“Where’s her boy?”
“Behind the glass.” Gibbs pointed to the mirror window behind him. “You got me. You wasted my time.” Gibbs retrieved his well-worn wooden stake, covered in the ashes of previously staked vampires. The vampire placed the scent of burnt flesh immediately and felt the pressure of the sharp point against the skin above his now-beating heart.
“What else do you want to know? I’ve told you everything already.”
Gibbs threw a wooden chair into the two-way mirror, shaking but not shattering the glass. Sturtagaard ducked below the table as splinters flew through the air. “You lied,” Gibbs grumbled and sat down across from him.
Dizziness gripped the vampire; the room twirled and flew around him, undulating and spinning; it felt as though a hand yanked him through a portal, a long way back to the first girl. Creamy mocha neck, his fangs snapping the skin, the look in her eyes as life drained from her body.
“No,” Sturtagaard whispered; fear and guilt suffocated him as hundreds of misty forms of long-dead people strolled before him, teasing him with drawn and pale faces. He closed his eyes to make them disappear, but they still haunted him.
“There’s an antidote for the poison. I may or may not give it to you,” Gibbs advised. He tossed the first vial in the air, catching it in his palm. Sturtagaard watched the vial carefully as the Wizard Guard tossed it again, catching it against his calloused skin.
“I have a deal with Annie’s boy! We shook on it!”
“Deal’s null and void if we can’t verify what you told us!” Gibbs said, his face inches from the vampire’s.
Sturtagaard backed away, his eyes no longer black with anger. They were now dark blue, his original human eyes, and they darted with fear as the room collected more shimmering ghosts of the dead.
“Funny what magic can do. You see ’em don’t you?”
Sturtagaard refrained from admitting it to the guards, but his face couldn’t hide the truth. Thousands of faces of translucent beings surrounded him, filling the room to capacity. He squirmed, terrified by each and every one of them.
I won’t give you the satisfaction.
To keep sober and alert, he blinked his eyes blinked; small children laughed and frolicked behind him. Sturtagaard turned his head.
“Go away! I told them everything!”
“I can’t make it go away. But you see, demon, there’s no Sarconis working for Rathbone. So who contacted you? Did they send mail, a flying unicorn? Describe the associate!” Gibbs strode to the vampire and smacked him on the back of his head.
“A short, fat man wearing a black suit with white stripes came to me. Clean shaven, white hair shellacked to his head when he didn’t wear a white hat. Blue eyes.” Sturtagaard had last taken a breath over a millennium ago, and yet he was breathless. The effort to remain alert exhausted him.
“And?”
“Sarconis offered me a job, gave me a third of the money up front. When half of the army is completed, I get another third, and the rest when the job is completed.” His eyelids grew heavy.
Gibbs handed him a vial. “Drink that. You get one now, another when a third of the questions are answered, and the last when I say we’re done. Sound fair?”
Sturtagaard fumbled with the vial lid, tossed it aside, and chugged the potion. His head cleared, and the dizziness lessened. The laughing children faded into a distant bad memory.
“What did Sarconis pay you to do, exactly?”
“Collect bodies.”
“You just delivered the bodies, then?”
Sturtagaard cradled his head with his good hand, the first meeting with Sarconis fresh in his memory. The short, heavy man in the white hat and black suit had proposed a plan: the creation of the largest zombie army ever created. Sturtagaard had planned on declining the position, preferring his present lifestyle. And then Sarconis showed him the enormous stacks of bills. If anything, the vampire had thought the project would be fun. His gut had told him to walk away, but it was much too good to pass up.
“Can you contact Sarconis if you need something?”
Contact. Yes. Get out of prison, see that Sarconis is real, and tail him to the employer. Yes.
“I’ve never contacted him. Sarconis shows up to a prearranged date and place. Our next meeting is August 1, unless I’ve missed it.” His mind raced—a meeting, new orders, escape. The wind in his hair, riding to New Orleans. That would be the perfect location to blend in. Sturtagaard tried not to smile, not to give his thoughts away—he tried to maintain his tortured facade but realized it was too late. Gibbs smirked and raised his arm, ready to smash the vial.
