Black Market (The Wizard Hall Chronicles Book 2)

by Sheryl Steines

  He rarely used her given name—she was always girl to him. When he used her name, Annie knew she should worry.

  “I need to get out of here.”

  “Patience, girl.” Gibbs returned to his paper.

  Annie stood, taking her turn to pace. She couldn’t help but notice that the storm had let up. She walked back to the window and took a shaky seat to watch a large snowball fight break out on the school grounds. It did little to help her forget what Mortimer did or where Zola might be.

  Bitherby searched her things, found a pen and notebook, and lay beside the fireplace on his belly. His legs swung in the air side to side as he intently drew across the page. Annie closed her eyes, but the peace didn’t last long once Gibbs ended his phone conversations.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It was definitely Mortimer who ratted you out. But Annie, he suffered a lot before he did,” Gibbs advised. “He’s in the hospital.”

  Annie’s stomach churned.

  *

  Annie stayed in the lounge for the better part of the day, anxious and bored. Her food, brought to her by helpful elves, sat untouched.

  The snow stopped completely, and the clouds rolled away, leaving behind a purplish blue sky crowded with twinkling stars and a full moon. Its light reflected against the pristine snow, which blinded her when she stared out.

  Her heart ached.

  Zola, we’re coming for you!

  “Annie.”

  “Spencer, anything?” Her wizard guard partner hesitantly sat down by her on the window seat. He hadn’t called until now, so Annie knew that Zola was still missing.

  “We can’t find her.” He leaned against the stone wall. Tired, his eyes lined with dark purple. He took a deep breath.

  “Bitherby said there’s a dungeon under the market,” Annie said and closed her eyes, afraid she’d cry again. She couldn’t let go, not yet, even surrounded by friends.

  “We’re close. We think we found the location of the dungeons, but they ran us off before we could get there. The people still left in the market, they’re… different. More willing to call us out, come after us. There’s no policing. It’s…” He was apologetic and almost as sad as Annie was.

  “Don’t. I know you’ve tried. You’d do more, but you can’t. We’ll have to find another way.” She could barely speak. “I should call… Samantha, Ryan, and Kathy. Let them know.”

  Spencer placed a well-trained arm across her shoulders. “I can call if you’d like.”

  “I should. She’s… she’s my family.” Annie rested her head against his shoulder. This time she let the tears roll down her chin onto her shirt. When she shuddered, Spencer squeezed.

  “Gladden disappeared. We couldn’t find him at the market or at his apartment.”

  “He didn’t get the ring or kill me, so he’s probably dead.”

  The list of people who have died for this ring has increased once more.

  “Not that I’m a fan of Gladden’s, but I’m hoping he left and cloaked himself well,” Spencer said. He switched positions, re-crossing his legs.

  “I doubt it.” She pulled away from Spencer and wiped her eyes.

  “Zola’s smart and fiercely protective of you. That will keep her safe.” As much as Spencer tried to comfort Annie, they were only words and did little to help.

  Annie tried to smile. “How’s the market?” She tried to divert her attention back to the case away from Zola in order to reduce her growing anxiety. The fairy had been in her life since she was a baby; there wasn’t a time she could remember Zola not being there, whether she was smoothing out Annie’s frizzy hair or fixing ripped clothing or kissing a scraped knee or baking her favorite cookies. It hurt too much to think of her alone in a dungeon or dead.

  “Nearly deserted. The protection spell is still holding, but barely. I’m not sure how much time we have.”

  Because of the secrecy decree, the black market had become first priority for the Wizard Guard, for her. Magic, especially black magic couldn’t spill into the nonmagical world. Annie would have to put the Fraternitatem on the side—at least until the market was officially gone and the shapeshifters returned to their original form.

  “I think I should forget about the Fraternitatem for a little while and work on fixing the market.” She sighed.

  “They’ve—”

  “No, Annie.” Milo’s booming voice vibrated throughout the lounge. His short strides made him look as though he was hopping rather than walking. He strolled to the fireplace and stared into the dancing flames. The wood popped and cracked. “Absolutely not. You need to find this group, whoever it is. They still don’t have their ring, and that means they’ll be after you.”

