Annie thought back to the market from whence he came, to the many changes that had sprung up. She wondered when and why the market had changed. There hadn’t been just an exodus of booth owners; there had also been the influx of domesticated animals.
Master, magic, Gladden.
The words whispered by the elves at the market meant nothing to Annie as a set. She wondered if they were related to the pop of static in the changing portal—the portal that Rebekah Stoner sensed and touched—or to the ring or her John Doe or even the destruction of the protection spell.
The two worlds were colliding.
How did that happen?
Her head swam in a sea of haziness. Words and images flashed quickly but seemed disjointed, without meaning.
Annie pulled herself forward in the chair to give her lungs room to expand. She took a whiff of the market that permeated her hair and clothes.
This will be a long night.
Gibbs returned with a sodden rag, a poultice for the elf, and wrapped up the creature’s shin and calf. “That should help,” he said. The elf glanced at him through swollen eyes and shut them, off to a fitful sleep.
The back door screeched open and slammed shut. A familiar gait rushed through the house.
“Hey.” Cham kissed her roughly, clearly anxious and worried. “Gibbs said it’s your shoulder?”
His fingers grazed her tender shoulder joint. Annie winced in pain.
“Sorry,” Cham said. His lips gently kissed her forehead. “Brought something home from the market?” He pointed to the elf, who was resting more comfortably now that the potion was healing his leg.
“It appears so.”
Cham sat on the edge of the chair and held her hand with a firm, strong grip, warm against Annie’s cold hands. She shuddered, remembering the vampire’s chill against her skin.
“We need to get you cleaned up.” Cham waved a palm down the back of her favorite jacket, ripping it in half and pulling each side off of her shoulders. Gibbs slipped her arm into a sling. The burning pain was sharp and hot.
“Crap. That hurts.”
“Sorry, girl.” Gibbs’s touch was tender and efficient as he rested Annie’s arm inside the sling. After fastening the straps, he ran off to monitor the potion. She heard another cabinet swish open and slam shut.
“I should have come with,” Cham said.
A metal spoon clanged against the cast-iron cauldron. Annie jumped.
“Wouldn’t have made a difference.” Annie’s shortened quick breaths told Cham what he needed to know. As she shifted in the seat, as the pain radiated outward, he placed a pillow behind her, supporting her.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
What were those words? I can’t remember.
To keep from losing focus, she squeezed her fingernails into the palm of her hand.
The elf.
As if he could hear her thoughts, the elf stirred on the sofa.
“You okay?” Cham’s concern was palpable.
“Yeah. Just hurts. I… I need to ask you something.” She opened her eyes, and their eyes met, his worried, hers pained.
“Later. We’ll talk after you rest.” He helped her adjust in the seat.
“No. I need to ask before I forget.” She sucked in a deep breath. Sharp pains invaded her lungs, shoulder, and back.
“Annie.”
Those words…
She mentally retraced her steps through the incinerators and felt herself toss in a bag of garbage as she moved in closer to them. Though her head was foggy, the creatures’ low, soft voices came to her.
“No,” she told Cham. “The elves, at the incinerators. They were saying something about Gladden and a master. Do you know a Gladden at the market? Maybe their master?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“No. I’ve never heard of Gladden. I guess he could be a master to the elves? Did you hear anything else?” Cham asked.
Gibbs entered with a large glass filled with a thick, yellowish liquid. The taste in Annie’s mouth soured in anticipation of the bitter, tangy potion that would sting going down.
“Gladden Worchester works at the market. Drink,” Gibbs ordered.
The warm glass teased Annie. Though it would ease the pain, it wouldn’t offer any other comfort and would be miserable going down. She took a first swig and grimaced at the bitterness.
“All at once,” Gibbs reminded her.
She chugged the rest and shuddered as the unpleasant liquid tingled against her tongue and throat. As the potion hit her stomach, warmth spread outward from her abdomen to her arms, up through her chest and shoulders and back down through her legs. It rolled over her like waves, attaching to the pain and washing it away.