“Where are you keeping the bodies?”
“I leave them for Sarconis. I don’t know where he takes them.”
“Smart to not ask so many questions.” Gibbs tossed the second vial. “Eventually the poison will build up again. You see, as part of your agreement, we need to verify your information. So until we find Sarconis, if that’s his real name, you’re staying here. If you think of his real name, let us know.”
“And if I die before then?”
Gibbs shrugged and motioned for the giants to enter the room.
*
Twenty thick, heavy books surrounded Annie, blocking her view of the rest of the library as if she were hiding. She hunched over a copy of Magical Black Arts, reading and worrying. After a few minutes of focused reading, she opened another tome in order to cross-check a theory. Both books went into extraordinary detail about magic that could transfer power. What she read distressed her.
“The more powerful an object, the more magic it can accept and or transfer additional powers for storage.”
Rathbone stole the athame to replace the fourth orb.
Ironically, the rare and priceless ceremonial knife, won by the ancestors of the current Wizard Council, had become part of the plan to take down the same council. Annie shuddered and checked her phone. She was over an hour late to meet Cham. Groaning, she checked out the book, and ran from the library toward the prison.
*
The book frightened Jack Ramsey. He only opened it twice, and since then, it resided in the front closet on the floor, wrapped in a large bath towel until he could decide what to do with it.
Several entries spoke of delightful creatures—pixies, fairies, and unicorns—all things that reminded him of sweet girlie-girls in their pink and purple bedrooms, of his sister as a child. Other sections—what seemed like most of the tome—contained the entries that terrified him and kept him awake at night: the demons, dragons, warlocks, lists of magical creatures with varying degrees of power and multitudes of ways to kill him. The dreams woke him up at night. Cold sweat poured off of him as he remembered the glowing eyes of the forty-foot-long dragon-lizard thing called an acandid. Each night, the creature visited him. A beautiful woman, ethereal and light glided along the lakeshore, light from the low moon low gleamed over the water. Long brown hair fluttered behind her, as the summer breeze picked up. Her smile warm and open, she wiggled a finger at him, beckoning him. No longer in control, Jack entered the lake. Water swilled against his pant legs and rose to his knees, to his waist, until it completely submerged him in the cold, murky water. Unable to breathe, he felt panic siege him. The lovely woman stroked his cheek, floating beside him.
Her eyes, bright red, glowed under the water. Jack jumped and tried to scream, but the woman, now an ugly imp, kissed him. Her forked tongue slithered into his mouth and against his teeth, sucking air from his lungs. Lightheaded and bewildered, he rose and hovered above the water. Below him, the creature’s spiked snake head shimmered in the moonlight. Her lizard-like body slithered out of the water, dragging a large spiky tail behind it.
Jack woke up breathing roughly, drenched with sweat, terrified the creature would find him alone in his room.
The book breathed, a slow, steady rhythm that terrified him into believing that his dream would become reality. He wrapped the tome in a towel and threw it in the back of his c
loset. Every time he passed the closet door, his intuition advised him the book was wrong.
And I still didn’t learn anything about the orb.
He stood outside the closet and heard a humming in his ears.
*
“Where were you?” Cham never yelled at Annie. His anger was unfamiliar to her—and unwarranted, she thought. After missing him at the prison and discovering herself unable to reach him by phone, she finally found him at Wizard Hall where he waited for her in her cubicle, his anger palpable.
“I… I was in the library, researching, trying to figure out Rathbone’s plan. You know, the case!” Even to her, her defense sounded weak.
“No call, no idea where you were. I’m sorry if I worried!” His voice cracked. Shaking, he sat in one of the chairs in her cubicle.
“I’m a big girl. I don’t need you to take care of everything. I can take care of myself!” Annie shouted in defense. Her heart raced, and she bit a lip to keep from crying. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” Her mousy voice squeaked.
