“Great,” Gibbs grumbled as he lay in the twigs and watched the sky. Hot, muggy air hung around them uncomfortably. The forest was quiet as animals hid in the shade.
“That… hurt,” Cham said through shortened breaths. His chest felt heavy. He got up and bent over Gibbs. “You okay?” he asked again.
Gibbs grimaced as he struggled to breathe. Cham offered a hand and pulled Gibbs to a seated position in the brush. “He’s a lot stronger than I expected.”
Cham sat beside Gibbs. “That wasn’t a costume.”
“No, it wasn’t. He’s definitely not from around here.”
Cham rubbed his chest, trying to inhale evenly. “Think we’re looking at a real Viking?”
“The costume’s good if he’s not,” Gibbs said.
“It’s a lot of work to bring someone across time. Even for a prophecy,” Cham said. He glanced at the narrow path through the trees. The man had either stopped or was far enough away that the branches had stopped rustling.
“Better let Annie know,” Gibbs said as he eased to his feet. They teleported without following their target.
*
The rhythmic chopping, slicing, and layering of the vegetables in the salad bowl calmed Annie, giving her something else to think about besides the prophecy, the Viking, and the demon.
Between chops, she watched her best friends, Dave Smith and Janie Parker, engrossed in conversation, laughing periodically, and just living normally.
It’s been too long.
“The baby yeti was this big.” Dave held his hand four feet above the ground as he regaled them with stories of his recent trip to the yeti colony in the Rocky Mountains. After three months observing and researching the colony for the Wizard Zoological Society, he had many stories about the peaceful creatures.
Annie finished the salad and floated the bowl to the table, which was already set with the rest of their dinner.
“So, tell us about your creature.” Dave looked at her expectantly as he took the bowl and helped himself to a heaping pile of salad.
“Well, the demon is definitely unusual,” Annie admitted.
“How so?” He stabbed a steak and set it on his plate.
“He grunts and growls like a low-level demon and is otherwise nonverbal. He stinks like the demons that live in the wilderness but looks human and wears clothing.” Annie scooped a spoonful of rice onto her plate, but realized, she wasn’t hungry.
“So, it’s what – a hybrid?” Dave asked.
“Half human, half demon?” Janie frowned. “Eww, gross.”
Annie chuckled. “It’s not quite that. The samples do show human and demon DNA. I found pretty strong dark magic in the house where I found him. We’re not sure what that means. When I was in the hospital, Spencer did a little digging in the library. So far he hasn’t found anything about demons that can regenerate, and the books I have here don’t produce any info,” she said.
“Sorry I’m late,” Cham said from the hallway. He offered a wan smile as he gingerly walked in.
She smiled. “I was wondering where you were.”
Cham grimaced when he sat.
“What’s the matter?” Annie asked.
“I’m fine. Just a bit of a struggle with our man,” Cham said and filled his plate with food.
“Same place as Annie’s?” Dave asked. He was nearly finished eating and reached for another roll.
“My target was in the same neighborhood. It’s definitely not a coincidence they were both there.”
“Anything good on this one?” Annie asked.
Cham cut off a piece of meat and chewed slowly. “We got a good look at him. He’s dressed in clothing that is reminiscent of the Vikings. Tunic, natural fibers, leather shoes.”
“So, what is yours? Human or demon?” she asked.
Cham frowned.
“What?” she inquired.
Cham took a breath and winced. “He escaped.” He shifted in his chair.
“So what’s really wrong with you?” Annie asked.
“He’s strong. He’s big and he punched his way to escape. And he did this.” Cham raised his shirt. Already dark purple, the bruise was five inches in diameter at the center of his chest.
Janie squeaked in surprise.
“Whoa,” Dave said.
“Damn.” Annie walked to his chair and touched the spot, poking at the injury. He grimaced.
“Any broken bones?” Cham inquired.
“I don’t think so. I can heal the bones; the bruise won’t heal so quickly.” She summoned her water. The liquid rose from her glass and hung above her palm. She warmed it and placed it over his chest. He closed his eyes.
“Just curious, but why couldn’t you use magic to capture this man?” Dave asked.
Annie floated the water to the sink and let it splash. She began touching the bruise, feeling his ribs. “Anything?” she asked.
“Just a little tight.” He lowered his shirt and turned to Dave. “He was immune to all our spells. We did a thorough search, but didn’t find anything that could resist the magic.”
“It would take incredibly strong magic to come from the ninth century and to resist a witch’s magic. Why didn’t he cast a spell on you?” Janie asked. She began stacking the dirty dishes in a pile.
“He had plenty of opportunity to cast one. I don’t think he’s magical,” Cham said thoughtfully and pushed his unfinished dinner aside.
“So a man and a demon seemingly from the past arrive in the same location. What are they doing here? Scouting to attack?” Dave half teased.
“That’s not funny,” Annie said. She thought of the prophecy and Sturtagaard’s message.
What do they have to do with each other?
Her stomach roiled as she debated telling them about her dad’s letter and the prophecy. But she couldn’t, not until she figured out how to tell her sister. She sighed heavily. “Once we find Cham’s target, we should have a better idea of what they’re doing here.” She let her fork settle against her plate.
