“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.
“Why did you—?”
“Go into the store?” Jack finished her sentence. “The orb. I want to know why Amelie died. You know, I’ve passed that store before, but it was always just empty. It’s like I’m just seeing for the first time. But it’s been there for a while, right?” Jack laughed nervously.
“Did Archibald Mortimer take your money?” Cham asked from across the cubicle.
“He sold me a book, took my money, and I walked out.”
“A book? What kind of book?” Annie’s voice rose a few octaves higher than normal; she couldn’t hide her anger and fear. Mortimer easily recognized nonmagicals, making a sale to them an obvious breach of the Secrecy Decree. The FBI agent never should have been allowed in the bookstore, let alone able to purchase anything from there.
“He took my money, American dollars, for the purchase of a book he called the Book of Shadows. He assured me it was good magic.”
“What’s on the front of the book?” Cham tapped a pen on the paper. Both objects floated in the air, ready for Jack’s description.
“It’s a leather book and on the cover is this gold-embossed symbol. There’s this vertical line with a loop at the top and a horizontal line crossing the first with the loop at the right,” Jack explained. Annie gasped. Cham stopped scowling.
“Annie and I believe you have what’s called a Grimoire. It’s the exact opposite of the Book of Shadows, which traditionally is recipes, potions, and other items that record a witch or wizard’s experience—everything they’ve ever come across in a lifetime. A Book of Shadows sometimes includes information about demons, vampires, and other evil beings the witch or wizard might need information on in the future. It’s traditionally passed down from family member to family member. A Grimoire is the same, though it documents the experience of a black magical witch or wizard.” Cham stopped and took a breath. “Where is the book now?”
“It’s wrapped in a towel in the bottom of my closet, and it’s—it’s breathing or humming or something. I’m hoping you could come and get it. Get it out of here. It’s starting to make me nauseated.”
“We can pick up the book tonight,” Annie said. The thought of visiting Mortimer again made her clench her jaw in annoyance. “Listen, you’re reacting to the book because you’re nonmagical and don’t have a way to fend off the black magic. You’ll feel better once we come and get it.”
“I’m at home. And Annie, thanks.”
Behind her desk, Annie kept a small storehouse of herbs, minerals, crystals, and potions alongside a small cauldron. She grabbed some basil leaves, a dried dragon heart, and a sprig of rosemary, placing them in a pouch.
“Let’s go save your boyfriend,” Cham said.
“If I wasn’t so relieved we’re not fighting, I’d smack you.”
“I dare you.” Instead of accepting his challenge, she reached for his hand, and they teleported to Jack.
*
Though Annie had only known Jack a short time, his apartment looked how she’d have imagined it if she gave it any thought. It was slick and streamlined, masculine and modern, and Jack appeared quite at home there—except for the closet. The FBI agent, trained in firearms and in handling cases involving murderers and drug dealers, fidgeted when they opened the closet door. He stood at a distance as they extracted the book from its hiding place.
Annie said nothing but smirked in amusement. After unwrapping the towel, Cham held the Grimoire in his hands. The symbol on the cover slowly rotated; Jack stared, horrified, and backed into his kitchen.
Hoping her quick fix would relieve Jack of some anxiety, Annie rubbed the pouch containing the herbs over the book, subduing the magical energy emanating from the covers. Jack’s face and his demeanor changed immediately; the agent was far more at ease then when they arrived. Annie rested a hand on his shoulder for reassurance.
“Magical energy is everywhere, and this book is especially concentrated with it. Without magical blood, you react horribly to the bad magic. Our good magic protects us. It’s just the way of our world.” Her smile reassured him. “How much do we owe you for the book?”
Jack laughed nervously. “Listen, it was my mistake. It’s weird, but I can’t imagine not knowing all this stuff.”
“Memories fading yet?”
“I don’t understand all of it, but whatever you did helped. I can’t quite remember what I saw, but I definitely feel better. Thanks.”
“No more magic shops, okay, Jack?” Cham said reaching to shake his hand. Annie gave Jack a hug and a smirk, touching his cheek before leaving. They exited through the front of the building’s door, figuring they were safe enough from prying eyes, before searching for their teleportation location.
*
Sturtagaard lay on the cot and stared at the acidiac window, glowering as his stump throbbed. It no longer spewed puss and blood, though it was still ragged and spiky where the acid burned away the bone and flesh.
His wrist wouldn’t heal. Vampire bodies remained the same from the minute they were bitten to the time a stake, fire, or a decapitation killed them. Hair no longer grew, and the body no longer aged. Sturtagaard closed his eyes as another wave of pain shot through his limb.
