“Stonewell always wanted the power. That’s probably who’s running the show. I think Rathbone likes the position he’s in.” Annie could tell he wasn’t really talking to her. Milo seemed to be working through the problem on his own. Though the rest of his cubicle was a mess, he stopped and straightened a note hanging on his wall. “Why are you really dropping the lead?”
I’m too close…
“I… listen, it’s Rathbone. We need to get him. If I can’t for Dad, at least we can for Amelie. The whole world wants an answer.” Annie swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m remembering things, and it’s bringing up feelings. I won’t be objective.”
“Fair enough. Cham will take lead, though you will still be the liaison with the FBI agent. I hear he’s taken a liking to you.”
“You’re freaking hilarious.”
Milo shrugged. Placing her hand against the wall of the cubicle to remove the spell, Annie stopped and turned to Milo.
“How are you going to protect Ryan and the other members of the Council?”
“I’ll call in Guards from the satellite offices, and Ryan will have additional security. The hundred handers are plenty happy with our working relationship, so we’ll utilize them. Don’t worry about the Council or Ryan. Just make sure we can link Rathbone to Amelie’s murder.”
Annie tapped the wall, and the fine protection mist dissipated into nothing.
*
Of the evidence collected, nothing linked Jordan Wellington to Amelie’s murder and yet he remained in prison, safer behind the walls of Tartarus than out on his own where Rathbone’s men could touch him.
Two giants transferred him to his new space. The creatures said nothing, not even a grunt. Jordan eyed them sideways, taking a good look at their waxy, gray skin, their large teeth protruding from their mouths, and their bald heads with tufts of hair only at the base of their necks. The sight of them should have scared him, but instead he felt strangely at ease.
Not much better than his cell but better than the warehouse, the new room was a comfortable space with a bed, a chair, a table set with food, and a small window overlooking the desolate courtyard. Gazing at the window, Jordan longed for the warmth of the sun, for his freedom.
I’ll never be free with Rathbone out there.
The thought depressed him. Unable to look at the view, Jordan turned to the food: a bowl of fruit, bags of chips, sandwiches, and cans of pop. Finally choosing the chips, he sat on the bed and dug in, consuming a large handful in one bite. It wasn’t enough to settle his restlessness or his hunger, so Jordan attacked a sandwich in two bites and swigged a can of pop.
A single moment of time haunted him: Amelie’s petite hand wrapping itself around the glass orb and shoving it into her purse. And all the times he replayed that solitary action, the outcome never changed.
That’s my punishment.
Or rather, it was one in the long list of punishments, the most recent of which was his family’s refusal to visit him in prison. Once he was proven innocent, prison officials removed the no visitor restriction, and yet no one came.
Did they even know?
Jordan found it difficult to be angry at Mother and his sister Lissette, believing that somehow his father kept them away.
He resigned himself to that fact and accepted all responsibility for Amelie’s death.
Being honest with himself, he acknowledged that everything had changed long before he and Amelie stole the orb. Sometime after leaving Windmere, Jordan tasted a freedom he never experienced before and chose that over settling down, getting a job, and entering the real world. It was his first mistake.
“What did you do today?” Mother inquired while chopping vegetables for dinner. Her hand waved around the green peppers, expertly slicing them without ever touching the knife.
“Aw, Ma, it’s summer vacation. I hung with the guys.”
His clothing, the music player, and a television sat in his room in their packages, new and shining, waiting for him to continue relaxing. Mother’s hands shook ever so slightly, sending the knife across the counter where it landed in the sink.
“I’m going out with the guys tonight,” he said.
“You need to find a job.” Mother glanced around the room as if she were hiding a secret. “He’ll be so mad. You need to straighten up before it’s too late.”
“I will, Ma.”
Jordan snatched a raw carrot and bit into the hard, sweet vegetable, savoring the coolness in his mouth. He smiled at Mother while watching her prepare dinner. The gentle quiet in the house was merely a ruse, destroyed as soon as footsteps pounded across the wooden floor. Hard and heavy, they grew louder the closer they came to the kitchen. The door flung open and bounced against the wall before swinging back, but his father’s long strides had him to the counter in three steps.
“You worthless, lazy boy!” Jordan’s father said, hurling the salad bowl and all of its contents across the room where it smashed against the wall. “This is your fault!” he yelled at his wife.
“Leave her alone!” Jordan screamed back, pushing against his father.
“Where were you today?”
“It’s summer vacation. I was hanging with the guys.”
“I needed you at work. I thought I explained to you that you were to start working when school ended. I won’t be having you running through your trust fund. That isn’t how it’s going to be.”
“Dad, I promise, after the summer, I’ll come to work. I just wanted a little fun.”
“No! Tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. I expect you in the office, or you can kiss your trust fund goodbye.”
Storming out of the kitchen, his father knocked Jordan’s bag to the floor. Out bounced a large vial filled with a clear liquid, which rolled to the door. Mr. Wellington spotted the potion and retrieved it before Jordan could summon it. With his crystal he ran it across the glass. It glowed, indicating the vial contained a magical concoction.
“What is it?” he ordered.
