Black Market (The Wizard Hall Chronicles Book 2)

by Sheryl Steines

  “Only if they see me first.” Annie made no apologies. She would readily admit that many creatures grossed her out.

  The school was built in the 1700s. Detailed stone work and carved woodwork were the standard for the building. The doors were no exception. Most in the school were hand carved from thick, strong oak, grand and beautiful—all but the door in front of them, which was plain and slightly damp, possibly covered in mold and mildew. Annie assumed it led outside.

  Brite whipped a hand across the lock. When it clicked open, he pulled the door out.

  What the hell?

  “All that to get to the basement,” Annie grumbled. Gibbs agreed with a grunt of his own.

  They congregated in the corner as Brite waved his palm again, revealing another hidden door. Once again, it was industrial, made of metal, and serving no other purpose than a utilitarian one.

  “Damn, I wish I’d known about this when I was here,” Annie said.

  “How many did you know about?” Shiff asked.

  “We knew about five of them. They all entered fairly busy hallways. This one is cool.”

  Gibbs opened the door to the outside, beyond the school grounds in the thick trees. Waiting for them was Headmaster Turtledove, who offered a wane, tired smile. Annie glanced one hundred yards from their hiding spot. One of many teachers strolled the perimeter.

  That’s not suspicious.

  “Annie, come back if you need anything.” The headmaster hugged her, tight and secure, a little awkward. “I still say we’re just as safe.”

  “I know. I appreciate the protection; it’s just that this is the school. There are students here. If these men try anything…”

  Headmaster Turtledove kept a hand on Annie’s shoulder. His mouth was drawn with worry. “Take care of yourself. If there’s anything else, please let me know.”

  “I will. And thank you. For everything.” She pointed to Bitherby. “So, Bitherby, what do you say?”

  The small elf, still holding her hand, bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered.

  Headmaster Turtledove had prepared a separate and hidden teleportation spot for them, nestled inside several thick trees, surrounded by needleweed, and hidden under a thick layer of snow. They jumped across the submerged vines.

  Shiff teleported first; his job was to verify they were safely landing outside the prison. He sent word via crystal, a simple greenish glow. Gibbs reached around Annie’s waist, teleporting both her and Bitherby to the landing spot.

  Spells flew through the prairie; Annie met a rush of air just above her head as a jinx sliced through the air and collided with the tree behind her.

  “What the hell?” Gibbs shouted. He grabbed Bitherby and Annie’s good hand and ran from the teleportation clearing for the prison.

  Shiff sent successive jinxes into the bushes bordering the teleportation location, where a group of wizards lay in wait for Annie to arrive. He covered Annie and Gibbs as they ran for the path to the prison.

  Brite teleported into a rain of jinxes.

  “Go after Annie!” Shiff ordered his partner.

  Fog rolled over the island, blanketing them. It was as thick as pea soup. Annie was barely able to see in front of herself as jinxes and hexes were cast in her direction. A jinx made contact and singed her hair.

  “Damn it!” Letting go of Gibbs’s hand, she patted down the cinder caught in her massive curly waves. Brite broke through the fog, found Annie, and pulled on her arm. They ran.

  The prison should be in full view by now!

  “We’re being chased!” Gibbs shouted. Air popped and swished as it was cut by broomsticks. Annie couldn’t tell how many flew above them. It didn’t matter. They blindly and dangerously threw jinxes down at the ground.

  Hex holes sprung out along the lane, Annie’s foot landed awkwardly in an irregularly shaped one, and she flew forward. Brite cast a spell freezing her and keeping her from falling to the ground.

  “Come on.” Brite helped her out of the uncomfortable position and pulled her along the path.

  A gust of wind blew over them, rolling across the island and breaking up the fog. The view opened, and for the first time they got a look at their pursuers. Four men Annie had never seen before sailed through the air.

  Fraternitatem?

  Brite flung a hex; the rider tilted off, rolling to the earth. The unattended stick fell to the ground. Brite summoned the handle, jumped on, and dragged Annie across the stick.

  The hum of the protection spell vibrated against her skin and in her ears. Annie braced for impact.