“Better finish dinner before we’re attacked,” Dave joked.
Chapter 7
Though she was ordered to take the week off, Annie had spent the previous morning at Tartarus Prison and now was at Wizard Hall. Milo stopped at her cubicle door. “I told you to stay home,” he grumbled as she sorted through the mail and folders in her inbox.
“Just catching up. I’ll leave soon,” Annie said.
“Humph,” Milo mumbled and continued to his cubicle several away.
She placed work-related folders in one pile after she made notes on each, placing a priority number on those she needed to work on immediately and those she could wait on.
The rest of the pile was miscellaneous items, memos, and brochures that were all unnecessary; she tossed those into the garbage can. She then opened and assessed the remaining envelopes. The outside of the final envelope contained only her name in shaky handwriting.
Annie opened the envelope and peered inside. Nestled in the bottom of the envelope was a plastic bag. She pulled it out and stared at the blood-covered atomie bean inside. She couldn’t know for sure, but Annie thought it might be the bean they had placed in Sturtagaard’s shoulder a year ago.
Quickly, she grabbed a map and the atomie bean they used to search for Sturtagaard over the last year. She scried for him and, as she expected, the crystal lit up over Wizard Hall. Annie sighed. In that moment, she realized the only creature who knew anything about what happened in the past was gone.
*
The Snake Head Letters was open twenty-four hours a day, but visits between 10:00 p.m. and 8:00 a.m. required an appointment. As it was 7:30 a.m. and Annie didn’t have an appointment, she knocked on the locked door and hoped Archibald Mortimer would open up.
A dim light at the back of the store switched on, casting shadows across the rotted floors. Archibald Mortimer shuffled down the main path to the entrance. He glared at her briefly with cloudy, gray eyes, and hesitated before deciding to
let her in.
Without greeting Annie, he turned and walked to the back of the store. The door rattled when she closed it. She followed him to his office.
The destruction of the Black Market had been a boon to Mortimer. He was the only magical store with contacts in the black magical world that could locate whatever a wizard might need. While he should have been busier than ever before, his store looked much the same: still jam-packed with books and artifacts that spilled into the aisles and weighed down the many wooden shelves; the same rotted floorboards; the same dirt and grime covered the walls as it had for decades. Annie frowned as she watched him sit himself in an armchair in the corner of the store.
Graciously, he picked up a plate of scones and offered it to her; she shook her head. He took a sip of his tea.
“Whaddaya want,” he grumbled as he put his mug back on a thin table that creaked with the extra weight.
“How are you feeling?” she asked expectantly. Though it wasn’t her fault he was attacked by Gladden Worchester, a part of her felt guilty because the man had been looking for her.
Mortimer looked at her, his thick gray-and-black eyebrows turned downwards. He waved her off. “Whaddaya want?” he asked again.
“Well, you look just as shitty as always. I hope you’re feeling better at least.” Annie leaned against the reception desk and observed him carefully. “I have a question I thought you might have an answer for.”
Mortimer looked at her patiently.
She continued. “I’m assuming, as you hear everything, you know about the demon and the Viking from the ninth century.”
He smiled.
“Having said that, are you aware of a prophecy about me?”
He shook his head with a confused expression on his face. “I am not aware of any,” he said.
Annie summoned her dad’s letter and handed it to him.
He squinted as he read the letter. Without reaction, he returned it to her. “What’s it got to do with me?” he murmured.
“Sturtagaard’s gone. He knows something about the Viking and the demon because he’s from the same century as they are.” Annie left the desk and walked toward the bookshelf, absently staring at the old bindings without really processing the titles. “He told me I had a role to play in this. Whatever ‘this’ is.”
She glanced at him, but couldn’t read Mortimer’s expression as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He picked up his tea and took a long sip before answering. “I’m not familiar with the prophecy. Yours or anything having to do with the Viking and demon. I will… I will see what I can see,” he said cautiously.
Annie’s fingers trailed against the rough spines of the books as she walked back to the desk. She lingered there, surprised that he might bring it up to his counterparts.
It was his turn to observe her. “Got somethin’ to say, girl?” he asked.
“Anyone order mullein from you recently?”
He smiled and shook his head. “You can get that anywhere.”
While she knew that to be true, she had hoped it would lead her to Gila Donaldson. “You’re not going to share?”
“My clients rely on me keeping their privacy. However, I can tell you that I didn’t sell the mullein that conjured your demon,” he said. He crossed his legs and sunk back into his chair.
“I found the mullein in a house belonging to Gila Donaldson, a descendant…”
Mortimer held up his hand to stop her.
“Everyone knows who the Donaldsons are. You have your answer, then,” he said.
Annie was disappointed with his cryptic answers and the fact that everything was pointing to Gila Donaldson. She drummed her hands against the counter.
“And?” Mortimer asked patiently.
If she’d had any welcome in the store, Annie had overstayed it. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was planning to accomplish by continuing in Mortimer’s presence, and yet she couldn’t leave. “My mom was alive eight years ago,” Annie blurted out.
