Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set

by Sheryl Steines

  At the entrance to the Snake Head Letters, Gladden jiggled the locked handle. Already angry, he cast a spell blowing the window out of the front door. Glass shattered and cascaded to the floor. The door squeaked open, and his boots crunched against the shattered glass as he entered the musty, packed store.

  Gladden walked slowly, looking down each aisle, and skirted a pile of boxes in the center of the path. He slid behind the counter and thumbed through several notebooks filled with chicken scratches. It was so illegible that he placed the stacks of papers back in their haphazard piles—where he discovered a discarded a one-hundred-dollar bill. Pocketing the money and finding nothing useful among the piles of paper, the wizard headed to the office door, expecting the room to be empty.

  The light was still on, and the small desk was covered in boxes, either broken, bent or stained. It would take days to go through the junk to maybe find who the girl was. Leaving the room, Gladden ascended the stairs to the right of the office, taking two stairs at a time to reach the apartment on the second floor.

  Gladden didn’t knock. He pushed his palms forward, and a jinx flew from his hands and exploded the wood door. Splinters and chunks of wood sprayed across the apartment. A shard landed with such force that it stuck in the drywall across the room.

  Archibald Mortimer, wedged between a large armoire and a cracked wall, shook violently as Gladden strode across the sparsely decorated room. With a gloved hand he lifted the shopkeeper by the neck. “I’m looking for a wizard guard. Short, dark brown hair, female. Injured arm. Who is she?”

  Mortimer kicked violently, unable to breathe with the hand of Gladden around his windpipe. “Le—le—g—go.”

  Gladden dropped him to the ground. The shopkeeper fell hard on his ass, jostling his entire body. Coughing and sputtering, Mortimer clutched his neck and finally said, “Don’t know who you’re talking about. Don’t deal with the Guard.”

  But Gladden knew about Archibald Mortimer, who played both sides if it suited him. Besides, the owner refused to look him in the eye. The wizard kicked Mortimer in the leg, and the old man yelped.

  “Don’t lie, Archibald,” Gladden hissed. “I know you know who she is. Tell me where I can find her.”

  “What’d she do to ya?” Mortimer smirked slightly, enraging Gladden.

  “What she did is none of your concern.” Not waiting for Archibald to answer, Gladden threw a hex at the store owner, burning a large hole in the flesh of his upper arm.

  “The fuck you do that for? I didn’t do nothing. If you want to find the wizard guard, ask in the warehouse district. The vampires, they know the guards.” Tears welled in Mortimer’s eyes as blood soaked his sleeve.

  “I’m asking you.” Gladden punched Mortimer in the head, knocking him backwards. His head bounced on the splinter-covered floor. A sharp piece of wood cut through the skin on the back of his head. Blood ran into his ear.

  The old man, slow to get up but slower to answer, pulled himself into a ball. Gladden reached down, pulled Mortimer up by the shirt, and threw him against the wall. His short, fat body crashed into the drywall and fell to the floor face first. Drywall cracked and fell from the studs, leaving a large gaping hole in the wall. Concussed and unable to move, Mortimer remained motionless as another spell contacted his battered body. He slid across the floor, crashing into the stove and leaving a trail of blood along the floor and against the oven door.

  “Who is she?”

  Unable to breathe or speak, Archibald Mortimer shook his head.

  “Is she worth protecting?” Gladden conjured a baseball bat and slapped it against his hand. Mortimer saw the bat, and his eyes widened in fear as the wood smacked into Gladden’s hand. In a small voice he whispered, “Annie Pearce.”

  Gladden stepped over the limp body of Archibald Mortimer, dropping the bat beside the broken man.

  Chapter 15

  Two closets flanked either side of Annie’s bathroom door. Since she didn’t own enough to fill both of them, she started her searching with the empty one.

  With her scrying crystal she searched for magic across the empty closet, across the floors, the walls, in the three drawer dresser in the corner. She found no magical energy.

  Squatting down, she felt for loose floorboards, ran her hand along the baseboards, searching for hidden latches. Finding nothing, she moved to the one that was packed full of clothes, shoes, and purses. After a cursory check with her crystal, she started patting along the walls and floorboard, reaching in between her clothes and other items.

  It didn’t seem to be hidden in the bedroom. She guessed her dad would hide something in the basement, far from hers and Samantha’s bedrooms. He wouldn’t want to chance it being too close to them.

  Maybe Ryan knows.

  She sat on the top of the stairs and dialed her phone.

  “Annie, sweetie, hi.” Ryan answered. Since he had been her dad’s best friend when they attended Windmere, he always treated her as his own daughter.

  “Hey, Ryan.”

  “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  Do I really want to delve into this, bring this up again?

  It had been hard enough for all of them when Wolfgang Rathbone was arrested and put on trial for the murder of Princess Amelie. They all knew he had killed her father.

  Would anyone really want me to pursue Dad’s death again?

  “Well…” She hesitated, still concerned that this was the wrong direction and had nothing to do with the case.

  “Annie?”

