Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set
Page 110
Gila moved her hands to the armrests of her chair. Her hands clutched them so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“Fine. I’ll give you that, but I do not give you permission to enter the property again,” Gila said, though her voice was soft and weak. Even she realized that dark magic had occurred there and that the wizard guards indeed had the right to investigate. She sighed deeply.
“I know you’re aware that’s not true. The house is a crime scene. We can go back to investigate.” Spencer watched her reactions closely. Reluctantly, her muscles slackened and she let go of the chair.
“Thank you for informing me about the demon. Is there anything else?”
“We think this demon has something to do with a prophecy that involves Annie, and we would like your help to find out what that is. We think she might be in danger,” Spencer said clearly and with authority as he stared at Gila.
She drummed her fingers against her silk skirt. “I’m sorry if this demon caused you problems. I hope it hasn’t hurt anyone.” She sighed again as if resigned to continue, then looked at Annie. “There are certain things that are going to happen to you. I wish I could say more. I really do, but Annie Pearce, this is your destiny. I am only one small part of this and I did what I was required to do. I can’t tell you anymore. It is up to you to figure it out.”
Annie stared at the talisman and then back to Gila Donaldson. “So you were required to summon a demon and a man from the ninth century for what purpose?”
Gila shook her head, stood and opened an antique desk in the corner of the long front room. She took out a yellowed, brittle scroll sealed with the wax seal of the Wizard Council. She handed it to Annie. “I was told very little over the years except that I was to summon a demon. I don’t know what man you are referring to, but you can’t summon a living human. Once you became engaged in the events, I was to give this to you,” Gila said and handed the scroll to Annie.
The seal was thick and dry, nearly brittle, but it looked as though it hadn’t been touched in years.
Perhaps even one thousand years?
“Is this the prophecy?” Annie asked. Gila shook her head.
“I don’t know what that is. All I know is what I’ve told you. I have nothing else. And thank you for alerting me the house was destroyed. I’ll have someone on that soon. I think you need to leave now.”
Gila rushed them from her house without saying goodbye.
Spencer glanced at the front door. “Maybe Emerson will be a little more forthcoming. Shall we find out?”
*
Gila Donaldson watched Annie and Spencer leave her property from behind the attic curtains. It pained her to lie so blatantly, but then, they all their roles and that was hers. She stood over her alter where her familial Book of Shadows lay opened to the pages that guided her every action where Anaise concerned.
My dearest Gila, the letter began.
There will come a time when you will need to set the plan in motion. You, Gila dear, will meet Anaise the Brave and your single goal will be to get her back to us, whatever the cost.
All that you need has been recorded here in this Book of Shadows. We all have our roles, yours starts here and will end with Anaise coming to us and returning home…
Gila re-read the plan as it was laid out centuries ago. Today, she was to give these pages to Annie. But she didn’t.
Because her power will be too strong.
Annie was special, the power that would come to her would endanger them all. The conflict had roiled in Gila’s stomach when she was given her destiny. For what she was about to do, she could only hope the ancient ones would forgive her for her transgressions.
*
Before hounding Emerson Donaldson, Annie and Spencer met in the conference room on the fifth floor of Wizard Hall. She stared out the large window and down on the roaring traffic.
“What are you waiting for?” Spencer asked patiently.
“I wanna know, but I don’t.” Annie stared at the unbroken seal of the scroll and snapped it easily. She sighed and unrolled the scroll.
Anaise,
We called to the ancient ones for guidance. They sent us your vision in the fire and exclaimed that it will be you who will save us from these wretched beasts that have overrun our home. Blessed be. This is to reassure you of the ancient ones’ love and the gift to you for the role you play in this war. The great coven of Northumbria will forever be in your servitude.
Wizard Council January, 880
“Um… huh?” Annie passed the scroll to Spencer.
He read quickly and said, “What the hell are you supposed to do with this?”
“Go to the past and kill the demons, apparently. I didn’t know time travel was even possible!” Annie said, her voice several octaves higher than normal.
“Do you see the date?” Spencer asked.
“Late ninth century,” Annie said.
Spencer dialed his phone and asked Emerson to join them in the conference room. The young wizard appeared within minutes and nervously took a seat beside Spencer.
“What’s up?” she asked casually, though Annie thought Emerson was well aware of what was coming. She handed her the scroll. As Emerson read the ancient words, she fiddled with her hands.
“Your grandmother gave it to me.” Annie dropped the case file in front of Emerson.
Knowing she couldn’t lie her way out of the situation, Emerson opened the file. Pictures of a house, a scorch mark in the dirty carpet, and of the demon, along with samples of the clothing. She read the report lab results.
“The demon’s from the ninth century?” she asked.
“Yes. We found him in that house that, surprisingly, belongs to a Gila Donaldson,” Annie said. “Keep reading the file.”
Emerson continued to peruse the notes, finding the computer search results and a copy of the mortgage signed by Gila Donaldson.
“It could be another Gila Donaldson,” Emerson said. But after reading the date and place of birth and the primary mailing address, she clearly knew it was her grandmother. “Why would my grandmother buy this crappy house?” Emerson closed the folder and handed it to Annie.