His face remained stony. He pulled himself out of the chair and stood behind the desk. “The Fraternitatem?” he asked.
“Good guess.”
“Not a guess. Jason was investigating them when he died, yes?” Mortimer asked.
Annie nodded.
“Could never figure why they killed ’im for them stones. He musta found her there,” he said thoughtfully.
“You read my dad’s letter. I’m supposed to do something and receive powers for it. He warned me that the Fraternitatem will come after me for those powers,” she said.
Archibald Mortimer grumbled as he pulled himself up and shuffled to his back office. Annie followed and watched him as he stuck his index finger into the lock of his safe and pressed down. It punctured his skin and the blood dripped into the lock, releasing it. The door swung open, revealing a thick pile of documents and a dark tome sitting on top.
He pulled out the book and slammed the safe door shut. “Here.”
She held an ancient tome, covered in dark leather, embossed with the familiar symbol she knew so well: the six-pointed star surrounded by four dots that formed a square.
The Fraternitatem.
Her hands shook as she opened the front cover. The pages were written in Hebrew. Holding her palm above the page, she cast a translation spell and watched the words shimmer away and return in English. The first spell of the book was a mind-control spell. Annie shuddered. “This is really their grimoire?”
“Yes.”
She turned another page. Each spell was typical of a grimoire: spells, potions, and notations regarding evil magic. “How did you get this?” Annie demanded.
“I won’t tell you that. I warned you three months ago not to mess with them. I warned your father, too. But if he knew she was still alive and he pushed… I issue you a strong warning. Run away if you must. But if you can’t, that grimoire might give you insight.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me when I asked for help three months ago?” Annie asked incredulously.
Mortimer’s crooked smile exposed his yellow teeth. “I know you, girl. If you’d had this, you would have run off after them.”
Annie looked at the book and back to Mortimer. “How much for the book?”
He waved her away and grunted something unintelligible.
Annie began to pace across the linoleum floor, so worn in areas she could see the plywood underneath. “Do you know about regenerating demons?”
Mortimer seemed to be growing tired, whether from his age or the beating or because he just wanted her to leave. Still, he sat on the desk chair. “You are full of questions this morning.”
“It’s a strange case,” she admitted and placed the book in her field pack.
“My guess is that the demon was conjured to get you to the house. Your best course is to find the prophecy and find out what you’re supposed to be doing.”
“It’s all pieces to the puzzle.” She turned toward the books. “Mind if I look?”
Mortimer shrugged.
The demon aisle was packed with books but was not as comprehensive as what she would find at the Wizard Hall library. Annie couldn’t understand her pull to this store or to Mortimer, except that she thought he knew more than he let on.
“Why would they have taken my mother? She was—is—a non-magical. What did she have that they wanted?” Annie asked.
Mortimer stood at the end of the aisle and shook his head slowly. “I have no books on this regenerating demon. And the Fraternitatem… they only take people who can give them what they want or need. If they want these powers you’re to receive, what use would she have to them?”
Annie stared at the weakened man, surprised by how long he had been willing to speak with her let alone giving her the book. “She comes back and tries to bond with me. Get me to trust her and then…” Annie said.
“Go and protect yourself,” Mortimer said.
“How?”
He shrugged his shoulders and walked into his office, leav
ing her alone.
*
Although Annie had promised she’d go home and rest, she returned to Wizard Hall. As always, she was greeted by the day security guard named Manny. He smiled brightly when she entered.
“Annie Pearce. You’re late,” he quipped as she tossed her spell into the security box on his desk.
“Actually I was here at six in the morning and left again,” she teased back with raised eyebrows.
“And here I missed it. I will miss this back-and-forth, Ms. Pearce,” he said and held the door for her.
She looked at the familiar face she’d seen every day for the last four years. “Why? You’re not leaving us, are you?”
Manny chuckled. “Nope. I am, however, the new assistant manager of security. I’m moving up!” He beamed proudly.
“Congrats! At least you’ll still be around.” Annie shook his hand and slid through the door. “Don’t let it go to your head,” she said as she entered the buzz of the hall.
The back entrance led to a narrow hallway where the walls were covered in ancient maps, diagrams, and shadow boxes filled with artifacts. It opened to the human resources department. Annie turned down the center hallway that split the department in two and headed for the Legal Department.
Modern glass doors to the department were currently closed but not locked. Annie entered and took the center aisle to Samantha Chamsky’s cubicle. As she expected, Samantha was at her desk, a thick tome open as she took notes on a yellow lined pad.
“Hey, Sami, got a minute?” Annie asked, startling her sister.
“Jeez, you scared me half to death.” She pointed to the only chair in the cubicle and removed the stack of folders covering the seat.
The two women were so close in appearance from their long, curly brown hair and brown eyes to the shape of their lips. Anyone would have assumed they were sisters. The only difference was how they dressed, and that was dictated by their professions. While the lawyer in Samantha favored suits and heels, Annie wore a sweater, cargo pants and boots.
Samantha observed her sister carefully. “You look like hell. Why aren’t you home?”
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