  “Here’s the problem. The victim outside the black market—well, I ran into something in my Book of Shadows that might be the mostly likely suspect. It’s a group called the Fraternitatem of Solomon. And, well… Dad came across them.” She said it in one long breath and blew out stale air until her lungs burned.

  Ryan took his time to process what this meant. Annie instantly regretted telling him and even considering this as a line of investigation.

  “I’m not familiar with this group,” he said.

  “I found the case files. Dad was looking into the illegal sales of Chintamani Stones. It seems my group was after those stolen rocks.”

  “Yeah. That I remember. The files should be in the records chambers.”

  “Got three of the four. The fourth seems to be missing.”

  Ryan was silent on the other end of the phone, so quiet that Annie could hear his fingers drum against the desk top.

  “I have no answer for that, except maybe someone mismarked the case number and assumed there were four folders,” he said after a moment.

  It was possible. It was probably nothing. “This Fraternitatem is very dangerous. We think four of them killed our guy,” she said, hoping to convince him this was the correct line of investigation. Her stomach churned.

  “Is there anything in the three folders?”

  “I haven’t had time to look. I’ll be reading through them tonight. Do you think Dad labeled the case correctly but kept the fourth file?”

  Ryan remained silent. Annie thought he might be remembering how Jason worked, what his procedures were, and where he might have stored files.

  “Yes. I’m not sure if he’d have kept them at the house. If he did, maybe the basement or garage,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’m not sure if this is even anything. It’s just so… coincidental.” It worried Annie that a case belonging to her father could be tied up in hers.

  “Annie, if this group is dangerous, learn what you can about them. Bring in help. Ask Emerson for help if you need it.” Ryan’s worry was palpable, and Annie felt that anxiety in her chest.

  “What should I do?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Annie. All I can say is that if Jason had information on this group, information that will keep you safe, pursue it. Anything else about that case not related to yours—drop it.”

  “But do we really want to go through this again?”

  “No. Not really. But I always figured at some point i
n time you would be at this place. You did it with Rathbone and now…”

  “Maybe I won’t need to,” she said before telling him goodbye.

  *

  Annie wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with the fourth file—the file that, if it existed, she was sure had something big inside. Instead of searching further, she sat at the table to peruse the existing files.

  Maybe I won’t need it.

  It was a painstakingly difficult job reading through her dad’s notes, seeing his handwriting scrawled over the pages. It tugged at Annie’s heart as she flipped the page and begin a new sheet.

  The first two folders contained information about the Chintamani Stone. From what she had already learned about the Ring of Solomon, the stones on the flat top of the ring were cut from that stone. It was originally divided in four smaller stones and gifted to three people, one of whom was King Solomon.

  The last folder she had contained information about people Jason Pearce had met on this case. As Annie read through each file, she began to take hasty notes.

  Chintamani Stone—a greenish moldavite stone

  Powers of wish fulfillment

  Gifted to King Tavaloo and King Solomon

  Kept at an abbey in Tibet

  Fourth stone lost to time. Appears whoever owns it has been chipping away at it, selling pieces at the black market

  The source of the stones: a man named Nicholas Roerich? He was last seen in Morocco.

  The Moroccan market, smaller than the main black market, just as dangerous.

  While researching, was forcefully taken by a group of men known as the Fraternitatem. The names I caught during my confinement were Avi, Benjamin, Akiva, Yosel and Benaiah.

  My Benaiah?

  During my stay with these men at a cave in the mountains, they advised me of their work. They are the Fraternitatem of Solomon, the group chosen to protect the artifacts of King Solomon. They claim these stones I’m searching for come from the rock gifted to him and it belongs to them. They strongly advised me, with a carefully worded hex, that I leave this alone.

  So the fourth stone is still missing?

  “Not my problem,” Annie said out loud.

  The Fraternitatem advised me that they had agents all throughout the world and would know if I wasn’t following through on my promise to leave the stones alone. They would take care of everything.

  A member of the Fraternitatem had fetched the ring for the djinn at the black market.

  If he was charged with protecting it, why was he so willing to sell it?

  I returned the stones as they forcefully requested and promised not to look for anymore outside of the black market. I promised I’d return to them whatever I found. They referred to their location as the Cave of Ages.

  The Cave of Ages: beautiful, ethereal. Shimmering blue walls. You could see the light from the cave for miles in the darkness.

  Dad was there!

  There’s not much on the Fraternitatem. With help from Sabrina Cuttlebrink, we were able to determine the group had only been known to the Middle East Wizard Guard for about fifty years. Though stories about them surfacing topside have gone back about two thousand. They claim to be direct descendants of King Solomon’s court.

  Most definitely magical and quite proficient.

  Dr. Arden Blakely at The Field Museum in Chicago seemed to know much about the Chintamani Stone and had even heard of the Ring of Solomon being real. She claimed the ring had been found in an excavation site circa 1970 and lost several years later. She has been searching for the elusive ring since. But she offered no help in finding the rest of the missing stones.

  Archibald Mortimer, when asked about the dig, said it was just a rumor in 1920 that said the ring was found in a dig site and lost to a cave-in. Ring’s been gone for years, he claimed.

