The map lit quickly, just where they expected to find the vampire.
“He’s staying close to home,” Annie commented.
“He wants to be found. And to do that, we need to go… that way.” Spencer pointed toward the curve in the narrow street. They slung backpacks across their shoulders and stepped onto the sidewalk, cautiously strolling beside the buildings
Crossing the street, they turned left onto Rue Marcadet—as it turned out, another nearly empty street. “It should be up a short distance.” Spencer said.
The road wound through the district, past run-down buildings. Absently, Annie moved closer to Spencer and hitched the bag up on her shoulder.
“How’s Melinda?” Annie asked casually. Several blocks over, cars roared, and animated voices were alive with energy. Here, the only sound was their boots clicking against the sidewalk in a rhythmic pounding. The backpack slipped down her shoulder and rested in the crook of her arm.
“She’s good. Get any sleep?” Spencer readjusted the straps on Annie’s bag to ease the tension on her injured shoulder.
“Not enough, but I did sleep. She feeling okay with the pregnancy?” Annie asked. She switched the bag to her other shoulder.
“If the bag’s too much, let me take it. You’re still on comp time,” he offered. She acquiesced easily and handed him her bag.
“I should just shrink it,” she said as she stretched out her shoulder.
“We’re tourists. We’re supposed to be hiking through France,” he reminded her, though she was sure he would much prefer to not be carrying any bags at all. “Cham okay?” Spencer asked as he strolled on Annie’s left, nearest the road.
“He’s tired but healing,” she replied.
“It won’t be much longer,” Spencer said. “Ever been to France?”
An icy breeze swept over them as they crossed the final road where they hoped to find Sturtagaard. The thought of seeing the vampire again made Annie shudder. She always felt the need to be at her best when she came up against him. Her exhaustion and her mood made her feel less than her normal strength.
“Nope. Not for work or personal,” she replied.
“It’s romantic. You should come back when you’re not on comp time,” he joked.
“Yeah, my first time in Paris and I’m with you. Lucky me,” Annie quipped.
Spencer counted down the building numbers as they passed. “One more,” he said as they stepped beside a small shop.
The unassuming building appeared empty. Annie peered into the grime-covered window, through a small gap between two sheets of newsprint that covered the window.
Candles were scattered across the mostly bare room, creating a ring of dim light. At the center, she saw a hard metal chair with a form sitting on it.
Sturtagaard.
Her heart pounded. Annie had last seen the vampire after Rathbone’s arrest, two months after Amelie died. Annie had been free from the receiving end of his tricks and torment. Like no other demon she fought, Sturtagaard unnerved her: the way he’d sniff the air and know what she had been doing or who she was with. His digs to the heart of the matter so easily pushed her buttons.
Why does he get to me?
She seethed at the sight of the vampire, who appeared unaffected by the mess that had befallen them.
“Ready to get that bastard?” Spencer whispered as he stuffed the map back in his pack.
“He knows my scent. He knows I’m here,” Annie warned as she glared at the vampire. Could he feel her fury through the window? If he could, would it have some effect on him?
“Not to mention, he sent the article to you. He’s expecting you,” Spencer reminded her.
Sturtagaard expects me to jump when he calls.
Irritated, Annie reached for the door handle, loosely twirling it in her grasp. The bell jingled when she opened the door; she cringed at the sound as it announced their entrance.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the vampire said without turning around.
*
“Where is she?” Annie retorted. She sucked in a deep breath and grimaced at the stench that filled the room.
Sturtagaard unfurled himself from the chair. Annie gasped; she couldn’t hide her surprise at the sight of the tall, lanky creature standing against the thin metal chair for support. He normal appearance was one of pale sickness, but in the dim light, the deep shadows accentuated his pursed lips and forehead. Even sneering his famous sneer, he looked nothing like the menacing vampire he once was. He looked like he hovered near death. Without showing off his fangs, his sneer looked humorous rather than intimidating. Annie bit her cheek to keep from laughing.