A pouch of blood lay on the floor, squished in a pile after being tossed in by a giant. It remained there until the guard left the hallway and the door squeaked shut. Sturtagaard staggered off his bed and stumbled to the package. Falling to his knees, the vampire ripped through the plastic container and sucked down the nourishment before tossing the empty container through the bars.
Even though Sturtagaard had drunk most of the antidote, the magic still affected him. His victims cried out, their fearful voices carrying over the creaks and squeaks of the prison. Faces hovered before him, their purple bloated faces angry and accusing. A woman he had once seduced floated before him, her green dress draping and flowing behind her.
“You’re not really here.”
The woman didn’t seem to hear or care. She glided through the bars of his cell. A large torch in her grasp burned brightly. The fire grew closer; Sturtagaard shrunk to avoid coming in contact with the flame. Though he knew it was only a hallucination, he feared the fire and felt the warmth beside him. The ghost laughed; the sound bounced around the stone walls after i
t faded away.
Sturtagaard slumped backwards, laying his long thin body against the stone floor; his arms splayed outwards as he drifted off to sleep—though of course he was not really asleep.
After some time, the lock on his cell clicked, and metal scraped against stone as the door slid open. Through half-closed eyes, the vampire caught a glimpse of Sarconis gliding down the hallway. The little man, wearing a black suit with large white stripes that accentuated his rotund, short frame, stopped at the entrance.
“We’re coming for you,” he cackled gleefully.
Scrambling up, the vampire pushed himself backward, sliding against the floor until the wall cradled his back. Pain overwhelmed him, and the cell swirled before his eyes.
“You can’t get in here! You’re not really here!” Sturtagaard screamed.
It’s impossible for Sarconis to be here.
The vampire named Sarconis stood inside the cell, a large ash stake in his hand. Someone must have let him in, probably the same person who stole the athame and knew where to find Jordan. They killed the girl, they killed the boy.
I’m next.
“Guards! Guards, he’s going to stake me. I have a deal with the boy! You owe me!”
“You can’t run. You can’t hide. We will always find you,” Sarconis sneered.
“Guards!” Sturtagaard shrieked. His panicked screams echoed off the stone walls.
The door at the end of the corridor flung open; large feet sprinted up the hallway. The larger of the two grunted, and confusion covered their simple faces.
“Get him out of here!” the vampire screamed
Seeing no one else in the cell with Sturtagaard, the giants grunted and walked away.
Chapter 24
In the very early hours of morning, Annie placed the book and the herb pouch inside a kitchen cabinet guarded with a magically enhanced lock and closed the door.
That should settle the magic.
By morning, the tome still vibrated and the entire cabinet buzzed against her leg. After Annie pressed her index finger into the lock at the base of the door and broke the skin, a single drop of blood trickled inside, unlocking the door. The book hummed; the symbol on the cover rotated counterclockwise.
To stop the spinning, Annie cast a spell. A spark spat from her palm, and the sign stopped midspin, upside down. She traced the symbol with her finger, knowing for certain that the mark represented an ancient dark-magic coven no longer in existence.
So where did you come from?
Delicate footsteps entered the kitchen. Annie glanced up, smiling at Zola.
“You’re up early, Annie dear. Go back to sleep. It was late when you came home.” The Aloja fairy busied herself with clearing the counter before making breakfast.
“I can’t sleep.” Dreams had woken her frequently during the night as her mind attempted to find the connection between Rathbone and her father. When those thoughts weren’t keeping her restless, thoughts of Jordan’s last moments replayed on a loop. No matter how many times Annie saved him in her dreams, she’d wake and know it wasn’t so.
“You’ve never been a good sleeper, sweetheart. Why is this so different?”
“The connection to Dad.”
“You’re not leading this case, are you?” Zola’s normally smooth forehead crinkled with frown lines, revealing her worry. She scraped a spatula against a bowl.
“Technically, no, but I can’t stop working it. It just seems that Rathbone is involved at every turn, and Cham is—was mad at me.” Her head felt heavy, so she rested it in the palm of her hands and sat at the table. Outside, a strong breeze blew and rattled the large window across from her. Zola placed eggs and toast on the table and gave Annie a squeeze.
“Why would that boy be mad at you? He’s in love with you.”
Annie frowned, taken aback by the proclamation. “No, he’s my best friend. We had our first fight, that’s all. He’s… he’s not in love me,” she protested.
Zola smirked but hid the smile quickly. “Okay. So he’s not in love with you. What did you do to make him angry?”
Annie explained the fight, and Zola grimaced, placing her petite hand on Annie’s head.
“Cham’s right to be concerned, Annie dear. Rathbone is a dangerous man.”
“I know. I don’t want to make him mad again. I can’t lose him.”
Zola smoothed Annie’s hair and kissed the top of her head. “Like I said, the boy is in love with you and not going anywhere any time soon.” The fairy touched her cheek and scurried off to finish her morning work.