  That, for Annie, explained why he hadn’t let her leave for the prison even as the storm had stopped. “Well, I can’t do much in here. And we have a huge problem at the market.” It wasn’t much of an argument. Milo had the final say. Annie would have to stay the course, pursuing Benaiah’s murderers. “When will I leave?”

  The front door of the lounge swished open, Shiff and Brite, a Wizard Guard team from the southwest satellite office, joined them, taking a seat in the conversation area. At the same time, a back wall shimmered until a door was formed, and Cham stepped inside, harried and tired.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Milo finally answered. He bent over and meddled in the fire, adding magic. The flame grew exponentially, and the heat made the room warm and stuffy. “Anything else on the Fraternitatem?” Milo asked, pulling himself up with a grunt and groan.

  “Nothing yet,” Annie said. “Except I think Arden Blakely might have been one of their agents. Did she say anything to you about that?” Annie asked Cham, who had just walked up.

  “No. She was in and out of reality. She might have PTSD. She… well, it was weird. I’m not sure if she’s capable of doing much of anything right now.”

  Though disappointed, Annie understood. After reading what she had of Arden’s diary, it made sense. “I was hoping she might point us to the location of the Cave of Ages. Based on her diary and my dad’s corroborating notes, it’s somewhere in the Israeli desert, and that’s where the Fraternitatem are based. I have a map, but it’s not specific. We need a starting point.”

  “Have Lial work with Mrs. Cuttlebrink, Emerson, if she’s not busy with the spell translation,” Milo ordered. He bored easily and didn’t like to work in the field. Visiting Annie at school was deemed field work. He paced. “Spencer, you have anything on the Aloja?”

  Spencer reiterated what everyone else already knew and then shared something new. “They left this note. You’re to wait for instructions for a trade. The ring for Zola.” He showed Annie the note.

  I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  “Fine. Spencer, you take Shiff and Brite back to the market—glamor or disguises, I don’t care how, but check it out. Gibbs, stay with Annie. We’re moving her in the morning. There’s no snow in the forecast.”

  *

  “Thanks, Graham,” Annie said into her phone. “I appreciate you taking care of the reporter. At least now I don’t have to watch my back.” Rebekah Stoner had proved to be a larger problem than Annie could manage on her own. They were dangerously close to be exposed.

  “Call earlier next time,” Graham admonished with coolness in his voice. Annie had expected that and took it in stride. Everyone had warned her.

  “I promise; I won’t let it get this bad ever again.”

  “That’s all that I ask, Annie,” Graham finally said, resigned to her quirks. “It’s my job.”

  “Thank you.”

  Finishing with Graham left her plenty of time to continue with Arden Blakely’s journal. Milo had stated it and she knew as well: they had to stop the Fraternitatem.

  “Rebekah’s done?” Gibbs asked.

  “She’s forgotten anything related to me and magic.” Annie offered a half smile, mostly out of relief she no longer had to worry about the reporter, but partly sad. She couldn’
t imagine how confusing it would be for her to know something was amiss but to not know what. “Anything more about the djinn or the Fraternitatem?”

  “I’m gonna continue on the archaeologist’s journal. Maybe there’s something new in here.” Gibbs handed her a large bag. “Time to pack. We’re moving you now.”

  She sighed and packed away the notes for Tartarus Prison.

  Chapter 22

  Arden tossed and turned, leaving both her and Ariana unable to sleep. Anxious and jittery, she craved air and space, both of which Ariana withheld.

  She turned to her right side, away from her lover, feigning sleep just long enough for Ariana’s muscles to go slack and her breath to slow. Once she was sure Ariana was asleep, Arden slid out of bed and dressed in the bathroom.

  Though the apartment was packed full of boxes, artifacts, and furniture, Arden knew her way through the rooms. She had the layout memorized and was very persnickety when Ariana felt the need to straighten and remove her things.