More alert with her senses more heightened, she heard the elf fidgeting against the leather. The little guy slept—or pretended to. She left him alone.
“Why you asking about Gladden?” Gibbs asked.
“All I could get from eavesdropping were the words master, magic, and Gladden.”
“Master?” As the word rolled from Gibbs’s tongue, the elf twitched and jerked awake, sliding on the leather sofa. Gibbs bent over the elf, his stare intense. “What do you know about the master,” he asked.
The elf sat up gingerly, frowned at Gibbs, and turned toward Annie. “Huxley said you’d keep me safe.” The elf’s thin, high voice unnerved her.
Closing her eyes, Annie focused on her memories of the market and the vampire that had chased her along the passageway.
What was I doing before the chase?
She dug her nails deeper into her palm, remembering all she could before the chase to the door of the incinerators.
The elf. I slipped the card into his brown pants, I promised him protection if he or anyone else knew what happened to the John Doe.
The incinerator smell hung over Annie like a blanket. She grimaced. The elf picked through the hair in ears and wiped something on the sofa.
“I did promise Huxley, didn’t I?” Annie said.
“I can’t go back there!” the elf squealed.
“You will be safe; you won’t go back to the market.” She tried to reassure the elf—but he was an elf, one who worked in the incinerators at the market and who was probably not familiar with human kindness or cleanliness.
“And Huxley. He gave me this.” His tiny, grayish-green hand held out Annie’s card.
“We’ll get Huxley out too. You’ll both be safe,” she promised. The thought struck Annie: if those chasing them already knew about this elf, his friend was most likely already dead.
The elf grunted and glared at Gibbs before eyeing Cham suspiciously. “Who’s he?”
“My boyfriend. I promise you’re safe with us. What’s your name?”
The elf’s eyes focused on Annie, ignoring the men in the room. “Bitherby, ma’am.” The elf tilted his work cap. Bits of garbage, dirt, and other biologicals Annie refused to think of floated to the floor.
Annie cringed. “Okay. Bitherby. Nice to meet you. How’s your leg?”
Gibbs lifted the fabric from the wound, examining the healing injury. “Nearly healed,” Gibbs said. He placed the poultice back and squatted beside the elf. Bitherby shook with him so near. “So, who’s the master?” Gibbs asked Bitherby.
“What will you do to protect me?” Bitherby addressed Annie. The pain potion, after its initial jolt of energy, was making her sleepy and clouded her head. Her focus wandered through images of the market.
“Annie.” Cham’s concerned voice yanked her from the images.
I don’t think he’ll like either option. “Well, you have two choices,” she said. “You either work at Windmere School or I can get you in at Wizard Hall.”
Bitherby shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no. I’m not working at the hall. They’ll kill me.”
Gibbs grunted. Annie glared at him through her fog, silently cautioning him to refrain from saying anything. He shrugged and sat across from her in a second club chair.
“Listen, Bitherby. Everyone at market saw us, saw you jump our teleport. They will find out who led you to us, making you and Huxley targets. You have to get out. Those are your two choices.” It was still difficult for Annie to speak and breathe at the same time. She coughed, and her shoulder twinged.
Deep in concentration, Bitherby contemplated his options. His lips curled downward in a profound grimace while he made the most important decision of his life.
“I’d rather work with the brats,” he finally said. He sat back against the sofa and scratched, picked at himself, and rubbed against the furniture.
Annie sighed. He was under her care for now, at least until she dumped him on her former headmaster. I hope Headmaster Turtledove isn’t too upset… “Before I take you to Windmere, we need to ask you about what’s going on at the market.”
The elf picked at a scab on his elbow. “’kay,” he answered.
“Can you tell us about the master?”
Bitherby shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and turned to Gibbs with wide, fearful eyes. When he looked back at Annie, he wrung his tiny hands.