“What the hell,” Annie whispered to Spencer who chose not to hide his grin.
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Spencer admitted loudly, with the intention of pissing the vampire off. Had the vampire been at full strength he would have lunged for the wizard guard, but instead he grasped the chair more tightly.
“That smell is…” Annie viewed the vampire cautiously, her eyes finding the stump where there once was a hand. It glistened in the light; a festering, oozing mass of green and yellow puss. Annie grimaced at his mangled arm, which had been destroyed when Sturtagaard attempted to escape the unescapable Tartarus Prison. The window of his cell had been made of something other than glass: a magical concoction known as acidiac, a hazy, glimmering substance of acid and magic mixture. So mesmerized by the mixture, Sturtagaard had reached out and touched it. It had burned away all flesh and bone that made contact with the window.
“Your hand,” Annie whispered.
“What, this? This is nothing,” Sturtagaard sneered.
“We can fix that.” Annie offered.
Steadying himself in an act of defiance—or he was having a temper tantrum? —he kicked over the metal chair. It bounced, kicking up dirt from the cement floor.
He stumbled and swayed from vertigo, making his way to a makeshift kitchen. With his good hand, he threw open a small refrigerator that contained several pouches of blood.
With matching frowns, Annie and Spencer couldn’t look away when Sturtagaard bit off the corner of the pouch and drank the blood in one swig.
When the vampire finished, he tossed the plastic bag in a garbage can and wiped away any remainder of blood with his lips, licking every last drop from his fingers.
“You done?” Annie asked, an irritated scowl on her face. After all this time, watching a vampire feed still made her queasy.
“I can no longer kill, thanks to you.” He held up his hand. Between the stench and the look of it, Annie could see why no one would come near him.
“Really. We forced you to touch the window,” Annie quipped.
Sturtagaard, invigorated by the nourishment, ignored his guests and strode across the floor standing against the window, peering out at the empty street.
“Where’s Amelie?” Spencer’s voice dripped with impatience.
“I’ll let you know the brat’s still alive. I’m not the girl’s keeper.”
Annie summoned a thick, sturdy ash stake from the field pack she always carried with her. The point was so sharp it could easily penetrate through a human breast bone. As she flipped the stake, it landed against her palm with a loud crack. As he always did, Sturtagaard flinched.
Don’t mess with me.
“Do it. Stake me out of my misery.” Sturtagaard beckoned.
“Stop being such a baby. Let me see the arm,” Annie said.
Like a petulant teenager, he crossed the arm under the other and refused to let her examine the oozing discharge.
“Really, jackass. We can make it better,” Spencer bellowed. He picked up the discarded metal chair and sat himself down, scowling.
Reluctantly, Sturtagaard held out his arm for her but baulked at her touch.
“Is that the boy I smell?” he quipped.
“Oh, grow up.” Annie forcibly pulled his arm toward her. The wound was so devastating, so disgusting, she blanched at the odor
and the sight of it. Holding her breath, she summoned her flashlight and examined the infected stump.
Just plain gross.
The acidiac window had eaten away his hand leaving behind a ragged edge of exposed bone, muscle and sinew. Blackened skin and pus covered the muscles and tissue, dried blood scabbed over the edge of his wrist.
It shouldn’t be infected or bleeding; he’s dead!
“As a vampire, your body is… well, essentially you’re dead. But this, the muscles, the skin, the arteries and veins, they’re all responding as if they’re alive,” Annie explained. Unable to hide his curiosity, Spencer joined them and glanced at the injured arm from over her shoulder.
“Did you take the last of the antidote?” Spencer asked and handed Annie a bottle of holy water.
“Yes. Yes, you moron! I took the last of the potion!” Sturtagaard’s face grew red with heat, another symptom that shouldn’t happen to a vampire in a dead man’s body. In return, Spencer cast a jinx at the vampire.
“Whatever you think you’re gonna get, forget it!” Spencer shouted.
