Black Market (The Wizard Hall Chronicles Book 2)

by Sheryl Steines

  Ryan, ignoring all orders to stay home placed a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Almost done,” he whispered and squeezed lightly for support.

  The Ring of Solomon sat on her finger and twirled when she moved her hand. Annie closed her fist and held it out while waiting for the ready signal. As everyone found their position, they raised their hand in the air. When the entire team was in position, Annie pointed the ring at the center of the corral and chanted.

  “Mighty Wiccan spirits hear my cry.

  Turn them back to the other side.

  Make them whole once again,

  Bring them back to the original form.”

  The ring vibrated on her finger and sent its magic to the crystal that glowed a bright, white light. It shimmered in the dimly lit tent; a white light flew from the stone and sped around the perimeter of the corral, searching for the matching crystals.

  Each crystal accepted the magic and smoldered in the same beautiful white light; the magic jumped from the crystals in all of the team members’ hands and joined together at the center of the corral where a crystal had been laid. White, shimmering light blanketed the animals in magical light.

  Growing up in magic and raised by a wizard guard, Annie had seen a lot. And yet, some spells still left her in awe, this being one of them. The transformation was immediate. As the creatures were covered in the spell, the animals shimmered and vibrated, and their features changed. Fur retracted, hair grew, snouts flattened and became human noses, ears sprouted on the side of heads, legs grew, and arms waved. Some bodies shrank, and others grew taller.

  A mist shimmered, swirled, and undulated above them; the magic attached to each shapeshifter, their bodies reverting to their original form.

  As they returned to their human bodies, it was as if they all woke from a long nap. Confusion appeared across their faces. Some spoke in hushed tones, and others backed away, confused as to why they were trapped with hundreds of others.

  “People. People!” Milo shouted as he stood on a chair. A confused din of voices looked awkwardly at the man above them. Slowly, they hushed until silence filled the paddock.

  “I don’t know how much you know about what happened to you in the last three weeks, but we will help you sort it out. You’ve been trapped in your shapeshifter body, unable to escape the black market.”

  Angry and scared voices reacted with shouts and screams. One man fainted. Medical staff rushed in to examine him as he lay in a pile of straw. After the staff had removed the sick man to a medical tent, Milo began again.

  “People. I know this is confusing, but we have several wizard guard units from across the world. They are outside. Find your country of origin, and they will lead you to the hospital and help you get home. If you have questions, please ask the guards.” Milo finished his and watched as they were slowly led out of the paddock and into the chilly air.

  Chapter 35

  “So are we all set?” Milo asked Graham. The department managers strolled along the remnants of the market. Though they said they were verifying the location of every crystal needed to vaporize the market, they were really just strolling and reminiscing before it was completely gone.

  “We’re using our own spell and not the one from the Fraternitatem. Just to be safe.” Graham knelt down and repositioned one of the crystals, laying it on the former path.

  “Benaiah and the archaeologist got what they wanted.” Milo surveyed the former black market. Completely empty now, it looked like an isolated desert.

  “Too late to worry about it now.” Graham stood and followed Milo’s gaze throughout the wasteland. “Are you staying?”

  Milo smiled. “Yeah. I should be happy, but I have a sense of dread I can’t quite explain. I’m staying.”

  With all the rocks in position the rest of the wizards headed out through the Patagonia portal, the final portal in Busse Woods along with the rest of the two hundred portals that once graced the world but had just been destroyed.

  “Ready to go,” Graham said to the team. Allen and Sky from the VAU, Spencer, Gibbs and Emerson from the Wizard Guard. Each crossed the threshold of the portal for the last time.

  The entrance was weak and dying; it lacked the requisite lightning and swirling whirlpool of air. Instead, all it managed was a light whistle of air that grazed Milo’s hand as he stepped through. Five wizards stood in the cold desert of Patagonia while Gibbs stood with one foot inside the market and one foot in the nonmagical desert. With his palms facing the large crystal at the center of the former market, he silently chanted the spell.