  Damn, Mortimer! Could’ve told me that!

  Like most magical objects they came across over the course of a case, whether legal or illegal, evil or white magic, most of the time, the artifact had been around for centuries, or in this case, several millennia. She made a mental note to ask Bucky if he could find the location for this Dr. Blakely to learn what she knew about the ring—how it was used or how to disarm it.

  Her arm throbbed now; she stored the folders in the blood lock cabinet before climbing onto the sofa and snuggling in.

  She glanced out the window. The snow gently fell as it had been doing all day. As the large, fluffy snowflakes cascaded down, her mind wandered to images of the two dig sites. She pondered how many people had lost their lives over this ring.

  With the blanket up to her neck, she felt her muscles relax, and her body gratefully accepted a nap.

  *

  Crunch… crunch…

  Annie’s eyes fluttered open. The sound came from just outside the sliding door of the den, startling her from a blissful nap. She thought of the billdads that rooted through the dead garden in her backyard. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. As she gradually awoke from the nap and became more alert, the scratches continued.

  Bitherby? It couldn’t be.

  She peered through the window blinds. The light was gray and dull, and the shadows in the backyard were deep and dark. Anything could be hiding inside of them, though she saw no movement or fur flying.

  It’s probably just an animal.

  The clock on the table reminded her Cham would be home soon.

  Pain again radiated down her arm from overuse. Annie slipped off the sling to stretch her tight shoulder; the throbbing took her breath away.

  She strolled to the kitchen and took a swig of the pain potion Gibbs had left in the fridge. Instantly woozy, she grabbed the counter top and noticed that Zola had left a note.

  I’ll be back with dinner. Rest and don’t leave the house.

  Zola’s orders were scrawled across the paper in her flowery handwriting. Annie chuckled and dropped the note in the garbage.

  But that was hours ago!

  The scratching returned, Annie turned to the window, expecting it to be Zola having trouble with groceries and the snow. It was darker than it was mere minutes before, and she still couldn’t see movement. The shadows were black, empty holes.

  Suddenly warm and tired, Annie inched her way to table and rested her head on the shiny table to wait for her head to stop spinning.

  The windows rattled against the storm that raged outside.

  I’ll just close my eyes.

  Gusts battered the space between Annie’s house and Mrs. Wexler’s next door. Garbage cans stored on the side of the house blew into Annie’s yard and bounced against the siding.

  As the dizziness settled, Annie opened her eyes to complete darkness. With a flick of her wrist, she threw on warm lights. The wind continued to push and pull, picking up dead leaves, twigs, and garbage in a tornado-like swirl.

  She chuckled. Mrs. Welter always left the lid off.

  As garbage swirled in the wind, Annie watched, unable to pull away from the window. It wasn’t because of the swirling trash or her disheveled, exhausted appearance. Something wasn’t right about the reflection. Maybe it was the scratching outside that had her feeling off, like she was being watched. She stared at the reflection of the cabinets, the entrance between the kitchen and the hallway, and the stainless steel refrigerator.

  Turning quickly, straining her shoulder and neck, she glanced around the newly cleaned kitchen. Newly cleaned… but there were dark streaks of red on the blood-locked cabinet. Someone without access had tried to get inside. The door surrounding the handle was scratched and marked.

  Is it the same person who left blood all over the lock?

  Annie grew anxious that the protection spell around her house was waning. She knew someone who shouldn’t be here had found a way to enter.

  But I was only gone this morning, I’ve been home all afternoon!

  Suddenly she realized: Zola still wasn’t home.

  “Zola!” Annie cried out. She and Zola were linked toge
ther, bound by magic, Annie’s voice, her calls for her should have been enough for her to appear.

  The house remained silent. Even the wind settled to an uneasy quiet.

  “Zola!” Annie frantically repeated.

  More footsteps scraped and bumped, but not from the backyard. It could very easily be the wind swaying in the naked branches and scratching the roof top.

  Maybe.

  Throwing on the outside light, she had a clear view of the deck and stairs. Just beyond the light, the backyard had fallen into a desperately thick darkness where she couldn’t distinguish between the different shades of black.

  The snow was thick and heavy, covering the deck. Footprints dotted the freshly fallen snow and led from the steps to the door and back again. They were too large to be Annie’s, and Zola had no need to walk through the snow. If Cham had come home early, he would have woken her.

  Who’s out there?

  She threw on shoes and reached for her jacket.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Annie turned; a man she didn’t recognize stood in her hallway.

  *

  Fuzzy shapes moved through the dim light.

  Annie’s head rolled forward.

  Footsteps clicked against the hard floor.

  Where am I?

  Voices argued. A chilled hand wrapped around her thick, curly hair and yanked her head backwards. The motion pulled on her shoulder, and pain radiated downward. Annie’s hands were numb and cold, immobile and bound behind her.

  She opened her eyes.

  Where am I?

  A dim light from outside offered her the only light in the darkness. She was still unable to place her surroundings, so she closed her eyes again, took a deep breath, and felt the chair beneath her. It was hard, familiar. She squirmed; her arms were tied tightly together, causing the intense pain to return quickly.