“Dad, it’s nothing. Just a little harmless fun.”
“I told you, if you live in this house, you live by my rules. I know this is that fancy drug. I won’t have this. Pack your bags and move out. You’re done getting high and living off my money. No more!”
Jordan shuddered to think of whatever Mother had endured that afternoon. Restless before his father kicked him out, Jordan found himself growing more twitchy, experimenting with dangerous magic, and becoming the perennial pain in the ass. One day, as if waking up from a bad dream, Jordan discovered he was penniless, friendless, and homeless.
The door of the room remained open, and the silence of the corridor enveloped him as he lay on the prison bed, pulling the blanket tighter around his gaunt body, weary and fragile. The building creaked and moaned around him, and wind whistled against the small window of his room. Jordan closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to steal him away.
Flashes of pictures from his past played in his mind like commercials. Quick shots of places and events zipped through his thoughts, making him dizzy. He concentrated on Lisette’s face.
The opposite of everything that he turned out to be, Lisette was pretty and perfect, married with children, and lived the nice, neat life with a husband who worked for the Wizard Council. She had stayed on course, never straying from the plan drawn up for her at birth.
Lissette and Jordan each owned the fastest, most expensive broomsticks on the market, handmade to exact standards of Mr. Wellington, and each child was expected not just to learn to fly but to fly well. But Lisette’s stick sat against the wall in the storage shed more than she rode it. The nanny brought the sticks out to the children as they waited in the garden, rooting around for billdads and other magical creatures. Their once perfectly pressed and clean clothes hung ripped and dusty from their day outside.
“Oh dear, what will your father say when he sees you?” the nanny said. Then, kneeling beside the children, she patted them down, loosening the dust and debris and repairing the rips
and tears. Jordan pulled away from the anxious woman, climbed aboard his broomstick, and kicked off.
“Wait for me,” Lisette said. Clumsily, she pulled herself on her broomstick and kicked off.
They flew over the boxwood hedge maze, through the delicate rose garden, and out to the vegetable patch.
“Children,” a woman’s voice called for them in the distance.
Jordan swung the broom around and waited for Lisette to catch him, and they leisurely flew back to the large house.
“Mother!” They hadn’t seen her all day and ran to her—leaving their broomsticks in a pile in the middle of the manicured lawn.
“My, how dirty you two are. We need to get you inside and cleaned up. Father and I have an important party to get to tonight. Nanny will get you upstairs. Quickly, quickly. And be quiet. Don’t bother your father,” she called out after them.
“Why do you have to leave again?” Lisette asked as Mother combed out her long blonde hair.
“Because your father is important in the Wizard Council, and we have to meet with all of his colleagues. It’s quite important. Your father is going places. Now, hush,” she said with a nervous smile. “I’m late. Kisses.” Mrs. Wellington waved goodnight to her children before leaving the house.
Stripped of his powers when he arrived at prison kept Jordan from striking back at his captors, but it left him naked, without the one thing that made him uniquely who himself—a wizard. Absently, Jordan waved his palm around, expecting to summon a magazine from a table. He stared at his palms, once so familiar but something now as useless as a fairy without wings.
The pound and scrape of heavy footsteps came down the corridor. He glanced at the giant as it peered into his room before it continued walking. That comforted Jordan as he made the decision, in honor of Amelie, to finally make the change and make his life mean something, to make his mother and Lisette proud.
Chapter 18
A fine mist floated in the small globe, drifting around its container and grazing the orb’s glass before retracting. It rolled into a ball before dissipating into a delicate mist, then rejoined and pulsed before separating, searching. The soul appeared impatient as it roamed its small home. Though Jordan claimed that he didn’t use the orb on Amelie, the Wizard Guards still speculated as there was no way to confirm the lost soul inside. Regardless, they planned on setting the soul free.
Pete Branch, a veteran Wizard Guard with sparkling blue eyes and a carefree easy smile, carefully placed the orb between himself and Emerson Donaldson, the newest Wizard Guard recently inducted into the department. She sat in silent awe as he arranged items in front of them to prepare for the spell.
Harsh office fluorescents illuminated the orb, and playful bursts of light radiated around the small cubicle. The glass ball sat atop several sprigs of thyme that, when burned, offered the trapped soul courage and carried it to another plane of existence.
“So what exactly are we doing?” Emerson created a fireball and floated it two inches above her hand, tentative of lighting the sprigs, terrified she’d burn the entire building to the ground.
“Keep up, newbie,” Pete chuckled. “We’re lighting the sprigs on fire to activate the spell. It’s simple.” A smile split his face in two and crinkled his eyes until they nearly closed.
“It’s not our case, so why’d we have to do this?” She glanced down, hiding her fear from her partner.
“This is a big case. Besides, we all pitch in on cases—big or small.”
“Do they help us when we have a big case?”
“If that’s what it takes, newbie. Focus, or we’ll never get this done.”
Emerson set fire to the thyme as Pete instructed. Slowly, the herb sizzled, heating the fine mist inside the orb. The hotter the fire, the cooler the glass became. Emerson watched the mist escape through the mystical borders of the orb and out through the glass, where it combined with the smoke from the thyme. Both vapors rose until they dissipated, leaving only a pungent smell. The orb, resting in the middle of the desk, remained untouched, gleaming, and pristine.