  The magic left his hand and traveled the distance, hitting the larger stone. Light dashed around the market, finding each of the carefully laid crystals. A burst of light, created by the magical energy, flashed. As Gibbs took his foot from the portal, the market vaporized, and the last portal to the market was gone.

  Chapter 36

  Gym shoes squeaked against the spotless linoleum in the quiet hospital wing.

  Annie, unfamiliar with this wing since it was known to care for patients with a variety of nonmagical issues, read each door plaque for names and injury or illness. To Annie they had all seemed so benign.

  Lucky for them!

  Had Archibald Mortimer required care from a wayward black magical spell or bad potion, she would have known where he was. That had been her specialty when she was assigned to work at the hospital.

  Not seeing his name on any door, she stopped at the nurse’s station. As it was a slow day on this floor, they were watching the Witch Cable Network.

  A young nurse glanced up and offered a smile. “How can I help you?”

  “Archibald Mortimer’s room?”

  The nurse grimaced sharply.

  He must be a pain in the ass.

  The nurse offered nothing more except, “Room 19, down there to the right.”

  Before Annie could thank her, the nurse returned to the television show, a program Annie didn’t recognize.

  At Room 19, on the right, she spied Archibald Mortimer’s name scrawled on the door, with “assault and battery” written below. She didn’t like the man, but seeing his ailment, his reason for being here made her cringe. She owed him more than thanks for enduring what he did as he tried not to reveal her name.

  There was no answer when she knocked on the door; Annie hesitated before entering.

  The shopkeeper lay sleeping. Though his burns were healed, his cuts and contusions were still a dark purplish red, covering his face and jaw. Some injuries, even with magic, took longer to heal. She held her breath and walked to the bed.

  Annie summoned the sad-looking bunch of flowers she had purchased in the gift shop. The flowers were the only color in this depressingly beige room. She wrote a quick note to go with them on the off chance Mortimer would care and left them on the table beside his bed. She was perfectly content to leave it for him rather than make small talk with the odious man.

  “Whaddaya want?” he whispered as she turned to leave.

  He was small and frail in the large bed, and he didn’t resemble himself. His watery blue eyes were paler than normal as if some life had been removed from them.

  I think he’s crying?

  “I wanted to say thank you.”

  Mortimer closed his eyes and did his best to reposition himself, sitting higher against the hospital bed. He groaned in pain. “Why?” he finally asked.

  “You don’t like me and could’ve told Gladden who I was right away, saving yourself the trouble. But you didn’t. So thank you for trying for a little to protect me.”

  Opening his eyes, Mortimer tried to glare, but exhaustion had the best of him. His lids remained heavy, nearly shut. He offered a weak smile. “Won’t be doin’ it again,” he said and coughed; the visit was much too exhausting.

  Annie poured a glass of water from the pitcher near his bed, helping him take a sip. “I don’t expect you to. Just get better.”

  “The Fraternitatem,” he mumbled.

  “We’re look
ing for them.”

  As she helped him back down, resting him against cracker-thin pillows, she waved her hand, plumping up the pillow.

  Not sure that helped.

  His speech was slurred as he tried to tell her something. Before she could ask what he said, he was asleep with a smile on his face.

  *

  Gibbs and Spencer laid a ten-by-ten-foot piece of wood in the center of the Wizard Hall courtyard. Gibbs secured it in the grass with iron spikes before getting on all fours and drawing out a circle with red paint. When he finished and the first layer of paint dried, Spencer followed by painting a simple five-pointed star, creating a pentagram at the center of the plywood.

  Trapping a demon wasn’t difficult and only required a few simple items that prevented a summoned demon from leaving.

  Annie and Cham, still injured and convalescing, helped as best they could, setting candles around the circle and lighting them. A warm light encircled the demon trap.

  “What a waste,” Annie grumbled as she lit the last candle.