  They’re mine! Arden would shout, and the items remained, collecting dust and cobwebs.

  Her bare feet shivered against the cold floor. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

  Switching on the single light above the kitchen sink did little to keep out the dim gray moonlight that enclosed the courtyard behind the apartment and seeped into the house. Arden shivered, feeling lonely and empty as she poured herself a cup of coffee and warmed her hands against the ceramic mug.

  Back through the living room, Arden switched on the desk lamp. It threw out dingy yellow light, illuminating the items, papers, and folders strewn across her desk. She lovingly fondled everything that belonged to her, everything she had so carefully collected and studied over the last four decades. Every pile was etched in her memory; every thought she’d ever had on the ring was here in this room.

  But her diary.

  It’s not here.

  Her heart pounded, she slumped in her desk chair and closed her eyes. Her diary, her every thought, the recollections of a lifetime—missing. She remembered the culprits, the wizard guards who came and tore apart her life. She glanced at the chair where he sat, where the girl sat. Both of them had touched her belongings. They were so mean, so accusing because she knew who they really were. Arden plunged through the piles.

  The spell is gone too!

  Those people had absconded with her things. Arden’s hands shook as she sipped her coffee. Some spilled to her pants, but she ignored the heat and wet. Instead, she studied the thick file at the top of the pile. The manila folder, forty years old, was marked with food, ink, and years of dust. It hid in plain sight, and its presence tugged at her. Opening the worn cardboard brought Arden back to the market in Morocco, a long-ago trip filled with hope and promise but ending only in despair and anger.

  The map of the market sat on top of the pile of scribbled notes. It was hand drawn by a boy who had been so eager to help. There was even a circle around the stall where Arden had naively believed she would at last be united with her ring. The memory caused a headache to form at her temples.

  So close to finally understanding.

  Shuffling through the notes, maps, names, and places, Arden found the instructions, the translation to the spell that allowed the wearer of the Ring of Solomon to end this nightmare.

  Arden’s only desire was to repossess the ring, to hold it and prove to the world she was not crazy.

  I don’t trust them. They’ll steal my ring.

  Arden touched her temples, which throbbed with the lack of sleep and too much caffeine.

  I need to find him.

  Her only focus was retrieving her ring, the one she found so many years ago. It would fix everything, even the headache that took control of her brain. She popped the pills and took a sip of her nearly cold coffee.

  “They have my ring,” Arden said to the room, which was empty except for Solly who lay asleep at her feet.

  Returning the cup to the kitchen, Arden opened a large cabinet, above her head. She pulled out a box of corn starch and shoved her hand inside, pulling out a gun and a large vial containing a purplish black liquid. She hid both items inside the large pockets of her cargo pants and sat at the table, waiting until a more respectable hour to pay a visit.

  *

  Light streamed into the sunny yet small bedroom. Rebekah rolled over and wrapped herself in her comforter, knowing that she was free for the weekend. When the sunlight hit her face her eyes fluttered open. She shielded them and for a moment turned before sinking back into her blankets.

  Images filtered through her brain, pieces of whole pictures running so fast she couldn’t place them. Any feelings, thoughts, or smells associated with them seemed to disappear before she could capture their meaning. Her head felt empty and calm. After a few minutes, her eyes opened. She sat up in her completely sunlit room, the first time in weeks that Rebekah had seen her room in full daylight.

  The weekend was her time to relax, to recharge. It meant she could take things slowly. She meandered her way through her apartment, past her large armoire in her bedroom, through her living room to her desk where her laptop lay open.

  What was I working on yesterday?

  Her foot smacked into the chair beside the sofa. She hobbled for a moment and sat down, rubbing her big toe.

  When her toe felt moderately better, Rebekah finished her stroll through the apartment into her kitchen, pouring herself a steaming mug of coffee. It was ten thirty in the morning, and she smiled at the thought of the whole day free.

