Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set

by Sheryl Steines

  “You humans are all the same. Your attachments make you weak and useless.”

  Annie and Spencer glanced at each other. “Pig,” Annie muttered. She curled herself under the heavy quilt and closed her eyes. “Can we put the muffle bag back over his head?” she asked.

  “Don’t tempt me.” Spencer returned to the window. Below, curious passersby glanced up at the window belonging to the American tourists. He waved down to several women. They averted their eyes, as if caught snooping.

  “They’re watching us,” Spencer said.

  “Stop watching them,” Annie responded.

  “Fine.” He let the drapes slip shut and crossed the room to the bed. “Let’s get you healed. I want to get out of here.” He sat beside her and cradled her head.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Sturtagaard hissed.

  “Bite me, jackass,” Annie retorted. Spencer cast the healing spell again. Her scalp tingled, and she groaned lightly as the remnants of the concussion cleared away completely. She opened her eyes.

  “Well?”

  “No dizziness, no headache, no nausea. I think you can stop worrying.” Annie chuckled.

  “The princess is long gone,” Sturtagaard said, trying to readjust himself in the chair.

  Spencer winked at Annie, grabbed the muffle bag, and bent low to meet the vampire in the face.

  “Stay quiet, and we’ll have you back in the States to become a useless bother all over again,” Spencer derided.

  Sturtagaard glared with black, empty eyes. “Go ahead. Just do it.”

  Spencer slipped the bag on the vampire’s head and pulled down tightly. He checked the bindings securing the vampire to the chair and turned to Annie. “Let’s hope the boy toy is there,” he said as they left Sturtagaard alone in the room.

  Chapter 10

  While the sun had burned away the smoke, the smell of wet and charred stone hung in the air. Annie grimaced as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

  She reached for Spencer’s hand and followed the winding road out of the village, taking a longer, leisurely stroll through the village, stopping first to the neighborhood where the bomb had exploded.

  “Albert at the desk looked at me strangely when I asked there were any blockages out of the city,” Annie advised.

  “They don’t trust us, that’s obvious,” Spencer quipped. “How does he expect us to leave Dinan if we don’t know that!”

  “Chill,” Annie chided.

  Dinan was a medieval town, small stone buildings jammed together, a jumble of structures in wood and stone, some multi-colored and others a simple beige, blending in with much of the surroundings.

  They followed the street to the left, passing the bar from the previous night as well as several businesses—cheese shops, bakeries, a quaint curio shop with glass figurines in the window.

  Annie slowed as they neared Pl. Saint Louis. It wasn’t that she was fearful or nervous it would happen again, but memories had a way of attacking at the strangest moments. She could feel herself flying through the air and landing on the ground. Absently, she touched the side of her head that had hit the ground.

  A large scorch mark covered the center of the narrow road; the hole in the ground was several feet wide. Burn marks radiated outwards, much like a sunburst. Barbed wire poked out from the hole, and rubble littered the street. The ground closest to the impact was nothing more than thin powder.

  “The blast was bigger than I expected,” Annie murmured. They drew stares and whispers. It appeared Sturtagaard wasn’t lying.

  Did they have a reason to suspect us? What if someone saw us on that street last night?

  Fuzzy images and whirling lights replayed in Annie’s mind; she tensed, took a breath, and turned her attention to the street in the daylight.

  “You okay?” Spencer asked. They crossed the street on their way out of town.

  “Maybe. I just get this bad feeling we’re not done by a long shot.” She took one last look at the crater and shuddered.

  “We will handle whatever comes our way. We’re wizard guards. We got this,” he assured her.

  They followed a winding road away from town where the buildings grew sparse. The landscape surrounding them became expansive, the sunlight brighter. They held hands when the sidewalk ended and the ditch was their only means of walking safely along the highway.

  By the time they escaped Dinan, the mid-morning sun was bright enough to warm them—or perhaps it was the rough walk through the ditch. Either way, sweat covered Annie’s back and forehead. She wiped it away and ran to keep pace with Spencer.

