Black Market (The Wizard Hall Chronicles Book 2)

by Sheryl Steines

  …The people of the mountains shared their yak meat, their berries, and substance, and they let me into their world to show me the grandest of artifacts: the ring of great power, the ring that could make the wearer successful, give them insight, enlighten them.

  The band is so thick, made of iron and copper. It is old and well used. It was made for a man of great power, of great girth. The craftsman who created this work of art did so with great care, using the powerful, beautiful, ethereal Chintamani Stones. This is where the power of the ring originates from.

  If a wearer has magic within, he could live forever.

  Annie scratched the words Chintamani stones on the paper; she had never heard of rocks by that name. She reread the description of the ring. There was no mention of the flat top or the raised six-pointed star, though that could have been added at a later date.

  She took the ring from the plastic pouch and placed it on her finger, examining each feature. Cool metal vibrated against her skin; she hadn’t noticed the vibrations before. Pulling out the magnifying glass, she examined the raised star and compared its metal to that of the base of the ring. It was most definitely the same metal as the rest of the ring.

  It’s probably not the same ring.

  Annie sighed.

  “Do you have something Annie?” Mrs. Cuttlebrink asked.

  “Not really. Maybe. There’s a description in here about a ring with four stones called the Chintamani Stones. Have you heard of them?”

  Mrs. Cuttlebrink smiled. “Yes. I have. Stones from heaven. Can I see the ring?” Annie passed her the hefty jewelry. Mrs. Cuttlebrink inspected it up close, her fingers grazing the remaining three stones. “Yes, Annie dear. These look like moldavite stones. Stones from heaven. Do you know what that means?” Mrs. Cuttlebrink asked.

  “Stones from heaven? No. I don’t.” Annie thought. “Unless… it’s literal?”

  Mrs. Cuttlebrink smiled again.

  “Meteorites,” they said together.

  “I thought I had something in my reading, but this…” Mrs. Cuttlebrink rolled the ring in her thick fingers and stopped again on the flat surface, staring at the raised star and the stones.

  “So, these stones from heaven… what power do they hold? According to the scant passage I read, the wearer lives forever?” Annie asked.

  Mrs. Cuttlebrink handed the ring back to Annie. “Well. We know from past cases how many artifacts claim to do that. I highly doubt this ring does that. What I do know about the Chintamani Stones is they supposedly bring luck and fulfillment to the wearer. It also allows the user to see into the past and future. And yes, some cultures do believe the Chintamani makes one immortal.”

  “That’s one powerful ring. Which give motive for the murder.” Annie returned the stone to the evidence bag. “The star might tell us who this ring was originally created for.” She glanced back at the scroll for additional information until the location Atlantis caught her eye.

  “Oh. Here. Chintamani Stones. Four stones were cut from a larger one. Three of the stones were gifted: one to an abbot at a lamasery, one to Emperor Tazlovoo of Atlantis, and another went to King Solomon.” Annie looked at Mrs. Cuttlebrink. “The King Solomon?”

  “Can I see the passage?” Mrs. Cuttlebrink, took her time to read the scroll. Her hands shook, and the paper fluttered while she read. “Okay, yes. The Russian Mystic Roerich. According to this, four stones were cut from one larger stone and were gifted to four different people. One of these men—or possibly all of them—had rings created. Wealthy, powerful. That would make sense. Let’s see…” she continued reading the passage. “There’s nothing in this description that matches ours. So ours might have been from one of these men. Emperor Tazlovoo. King Solomon.” She looked up from the scroll. “A six-pointed star. The ring please?” She stared intently at the flat top of the ring as Annie handed it to her. “That’s it. The stones, the six-pointed star. King Solomon!” Mrs. Cuttlebrink was so enthusiastic that she bolted from her chair and headed to the stacks, as spry as a child.

  As she levitated and flew, she displaced the air with her body, leading to popping noises throughout the stacks. Several heavy tomes came crashing down; the force of the crash vibrated across the stone floor and against the wood walls. “No, not this one.” Air sizzled and popped again as she floated along the aisle to another section.