“You’re safe with us. I made you a promise,” she reiterated.
Bitherby’s eyes zipped around the room, to Gibbs, to Annie, to Cham, and out the window. “The… the ma—aster, he runned the market with Mr. Gladden.” Finishing, he took several rapid breaths. His eyes still darted across the room as though he expected this master to jump out and kill him.
“Gladden is the master?” Annie asked.
Bitherby shook his head quickly. “No, ma’am, Mr. Gladden runned the market.”
“Gladden runs the market?” Gibbs asked, confused.
How come I’ve never heard of this man? “Who’s Gladden?” Annie asked.
Gibbs paced across the fireplace and stopped beside the bookshelves. “Gladden Worchester is a low-level grunt. At least, he used to be. Worked the market, did odd jobs, collected money, ran errands. I only came in contact with him twice—two separate jobs. Once I caught him peddling mummy hands for a seller. Another time, he was shaking down a merchant for protection money. The merchant called the Wizard Guard for help.”
“So how did he go from a low-level goon to running the black market?” Cham asked.
Gibbs leaned against the fireplace and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Must have killed someone and used magic to obtain their power. He’s got no personality to worm his way in otherwise.”
“That could explain the changes at market,” Annie said and explained to Cham about the weakened protection shield, the increase of domestic animals, the lack of merchants, and the increased number of abandoned booths. His eyebrows raised in surprise, though he didn’t comment.
“What did Gladden do?” Gibbs asked the elf.
Bitherby’s short legs dangled over the edge of the sofa. His uninjured one kicked and bounced in a rhythmic motion to no particular sequence. He shrugged. “One day he just runned the market.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You don’t just run the market. What magic did he use?” Bitherby clearly was wearing heavily on what little patience Gibbs had.
Removing the poultice from his leg and tossing it to the floor, the elf slid off the sofa and hobbled to Annie. He placed small, dirty hands on her knees and glanced nervously around the room before looking Annie in the eyes. “He call a demon who comes, and now he run the market,” the elf whispered.
“You sure? You were there when he called this demon?” she asked.
“Yes,” Bitherby squeaked softly.
Gibbs as gently as he could, squatted beside the elf. “When did he do this?”
Bitherby closed his eyes and counted with his fingers ticking off numbers. His lips moved as he murmured to himself. “Eight weeks ago,” he finally said.
Annie’s brain jumped around. The dead body outside the portal, the elves talking about magic, master, and Gladden, the ring found on the dead body.
The ring! The ring that controls the djinn! Something went wrong!
“Did Gladden call a djinn and make a wish?” Annie could barely get the sentence out. It seemed too stupid to believe.
Bitherby nodded slowly. Again, he surveyed the room with roaming eyes.
“Bitherby, you’re safe. No one will find you. I promise. Just let us know what happened.”
His chocolate-brown eyes swept the room, sizing them up. Annie guessed he was planning his escape.
After a moment, Bitherby said, “One day, Gladden call with a spell, and the master comes to market. He orders us, and anybody who don’t listen gets killed. We all’s scared of him. Do what he say.”
Gibbs, Cham, and Annie exchanged anxious glances. There had been a shift in power at the market, a shift so swift, so quick, and so widespread that it had changed the millennia-old market. It was a change that could expose the entire magical race.
“So Gladden calls the genie, gets control of the market, and now he’s killing people?” Cham asked.
“No. Master. He kills. Mr. Gladden, he’s afraid of master too.” Bitherby averted his eyes and stared at his hands.
“In a nutshell, Gladden decides he wants to control the market, calls a genie, and learns the hard way that there’s always a backfire to the wishes you make with genies. In this case, the genie is actually in control. So Gladden finds someone who happens to have the Ring of Solomon, a ring that controls the djinn, a ring that’s supposed to be a myth?” Cham asked incredulously.
Annie’s head hurt. It was too much for one night.