“She is responsible for some part of a larger plan. While she didn’t completely verify it was her, someone conjured a demon in the living room of that house. We want to know why, but she wouldn’t elaborate. Would you be able to?” Annie shoved the folder in her field pack.
“I only know that something is coming, but I’m not privy to what that is,” she said.
Annie pursed her lips. “So they’ve been passing information from generation to generation but not to you?”
Emerson blanched. Annie thought she might have struck a nerve. “It’s coven business, and I’m not part of that,” Emerson said.
“So what’s your role in this? Did they force you into the Wizard Guard to spy on us? Make sure we’re doing our part?” Annie raised her voice but backed down when Emerson hunched over. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” Annie murmured.
“I wish I could help you, but I had no role in this. I wanted to be a wizard guard because I want to help people. I just couldn’t hack it. Now I’m just a researcher.” Emerson sighed.
“If it helps, you’re the best researcher we have,” Annie said.
“It doesn’t, but thanks for the vote of confidence,” Emerson said.
“I’m sorry if you’re unhappy, Emerson, but we need to keep moving on this. If you can find out anything, please pass it along. What we think we know makes no sense,” Spencer said.
Chapter 6
When they became a couple, Annie and Cham could no longer work together as wizard guard partners. The ripple effect meant there was a partner switch: Annie with Spencer and Cham with Gibbs. They were productive partnerships until Cham was promoted to Wizard Guard Assistant Manager, leaving him to split his time between administrative duties and field work. This left Gibbs time to work alone, which is what he preferred. On occasion, however, Cham and G
ibbs returned to their partnership as though there had never been a break.
“We’ll spiral from the outside and meet at the house,” Gibbs said.
Heading in opposite directions, they wound their way through the residential neighborhoods by walking the outer streets and methodically turning inwards, searching all alleys, peering inside open garages, and scanning back yards, front yards, and the spaces between the houses.
Cham moved through the streets quickly. There was no sign of the mysterious man: no destroyed foliage or houses, no garbage strewn about, no camping gear or dead animals. Reaching Keeney Street, Cham turned left toward the house at the end of the block.
Hypervigilant, he checked carefully from one side of the street to the other. He sensed anxious neighbors when he glimpsed a flash of curtains being pulled together and the resident who jumped in his car and peeled out.
Knowing he was just an unassuming wizard guard in his T-shirt, jeans, and gym shoes, Cham chuckled, glanced down the street, and was surprised by the footsteps clacking against the sidewalk behind him.
“Excuse me,” a man said. His short legs and short stride made him look as though he were hopping to meet Cham.
Cham smiled patiently.
“Excuse me, are you in charge here?” the man asked.
Cham nodded and pulled out his identification, an expertly crafted Cook County sheriff’s ID that only the Wizard Guard could manage.
Uninterested in whether Cham was who he claimed to be or was even with the police department, the man nodded and said, “It’s about time. We’ve been trying to get the police to listen. They come and take notes but don’t search. First, it was that vagrant eating out of everyone’s garbage cans, and then that drunk staggering through the streets at all hours of the day.”
“The drunk?” Cham began to take notes in his mini notepad.
“You know, the one dressed as a Viking. To be honest with you, the costume isn’t very good. I saw him the other day when he tried to steal food from the Dinkers’ garage. He wasn’t even wearing the hat with the horns. Did ya find him yet?” the man asked.
Cham noticed a tiny piece of salad lodged between the man’s teeth and averted his gaze. “That’s actually why I’m here now. He appears to have moved on, but we’re sweeping through the area just in case. When was the last time anyone saw him, Mr…?” Cham held his pencil expectantly.
“I’m Peter Pinkerton. Your police friends stopped here last night. Walked up and down the street and left. The guy went that way. Everyone’s afraid to walk in the trees.” Peter Pinkerton tried to peek at Cham’s notes in his notebook.
Cham glanced in the direction of the forest, where a rough, narrow path had been chopped through the branches.
I wonder if he’s back there.
“Have you met the owner of this house?” he asked, pointing to the abandoned building.
“Oh, yeah. A nice old lady bought it a while back, two, maybe three months ago. I think she said her name was Gilda. No, that’s not it. It was a strange name I’d never heard of. Something like Gerta or Githa. Nice lady, pretty blue eyes. Saw her just that once, never seen her since. Doesn’t look like she’s been back,” he said, then added, “The vagrant went in there, too. Saw him go in there a few times.” The man looked at the building. “Looks like he ripped the door off. Someone needs to tell that woman.”
Cham pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “We have contacted the owner, so she’s aware. If you ever see the man in the Viking costume again, please call me directly.”
Peter Pinkerton tucked the business card in his shirt pocket. “What about that vagrant? Do you know where he is?”
“The vagrant is safe in Tar—um, jail right now. We’ll be looking for a better place for him to live as soon as we can. Thanks for your time, but I should go.” Cham nodded once and turned to leave.
“You’re not so scary,” Peter Pinkerton yelled out.
Cham turned. “Excuse me?”
Peter fidgeted and glanced at his hands.