  Through the air, a book flew toward Annie and skipped across the table. Mrs. Cuttlebrink, close behind the book, was winded and sweaty when she returned. “I didn’t put it together until you read that scroll, but I think that’s the Ring of Solomon.”

  Really? “That’s a fable. A legend.” The words flew out before Annie could stop herself.

  Mrs. Cuttlebrink pointed to the book that had skipped and slid beside Annie. The title on the leather-bound book was written in Hebrew, but as Annie waved her palm her across the words, they shimmered and transformed as the magic translated the title: The Book of King Solomon. Annie glanced at the librarian with raised eyebrows before opening the faded front cover and reading through the list of short stories contained inside. She shuffled through the yellow, cracked pages.

  The ring, created for King Solomon, was forged from iron and copper. Its flat top and raised six-pointed star at the center was used to seal official documents of King Solomon.

  Over several years, the ring changed considerably with the addition four Chintamani Stones that were gifted to the king by a rock cutter who had found the stone in his quarry. The stones were reported to bring luck and fulfillment to the wearer. In some cultures, the stones gave the wearer the power to see into the past and future. Some cultures think the Chintamani makes one immortal.

  The ring metamorphosed again when the king wished to control the djinn, and his mystics imbued the ring with the power to do that.

  My ring!

  “So you’re telling me you believe the mystical Ring of Solomon existed and still exists today—and this is it?” Annie had never come across a biblical artifact; she had a difficult time wrapping her brain around what she was holding.

  “Yes.”

  “He couldn’t have possibly been able to control the djinn. Unless… unless King Solomon was a wizard?” Annie thought back to Wizard Guard training. She remembered lessons about the djinn—a Middle Eastern version of genies, tricksters who granted wishes for unsuspecting victims. The wish always came with a backfire, another name for a payment in exchange for the wish fulfillment.

  But King Solomon, a wizard! The ring wouldn’t work without magic.

  Mrs. Cuttlebrink broke into laughter, high and innocent like a young girl’s. “I’m sorry, Annie, but you’re being too skeptical. And after all you’ve seen as a witch. The brooch design is Middle Eastern, and the djinn roamed the Middle Eastern desert. It’s possible, and it’s staring you right in the face. Though you are technically correct. I have no proof King Solomon was actually a wizard.”

  The ring vibrated on Annie’s finger, tickling her skin. She had just read two ancient ring descriptions, and one matched her ring.

  I can’t believe I’m holding something so old and so rare.

  “Okay. Say this is the Ring of Solomon. Where has it been for almost two thousand years, why did it resurface now, who wanted it, and who died for it?”

  “All valid questions dear. I’ll be happy to keep digging for information, but you’ll have to go to the black market for the rest.”

  “Yeah. We’re going tonight.” Annie sighed as her phone buzzed from her back pocket.

  She glanced at the caller ID. “What’s up, Bucky?”

  “Max White in telecommunications picked up a tip to the police department. Possible murder weapon located in Busse Woods,” he answered.

  Annie grimaced. “Okay,” she said with a deep sigh. “They’re bringing an investigative unit back to the clearing?”

  “Yeah. That’s what Max said.”

  More pictures and more footprints all over my crime scene.

  “I wonder
if someone is trying to throw off the police,” Annie muttered to herself.

  “Then why hide it back at the crime scene? That ties the case very clearly to that location.”

  The pain in Annie’s temple spread to her forehead and down her neck. “That’s what’s been bothering me. Why leave the body there in the first place? I know criminals aren’t necessary smart, but the magical community knows you don’t risk exposure regardless of your criminal leanings.”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t make sense. You can worry about it later. They’re on the way now,” Bucky advised.

  “Thanks for the info. I’ll let you know what comes of it.”