  Spencer examined the landscape searching for a safe teleportation spot, away from the watchful eyes of the townspeople.

  “We can teleport over there. Can you make it?” he asked.

  The gentle hum of a car engine grew near and quickly passed them, the small car zipping along.

  Annie followed his gaze and sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be fine until we can teleport.”

  Spencer guided her into the field of lavender.

  “It smells good,” Annie said. Her mind drifted to Amelie. So smug, so new… so desperately needing to be staked.

  The hill rolled downward into a small valley. Birds chirped, and an airplane roared overhead. Annie started falling behind as her feet caught in the weeds and plants; the trek was longer than either had anticipated. Spencer sensing Annie’s difficulty, turned.

  “I’m sorry. We should have teleported from the room.” He grabbed her hand and glanced toward the main road from town. It was nearly eleven in the morning; traffic was considerable, and they were still visible.

  “Listen, I need to work back to health. So don’t worry about me. Besides, we have to appear normal. Being seen is important. Annoying but necessary.”

  At the first tree, Spencer pulled her behind the trunk, which was just thick enough to conceal them both. Spencer glanced to the thick clump of trees still several miles from where they hid, wrapped his arms around Annie, and teleported away.

  As it always was, there was pure joy that came from the freedom teleportation brought. The lift, the blur surrounding you when magic lifted you away… if Annie had to explain it to a nonmagical, she could not have. Nothing came close. Even landing at their new location was filled with wonder. In reality, it took less than a second to move.

  They both knew without truly knowing that Amelie was gone, so they chose a direct path to the house, hiking the winding driveway.

  Between the narrow road and the trees, it felt like they were walking into a wind tunnel: the bitter air whirled and blew leaves and thin dust around them.

  Coming around the large bend, the three-story stucco mansion came into view; it was nearly an idyllic picture that could have been made into a postcard. The worn and faded façade needed repair; cracks stretched across the large expanse of the house like traveling ivy. Several windows lacked shutters; clear patches where the shutters had been were visible in the sunlight. Another shutter hung askew and bounced against the cracked stucco—bam, bam, bam—as wind whipped against the hard wall.

  “Must’ve been nice once,” Spencer said. The man sitting on the steps, whom they had come to refer to as the Boy Toy, cried so hard he was shaking.

  Amelie must have left him.

  The man wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Hey. You okay?” Annie asked.

  “Why do you care?” He glared at them through red, watery eyes. He was short and pudgy in the middle with a bald patch at the top of his head. Annie could see his vulnerability—his life stuck on hold as Amelie used him for her own needs and desires.

  Though the man was pale, he wasn’t vampire pale; his skin didn’t glow in the sunlight that beat down on them in the open patch surrounding the mansion. His quivering lips didn’t have that “I’m dead” purplish hue either.

  He’s definitely still human.

  “So you’re sitting here crying because it’s fun?” Annie asked sardonically.

  He blew his
nose on a dirty handkerchief and shoved it back in his pocket. “Yeah, well, she left if that’s why you’re here.”

  “You mean Amelie?” Annie asked.

  “Who else?” the man wiped away the tears. He pulled his shoulders back and sat straighter. “Who are you?” he inquired.

  “I’m Annie. This is Spencer. Do you know what time she’ll be back?”

  “She’s not coming back! She left me after I set the explosion to protect her!” He choked and coughed.

  Annie worried a bit, seeing him turn purple. She summoned a bottle of water and handed to him. “Here. Drink this.”

  He eyed the bottle suspiciously before taking a swig. When the bottle was empty, he tossed the container into the bushes.

  “Do you know where she went?” Annie asked.

  He searched Annie’s face as if the answer was there. When he finally put her face together with a location, he jumped from the stairs, pointing at Annie.

  “This is your fault!” he wheezed.

  “Where did she go?” Annie asked again.

  “I don’t know,” he said too quickly.