  “Blame the Wizard Council for making us trap him instead of killing him,” Spencer said. The entire department was disgusted by the council’s decision. He stood with his arms crossed against his chest. “What’s next?” he asked as Mrs. Cuttlebrink ran to their project, bringing with her the last ingredient: several boxes of simple table salt.

  “You sure this is what we need to do?” Spencer asked.

  Mrs. Cuttlebrink smiled. “Yes, Spencer dear. It’s as simple as this,” she said. “I’ll be happy to show you in the book.”

  “Not necessary.” Even in the dim candlelight they could see he was embarrassed; his cheeks were red. Mrs. Cuttlebrink smiled lightly as she, Gibbs, and Spencer poured the salt in a circle around the trap.

  “Why didn’t we know this before? I’d keep a box with me at all times,” Spencer said.

  Ignoring him, Mrs. Cuttlebrink returned to a tattered sheet of paper and looked back up assessing the scene before reviewing the instructions again.

  “Can you move the altar please? Just over there.” The librarian pointed to the center of the west side of the plywood. The heavy stone was four feet tall with a smooth square top. It levitated in the air and was positioned into place by Gibbs.

  Annie, as per the instructions, placed a silver bowl on the stone altar and emptied a bag of items.

  “Are we ready?” Milo asked. He paced along the east end, impatiently observing the work.

  “Almost,” Annie announced across from him. She grabbed the urn and placed it just inside the circle, leaving the lid off. “This should hold him.”

  “We’re good to go,” Cham advised. Still pale and weak, he wasn’t supposed to join them, but he had insisted, wanting to see this case to rest. He sat outside the circle while Spencer and Gibbs cleaned wayward, unneeded items from the center of the trap.

  “Damn Wizard Council. We should be burning the djinn’s ass,” Milo grunted. As always, Annie refrained from rolling her eyes and returned to the altar, laying the variety of herbs into the bowl and the crystals at each of the corners of the altar.

  “They can change their minds at a later date,” Shiff reminded them. The rest of the team, for no other reason than finishing the case, began teleporting into the courtyard, watching the preparation.

  No one believes they’ll change their mind.

  “Just trap him uncomfortably,” Milo groused. Gibbs, Spencer, and Cham took a side of the wood base, their palms faced inward protectively. Per Bitherby, Annie dropped a piece of paper into the bowl, the name Ezekiel scrawled at the center; she lit the contents of the bowl on fire. It sparked and crackled as the fire grew; flames danced in the light breeze, and the smoke billowed into the air.

  The genie, an egotistical, self-centered creature, responded to the summoning with quickness and agility, always helpful and willing to grant wishes. And with that, he would collect his price.

  Ezekiel responded to the summoning in dramatic fashion with a gust of wind blowing through the courtyard, surrounding them before he materialized at the center of the trap, like Bitherby told them he would. The djinn shimmered in with a large grin on his face, as if he had just scored.

  “You summoned me. How can I make all of your dreams come true?” Ezekiel bowed with eyes closed and didn’t notice where he landed.

  When he rose, his smile was snarky, confident.

  Annie said, “Look down.”

  With a creepy smirk, he glanced at his feet. Suddenly his eyes changed and grew much more fearful. He twirled at the center of the trap and, for the first time, he saw was surrounded by the Wizard Guard.

  “What the hell is this?” Ezekiel demanded.

  Annie picked up the large urn and held it for him to see. His eyes bugged out of his long, thin face, like a cartoon character, a joke, and a nuisance. “Come on now. What did I ever do to you? Come on,” he said with wide arms and a phony smile, as if he could charm the Wizard Guard. He backed away from Annie, but the edge of the trap was magically charged, so he was unable to cross the perimeter of the circle.

  “We’re the Wizard Guard, asshole,” she spat.

  Ezekiel recognized what that meant and became a trapped animal, twirling in the small space searching for a way out. His tricky magic was useless as long as he was in the trap.

  Angry, he growled, his eyes darkened, his lip curled. She could feel his anger vibrate off of him.

