The rapt expressions on the warlock’s faces as they gazed at Glendora gave Zaira an uneasy feeling. All the bird-like Council members seemed mesmerized by the witch. There was something… While the cat was away, had the mice been playing naughty games? A high-pitched EWWWW squealed inside her head, and she mentally shuddered.
She jerked her attention back to Marilyn/Glendora and decided, naw, it was all in the male heads sitting around the table. She heard Glendora say, “Something has gone missing during that time,” and jerked her mind back to the issue at hand.
“A valuable artifact,” Glendora breathed. “We didn’t know it was gone until recently, so we have no way of knowing how long ago it was taken.”
“I see. Was it kept in a locked storage area or a safe?”
“All important or rare documents and artifacts are kept in the Council’s storage facility. All we have is the reference to it in our records, and the empty box in which it was kept.”
“What kind of artifact is it?”
“A wand. A very old and valuable wand.”
“Have you contacted Baba Yaga to ask her if she has loaned it out?”
The whole group stiffened and shot glances around the table like they were the targets and their thoughts the careening ball on a pinball machine. “No.” One of the warlocks who sat at the table spoke. “This is the first vacation Baba Yaga has taken since she became head of the Council. She was nearing exhaustion when she left, and we believe it would not be wise to interrupt it.”
Zaira might have believed in his concern for Baba Yaga’s welfare if his attention hadn’t kept wandering back to Glendora’s cleavage.
“It is very unlikely that she would have loaned out such an important artifact,” Glendora said. She raised one carefully arched brow. She pressed her hands together before her, increasing the swell of her breasts over the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Calamity was going to have to spend a bit of time cleaning the table to remove all the drool the five warlocks were dripping onto it.
“The Council will see it as a great favor if you locate the wand and return it,” Glendora concluded in her breathy tone, every word uttered in that sexy murmur.
Shit! She had been looking forward to finding the Sutherlands’ vampire burglar. But it would not be wise to turn down the Council.
Baba Yaga was one of the most powerful witches in the country, and if something important had gone missing on her watch, she’d want it found…now. But why was her second-in-command projecting power? And why was her red aura clouded with black goo? The black goo associated with black magic.
This was so not good.
“I will need to examine the site where the wand was stored, as well as the container, and the records that refer to it.”
Glendora smiled, well satisfied. “Of course.”
“And you’ll have to sign a contract hiring me, and pay my normal fee and any travel expenses.”
Glendora snapped her fingers and one of the warlocks was jerked to his feet as though he had a spring up his butt. “Archie, take care of the paperwork and the payment.”
“Yes, mistress.” He bowed.
Glendora snapped her fingers again and they were sailing along at mach speed to…
A library. Or at least that’s what the large open room with its bookcase after bookcase of ancient-looking tomes and highly polished woodwork appeared to be. The smell of magic, like burned candles, incense, and ozone, lingered in the air. Zaira rocked on her feet for a moment upon landing, then found her balance.
Being hijacked to an unknown location was not one of her favorite experiences. Especially without warning. Defensive energy hummed through her, making her fingertips tingle and her face flash hot.
“I’m sorry for the quick exit, but you must understand, we have very little time to find the wand. Baba Yaga could return at any moment. And I cannot allow you to know where this facility is. Only the Council and Baba Yaga are allowed to visit here.”
Zaira cleared her throat and tried to swallow back her power, but her heart still raced. “I understand.” She did not like this at all.
Glendora eyed her long tail of auburn hair. “You’re a healing witch?”
“Yes.” Among other things.
“Why would you become a detective?” she asked.
“Sometimes finding a missing loved one and healing a heart is just as important as healing a wound.” Unless finding the loved one caused more pain, as it had in her case.
Glendora frowned, her eyes narrowed, as though she were working through a concept totally foreign to her. With a shrug she said, “Come this way.”
They wandered through the cavernous but well-lit stacks, their steps echoing in the silence. Zaira was distracted by the large stained glass window overhead depicting goddesses from every culture arranged in a circle of protection.
Directly beneath it they came upon a large Louis XIV desk that looked very much like the real deal. A long wooden box with curved ends sat in the center of its polished surface. On the outside of the container, carved symbols twisted and turned as though alive.
Zaira approached the box slowly, because it was giving off a strange humming sound.
“It’s been doing that ever since we found it,” Glendora said.
“Have you opened it?”
“Yes. Nothing’s in it.”
Zaira placed a hand on the box and it immediately stopped humming.
“What did you do to it?” Glendora demanded, slightly panicked.
“Nothing. It’s vibrating, and that’s what’s causing the sound.”
“Why is it doing that?”
“I’m not certain. Perhaps from the movement of the symbols.” She raised her hand and the box began to hum again. Perhaps it was calling to the wand. Zaira didn’t want to suggest that to Glendora. There was something off about the woman. Why was she still projecting power, even though it was just the two of them?
“Is anyone on the Council out of touch other than Baba Yaga?”
Glendora’s face blanked in shock. Then her expression took on a suspicious fierceness. “Yes. His name is Seymour Hurst. He left this afternoon on a scheduled trip for the Council.”