“Why’d you bring him? I wanted to speak to you alone,” Sturtagaard said.
Annie glared at Spencer, pouty and angry as he leaned against the door. Sturtagaard, responded like a four-year-old brat. She rolled her eyes.
“Grow the hell up, both of you. Spencer if you want to go, go! And as for you vampire, why the hell did you send that article? What the hell do you want?”
“I thought you should know the brat was still alive. I believe I explained that to you already.”
“Yeah, you said that. But you don’t do anything without getting something in return,” Spencer jeered.
“Well, this time that’s all I wanted,” Sturtagaard huffed. “Fix this and I’ll tell you where she is.”
Annie grabbed his arm, squeezed his forearm. He squirmed at her touch. “This is gonna hurt like hell, but it will cauterize the injury and heal it. For some reason, your flesh is alive.”
Sturtagaard flinched as he attempted to remove his arm from her grip but appeared to think better of it. As Annie sprinkled the holy water on the wound, the vampire’s flesh hissed and smoked. He extended his fangs in anger.
Annie continued to pour the liquid across the torn flesh; it continued to bubble, burn, and smolder. Sturtagaard groaned and bent forward as if he would faint. Annie pulled on his arm to examine her work. As expected, the holy water had cleaned away the pus and blood, revealing an exposed stump at the end of his arm.
Annie said, “See, all better.”
Sturtagaard looked at his missing hand; blood had stopped, the smell disappeared, and yet it was still an unappetizing eyesore.
“Won’t help much,” he chided.
“Patience, asshole.” She summoned a bottle of water, poured out the entire contents, and floated it above her palm. It twirled in gentle waves as she warmed the water. When it was ready, she drifted it to his stump and encompassed the open wound. The magic slowly healed the stump. The flesh grew healthier and stronger, enclosing the visible bone, and covering the muscles and tendons. His skin grew and covered the wrist until all that remained was a bumpy end on his arm.
He stared at his new stump; it no longer smelled, it no longer oozed, it no longer hurt.
“Why’d you do that?” the vampire asked.
“Yeah, why, Annie?” Spencer muttered.
“I know it wasn’t to help me hunt.” Sturtagaard moved his arm around, jabbed it in the air as if he were throwing a punch.
Annie held the pointed end of the stake above his heart with enough pressure for the vampire to feel the pinch against his skin. Sturtagaard flinched.
“So where’s Amelie?” Annie asked. Should she slip and puncture the chest cavity, he’d burst into flame and disintegrate into a pile of ash.
And what harm would that be?
“She’s north of here in a small town called Dinan.”
Annie pushed a little deeper, which seemed to unnerve Sturtagaard. “I’m not lying, girl. I saw her, and I thought you’d like to know the brat was back.”
Sturtagaard had been a vampire for over thirteen hundred years, not because he was a good, law-abiding demon but because he was smart, resourceful, and would play either side of the law to his benefit.
He wants something.
As part of the Wizard Guard training, all trainees studied Sturtagaard because he was tricky, a liar, and had on several occasions helped or hindered the Wizard Guard and the Wizard Council on cases.
“So I’ll ask again, what do you want?” Spencer said.
“Next time bring the other boy,” Sturtagaard spat.
The stake pinched the vampire. He attempted to turn away from the point that was nearly piercing his skin. Annie sensed his discomfort and knew he was feeling pressure that burned against his skin.
“What do you want?” Annie may have asked again, but she knew what he wanted.
He wants to come home.
“I want permission to go back to the U.S.”
Annie glanced at Spencer, who shrugged and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah. We figured. So why?” Annie asked. She released the pressure on the stake, though it hung close to his chest. “And don’t lie. We’re not in the mood.”
The vampire stared at Spencer. Annie thought he might be debating how much to tell without giving away his whole plan.
“I wish to return to the US. I have business dealings I would like to attend to.”
“Really. Building another zombie army?” Spencer asked incredulously. “We’re watching you.”
