Another squall raged down the street; the woman’s hood and scarf flew backwards.
I recognize her.
Arden Blakely stood before them, forty years older than the pictures Cham had found before he arrived. Her crystal-blue eyes were the only feature on her face that hadn’t changed. She ran a finger through her short cropped black-and-white hair, trying to smooth it even in the heavy wind before pulling the hood back over her head and wrapping the wayward scarf around her neck.
The white terrier, no longer interested in the scents littering the grass, spotted the wizard guards. The dog hopped up and down and barked a high-pitched squeak like a rubber toy. Cham squatted down and held his hand out, letting the dog come to him. It wagged a short, stubby tail, sniffed his outstretched hand, and licked his extremely cold fingers.
Cham chuckled as the small, rough tongue tickled his fingers. “Your dog is really cute. Does it have a name?” he asked.
Arden Blakely smiled lightly, bent down and touched her dog’s head. “Sally,” was what Cham thought she said.
“Well, hello, Sally.” Cham scratched behind the dog’s ear. It jumped on his leg.
“Actually, it’s Solly. Short for Solomon.”
Cham and Emerson exchanged glances.
Maybe she’s nuts, or maybe she’ll be interested in speaking with us.
“Named after the Ring of Solomon?” Cham asked casually. Arden grimaced, and her hand holding the leash quivered visibly. Though it could be due to the cold, Cham didn’t believe so.
“Come, Solly.” She yanked on the leash, and the dog yelped as it was dragged away.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Blakely, but I need to ask you about the ring. My girlfriend is being stalked by someone who wants it. I need to protect her.”
She stopped, and Solly used the break to inhale the odd scents in the grass beside him. Finding a new spot, the dog lifted another leg and peed over the brown patch in the small garden. “I thought it might be here,” Arden sighed. “Is it at the black market?”
Cham viewed Arden with surprise and concern. Her knowledge at first glance seemed extensive, and that worried him. But then she had met Jason Pearce and told him of the ring.
“No. It’s hidden. Is there someplace we can go in private?”
“Upstairs.”
Cham and Emerson followed Arden Blakely inside what was once a turn-of-the-century mansion and was now several condominiums. Industrial-strength soap assaulted Cham. The real wood baseboards and hand rails had just been polished; his boots clicked against the newly cleaned tile. He followed Arden Blakely up the stairs as the treads creaked under his weight.
The animated dog bounded gleefully, leading them up to the third floor, unaware of the danger its owner was in. The owner shook with each step as if the air still chilled her—or maybe the reality of the ring made her nervous. Nonetheless, she remained singularly focused on the dog and followed it up the stairs.
The bright white hallway gave way to a closed-up apartment. Window shades were drawn shut; the only natural light broke in from around the shades that looked like a square halo. Warm, stagnant air greeted them. Emerson grimaced and followed Arden as she shuffled through the large room, cluttered with furniture and covered with artifacts. Every square inch of the apartment was filled with something.
Cham skirted boxes filled with scrolls and rolled-up maps, Emerson nearly tripped on a bust of a man; his gold paint was worn and chipped, and the base was scratched.
The archaeologist led them to a corner of the room to a desk, piled high with folders and notepads scrawled with handwritten notes and additional papers. Some folders were so filled with papers that they couldn’t stay closed unless something else was laid on top. Arden offered the two wizard guards seats across from her.
“Dr. Blakely, I’m Robert Chamsky and this is Emerson Donaldson,” Cham said. When Arden didn’t respond to his introduction, he glanced at Emerson who rolled her eyes and offered a shrug.
“I’m sorry to spring this on you,” Cham continued.
Arden unhooked the dog, and Solly ran for the kitchen. His nails clicked against the hardwood floor as he waddled through the doorway. When he was out of sight, Arden switched on a desk lamp, which did little to brighten the small corner. Between the gray light from outside, the drawn shades, and the dark wood that encased the room, the small house felt depressing.