  Chapter 6

  Annie and Gibbs teleported behind five tall, wide evergreen trees that blocked their landing from the mass of people that had taken over the clearing where John Doe had been murdered. The two wizard guards observed the scene through the thick branches as crime scene investigators combed the area for additional clues. Police officers charged with guarding the perimeter paced along the barrier made of crime scene tape and traffic barricades, keeping the growing crowd from infringing on the evidence. Journalists and other onlookers were forced to refrain from leaving the small corner. Hundreds of them were corralled so tightly that they could barely take notes or photos as they clawed and argued their way to the front of their makeshift paddock.

  It was organized chaos.

  Annie focused on the crime scene team, observing them immersed in their search for clues as they trudged through the remaining snow and piles of thick mud. The investigators followed after a police officer who was holding the leash of a very large black lab.

  The journalist’s pool spread along the trees, getting closer to the location where Annie and Gibbs were hiding.

  “What the hell?” Gibbs muttered as he and Annie inched their way around the farthest tree, away from the horde.

  They returned their gaze to the clearing where the dog, so intent and focused on a scent, led his handler in large circles around the perimeter tape, slowly tightening the circles and walking dangerously close to the portal five feet from where John Doe had been found.

  Camera flashes sparkled against the bare trees.

  The well-trained animal sat in the snow, wagged its tail, and swiped away the snow, leaving its tail covered in mud. Far more attuned to the low frequencies around it, the dog turned to the portal, growled, and bared its teeth.

  “They found something,” Gibbs mumbled.

  Voices grew louder and closer to their location as the journalists continued moving through the trees for a better view of the search.

  “We may have to leave soon,” Annie whispered.

  An unlucky crime scene unit member plunged a shovel into the frozen mud. Instead of the difficult dig they must have expected, the ground yielded easily; someone had recently turned over the dirt.

  A magical had to have placed this object here.

  The man heaved rapidly. Even though the air was a chilly thirty degrees, he sweated profusely and threw off his heavy winter jacket. He dug a little further until finally the shovel pinged against a metal object. Two members of the crime scene unit joined and assisted by removing the dirt, revealing a long, thin rod with two prongs at the end. The discovery drew ooohs and ahhhs. Pens clicked and scratched, bulbs flashed.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Annie whispered. She and Gibbs exchanged glances. “There was only one burn mark.”

  “Throwing off the nonmagical police. Smart plan,” he grunted.

  “I can’t believe the nonmagical police is gonna believe that is the murder weapon. They’re not stupid,” she answered.

  Annie’s opinion didn’t matter; the press was thrilled with the new evidence. Camera flashes burst in rapid succession, like a lightning storm. Annie paced to clear her head.

  “Annie?”

  “Gibbs, they planted evidence outside the portal. Why do that? Why tie this place that closely to murder? They could’ve left it as a dump site only. What the hell were they thinking?” Annie’s voice was louder than she had anticipated.

  Gibbs glared at her as if warning her to calm down and lower her voice. “That’s all fine and good, girl. At least there’s a weapon they can explain away.”

  Annie continued to pace. Sometimes I want to shake you. She often believed Gibbs’s dislike for all things nonmagical made him ignorant to all things nonmagical.

  “We have a glamored, fake body in their morgue, with a burn mark that didn’t leave burnt skin on the weapon. It might not even be strong enough to cause that damage. They really fucked up.” She was nearly whispering, though her voice rose with each word. Act like you understand!

  “Girl, it’s not my first rodeo. Call Graham, let the VAU deal with it.” Gibbs observed the crowd of nonmagicals, their reaction to the murder and to the proceedings. “Any ID on the victim?” he asked.

  Annie checked her phone, texts, and emails. Rather than waiting, she texted Bucky, though she was sure that if he had found something, he would have let her know. “Nothing yet,” she advised.

  Helpless and waiting to begin their investigation, the crowd grew thicker. The police, having had enough of the enthusiastic meanderings and noise, pushed them out of the clearing and down the path to the parking lot. A few civilians lingered in the trees.

  Gibbs grew impatient waiting for the cops to clear the scene and for the crowd to disperse. He took his turn to pace their small waiting area.

  “You can leave if you’d like. I’ll wait for the crowd to clear,” Annie offered.