“We don’t need to jump to conclusions. I’ll look him up first and rule him out as the thief, or capture him and bring him back. But if this was a scheduled thing, chances are he isn’t our culprit. If it’s someone who’s discovered the location of this facility and they’re not associated with the Council, you may need to strengthen your wards.”
“Do you just capture and detain or do you go further?” Glendora asked. Her blithe tone sent a chill down Zaira’s spine. “I can do many things, but since I am a healing witch, killing is not one of them.” Normally.
She’d heard about the torture the Council sometimes used. But surely they’d outgrown those Dark-Ages practices.
There was an edge to Glendora’s voice that dispelled Zaira’s comfortable belief when she said, “We will deal with the thief when you catch him.”
“I’ll need to take the box with me. And I need to see the provenance for the wand, and look around at all the entrances to the building.”
“Certainly.”
Zaira took a seat at the desk and studied the paperwork associated with the wand, noting that the paperwork was a copy instead of the original.
“The original document was so fragile we had to seal it away.” Glendora explained. “What I’ve given you is a translation.”
Created by a powerful witch in Ireland in the twelfth century, the wand siphoned power from those around it.
Most wands directed power with laser-like focus from the witch or warlock holding it. She’d never heard of one draining power from other beings and focusing it. No wonder it had been hidden here. It was more a weapon than a tool. And in the wrong hands it could be dangerous. The quicker she found the wand, the better.
“It would be helpful if I could call my familiar to me.”
“Certainly,” Glendora nodded
.
Zaira brought Cerbie through with a thought. He arrived barking a stream of curses, his head thrown back as he snapped at the air, his teeth bared. He hated teleportation.
“That is your familiar?” Glendora looked at the twelve-inch-tall, tubby Jack Russell with something akin to horror.
“Yes. He’s actually very talented.” When he continued to growl his displeasure, Zaira narrowed her eyes. “Quiet, Cerbie.”
The dog’s growl lowered to a rumble in his chest, but his aggressive stance never changed. He eyed Glendora’s shapely legs as though they were drumsticks and gave one a lick. The witch uttered a squeak, a look of disgust wrinkling her nose. She took a hasty step back.
“She tastes as good as she looks,” Cerbie said.
Thank the Goddess she was the only one who could hear him. Fearful for his safety, Zaira said, “Nose to the floor, my little hell-hound. We have a thief to find.”
His ears went up and his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. He bared tiny, razor-sharp white teeth.
Zaira nodded. With Glendora snapping them from entrance to entrance, they were able to cover more ground, but they reached the last exit with nothing to show for their efforts.
“He didn’t use a door to enter the facility,” Zaira commented. “That leaves a window or one of the skylights. Which means our thief is either a witch, who teleported in, or someone or something else with skills.” The word skills triggered a thought.
“How will you find him?”
“He’s stolen an important artifact. He’ll be looking for a market for it. I’ll be looking for the buyer. I need to return to my office now, and I’ll contact you as soon as I have news.”
She didn’t need Glendora’s skills to teleport back to her office with Cerbie, the box, and the info.
As soon as she landed back in her office, she pushed the intercom. “Calamity, call Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland and tell them I’d like to look around their house and grounds.”
CHAPTER 3
CHRISTOPHE STUDIED THE small, roughly-hewn wand. It had been fashioned for a single piece of oak, and was covered with carvings. It was also beautiful to look at, but to touch it bare-handed sent a crawling sensation through every part of his body. He had never held any weapon so dangerous. And he didn’t intend to continue doing so.
He wrapped the wand in a towel, stifling its low-frequency hum, and secured it in a tube-like shipping container, further dulling the sound. He rose from his desk chair and rolled it back out of the way.
Kneeling before his desk, he lifted a section of the thick rug and pushed down on one of the floorboards. A small section of the floor popped up to reveal, half buried beneath it, a state-of-the-art safe. He keyed in the code. The lock released, and he lifted the door open, placed the container inside, and slammed it shut, breathing a sigh when he could no longer hear the hum.
With the safe closed, he returned everything to its place and sat back down to read the document once more. The words, though written in Gaelic, were plain enough. The wand was a weapon against the living dead. Vampires. It drained the power from them and directed it toward anyone the bearer chose, possibly other living dead, but not necessarily.
It was a common human misconception that vampires, because they were living dead, had no soul. But the power of this wand proved otherwise. It sucked the souls away from them, thus completing the process from living to completely dead. But it did one more thing. Instead of freeing the souls from the body and sending them on their way, it changed them into energy to be used against others.
One did not have to be a witch to use it. Theoretically vampires could use it against other vampires. There were those groups who had their own witch or warlock to call, who could instruct them in how to wield it against feuding vampire clans.
That alone was a monstrous concept.
But he had seen quite a bit of monstrous in his two hundred thirty years. More wars than he cared to relive. This one weapon could cause a civil war between witches and vampires, and throw the balance of power to the witches. Because every lost soul meant one less vampire. But he couldn’t trust the Vampire Council any more than he could the Witch Council. They had proven again and again they weren’t to be trusted. With great power came great abuses. And they were masters at it.