Not so different from a Book of Shadows, the Grimoire contained both good and evil magic; the difference lay in the not-so-subtle instructions on how to summon and control both evil and good creatures. As a Wizard Guard, Annie had read other Grimoires, but she had never owned one.
This could come in handy, she thought, though she wasn’t sure if she’d keep it for herself or donate it to the library at Wizard Hall.
The next page caused her to shudder. It featured a picture of a wand that transformed a person to an animal, a ring that controlled a shape-shifting djinn, poisoned paper, and the Acandid, a demon Annie never heard of before. The description of how it drowned its victims nauseated her. Other notes on hexes, jinxes, and spells with varied levels of destruction intrigued Annie.
Yeah. I think I’ll keep this for myself.
Annie nibbled on a piece of toast while skimming through the book. The back screen door swung open with a squeak; a familiar shuffle entered.
“You’re up early,” Cham said taking a seat beside her. “Sleep any?”
“Not at all. And you?” Unable to make eye contact, Annie pretended to read the Grimoire.
“Barely. Thought we’d get an early start.” Cham reached for a piece of toast, finishing it in a two large bites.
“Are we good?”
“We’re good.” He grabbed the Grimoire from her and headed to the den.
“Hey!”
“Finish your breakfast.” Cham plopped on her sofa.
No longer hungry, Annie tentatively entered the den, where Cham already buried himself in the Grimoire, Annie hesitated. Before their fight, sitting beside him and leaning into him to read would be nothing. Instead, she now sat on the edge of the sofa, an entire cushion between them. Even her curiosity couldn’t bring her nearer to him to read the book.
Without glancing up, he patted the seat next to him. When she didn’t move he said, “What?”
Annie shook her head.
“What?”
“I’ve never lied to you before. We’ve never fought.”
“We’re good, I promise.” Cham patted the cushion again.
Taking a deep breath, Annie slid next to him. What am I doing? This is Cham.
Ignoring her feelings, she read the thoroughly descriptive section about the orb. As she read, her muscles relaxed. Annie rested her chin on his shoulder, their fight receding farther away in the past.
The Orb of Eridu was created in 920 BCE by the Eridu people of Mesopotamia in order to capture their loved one’s spirit and move it to the next world. The first spell cast called the essence into the sphere, where it was protected and released when ready. The second spell sent the soul into the next plane of existence. Souls could only be collected from the dead and could be either of humans who just died or vampires after they were turned. The orbs were created to send souls to heaven, now they trapped them in order to control them.
“That’s the creepy twist.” Annie pointed to the last sentence. Cham placed a cool, familiar hand on hers. She intertwined her fingers with his.
Four orbs were created and left in the care of the Sacred Fathers, the shamans of the Eridu tribe. Afraid to set the powerful magic into the world the Fathers hid their creations.
Previous owners had scratched notes into the margins of the book, mostly guesses or theories as to the spheres’ locations. The list showed a compilation of worldwide sites, some in large cities others remote vill
ages. The last entry, dated 1250 CE, confirmed that all the orbs were missing, and since then their existence had been only a rumor.
At least we have one of them.
“Nothing we didn’t already know.” Cham scratched his day-old beard.
Annie absentmindedly played with the curls on the nape of his neck, her thoughts turning to Zola’s insistence that Cham was in love with her.
Am I in love with him?
She pulled away, dropping her hands and folding them in her lap, shifting her position away from him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just changing position.” Grateful that he turned away, she felt her cheeks burn brightly. She returned to the book and tried to complete the reading.
When the four orbs are used together, an exceptionally powerful magic is created. One single spell could be cast over them, dispensing incredible amounts of magic throughout a large space or over thousands of people, creating a hypnotic effect and thereby controlling everyone and everything in its path.
“The trap is set whenever he figures out we have the orb,” Cham said.
The orbs create a magic more powerful than the Day of First Sun and can counteract that day’s power, obliterating the magical enhancement the world received. Whoever controls the spheres controls all magic.
“That explains why he’s so desperate for the athame,” Annie said, summoning the book borrowed from the library, the same one that Rathbone bought from Mortimer. Looking up the athame, she read and smiled.
“It’s not so bad. I don’t think he knows how to utilize the magic. Look at this.”
The athame can conduct magic. However, the spell to summon its magic can only be accessed with the Atlantian language, and to this date, no reliable translation exists with which to chant the spell.
“Unless he knows Atlantian, I guess we’re safe for now,” Cham agreed. “Gives us time to take care of Mortimer first. Gotta finish protecting your boyfriend from him.”
Annie punched his arm. “You’re obnoxious sometimes, you know that?”
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 25