  They crashed into the magical protection, Annie tumbled four feet to the ground, landing on her tender shoulder. The shattered broomstick fell around her.

  “Crap!” She rolled over. Two large hands the size of plates lifted her up, pulling her through the gate and laid her in the dead grass. Squeals and cries filled the courtyard when Gibbs tossed Bitherby to a giant who caught him midair.

  “Let go! Let go!” Bitherby shrieked and kicked short, thick legs. The giant was undeterred.

  Annie shivered, cold from the wet snow and from the wind that blew across the lake. Gibbs, Shiff, and Brite lobbed matching hexes and jinxes to their welcome party. Bodies knocked from brooms that were still racing in the air landed with heavy thuds on the hard earth. One man lay unconscious as a giant roughly yanked on his arm, dragging him through prison gates.

  Sparks flew, ash dirtied the white snow, and smoke and the stench of burning flesh wafted to Annie. She lay dizzy with pain. The world spun. Annie fell…

  *

  Weightless, she floated in the clouds. Angry voices, distant and hazy, wafted to her a million miles away from where she lay.

  Where am I?

  A groan escaped her lips. It took several minutes, maybe hours, even days before the fog lifted, before the voices grew louder and clearer with anger. The paralyzing grayness lifted, and the clouds shifted and blew away. Annie opened her eyes to the harshness of the room; it spun around her, and her stomach churned.

  When Annie shifted, the cot mattress squeaked. Voices stilled. She pulled herself up, but lightheadedness overwhelmed her so she leaned back against the cold wall.

  She had been heavily medicated. The aftertaste stuck in her cotton mouth.

  “Annie, you’re awake.” Relieved, Ryan rushed to her, even before Cham had a chance to join her on the cot. Ryan hugged her, patted her hair, and gingerly touched her shoulder.

  Though Annie knew Ryan loved her—he had cared for her since her father died—he had never coddled her.

  What the hell?

  She glanced at Cham through Ryan’s stifling hug; his jaw was tight, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He looked away.

  “Who’s gonna tell me what the fight was about?”

  They hid from the question, looking away and staring at fixed points in front of them.

  They’re fighting about me.

  Uncomfortable and lightheaded from the medication, Annie crawled under the covers to stop the nausea.

  “Annie…” but Cham couldn’t answer. Ignoring Ryan, he fluffed the flat pillow, gently placed it under her head, and pulled the blanket to her chin.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re safe now,” Ryan tried to assure Annie. She closed her eyes as if not seeing her friends would make them disappear.

  “I was safe at school,” she said through gritted teeth. “So don’t pretend it didn’t happen. What were you arguing about?” When she reopened her eyes, she glowered at them. They each squirmed under her angry stare and exchanged glances before answering her.

  “We were discussing who knew you were being moved. Why Gibbs, Shiff, and Brite failed to bring you here safely.” Ryan was angry; his glare directed at Cham was cold.

  “This isn’t their fault, and why you blame Cham makes no sense,” Annie murmured.

  “Annie, this shouldn’t have—”

  She held up her good hand. She didn’t want to hear it. “How many did they get?�
�� she asked.

  “All four. They’re in prison now. You need to rest.” Cham said. The room spun again, and closing her eyes did little to assuage the movement. She reached for Cham. His warm hand wrapped around hers.

  “Ryan, go home and tell Kathy I’m okay.” It was an order, but through her slurred speech, it held no weight.

  “No. I already called her.”

  “Then don’t interfere.”

  Cham fidgeted beside her. His leg bounced up and down on the cot and rattled the bed.

  Annie unwrapped herself from the blanket, sitting up before swinging her feet to the cold floor. Taking a breath, she stood and fought the fogginess in her head. When she felt steady, she headed to the table across the room.

  “Annie, please sit,” Ryan pleaded.

  “Please stop! Everyone, stop! This is bad. You’re fighting, and Zola’s missing! Just stop!” Feeling little stronger with each step, Annie inched her way to the table, to the uncomfortable metal chairs that squeaked as she sat. “Where is everyone?”

