
*
For an hour, Annie pursued the demon, slowly winding closer to the center of the neighborhood. His longer strides kept him several blocks ahead of her. While she quickly grew tired, the demon continued to run without slowing.
Streetlamps stood like soldiers on both sides of the street; some flickered but others lacked bulbs entirely. The demon ran either through beams of light or into the shadows. Annie listened to the heavy pounding of his thick feet against the cement sidewalk and followed.
An early summer rain spattered the sidewalk and stuck to Annie’s curly hair. She pushed several strands behind her ears and wiped her face with a moist sleeve.
This is getting ridiculous.
Still several blocks from the demon, she anxiously glanced down both sides of the street, crossing into an older and more familiar commercial neighborhood. With dawn nearing, the small, independent businesses were still boarded up for the night, metal bars hanging protectively against the windows and doors.
The wizard-only store known as the Snake Head Letters, came into view. It traded in magical objects, potions, books, and other trinkets that ran from highly questionable to purely evil. Annie spied the owner, Archibald Mortimer, observing her with some interest as she ran past the grimy front window of his store. He neither helped nor hindered her efforts, nor reacted in any way. It was clearly a change in his attitude where she was concerned.
Annie assumed he hadn’t gotten over the beating he received at the hand of Gladden Worchester three months ago. Gladden had beaten Mortimer, forcing the older, weaker man to give up information on Annie. Although he had tried to keep quiet, a few well-placed, devastating blows convinced him to reveal what he knew about her.
The beating caused a string of events to occur, which all together led to the destruction of the Black Market. While that loss was a boon to Mortimer’s business, he was a changed man, withdrawn and nearly silent. It was still too early to determine the repercussions to the wizarding world.
Annie put Mortimer out of her mind and slipped between two buildings as sharp pricks of pain seized her side, belly, and chest. Although she exercised regularly, the extended chase left her exhausted and doubled over, searching for breath.
While listening to the demon’s clumsy footsteps, she realized how much farther away he was now. She peered around the wall and saw him run through the light of a streetlamp and turn down the next street. Annie sighed, glanced down each side of the empty roadway, and teleported herself a few blocks ahead of the demon.
He barreled toward her. She calculated her timing and threw a jinx. The magic hit the demon in the shoulder, jerking him backwards. He growled.
Cautiously, Annie shone her bright flashlight into his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Annie asked. A humanoid demon would have answered, but this one only grunted, sniffed, and snorted.
Human features, animal mannerisms?
She removed the flashlight from the demon’s eyes and saw something else there. As the creature clamored away from her, she realized she saw terror.
The sky turned a dim gray with hints of orange as dawn approached. Annie watched the demon hobble across the road, heading for a narrow two-story home at the end of the block. Reaching its destination, the demon shuffled up the stairs, yanked the front door open, and ran inside.
What the hell?
With the demon confined to the house, she slowed her pace, giving herself time to catch her breath and take in her surroundings. Thin houses on small plots of land lined both sides of the street; each house was similar in size and design. The houses in this older neighborhood appeared well maintained, all except for the house at the end of the lane. She stood on the sidewalk and stared the building, which leaned to the left.
Annie cautiously stepped up the cracked sidewalk, thin chips of cement cracking under her shoes. The small porch felt sad and neglected, with several rotted boards and an overhang that had separated from the house. She stood at the open door that hung limply on the hinges and listened to the sounds of ripping and thumping above her. She flashed her light inside the room without entering the house.
The narrow room was cluttered with abandoned furniture: a ripped sofa, a spindled chair missing its fourth leg, and a low coffee table with a scratched top. Beyond the room, she saw a darkened hallway that she could only assume led to a kitchen.
The walls were dirty, with peeling paint and a lone picture of a boat on the ocean hung askew. The worn carpeting had a large scorch mark at the center. She raised her eyebrows.
“Why do these buildings always look like this?” she murmured.
Something heavy crashed inside, causing the ceiling to shake. Annie glanced up.
“Going inside by yourself?”
Annie jumped at the familiar voice. She spied Sturtagaard leaning against a tree just outside the property line.
“What are you doing here?” Annie scowled. She hadn’t seen the vampire since returning from France, and
it had been a pleasurable three months without his sniffing, sneering, and ill temper. She didn’t even care that he had assisted in the capture and staking of the vampire, Princess Amelie. Frankly, Annie was glad he hadn’t been around.