  Annie raised a distrustful eyebrow.

  He knows.

  The man backed up the stairs away from them.

  “She left. She had to have gone somewhere. Hates you that much does she?” Spencer prodded.

  The man mumbled something unintelligible, but Annie and Spencer both caught the word “home.” They exchanged concerned glances. The world could not under any circumstances know that Amelie was still alive. There would be too many questions that couldn’t be explained, too many inquiries as to why the United States pronounced the princess dead, where had she been for the last eight months, and why was she back. The incident caused additional stress between the U.S. and Amborix when Amelie died, and the relationship was still precarious. The Amborix Witches Council wasn’t happy that the princess was back.

  They blame me!

  “You won’t be safe here. Amelie won’t leave witnesses,” Spencer warned.

  “She loves me. She won’t hurt me,” the man argued.

  “You can believe that if you want, but once you’ve lost your usefulness, she’ll kill you,” Spencer warned.

  The man slumped forward, clenched his jaw, and sighed as if he’d given up.

  “What’s your name?” Annie asked him.

  The marked man wrung his hands. His eyes darted from Spencer to Annie as if he was assessing his situation and his options. Regardless of what went through his head, he appeared to be fearful and small, even as he stood above them on the stairs. He finally said, “Louis Van Alton. My family owns this house, this property, and I would like you to leave.”

  He raised his shoulders to show strength. In a strange way, this man reminded Annie of Jordan Wellington, the wizard who followed Amelie through the United States. Both men let themselves fall under her spell, let her use them because it was… love?

  “You do know what she is, don’t you?” Annie asked.

  Louis frowned, he stared at her as though she were stupid or had multiple heads.

  “You mean a vampire? Of course. She died eight months ago. Everyone knows that,” Louis said incredulously as if it was normal for a dead princess to be resurrected as a vampire.

  “So you knew who she was when you met her?” Annie asked.

  “Of course. We were childhood friends. I’d know her anywhere.” Louis stared off into space, a comfortable smile on his face, presumably remembering his friend warmly. “She came here, desperately weak and scared. She needed care and a place to hide.” He rubbed his hands together. They were red and irritated. “I took her in. I’d do anything to help my friend. I bought her clothes found her a place to stay, found her…” He shuddered. “I gave her everything.” Tears welled in his eyes again. Large drops rolled down his cheek and dropped from his chin.

  The enigmatic princess attracted weak minded men who seemed enamored with her, giving her all that they had, including their lives. And for all their trouble, she used them, tore them down, and threw them out when they no longer served a purpose.

  Oh, Louis, you’ll be next.

  “You know he’s not safe,” Spencer whispered to Annie. “And what if he runs to help her—or worse, talks about her.”

  “You want to travel with another problem?” Annie’s voice rose even though she agreed with him. The thought of teleporting another nonmagical would make this trip much more difficult.

  “We have no choice.”

  “Yeah.” Annie sighed. “You know, Louis, you really aren’t safe. We can protect you if you come with us,” she offered.

  He ran down the stairs, angry with each step, until he was so close to her she could smell the thick scent of cologne. “You don’t know her! She loves me!” he shouted. When he finished, he ran back up the stairs, lunged through the doors, and slammed them behind him.

  “He made his choice,” Spencer said.

  “I guess we need to go to Amborix and stop the princess from killing her family,” Annie said. “Fabulous.”

  *

  Annie and Spencer strode through town, their hands linked. She glanced at him with a smile, he kissed her forehead, and they locked their arms in a routine they had been practicing since becoming partners and were now quite adept at pretending for the sake of those who observed them.

  They climbed several steps to the door of the hotel and reached the small entry with uneven pink and black tiles. Annie smiled at the concierge at the front desk. His eyes followed them as they climbed the stairs to their second-floor room.

  The room was as they left it, with the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle and the vampire still tied to a chair in the corner, away from all windows and the sun that now streamed into the room.