I didn’t listen to Milo. No one knew where I was.
Not wanting to engage in a fight, Cham took hold of her hand, and she squeezed back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to miss the interview. It was stupid and rude. Did he at least give some useful information?”
“Not really. He’s insists he’s only met with Sarconis, though.”
“I’m sure Sarconis is the one we want. Rathbone probably moved him or killed him.” Silence passed between them, unfamiliar and awkward. Annie sat beside him and leaned back in the chair. After midnight, the hall was silent, the smart employees home in their beds with their families or friends. She wanted to be there, wanted this fight to be over. I don’t like fighting with you, she thought.
“What? Is it your father?”
Annie pulled her hand away.
“I don’t understand what’s going on with you. You’ve flaked on me twice,” he said.
Annie glanced around her cubicle, her second home. She had altered the cheap, thin walls, painted them red, and covered them with pictures of herself, Cham, Dave, and Janie throughout the years. It no longer felt safe and homey.
“I’m sorry. This is first time I ever flaked out. Can’t you cut me some slack?”
After rubbing his stubble-filled chin for a moment, he said, “It’s okay if it’s your dad. Rathbone killed him. I don’t blame you for feeling overwhelmed or even scared.”
“I’m not overwhelmed or scared.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why I’m making you so angry. I don’t know why I’m screwing up and pissing you off. I just am. For the first time ever, I made a damn mistake!”
Like an insolent child, Annie crossed her arms against her chest and pouted her lips. Having to defend herself felt unfair. I’m an adult, she thought angrily. Her face tightened, long lines creased across her forehead, and tension locked her jaw. But I’m acting like a brat.
“Pull yourself together. We have to catch Rathbone, and I need you on this. It’s your case, not mine. I’m just the figurehead.”
His voice sounded softer, smoother, as if he had forgiven her so quickly. Annie smiled, eager to be done with the argument. I need to tell him. We’ve been best friends since we were eleven. I can’t keep this from him. He stared at her, his eyes holding his pain. Clearly he didn’t like this either.
“I think Rathbone stole the athame,” she said finally.
“Uh, what makes you think that?”
Annie held open the book of ancient spells and curses. Cham read silently, absorbing the secrets to making the athame’s magic control the orbs. His feet and hands tapped nervously.
“Where did you get this?”
“The library.”
“I mean, how did you know about this?” Rather than feeling Cham’s excitement over the new information, Annie sensed his anger, his disbelief.
“Rathbone purchased the same book at the Snake Head Letters. I wanted to know why. Now I know.”
“You lied to me. You’ve been chasing Rathbone!”
“I followed a lead and came across this information. He’s going to use the athame as the fourth orb to try to create the army. You should be happy we know this!”
“You came late to the meeting. Was this why you missed the interrogation?” Cham shook with anger.
“Why does it matter?”
“You lied.” He slammed the book shut and threw it on her desk before storming out of her cubicle.
Paralyzed by his rage, Annie felt no desire to move, to see anyone, to talk to her friends or Ryan. No one else but her best friend could erase the pain and make it better, and if the argument hadn’t been with him, he would be the one Annie would call to make it better. Her mind raced through the short argument over and over again as if running on a loop, changing the outcome each time. The ache in her belly spread.
Only time-sensitive issues kept someone working in the Hall so late at night, an occurrence for Annie several times over the last five years. The silence normally calmed her and focused her attention on the problem. Tonight, alone in her cubicle, she felt prisoner to her anxiety. She opened books and closed them again, moved precious items and knickknacks, wiped a layer of dust, and replaced them.
“Miss Annie.” The creature standing at her cubicle door stood all of four feet tall, an elf who must be a staff member at Wizard Hall.
“Hi. I’m sorry. Working late,” Annie advised the elf. He wore the standard work uniform—overalls and a clean blue shirt— and held a dust rag in his hands.
“Cleaning is my job. I can finish for you.”
“Maybe later. Just trying to work through a problem.”