Annie debated if she should engage in conversation with him, but as always, he piqued her interest. She strolled off the rotted deck and stood in the small patch of front yard.
“I’m just making sure you’re doing your part,” he mocked.
“My part in what?” she asked guardedly. Another thump echoed from the upstairs; she turned back to the house quickly.
“That one’s too stupid. You have time,” Sturtagaard said. He glanced at his fingernails as though checking his manicure was still intact, pretending he was uninterested in her presence there.
“That’s not a typical demon, is it?” Annie asked. She was curious as to Sturtagaard’s real purpose.
How deep is he in this?
“No. It’s not. You will find out in time.” His lips turned upwards. He appeared bored, like he couldn’t be bothered with this conversation.
“What part am I playing?” she asked him.
Sturtagaard shrugged. Angry he was pushing her buttons, Annie summoned a stake and flipped it in the air, catching the hard ash in the palm of her hand. As it landed, Sturtagaard jumped at the sound, but he didn’t look at her immediately. When he was done checking his nails, he rooted around in the dirt beneath his usually well-groomed leather shoes. When he finished stalling, he glared at her.
“I’ve said too much already. I, like everyone else in this, had a role and this was mine.”
What roles?
“What the hell are you yammering about?” Another crash boomed inside the house. “Unless you have something useful to say, I’m leaving.” Annie returned Sturtagaard’s glare, but he simply shrugged.
“You’ll be safe when the thunder comes,” he said.
The ominous advice made little sense to Annie. She clearly wore her anger and confusion on her face. Sturtagaard couldn’t help but laugh.
“What are you playing at?” she shouted at him, losing all patience with the vampire.
“I’m not playing at anything. I’m giving you, shall we say, helpful advice.” He crossed his arms against his chest and leaned into the tree.
“Why am I wasting my time?” she mumbled. But Sturtagaard, thanks to his vampire hearing, heard the words through her semi-closed lips.
“Because you are curious as to why I’m here and the meaning of my message. I know you, girl. I’ve known all about you from the minute I first met you. You aren’t as complicated as you think you are. You are still trying to please your daddy, and you won’t stop until you’re dead like him,” Sturtagaard hissed.
Annie ignored the noises and marched to the vampire, who seemed unnerved by her. This bothered Annie. She held the stake against his chest.
“What the hell do you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“I’m responsible for making sure you came here, to this house, on this day. You need to follow the plan just as much as I do. This will all make sense to you in a few days. Oooh, I fear I’ve said too much,” Sturtagaard said nonchalantly, as if that would make it all better.
“Why shouldn’t I stake you now?” She pressed the sharp point into his chest; he pursed his lips.
“You can’t because the Wizard Council says so.” He offered a crooked smile exposing his fangs. “Besides, I know where the new Black Market is.”
She held the stake tightly in her grasp. “Really… and where’s that?” she taunted.
“Now, now girl. One problem at a time. It’s time you deal with that demon up there. Otherwise, this whole exercise will be useless.” He pushed the stake away, glanced at the lightening sky, and rolled away from the tree, skulking into the nearby forest.
That damn vampire!
Chapter 2
For a brief moment, Annie stared into the trees, debating if she should run after Sturtagaard and force him to explain his cryptic messages. It was the next crash that caused her to return to the house.
Immediately upon entering, a rancid, rotten smell assaulted her. There was something else…
Mullein?
Odd that she should smell the burnt stench of an herb used to conjure black magic or demons.
Annie set her flashlight on dim and scanned the walls, ceiling, and floor, stopping on the burn mark across the musty carpet. She knelt beside the scorch mark, touched the soot, and sniffed the silky power.
“It is mullein,” she said to the empty room. “Is this where the demon was conjured?”
Thump! She looked up at the ceiling. The center chandelier swayed from the crash on the floor above.
In hopes of avoiding a hand-to-hand fight with a demon twice her size and three times the weight, Annie summoned her crystal and took a reading of the magical energy found in and around the soot on the carpet. The crystal glowed a deep black. She looked inside, reading the dark magic that appeared about a week old.
The ceiling continued to shake as the restless demon tossed several hard objects. Annie sighed, pocketed her crystal, and checked her phone, leaving a message for Bucky Hart.