  “They’re nearby. But this can wait. You have a concussion,” Ryan said.

  “It can’t wait. Bring them in!” She rested her head in her hands.

  “Okay,” Ryan whispered.

  Feet shuffled, and chairs squeaked. After a few minutes, Shiff and Brite, Milo and Lial, and Spencer and Gibbs entered the room, an icy chill hanging over them.

  Did they hear the argument?

  “As far as I remember, this is my case,” Annie announced once everyone was present. “So this is the problem.”

  The assembled group waited patiently for Annie. Her pursed lips held back the vomit she thought might come up. She took a deep breath and felt their stares on her as she gathered her thoughts.

  “Annie?” Ryan asked.

  “Someone knew when I arrived at Windmere, and someone knew when I left.” Her brain filtered through her stay at Windmere. There were exactly two people who were there when she arrived, though several teachers knew they were leaving.

  The teachers wouldn’t have turned me in!

  She thought of the man who blamed her for bringing the elf to the school. Her stomach churned for no other reason than that he had called someone at the market and turned her in.

  “Annie, who knew you were at Windmere?” Milo asked. Annie knew he already knew the answer.

  “Headmaster Turtledove and the stable master, Mr. Jacobi. I saw one teacher protecting the border when we left. I suppose there were more. I have a hard time believing any of them would turn me in.”

  “Headmaster Turtledove was there both times, Annie. We’ll have to bring him in,” Shiff advised.

  Annie sighed. Only a student from another school would even suggest that! Of the group assembled, Shiff, Brite, and Lial hadn’t attended Windmere.

  “Mr. Jacobi was there too. I don’t know him,” she argued. “The headmaster didn’t do it. He wouldn’t.” Annie was argumentative; it came with the pain and discomfort, but she believed in her heart that her former headmaster wouldn’t turn her in to anyone anywhere, especially the black market. If Mortimer would take a beating before he gave her up, she had no doubt Headmaster Turtledove would too.

  “How do you know, Annie?” Lial asked.

  “Because I know him. He wouldn’t.”

  Annie rubbed her temple. A headache pounded.

  Think. Think.

  “What about Archibald Mortimer? He knows me. Do you know what else he said?” she asked. Anything but blaming the headmaster.

  “Annie, he’s unconscious. We won’t be able to ask him. The hospital will call me when he wakes,” Gibbs said.

  “You’ll have to consider the headmaster as well as the stable master,” Shiff advised again.

  Annie glared. “It’s not him!”

  Milo listened intently to the argument. When he had enough of the impasse, he pushed his chair away from the table and hoisted himself up with much difficulty. Whatever was ailing him appeared to be getting worse.

  Annie expected him to scribble on the whiteboard, but he looked off to a corner of the room as if gathering his thoughts.

  “Have we found Zola’s location?” he asked Lial.

  Lial pulled out a map of the market. “It’s changing and shrinking and growing. The aisles are moving, but this here—this is always the same. I’ve been watching all day. I think this is the dungeon, and I think we start here, if we can get back in.”

  “What do you mean, if we can get back in?” Milo accused.

  Lial and Spencer exchanged glances. “Well, the portals appear to be failing. We need to get in now,” Spencer said.

  Milo paced. Annie lay on the table and closed her eyes as if that could block it all out.

  Zola!

  Cham placed his hand on her head. All she could concentrate on was Milo’s boots that shuffled and dragged against the floor.

  “Talk to the elf about the black market. Get confirmation, find out any secret passages. Just do it. We need to find Zola before we lose the market. Shiff and Brite will go in with Lial when we know for sure how to access the dungeon. Ryan, you go home. Cham and Gibbs I assume are staying here with Annie.”

  “Uh, where’s the elf?” Spencer asked.

  Eyes darted around the room. Bitherby was nowhere to be seen. Brite and Shiff headed out to find him.

  “While they’re searching for the elf, Gibbs, what did the attackers say?” Milo asked.

  “Nothing. They won’t admit to who sent them or how they knew where Annie would be. I recognize two of them from the market. Realizing that, I’ll make the jump; Gladden sent them to finish the job.”