With the trapped soul released, Pete and Emerson set out to duplicate the orb, believing Rathbone would attempt to retrieve it. Pete propped a Duplication Mirror behind the sphere so that a perfect copy reflected in the looking glass. Holding his hand above the orb, he recited the spell:
Spirits that guide
A trap now set wide
Where two are now needed
Replace the single with one not real
A second glass orb will now be seated.
As the spell took effect, the reflection in the mirror became hazy, shimmering and vibrating as it gained speed. The image in the mirror sharpened until the object reflected a three-dimensional aspect, as if the mirror had disappeared. Sitting next to the real orb was an exact copy, one without its magical properties.
Pete reached into the mirror, grabbed the replica, and pulled it free.
“Close portal,” he said and waved a palm across the glass.
“That’s it?” Emerson asked, captivated by the new magic she’d never viewed before.
“Well there’s more that we need to do, but yeah, it’s a duplicate, and it’s useless. Put that away, newbie, and I’ll finish.”
In the end, they had a perfect replica—one Pete had imbued with certain magical properties.
*
Jordan read through all of the reading materials offered to him, some more than once, keeping them in a large pile at the base of his bed. When he finished, he paced his small room and then looked out the window.
So bored.
No longer looking to punish himself, he glanced at the open door, stepped outside the room, and headed down the quiet passage in search of something new.
Several rooms lined the hallway, most open and empty, each room looking like the next. None contained anything interesting. The floor appeared to be empty except for Jordan, so he continued on, passing through to the junction where light streamed down from a skylight. After many days in the dark prison, Jordan shielded his eyes from the brightness. Once his eyes acclimated, Jordan viewed four doors, each opening in a different direction.
Do I ironically pick straight ahead?
His shoes clicked against the stone floor as he glanced inside several offices—one of which belonged to a man Jordan recognized as someone named Gamble.
“Oh, you. Excuse me,” he said looking up at Jordan with messy hair and a gaunt look upon his face. “You must be that Jordan. So sorry about your loss.”
Jordan gave a wary smile. “Thanks.” He wanted to leave but politely remained.
“If you continue down this hallway, you’ll come to the main entrance. The courtyard might not seem so pretty, but the fresh air will feel nice,” Gamble offered.
“Thank you. I think I’ll try that.” Jordan nodded in appreciation before heading toward the end of the hall and into the reception area.
He attempted to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Uh, how can I get to the courtyard?” he asked the female guard at the front desk.
The guard, whose badge identified her as Latricia, smiled at him. “I’m sorry, honey. You have permission to walk through the prison, but you’re not allowed outside. Wizard Guard rules.” Latricia walked around the reception desk and pointed back the way Jordan had entered. “Maybe the library. One floor below. Exit back through the hallway, turn right, and the door to the basement is the first door on the right. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He smiled as she sat back down to a copy of Ebony magazine on her desk, then he strolled back to where he came from.
The library was just where Latricia said it would be. Not much larger than his cell, it was filled with bookshelves that covered the four walls and the center of the room. Each shelf was packed full of books. This would give Jordan ample time away from his cell and allow him to enjoy whatever this small wonder in the middle of the prison had to offer. He reached for several interesting-looking b
ooks on magic and spells and held them in his arms while wandering about the space.
“It’s not very large, but it is very complete,” a tiny voice said behind him. A petite blonde with curly hair held a pile for him. “Here are some more for you. I’m sure you’re bored.”
“I think I’m okay.” He held up his already large pile.
“Please, take them. We’re not sure how long you’ll be with us.”
Sighing, he placed them on his pile, thanked the librarian, and headed back to his room.
The sun had nearly set by the time he reached his room. Jordan tossed the books and magazines on his bed and leaned against the window, watching the day come to a close.
It must be evening rounds. Jordan thought as the giants peered inside his room for a quick check before heading on their way. After the creatures left the wing, Jordan glanced at his disheveled pile of magazines and books scattered across his bed. Straightening the piles afforded him a chance to look through the magazines the librarian gave him. There, on the cover of one American tabloid, he saw Amelie’s face, blue eyes sparkling, blonde hair shiny—alive. Though he couldn’t bear to read the contents, he gazed at her, touching the picture, tears building in his eyes.
“Hi, Jordan.”
His muscles tensed at the sound of Annie’s voice. She stood at the door wiggling her finger at him. He didn’t respond.
“You still think I’m crazy?”
A loaded question and yet Jordan couldn’t help but respond honestly, the wizard guard deserved it. “Yes. Is there any other Wizard Guard that can get me?” he asked with a mild hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Nope.”
Jordan followed behind Annie, not too close and yet close enough to smell strawberries in her hair. It was the same scent Amelie had used. His stomach dropped.
“I’m sorry,” Annie offered.
“That you were bitchy?” He held his hand over his shoulder where her jinx had grazed him. His expression was one of humor, his chocolate eyes wide and playful.
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 19