Before sitting, Cham moved a large box with an eclectic array of items, mostly likely from a dig site. He spied clay shards, a knife handle, a swatch of cloth. While he placed the box on the floor, Emerson removed a pile of folders from her chair and left them teetering on the edge of the already filled desk.
Arden Blakely hadn’t taken her gaze from the opposite corner of the apartment, leaving Cham and Emerson time to examine their surroundings.
It looked like the Snake Head Letters, Cham thought as he crossed his legs and kicked a tome from a pile at his feet. The thick book with worn edges and a loose, cracked binding was entitled Magical Portals and Where to Find Them. A groan escaped his lips, and he showed the book to Emerson.
“Where would a nonmagical find this?” Emerson whispered. What she lacked in Wizard Guard knowledge and ability, she more than made up for in her research skills. If she questioned this, it was a good thought: books like this were hard to come by.
“I was thinking that too,” he whispered back. “Arden. Where did you get this?” he asked out loud.
The question brought Arden back to the present, to the depressing room. Her weary smile accentuated the deep lines around her eyes and mouth, and yet her eyes sparkled as if she were giddy.
Maybe she’ll be open, Cham thought.
“Yes. Well. I’m sure you know, there are… sellers. All over the world. Very easy to find them if you know where to look. I can only assume they’re smaller versions of the real market.” The archaeologist rested against the back of her chair, seemingly more in control than moments ago.
The Wizard Guard was aware of illegal auctions, of markets springing up in desolate and difficult to reach regions throughout the world, locations that remained out of the control of wizard authorities. They took much more manpower than there were bodies to investigate them all. These markets could open up one day and be gone the next, or these merchants could sell at any nonmagical market. All reasons why the Wizard Guard preferred the major black market to remain intact. It was easier than monitoring the other less stable markets.
Curious, Cham skimmed the chapter titles and flipped through the tome for words like portal and Busse Woods. Staring at the information in disbelief, he tapped the book with his thumbs, pounding it like it was a set of drumsticks.
“You know about the portals in Busse Woods then?” he surmised.
Pointing to the book, Arden said, “It lists the portals there. Offers a map to their locations. I’m aware I’m so close. Alas, I cannot get inside.” Arden sighed deeply. If she couldn’t get inside, that meant she wasn’t magical. Even with a cursed object, only a magical could harness the energy to enter a portal.
The fact that Arden most likely had been tracking the Ring of Solomon and knew about the portal worried Cham and Emerson.
She’ll need to be dealt with by the VAC, Cham thought.
Jason Pearce had mentioned meeting Arden in a black market outpost in Morocco, according to his notes. With enough currency, those markets were easy to gain access to.
“Did you ever meet a man named Jason Pearce?” Cham asked nonchalantly.
Arden eyes blinked rapidly. They were unfocused, staring seemingly into nothingness. “I’ve met so many people. I don’t recall that name.” The archaeologist rooted through her piles of precariously stacked folders and paper.
It was eight years ago, so Cham wasn’t surprised, though Jason had marked it in his notes, maybe as a reference for the future.
As he passed the book of portals on to Emerson, Arden’s fingers lovingly grazed tablets and tiles, books and notebooks. She moved folde
rs and books from one pile to another, mixing and matching until finding a particular notebook that she finally slid across the table. It was an average, nondescript spiral notebook that was missing the front cover. The pages, brown and crumpled, featured handwritten notes made illegible with water damage and age.
Arden drew pictures and maps, noted equations, and made hypotheses. She had written on every page, using the margins and back cover. Much of the information had been scratched out, rewritten, added to. It wasn’t the only notebook. Cham spied several more on the credenza behind her desk. But she wanted him to have this one.
He scanned and flipped through the pages, finding the picture of the ring, a large, thick band. On the face of the ring, an etched six-pointed star surrounded by four stones that created a square.
That’s our ring.
He showed the drawing to Emerson.
“You have many lovely items,” Emerson complimented.