“And the ring never got there.” Gibbs said.
“So we’re back to who killed John Doe,” Cham said. “And why?”
“Well maybe Gladden didn’t like the fact he really didn’t control the market. He called for the ring to control the master, who’s really a genie. That means the genie killed John Doe,” Annie said. She glanced at Bitherby, but he shook his head. “The genie didn’t kill the victim?”
“No, Miss Annie.”
“Why would Gladden kill the man who was bringing him the ring?” she asked.
Bitherby shook his head again.
“Do you know who killed the victim?” Gibbs towered over the elf.
Yet again, Bitherby shook his head.
“So are we going with the original owner of the ring, someone who doesn’t care that they left the body outside the market?” Annie asked.
The wizard guards were silent for a moment, each alone with their thoughts.
It doesn’t make sense to kill the man who has the ring but not find the ring and leave him there.
“There wasn’t time,” Annie shouted out. Everyone glanced at her. “We know four wizards killed him. So they searched him for the ring but found nothing. There wasn’t time to deal with the body. Someone was coming. Witches and wizards are going to know about the Wizard Guard. They’ll assume we have it, at least at the Hall,” Annie said.
“You hid it?” Gibbs asked.
“It’s safe,” Annie said.
Gibbs grimaced. He knew where she had hidden the ring. The ring was worth killing for, so she understood his concern. But for now, whoever wanted the ring back would assume the Wizard Guard had it at Wizard Hall. Gibbs summoned his cell phone and called Wizard Hall security.
Bitherby watched the exchange with great care. The elf was smarter than he let on, Annie decided, and he knew the information could be valuable to him. Both Gibbs and Cham knew her hiding spot, so she didn’t need to say anything further. The elf offered a quizzical look.
I hope he’s not loyal to his master.
“After the last attack on Wizard Hall, security’s been greatly improved. There shouldn’t be a problem, though security’s been alerted. You ready to be popped back in?” Gibbs asked.
“In a minute. I have a few more questions before I go to sleep.” The elf stood beside Annie, watching her with wide, searching eyes as she turned to him. “What do you know about who killed the man in the forest?”
“I work at the school with the brat
s, yes?” Bitherby clarified. He quivered so much that his child-sized clothing fluttered against his small body.
“Yes. I’ll take you there tomorrow. I promise.” She put a hand on his bony shoulder. He took a deep breath, and his body slowed its shaking.
“A man come to market. He hired to find this ring.” He slid closer to Annie, his voice soft and difficult to hear. “But it’s not Mr. Gladden who summon him. Master did. I saw ’em in the tent when I bring food.”
“The djinn wanted a ring used to control his personal species of demon? Why would he do that?” she asked. Annie glanced at Gibbs.
All of the animals… the domesticated cats, dogs, and snakes roaming and slithering through the market.
“Crap. Gibbs. The dogs, cats, and snakes! They’re shapeshifters in the market. The djinn wants to control other djinn!” she shouted. It was a plan most likely created as a response to something, and in that moment, Annie couldn’t comprehend why one species of djinn would want to control another species of djinn with a ring that could do serious harm to both.
What would he want with them?
“Annie that doesn’t make sense. Why would he want something that could harm himself? He’d lose everything,” Cham said.
Djinn were tricksters who only thought of the present, not the consequences of their actions. This djinn had no concern for the wish makers and the consequences of their wishes.
He didn’t think through his plan!
“He wanted a shapeshifter army. Gladden probably realized he had no real control and wanted to do harm to him. To get rid of him,” Annie suggested.
“Still that’s a weird plan. Owning a ring that will control you too. That’s dangerous,” Cham reiterated. “Bitherby, when did all the animals come to market?”
Again, the elf counted on his fingers. His tongue popped out between his lips as he thought.
“Two weeks. They started coming in. Take over everything. Eat all our food, make messes.”
Black Market (The Wizard Hall Chronicles Book 2) Page 10