“It’s just, it’s… I mean, you’re not like the other police. Some think you’re with a secret police. They’re afraid of you.” The man’s eyes darted across the street.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I promise, I’m just the regular police,” Cham smiled. “Thanks again.”
*
Gibbs glanced down the alley lined with garages. Some were open, but most were closed. He could hear metal clanking as though someone were fixing something, or maybe…
He headed toward the noise, glanced in the first open garage, and was met with a space packed full of broken lawn chairs, bicycles, and one jeep that was so dirty, someone had written “Wash me” on the window. Grimacing, he stepped out and continued to the end of the alley.
He checked the side yards, bushes, and behind sheds, methodically searching each street and alley until he, too, reached Keeney Street and turned right.
Thump, thump, thump.
Heavy footsteps echoed behind him. They lacked the clickety clack of hard soles against cement, sounding more like a hit to a punching bag. He turned just as a tall yet stocky man ran across the residential street.
Gibbs stared with interest at the man who could very well have come from the ninth century. Spencer had been adamant about this, and the collected evidence suggested the same. Gibbs took in his appearance. A thin, lightweight shirt, possibly cotton or linen, hung low on his body and was tied at the waist with a thin strip of fabric. The man also wore high leather boots and a thick fabric tied around his neck that fell askew and bounced with each step. As the man ran, his belt slipped from his waist.
It’s a good costume if that’s all it is.
But Gibbs didn’t believe in coincidences. If the demon’s clothes were dated to the ninth century and this man dressed the same, he probably came from that time too.
How did he get here?
Fearing exposure, Gibbs ran after the man, whose much larger stride gave him a huge advantage. Pulling away from Gibbs, the man crossed the street, jumped the curb and clipped a woman walking her dog. She fell hands first into the grass and the dog barked wildly, attempting to frighten the man who was now half a block from the collision.
“Jackass!” she shouted; Gibbs finally caught up, reached out, and yanked her up.
“Ma’am,” he said in acknowledgment and continued to run after his target.
After several blocks, Gibbs’s lungs burned and his heart pounded. The man turned onto Keeney Street toward Gila Donaldson’s abandoned house. The Viking ran at Cham and, to avoid a collision, Cham pulled Peter Pinkerton from Viking’s path. The force landed Peter Pinkerton in the grass. Gibbs ran past.
“Hey, watch it!” Peter shouted feebly.
“Sorry. Thanks again for your help!” Cham shouted, following Gibbs and the mysterious man into the trees.
Once tucked safely inside the thick foliage, away from prying eyes, Cham teleported himself a few yards ahead of the man. He was shocked by the costume the man wore.
Before he could fully process what he was seeing, Cham slammed a heavy jinx into the stranger. Rather than sending the man flying through the air, the spell bounced off of his shoulder. Without missing a step, he ran at Cham, knocking him off his feet. When Cham opened his eyes, he was several yards from where he started, and the agile man was headed deeper into the trees.
“What the hell?” Cham yelled.
Gibbs ran past Cham and shot a jinx. It, too, bounced off the scarf and flew back at him. Gibbs slid into a muddy spot on the trail and landed on his back. “Shit!” he yelled as he stared at the canopy of trees above him.
Detangling himself from the undergrowth, Cham watched the trees as they sputtered in the man’s wake. After estimating the speed, he teleported. The force of landing on the Viking’s back knocked them forward. Quickly, Cham cast the freeze spell, it only served to irritate the man. The stranger rolled over, picked Cham up by the collar, and tossed him against a tree.
The Viking proved to be difficult to roll on his back. Gibbs grunted until he had him pinned to the ground and knelt beside him. “So, what do you think?”
“Shaggy, unkempt beard, shaved head covered in tattoos that look like ancient runes. And look at that scar from his chin to his temple. That was some injury,” Cham commented. “The original Wizard Council used ancient Viking symbols. They’re all over Wizard Hall,” he added as Gibbs conjured magical rope.
“You think he’s a real Viking?” Gibbs asked as he tried to tie a magical rope around the man’s wrists. The rope disappeared when it touched the man’s skin. Gibbs and Cham exchanged concerned glances.
“He’s immune to magic?” Cham asked.
“Explains a lot.” Gibbs patted the man down, searching for the amulet or talisman that was blocking their magic.
The man’s eyes darted between Cham and Gibbs, finally landing on Cham.
“Do you have a name?” Cham asked.
If he understood the question, he refused to answer. He averted his gaze and watched clouds float across the sky.
“It’ll be better for you if you tell us your name, man,” Cham advised.
The man closed his eyes.
“Suit yourself. Anything on him?” Cham asked. He observed the man carefully, surprised how calm he was under the circumstances.
“Nothing obvious. Potion maybe?” Gibbs held his palm up and summoned a crystal and maneuvered it across the man’s chest.
Curious, the man sat up and surveyed Gibbs.
“Got something to say?” Gibbs asked.
The man pushed his arms out, punching Cham and Gibbs each in the chest. The force of the blow knocked the wind from their lungs, and both fell to the ground.
They lay on the ground, struggling for breath; branches rustled as the man ran off into the distance. “You okay, Gibbs?” Cham asked as he groaned and gingerly pulled himself up. He glanced into the trees; the man was long gone.