“Yes, yes. All mine,” Arden replied her eyes unfocused. She absently played with a folder on the desk. It was empty.
“Dr. Blakely. How many archaeological digs have you headed? Finding the Ring of Solomon must have been the highlight.” Emerson tried again to bring Arden back to them. She seemed lost in her own thoughts.
“Just one. Just the one.”
Emerson and Cham exchanged glances.
She’s been looking for the ring for forty years!
“Why?” Emerson asked incredulously. It seemed odd to work so hard for your Ph.D. and throw it all away.
The ring wasn’t worth that. What was she doing all that time? Cham thought to himself.
“Too much to do. There was no time to search for anything else.”
“Dr. Blakely, we need to know what you know about the Ring of Solomon.” Cham held up the drawing, Arden’s hand trembled at the request.
“Arden honey, what’s going on in—?” A middle-aged woman strode into the room. Her flowing dress billowed out behind her, and her long, plaited hair bounced as she walked.
“They’re here about the ring,” Arden’s face lit up as she announced the purpose of their visit, as if they vindicated her life’s work. “Ariana, meet Robert and Emerson.”
“Where are you from?” Ariana’s terse voice rose an octave.
“Sorry, ma’am. We’re with the Chicago Police Department, investigating the death of a man who had this ring on him when he died.” Cham held the picture and his police badge for her to review.
Ariana grabbed the identification and scrutinized it as if she would know whether it was real or not. “This is ridiculous. The ring is fiction. I wish you all would leave her alone!”
Taken back by the outburst, Cham believed Ariana thought Arden was out of her mind. Arden’s face went blank.
“I understand you don’t believe in the ring, but I assure you the ring is real. We have it, and we know Dr. Blakely has extensive knowledge about it.”
Ariana’s shoulders slumped. She backed away without apology or acknowledgement about Arden’s work. She turned and ran for the kitchen, making her displeasure known through loud outbursts. Doors opened and were thrown shut; plates and glasses were slammed against countertops.
While the wizards sat in uncomfortable silence, trying to not look toward the kitchen, Arden relaxed, comfortable behind the desk and ignoring Ariana’s fit. She easily found a second book and handed it to Emerson. The wizard guard perused the tome; it was Arden’s personal diary.
“You’re not really with the Chicago Police Department. Who do you work for?” Arden asked with a grin on her face.
Memory modification, Cham noted to himself.
“The Wizard Guard, ma’am,” Cham admitted.
“Ah. I always wondered if Wizard Guards were a rumor told to demons and bad wizards, scaring them into behaving.” Arden chuckled as if this was all a joke.
“I need to know how you know about us, about magic.”
With the question, her face drew downwards, creating deep lines in her forehead and around her lips; her shoulders fell forward and her hands fell limp against the desk.
When she spoke, it was as though from a place long ago, her tone wistful. “I’ve been tracking that ring since I first lost it. When you track a supernatural artifact, you ultimately meet others searching for the same thing, and you learn of the places. You become familiar with spells and magic.”
Leaving the thoughts in the past, Arden returned to the piles on her desk, sorting through the books and folders—forty years of research—and lining it across the rickety desk that swayed each time she moved something.
Emerson was lost in the pages of the diary, reading the meticulous notes that graced the pages—so neatly written and organized, they almost seemed obsessive.
“Cham.” Emerson showed the notes to Cham.
There in the pages, a mention of a man named Benaiah.
Cham reached into his jacket for a picture of the deceased. He would have slid it across the desk, but it was so full of stuff, so he stood and handed Arden the picture. “Is this the Benaiah you mentioned in your notes?”
Arden held the picture close to her face, examining every line, every scar on his large, bloated body.
“Yes. This is him. He’s dead. I’m not surprised.” She handed the photo back to Cham.
“How do you know him?” Emerson asked.
“It’s not important anymore.” With a shaky hand, Arden fiddled with a folder. The paper rustled. “It’s a small community you live in, and for the right price, things are exchanged: information, goods. People show up in multiple locations.” She trailed off, her voice dreamy and distant.