“All right, miss,” the elf said with a slight bow of the head. His feet light against the carpet, he scurried around the room as he cleaned other cubicles in the department.
The interruption did little to focus her. Still scattered and unable to concentrate on any single task, Annie picked up the picture of her and Cham with their friends but quickly put it back; it offered little comfort. Exhausted, she fell into her chair and cried. When the tears dried up, Annie rested her head on the side of her chair and fell into a restless sleep.
Magic came to the world with the birth of the first magical childin a mystical clearing of land around 3500 BCE. To this day, that clearing was considered holy land for all magicals born thereafter, both good and evil. Over a millennium later, a battle was fought on the sacred land with devastating consequences.
A portal between Earth and other realms opened, giving vampires, werewolves, and other demons access to Earth. Myths told of a time when the sun did not come out and the beasts freely roamed the planet.
Centuries later, a brave witch fought a second battle on the sacred land, closing the portal forever. The battle, which took place on the first of September, became known as the Day of First Sun. Once the threshold closed, the sun emerged again, but it was too late. The Earth was overrun with supernatural evil.
Annie’s eyes fluttered open. The smell of cleaner filled her nostrils; the elf must have cleaned her cubicle. How long was I asleep?
It was eerily quiet. Annie turned and saw Cham waiting at the cubicle opening. “Can I come in?”
She nodded and closed her red eyes; uncontrolled, the tears fell. Cham’s tender fingers wiped them away as several trickled down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Annie shook her head; she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes and looked at a spot above his head. The roof must have leaked; there was a large brown spot on the ceiling.
“I’ve never yelled at my best friend before,” Cham said.
“She must have really pissed you off for you to do that.”
Like a movie, Annie remembered every adventure, all the times she had dragged him into something, gotten him thrown into detention. Cham had never gotten angry with her, always accepted his punishment, and joined her on the next trouble-i
nducing incident. But then, Annie had never lied to him before.
“I’m sorry I lied.”
“Can we not do this anymore? Pretend it never happened. I can fight with anyone else, but not you.”
He kissed the top of her hand, then kissed her palm. Her hands were still wet from wiping away tears.
“Do… can you forgive… forgive me?” Annie’s tears fell again as he held her face in her palms. His light brown eyes, still worried and sad, looked into her dark, chocolate-brown eyes as if looking into and touching her soul. Only Cham knew her so well.
“I always do.”
“Have I been that horrible to you?”
“Annie.” He pulled her close, holding her until her body stopped quivering.
Chapter 23
Annie and Cham no longer fought, but a lingering sense that he hadn’t completely forgiven her weighed in her chest, heavy and sad. They remained in an enveloping, almost suffocating silence in her cubicle while he read through the book. It was tied to her lie, to their fight, and as he read the passages, his fingers tapped anxiously against the spine.
The ringing desk phone saved her; it broke the stillness, and reverberated through the cubicle. Annie’s heart raced.
“Crap. Who’s calling so late?” she whispered, though they were alone in the Hall. She answered on speaker phone. “Annie Pearce speaking.”
“Oh hi, Annie. It’s Jack.”
Jack’s apparent confusion amused her. “Jack, hi. How are you?” Beside her, Cham unsuccessfully hid a scowl. His eyes furrowed while staring at the phone’s speaker. “Why are you calling so late?”
“Why are you there so late?”
“Fair enough. What’s up?”
Jack paced, his footsteps obvious through the phone. “I have a favor to ask. Well, I made a mistake, and I’m hoping you could help me fix it.” He paused.
“It all depends on the mistake you made.” Annie smiled as if Jack were sitting across from her; her voice was soft and flirty. Cham squirmed in his chair.
“I… I found this store called the Snake Head Letters. You heard of it?”
Annie and Cham exchanged alarmed glances. Mortimer should have known better than to allow a nonmagical into a store filled with black magic, potions, books, and cursed objects.
The Day of First Sun (Annie Loves Cham Book 1) Page 24