  Gibbs grumbled under his breath, summoned a thick, heavy blanket, and laid it in the snow, taking a seat.

  “How long you think they’ll be there?” he asked.

  “No clue. It’s not like it is with magic.”

  Beyond the trees, the dog continued to follow a scent. After twenty minutes, a detective in charge finally determined there was nothing left to find, and the dog was led to parking lot. Annie sat beside Gibbs on the blanket. He took a swig from his flask.

  “Want?” Gibbs asked.

  Annie grabbed the drink and took a large gulp. The alcohol warmed as it slid down her throat. She shifted closer to Gibbs and let him radiate his heat. After one more swig, Annie handed him back his flask.

  “Ramsey’s a good reference,” Gibbs admitted. Annie was taken aback; he normally had nothing nice to say about the nonmagical community.

  “Yeah. Two cases, and both are doozies,” she agreed.

  The voices they’d been hearing all day dissipated, growing softer as the crowd dispersed and headed to the parking lot. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

  Annie’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and read the screen. “No name. Fingerprints and DNA not in any databases. Bucky sent everything to the Middle East Wizard Guard. They’re very interested in the brooch design. But he didn’t say why.”

  Gibbs took another swig and offered her more; she drank and let the alcohol warm her.

  Car doors slammed shut, engines revved, and tires crunched on ice and snow as cars pulled away. Annie pushed a branch away and watched the last of the reporters, crime scene techs, and police leave the scene. They waited an additional ten minutes just in case.

  “I think it’s safe,” Annie said finally. She and Gibbs ignored the crime scene tape and entered the clearing. “I’m glad we got the aerial view before they completely destroyed the crime scene.”

  The sun hid behind a thick layer of storm clouds that weren’t predicted to disperse any time soon but that covered the clearing in a gray light. Annie used her flashlight to view the footprints against the mud.

  “There’s nothing left here.” Gibbs kicked the upturned dirt with the steel toe of his boot.

  “I think the cattle prod was enough for today,” Annie groaned sarcastically.

  Gibbs grunted.

  Am I irritating you today, Gibbs?

  He walked the clearing; his flashlight highlighted several spots as he noted footsteps
and drag marks that remained after all of the traffic. The clearing had been thoroughly combed through and traversed by too many people.

  I doubt the footprints will be of any help now.

  The only part of the crime scene that was still visible from the original aerial view was a square spot where the body was found. Annie waved her flashlight across the patch of mud. John Doe’s impression was still in the earth.

  She summoned the case file and dug through to find two pictures—one of the victim, the other of the aerial view. His shoes were caked in mud from the soles to the heels and even the toes. Possibly the mud came from running through the forest preserve, but possibly it was a result of being dragged, which would explain the thin lines that crisscrossed the clearing.

  As Annie examined the pictures, it became clear that the remains of a line from the portal to this square patch of mud were still visible.

  “Annie?” Gibbs asked softly and joined her to peer at the images.

  “He was dragged away from the portal and killed here, I think. Before he was able to sell the ring. But then, why kill him and not take the ring?”

  “Since the ring was too large to swallow, he magically hid it. Someone killed him but couldn’t find it on his body,” Gibbs said and summoned his crystal.

  “Why not take the body then?” she asked but stopped when she saw movement in the trees. Gibbs pocketed the rock.

  “Oh crap,” Annie groaned as her worst nightmare approached from the trees: Rebekah Stoner. The television journalist had been investigating Annie, convinced Annie was something other than she said she was.

  She doesn’t realize how much she really knows.

  “Anne Pearce? How nice to see you again.” Rebekah’s voice carried implication. Annie did her best to avoid any look of surprise or worry.

  “Rebekah.”

  “And who is this? I’m Rebekah Stoner.” She held out a perfectly manicured hand to Gibbs, who glowered but reluctantly took hold of it. The journalist winced at his grip. “Ah, I see you’re investigating this case as well.” She shook out her numb hand and stepped away from Gibbs.