  “Djinn redi ad hydriam,” Annie chanted. The spell seemed far too easy, so simple that it made her chuckle at first.

  Djinn, return to the jar.

  The djinn, bound by the ancient magic, had no choice but to honor the magic spell. He shook and sputtered as his body shimmered into a mist-like substance that was sucked into the urn.

  I’m now his master!

  He rematerialized inside the container, a tiny version of himself only two inches tall. His shouts echoed inside the clay urn.

  “You bitch!” a high-pitched, tiny voice screeched at her; his small hands balled tightly as he shook his fists in rage. “I’m going to get you for this!”

  “Not likely. Look at the floor,” Annie suggested. The floor of the vessel had been painted with the same trap; the outside contained variations of the pentagram. The urn would subdue the genie well until Annie set him free. She placed the lid firmly on the urn, running her palm along the crack between the jar and lid, and sealing the djinn inside.

  “Fraternitatem, then?” Gibbs asked.

  Chapter 37

  Annie stood at the window of Ryan’s office and overlooked the Chicago River. It was dark green and stagnant as it wound through the city.

  I’d rather be there than here.

  “And the djinn,” a voice belonging to a man named Arthur Diaz crackled into the speaker phone. He was one of the seven members of the Executive Wizard Council, the highest rank in the wizard government other than the Grand Marksman.

  “He’s currently locked in my storage cubicle on the fifth floor,” Annie said. She glanced at Ryan and rolled her eyes. He shrugged.

  “We think he’s better off in the records chambers. The security is better,” Arthur replied.

  “Listen, Arthur. This is Annie’s case and she is technically the djinn’s master. I say for now we leave it where it is. It’s actually safer in the Wizard Guard department,” Ryan advised. Though he was the Grand Marksman, he always had a soft place for the Wizard Guard.

  Annie sighed.

  “You’re still much too attached to that department, Ryan,” Arthur joked.

  “Be that as it may, this issue is closed,” Ryan said with finality, another disagreement between the Grand Marksman and the Executive Council squashed.

  “Fine and good. We need to discuss the Fraternitatem of Solomon then,” Arthur said. Six additional voices spoke in agreement, moving the meeting along.

  “We have discussed this on several occasions this week. We feel that the Fraternitatem of Solomon, because of the nature of their group,
should police their members as they see fit. Give them back the ring and drop the case.”

  Annie looked at Milo and grimaced. He hoisted himself from his chair moving closer to the speaker phone. “That’s an injustice to the victim,” Milo bellowed.

  “They are a secret society. These organizations have their own goals and ways of handling miscreants. We will not go against them.” Arthur spoke with finality.

  Annie and Milo looked to Ryan who held his hand upwards, cautioning them to stop.

  “Arthur, I realize that this is the direction you wish to go with this, but this group is dangerous. They kidnapped a nonmagical, killed one of their own over this ring, and you know as well as I do that they most likely ordered the hit on a fellow wizard guard. According to what Annie has already found in Jason’s notes, he knew them. We can’t just let this go.” Ryan said with much agitation.

  “We are not purposely tying your hands, Annie and Milo. We realize that they should be punished, but who are we to interfere with this group? They are dangerous, and it could lead to a worldwide wizard war, something none of us wish to start or participate in. Return the ring. Annie, we have every faith in you that you can ensure we will never have to deal with them again.”

  “It’s the wrong decision. I go on the record with that statement,” Annie said.

  “And we will record that. But this is our final decision. Should Ryan wish to veto that, just remember on this issue we have the full support of the Wizard Council minus the Wizard Guard members. It will be a long, drawn-out battle should you try and fight it.” Arthur Diaz was smug from behind the walls of the Council.

  He’s right. We’ll never get the votes to change his mind.

  “Fine then. I will arrange to meet the Middle East Wizard Guard. We will share information and return the ring to the Fraternitatem of Solomon. Is there anything else?” Her voice was terse and angry.