“Have I told you, I like your other boy better,” the vampire said to Annie.
Annie balled her hand into a fist and walloped Sturtagaard across the mouth. The vampire, unprepared for the hard punch, flew backwards, stumbled into the nearest shelving unit, and toppled to the ground. With his fangs extended, he let out a low growl.
“What the hell, bitch?” he roared.
“What business dealings?” Annie asked as she shook out her hand, which vibrated from the hit to his hard jaw.
Damn that felt good!
“The market’s gone, no thanks to you.”
“And?” Spencer asked.
“The seedy underbelly you like to keep such careful tabs on is scrambling to preserve relationships, to…” he stopped and smirked. “Or should I say, the one that you didn’t watch so carefully.”
“Fine. Stay here and lose out on whatever deals you’ve got in pipeline. Why should I care?” But since the collapse of the Black Market, it was becoming apparent to all Wizard Guard units across the world that they would be fighting crime differently. They would have to seek out smaller, better-hidden markets across the world, most of which they had no way of finding.
He could be useful yet.
“I need back in!” Sturtagaard demanded.
“Fine. You want back in. So why should we trust you? How do you know she’s in this town in Northern France? You tracking her?” Annie asked. She leaned against the countertop and glowered.
“Yes. I saw her in Dinan. I thought it prudent you know she was alive and where you could find her. So having said that, let the Wizard Guard know that I’ll be returning as soon as I find a boat that will take me over,” he said confidently.
“Fine. You can come home after you help us retrieve Amelie AND kill her. When that’s done, we will take you to the states,” Annie said.
Both Sturtagaard and Spencer raised their eyebrows in confusion.
“Huh. Annie?” Spencer wiggled his finger, motioning her to join him away from Sturtagaard.
“You know he can hear us whispering, right?” Annie smirked.
“What the hell are you thinking?”
“Simple. I got the letter a day after the market was eviscerated. When he sent the letter, the market was still functioning.”
Spencer glanced at Sturtagaard and back to Annie. “Sorry I doubted you.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to be aroun
d him any more than you do, but he has a point. The market’s gone. We don’t know where the next one will spring up. Let him think we have a deal. We have our motives, he has his. We can watch each other.”
“Fine. Fine. This gets better and better,” Spencer grumbled.
“Yeah, but you know I’m right.” Annie smiled and tilted her head toward the vampire. “You have restraints?”
Spencer sighed. “Fine.” He strode to the metal chair, tossed it to Sturtagaard. “Sit,” he ordered and waited for the vampire to oblige.
“What?” His eyes widened as Spencer knelt beside him. He summoned several black bands with a square at the center. “What’s that?” the vampire asked.
“Just something to keep you out of trouble,” Spencer said as he placed the first band around Sturtagaard’s thin ankle. Spencer waved a palm across the black box, and secured it with a sticking spell.
Spencer and Annie placed the additional bands around their own ankles and snapping them in place. Once set, Sturtagaard’s band began to blink and whistle.
“See, you deviate more than 10 feet from us or kill us, not only will you not be able to remove the bracelets, but yours…” Spencer snickered loudly. “Your bracelet will release the acidiac poison into your system.”
“That’s not funny,” Sturtagaard whispered. Whatever color the vampire had suddenly drained from his face.
“So she’s really in Dinan?” Annie verified.
“Yes,” Sturtagaard replied.
“Great.” Spencer said before hitting the vampire with a jinx. All six feet of the vampire went limp and slipped from the chair to the ground.
“I already like him better,” Annie said as she pulled out the lining from Amelie’s coffin. With it she began to scry for the princess.
“He’s not lying.” She glanced at Sturtagaard splayed across the dirty floor, his tongue hanging from his mouth.
“We could have just scried for her and gone there instead, you know,” Spencer quipped.
“What, and miss all this? I know this isn’t ideal, but I don’t want to be surprised by his true motives. I’d like to find that out before we get home. I also want to know where that market’s going to spring up.”
Wizard War Page 7