  The open window did more than let in the fresh air; they hoped to agitate Sturtagaard. He could smell the scent of iron as the villagers and tourists ambled down the sidewalk, many stopping at the corner below the window for brief conversations.

  Upon their return, Spencer removed the bag from the vampire’s head. His fangs had extended on their own, visible through his clenched jaw. Saliva dribbled to his chin.

  “Hanging in there, Sturtagaard?” Annie asked as she sat on the bed and fell backwards.

  A five-minute nap would be great.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the voices that wafted up to their room.

  “They all blame you,” he sneered as he pulled against the restraints.

  “Kinda figured that,” Spencer said.

  Annie rested her arm across her eyes to block out the sun. “We’re leaving anyway. Amelie is on her way home.”

  “Revenge is common,” Sturtagaard remarked.

  Annie sat up and raised her eyebrows. “Revenge?”

  Sturtagaard smirked. “For all the wrongs that were done to you when you were human. It fits. She’s had time to think about it, hone her skills. All vampires have a revenge kill.”

  This concept was something new to Annie; even with her extensive training and knowledge of vampires. From the time she was thirteen, her father had trained her on how to fight the demons, and she had continued to learn much about the creatures after that, but this she had never heard of. Kills tied to their former lives, the destruction of past friends and family?

  Why am I not surprised?

  “Did you know this?” Annie asked Spencer.

  “No. I’ve never interviewed a vampire in such a way to learn that,” he admitted.

  “Is that just a reaction to the demon taking over your soul?” Annie inquired, genuinely curious.

  “Yes. Probably. I don’t know if that explains it. I just know that all vampires do this,” Sturtagaard said without much conviction.

  “So who’d you kill?” Annie asked.

  Sturtagaard regarded her question carefully before answering. The memory of his revenge kill must have brought him amusement or joy; he smirked before answering. Annie grimaced.

  I shouldn’t have
asked.

  “It was such a chaotic time,” he began. Annie already knew he was born a Viking in what had once been North Umbria and was now Northern England, but she wasn’t aware of many details beyond that. “We were losing the old ways, assimilating into society, a new life. We were so tired from that battle to rid the land of…” He glanced at Annie and cleared his throat.

  To clear the land of what?

  “Alas, in the end it wasn’t meant to be.”

  She thought back to the time. He was born at the end of the Viking reign, long after the initial raids had happened. It should have been relatively peaceful.

  What happened?

  Sturtagaard tugged on his restraints. “You’re cutting off the circulation,” he said.

  “You don’t have circulation,” Spencer mocked. “You haven’t answered the question. Who did you kill?”

  “I’m getting to it, you idiot. It wasn’t that simple. I thought you learned all about me in your Wizard Guard training?” Sturtagaard taunted.

  “Fine, don’t tell us. I don’t care anymore,” Annie said dryly.

  “You should know why,” Sturtagaard said quietly.

  “Excuse us then. Continue.” Annie rolled her eyes, angering the vampire.

  “We fought so hard for our safety, for our lives. We were overrun by this hoard of demons who couldn’t be stopped. They couldn’t be killed with the weapons we had at our disposal. So many were lost. I lost so many. Until…” he stopped and looked at Annie as if she was somehow related to this recollection. His voice trailed off and, if possible, Annie thought she saw a tear roll down his cheek. Both of them looked away as if embarrassed.

  “We found our way to victory, made peace with our… neighbors. But it wasn’t enough to quell the anger. My wife was gone, my child…” He pulled against the restraints again and sighed. “I blamed everyone—the coven, the king—for ruining my life. So when he came, the most beautiful man I had ever seen, I followed him and he gave me my immortality. As a vampire, I was hungry. No one was left off my revenge list. Etheldreda was first because she was an ugly old hag who cost more lives than she saved. It was almost a relief when the life left her old body. And had I been able, Anaise would have been next.” He smiled at the memory. “You would’ve liked Anaise. She was a lot like you.” He smirked.