Cham laid the notebook in his lap and stared at the archaeologist who seemed unable to stay focused for any substantial length of time. Her mind easily wandered, and certain questions upset her so that she’d retract into her own world. He cleared his throat. “What do you really know about the ring, Dr. Blakely?” The ring. That seemed to be what kept her from retreating inside her head.
“My diary is only part of the story. Here. This is how the ring works. At least how I think it works.” Arden relaxed when she spoke of the ring; her eyes cleared, and a smile crept across her lips. She handed Cham a two-inch-thick folder. As with everything the archaeologist owned, it was old, worn, ripped, and yellowed as if it had been through a lot—much like its owner. “The ring—this lovely, powerful artifact—spent a lot of time in Tibet. I almost had it there, and I lost it. I picked up the trail in Morocco, and a seller there led me to another buyer who in turn sold it to Benaiah.”
She grew quiet and thoughtful; her eyes glazed over as she became lost amongst her thoughts and memories that had consumed her life for so long. “… I had him. Found him. Hid with my ring for eight years,” she mumbled softly to herself. Her quick changes in demeanor unnerved Cham and Emerson. It was as though she were a different person in these brief moments.
It occurred to Cham in the quiet moment that Jason had dealt with both the Fraternitatem and Arden at the same time.
Are they related? Did she work for them?
“Are you an agent for the Fraternitatem?” Cham asked her.
She grimaced. “I knew of them once.” Her soft, warm voice was sleepy, maybe drugged. Cham wondered if Ariana kept the archaeologist high to keep her calm.
That would explain a lot.
Cham perused the notes on the ring, unable to decipher the language.
Older than Latin?
“Is there a translation for this spell?” he asked. Again, his question about the ring pulled Arden’s attention back to them.
“I can’t find it. That’s all I could get my hands on. I would think you could just chant it and poof, make the ring work. I was not able to.” Her forced smile twisted to a scowl. Arden’s hands fell to her lap and shook uncontrollably.
“Emerson.” He handed her the supposed spell.
Emerson smiled as she perused the language of unknown origin. “I don’t know it, Cham. I’ll have to get
to the library immediately and look for this. Can I take this with me?”
“They’re mine!” she shouted at Emerson as if a whole new personality possessed the archaeologist.
Distant footsteps pounded against hardwood floors, and Ariana rushed into the room. “You need to leave. Arden’s not well, and you being here is making it worse,” Ariana cried out. She handed Arden a mug with rising steam, then turned back to Cham and Emerson. “Leave!”
“I’m sorry,” Cham said. “We didn’t mean to—”
“Just go, and don’t bother us again!”
The wizard guards rushed from the apartment. By the time they teleported from a little used alleyway and returned to Wizard Hall, they realized they still possessed several of Arden Blakely’s things.
Chapter 21
High above the school grounds, in an empty wing of the school, Annie sat inside the window well as snow fell. Fluffy, white flakes covered the racing pits, the lake, and the mile-long path from the teleportation area, blanketing the earth in white.
A fire burned in the hearth; the wood popped, smoke rolled upwards, and the heat, warmed the room so much that Annie had stripped to a tank top and jeans. Even still, sweat rolled down the back of her neck.
She leaned against the window to cool off as the wind whipped against the glass. When she began to shake from the cold, she returned her attention to Dr. Arden Blakely’s diaries, which Cham had brought to her less than an hour ago.
Forty-two years ago
For so long, I tried to put the pieces together. Now I’m convinced that there is a hidden temple out there in the desert, one that belonged to King Solomon. I couldn’t believe when I found the file hidden in the archives at the Field Museum—the missing dig site that can prove my theory. They thought they found it. They really believed the top of a column belonged to King Solomon’s missing temple. But the site caved in, and twenty men lost their lives. Oh, it was a beautiful day when I found the file. I can finally prove my thesis!
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 53