  With her computer in her lap and the television on, Rebekah searched the Internet for nothing in particular, checked her Twitter and Facebook feeds, and shared and liked some interesting articles. When she’d had enough of people bragging about their perfect lives, she pulled up her browser news and realized it wasn’t actually the weekend.

  “What the hell?” She glanced up at the television, turned up the volume and searched for the weekend news. “Crap! Crap! Crap!” Rebekah shouted, realizing it wasn’t Saturday. She flew from the sofa and scrambled around the apartment, searching for her phone, thinking she last saw it in her work bag. The bag was where she left it, on the floor by the front door.

  Why is it here?

  Rebekah shoved her hand in the bag’s pockets and searched desperately for the phone. Finding it at the bottom of a pile of notebooks and other essentials, she fumbled for the power button.

  What do I have to do today? File a report!

  She read her phone and saw messages starting at four in the morning, filled her screen. Calls from her assistant, her producer, the general manager. “Fuck!” she screamed.

  What did I miss? Why can’t I remember yesterday?

  Her last thought from the prior day was putting the keys in her lock when she arrived home. From then on, nothing.

  Rebekah ran through her small apartment, searching for clues to her momentary amnesia. But the room was just as she left it, her computer was off and untouched on her desk, the furniture… the chair was out of place.

  Did I move it yesterday?

  Rebekah ran to her kitchen, noting nothing unusual or out of place. No food had been left out, no dirty dishes in the sink, the coffee maker set to go off at… 3:30 p.m.? It’s not the weekend.

  Her phone buzzed against the glass coffee table, and she sprinted back for it. Reading the screen, she saw it was her boss calling again. Her stomach roiled.

  “I’m so sorry. I think I’m sick and never heard the alarm.” Rebekah could scarcely hold back the tears. They rolled heavy down her cheeks.

  “This isn’t the first time. You’ve been distracted for months,” he yelled into the phone.

  For months? Why? I go to work. I file my reports. After Princess Amelie’s murder. all those stories I filed gave me more air time. I’ve done my job. Why can’t I remember what he’s telling me?

  “I’m so sorry…” Her voice trailed off.

  Yesterday I was assigned the story about the schoo
l budget crisis. The day before, I bought that new suit. Last week… last week I was assigned the City Hall updates. But yesterday…

  “I… I have no excuse. I don’t know what happened.”

  Her boss’s voice carried through the phone. She held it away from her ear, perfectly able to capture each word, each nuance as he let the insults fly.

  What else have I forgotten, and for how long?

  Rebekah fell into her sofa, her head falling forward as her boss continued to berate her. She wrapped herself in the blanket.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. This is the last straw. Your work has suffered. You’re fired.”

  “Yes. I understand,” Rebekah mumbled, still holding the phone long after her boss hung up.

  Chapter 23

  With a wave of Brite’s palm, a square, gray rock dematerialized, revealing another passageway, one that Annie had never seen before. They traveled through the walls, keeping their presence secret as they made their way to the forest beyond the school grounds.

  Gibbs entered first, scouting for danger.

  Overkill!

  Annie grimaced as she followed him, prying a shivering Bitherby from her leg. Shiff and Brite followed after, keeping the rear safe—a procedure Gibbs insisted on. Annie’s arguing did little to convince him otherwise.

  Flashlights lit their way through the tunnel, which hadn’t seen use in at least a decade; dust and cobwebs covered candle sconces that hung along the wall.

  Their hard-soled boots clinked against the stone, reverberating off the hard surfaces. It was the only sound as they made their way out; they were all concerned with a possible attack.

  Yeah, because whoever’s pursuing me is gonna look here.

  Beyond the beams of light, Annie heard clicking. She turned her light to the right, spying a rat the size of a dog scurrying from one hole to another. It stopped, paralyzed by the bright light. Its glowing eyes stared at Annie, and she jumped. Bitherby squawked and tightened his grip on her hand. The rat squealed and scuttled off through the hole at the base of the wall.

  “That makes you jump?” Shiff chuckled. They swerved to the left, following the curved wall.