But how was he to get Arnold away from them? He could track him, but the minute he got anywhere near the man, whoever held him teleported him somewhere else. It had to be a witch who was doing it. Vampires couldn’t teleport. They could run fast enough to get from one place to another in a matter of seconds, but they hadn’t the ability to scramble their molecules and shoot them through space.
Who could he get to help him rescue Arnold?
A vampire asking assistance from a witch would be immediately suspect. He needed a referral of sorts. He glanced at his watch.
Right now he had a meeting to attend. If all went well, he’d have the money to pay his light bill. He did like his creature comforts. And then he’d find a witch to help him rescue Arnold.
Using the rooftops and back alleys to travel ensured no one could follow, and he crossed the college campus to the other side of town in only a few minutes. He climbed from the roof down the fire escape to the back side of the jeweler’s apartment building and tapped at his window. It was almost immediately opened from the inside, and he slipped through into the bedroom.
Milo Baig had been a fence for many years. And back in the day, Christophe had used him often. Since he’d given up the trade, he had no reason to until now.
Only four foot ten in his elevator heels, Milo seemed taller because of the confidence with which he carried himself. His kinky hair stood out from his head like steel wool, and his round face with his button nose and widely spaced blue eyes appeared always affable, and he listened with a kind smile and an expression of interest when anyone was speaking.
Knowing it was all a front, Christophe stayed alert while he was with the man. He’d been known to slip a knife between the ribs of someone he’d lost trust.
“There’s a lot of interest in these jewels. They’re calling you the babysitter bandit, did you know that?”
Christophe raised a brow. “I hadn’t heard. I haven’t read a newspaper lately.” He’d been busy with his classes at the college. The semester was winding down and summer break only a week away.
“Did you really leave a note about the baby for the parents?”
“She was struggling. Her heart wasn’t functioning correctly.”
“How did you know?” The man seemed truly curious, an unusual event.
“Do you believe in the paranormal, Milo?”
“You mean spirits and stuff like that?”
“Only partly. There are certainly people who can sense the dead, and others who can move things with their minds.”
“You really believe that shit.”
“It’s easier to believe in something when you have an ability of your own. I can sense illness in people. I know you may have to have a bypass in a couple of years. You really should get that checked out. You have a partial blockage on the left side.”
Milo’s mouth flew open, and he touched his chest. “You’re just shitting me.”
Christophe shook his head. “You’re a good fence and an even better jeweler. I’d like to do business with you for many more years to come. Get it checked out, and you’ll see if I’m right or not”
Milo paled a little. He turned to the business at hand. “I was able to ship some of the stones out a couple of days ago to one of my contacts. He got a good price for them. I took my regular ten percent.” He extended an envelope thick with cash.
Christophe took the envelope and tucked it into the inside pocket of his black sports jacket. “I’ll be awaiting news about the rest.”
Milo’s cell phone signaled a text had come through. He pulled it from his pocket as Christophe started out the window.
“Wait,” Milo caught his arm and shook his head, his look eloquent with w
arning. “The police are on their way up.”
A sinking feeling struck Christophe’s stomach. The police hadn’t been on the roof when he climbed in the window. He opened himself to everything in the building. Heartbeats raced as they came up the interior stairs. His own was threatening a beat or two as the need to escape rushed him.
“Are there cameras on your building?”
Milo shook his head. “No. Our security here sucks.”
No cameras to worry about. But they’d be watching the fire escapes. He’d have to exit through another window. One they wouldn’t be watching. He strode to the bedroom door and peeked out. No one was in the hall. A nicely decorated living room was visible from where he stood. He turned down the hall away from it and stepped into the bathroom with Milo close behind. He eased the narrow window open and unfastened the screen and handed it back to the man.
Poking his head out, he studied the sheer drop to the street, then looked up. The roof was just a few feet above the window. He’d done more difficult climbs.
As he started to duck his head out the window, Milo grabbed his arm. The man opened the medicine cabinet. It was empty. Then he grabbed an interior shelf and lifted out the entire back. Inside were stacks of bills bound with rubber bands.
Christophe raised a brow. Milo shrugged, “I may be out of business for a while. I’ll get back to you when things cool down.” He handed him one of the stacks. Christophe tucked it inside his jacket and offered his hand. The two shook. There was honor among thieves, but just in case, Christophe gazed into the man’s eyes. “You will not remember me, my friend. I was never here. When I am gone, put the screen back in the window, secure the medicine cabinet, take a leak, and go back into the living room to watch television.”
While Milo put everything back into place, Christophe wiggled through the window. He gripped the exterior frame with his fingertips and, using brute strength, lifted himself free of the narrow opening.
Climbing the exterior of an apartment building was much like rock climbing, something he had done many times in the past. Hooking his fingertips into the narrow cracks between the bricks, and wedging the toes of his running shoes between them, he was able to climb to the roof.
Magic and Mayhem: Have Wand, Will Travel (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 2