Who owns this house? she texted him, sending him the coordinates immediately.
When she finished, she took one last look around the room before heading up the stairs.
It was a crappy house, probably long abandoned. The treads were uneven and squeaked with each step. The entire staircase felt as though it leaned to the left. Annie took cautious steps reaching the top and stepping on the second floor.
The hallway contained two bedrooms and a bathroom. She tried the handle on the door to her right; it was locked.
I’ll check it later if there’s time.
Currently, her perceived assumptions about demons were jumbled. This demon was perplexing; different than any she had ever chased before. While he acted much like a low-level demon that lacked speech and thought, he ran with purpose toward this house, to that room, and proceeded to search for something.
But Sturtagaard called it a stupid one.
Guardedly, she walked to the front bedroom and poked her head inside. The demon had toppled a large armoire, which now lay front side down. There was a large footprint on the back panel, which lay in pieces. Wall boards were haphazardly piled on top of it, with additional thin bits of dust and two-by-fours contributing to the growing pile of debris.
Annie stared in horror as the demon continued to yank large pieces of wall board and studs from the side wall. He had already removed a large hole.
What is he looking for?
Annie froze when her phone buzzed, but the demon, preoccupied with his work, seemed unaware he was being watched. She breathed a sigh of relief, then waved her hand across her back pocket and shut off the ringtone.
Agitated, the demon reached inside the hole; whatever was hidden in the wall was still out of its reach. The demon grabbed another handful of wall and pulled. It cracked and ripped as the board gave way, detaching from the studs. The demon tossed the section of wall on a pile.
Again, the demon stuck his head into the hole and squealed. He still didn’t seem to comprehend why he couldn’t reach whatever he was searching for. In frustration, he punched at the stud like a punching bag.
Fearing the instability of the old house, Annie raised her palm and shot a jinx, sending yellow sparks flying through the air and hitting the beast in the upper arm. His arm jerked forward. The demon growled and clutched his shoulder.
Spotting Annie, the demon barked and then lunged. Her hands shook as she cast a stronger jinx, but either she missed or the curse was weaker than expected. The demon seemed unaffected by the blast. He clipped Annie’s shoulder, knocking her to the ground.
Before she could react or turn away, the demon sat on her, crunching his thick legs around her petite frame, squeezing her and shoving her head into the musty, dirty carpeting.
Annie flailed her arms, landing feeb
le blows to the demon’s body. No matter how much she stretched, her short, thin fingers couldn’t wrap around the creature’s neck. The demon bent close to Annie’s face. His breath and general body odor made her gag.
Since he was close enough to her now, she found the base of the demon’s neck and pushed with her thumbs, irritating the large creature. He howled.
Annie attempted to twist away, but the demon had her secure. Growing anxious, she threw her hands upwards and cast the strongest jinx she could muster. It hit the demon’s head, sending him flying backwards.
She scampered off the dirty floor and ran toward the door. Two large hands yanked her up. As Annie hung in the air with her arms pinned to her side, she kicked out her legs in vain. Panicked and growing weak, Annie finally took one last kick. This time, her boot made contact with the demon’s ribcage. The demon growled and smiled, easily tossing her down the hallway like she was a rag doll.
“Ahhhh!” Annie flew through the air; her head hit the wall and she flipped over, landing face first on the musty carpet. “Ooooff,” she moaned.
Her stomach churned at the stench deeply buried in the wood floor. Her head felt heavy and filled with ringing and buzzing. As she came to awareness, the distinct sound of a deep-throated laughter came to her.
Sturtagaard?
Annie turned her head and opened her eyes. Shapes and colors swirled before her. Gingerly, she raised her head, then violently heaved what little acid she had in her stomach. The bitter taste of bile burned her tongue.
She struggled to sit, pushing herself up with rubbery arms. As the world spun around her, a new wave of nausea attacked her. She turned and dry heaved again; there was nothing left in her stomach. Exhausted, Annie slumped against the spongy wall and took a deep breath, shivering at the pain shooting through her body.
The demon continued to laugh, to hiccough, to grunt as though Annie’s pain was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
Maybe it is funny.
Normally, this reaction would have angered her and she would have felt like a fool. But this demon, one that she had never seen before, intrigued her.
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 106