  Annie lifted her head from the table, and glanced at Gibbs. “Not the Fraternitatem?” she reiterated.

  “Annie, they could not have acted more surprised when I questioned them about the group,” Gibbs said. “After capturing some magic, we could tell immediately. Their magic is not as sophisticated or precise as the Fraternitatem.”

  “Humor me—does their magic match the crime scene?” she questioned.

  “We did a precursory test for the magic. It’s definitely not a match to the clearing at the portal,” he replied.

  A last-ditch effort for Gladden to save himself. I’m not surprised.

  As Annie contemplated the new information, Shiff and Brite entered the bleak, cold conference room—without Bitherby.

  “The elf is gone,” Shiff announced.

  Chapter 24

  When the humans fought, Bitherby snuck out. It had been easy to leave the small conference room; the humans were busy…

  Busy being mean.

  No one knew he had gone.

  Bitherby had spent his life in the shadows. It was how the elves survived living in the black market, and it was how he escaped. Putting his head down as he came to the security desk, he waited until the nice lady sitting there rushed to the shouting to see what was happening with the Wizard Guard. Bitherby simply pushed open the exit door and ran outside.

  The elf worked toward one goal and nothing, not the Wizard Guard, Miss Annie, or the security at the prison could force him from his mission. He jumped inside the tall grasses that bordered the lane to the teleportation area, hiding himself as he made his escape.

  A blustery wind continued to blow, and even the tall grasses couldn’t keep the wind from pushing against the small elf. Bitherby ducked his head low as he anxiously stepped into the teleportation area, where he had last witnessed an attack. While he debated his decision to leave, his eyes darted across the grasses and trees looking for trouble. He took a deep breath and hoped the wind wouldn’t whisk him away as he teleported to Busse Woods, outside the farthest, most difficult portal in the forest.

  The conditions were no better in the forest. Bitherby fought against the heavy wind as he walked onto the nearly nonexistent, overgrown path lined on either side with a thick cluster of thin young trees. The undergrowth was deep and moist with a thin layer of new snow. Bitherby ducked a low-hanging branch, avoidi
ng the sharp branches only to find himself eye level with another branch.

  At the patch of needleweed, the elf teleported and precariously landed between an evergreen and the portal with barely any room to maneuver. The cold air washed over the elf, and he shivered as the portal popped and hummed. He glanced around his location ensuring he was alone.

  The wood handle of his cursed knife was smooth in his rough hands. He twisted it, getting a good hold of it before plunging the two-inch blade into the entrance. The air spun and sparked. A torrent of wind pushed the elf into the tree behind him. Fighting mightily against the tornado, Bitherby lunged into the portal and landed face first in the silky loose dirt.

  The market seemed settled and quiet in the morning, Bitherby expected to see no one in this section and worried he would stick out. After jumping through the portal, he couldn’t have imagined the scene.

  Rancid smoke hovered over the market, still unable to escape through the protective shield. With so many merchants no longer selling their wares, there was no need to light the candle lamps that lined each side of the aisle. Bitherby no longer worried he’d be discovered.

  Bitherby had only gone from the market a few days. He glanced in the direction of the dormitories. Where they should be they weren’t, so he searched for the source of the smoke—the incinerators. Finding his trail, he headed to where he knew the dormitories must be.

  Bitherby crept behind a long-haired collie. Bothered by the elf, it stopped and sniffed him, licking the greenish skin across his nose.

  “Not now. Lead me to the incinerators,” the elf squeaked and swatted the dog’s snout. The dog growled and turned, Bitherby crouched alongside the beige-and-white dog, following the new outer path to the incinerators.

  The pair rounded a curve, coming to what had once been the center of the market. Though its location was now at the south end of the marketplace, little else about the market center had changed. Several dead trees still greeted them at the entrance, and the stage at the far end was still there, though covered in soot and ash.

  Birds chirped, and a dog barked. The wild sounds masked the footsteps heading in their direction. Thinking it was a demon—or worse, the master coming after him—Bitherby smacked the dog and ran for it.