“One more question. When did you come across Sturtagaard?”
His deeply set chocolate-brown eyes rose, surprised, and then relaxed.
“The vampire? I never met him until yesterday, actually.” Jordan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. His gaze met Annie’s as though he felt strong enough to come up against her, his strength and confidence returning.
“Where’d you meet, then?”
“You said one question.” He smiled for a moment, then frowned, holding his hand over his shoulder.
“Really, not funny.” Annie laughed despite herself.
“Not much to tell, really. He found me at the warehouse and knew about the orb. I assume that’s why he helped me escape when you came that night. The vampire desperately wants the orb.” Jordan’s voice sounded garbled from stress, and his eyes were apologetic.
That vampire needs a good staking.
Annie stood, offering Jordan a hand. “Thanks for your help. We’re going to keep you here a little longer, both for your protection and in case you think of anything else. Do you need anything?”
Jordan thought for a moment. Annie expected him to say lobster, a new bed, more blankets.
“Nothing. I’m good.”
After Annie opened the door, two giant prison guards entered the room. Jordan peered up at both before being escorted back to his cell.
Chapter 13
Prior to interviewing Jordan, Annie and Cham delivered his worldly possessions to Spencer and Gibbs. The small pile included a sleeping bag, a small package of food, and a duffel bag with some T-shirts and a pair of jeans. Charged with investigating the bag and all of its contents, the Wizard Guards expected to find nothing of importance, unless the boy was stupid enough to carry evidence with him.
Dropping the bag on the table, Annie waved her palm across the evidence; it glowed, revealing a protection spell.
“Very shocking.” Annie laughed, holding her palm to show off the burn mark that still stung.
None of them figured Jordan carried enough power to create a protection spell, so they were surprised by the powerful jinx placed on the bag, though the reason for casting it was still a mystery. Annie left them with a quick good-luck wish before bouncing from the room.
Spencer documented the spell before removing the simple yet functional hex. “For a man traveling with a princess, the duffel bag seems… out of place,” he commented as they unzipped the bag and looked inside.
“Stole it,” Gibbs mumbled. They removed the contents, laying them on the table to sort them by type. While Spencer examined the clothes, Gibbs pulled out pockets and ran his hands across the seams in search of hidden spaces.
“Nothing here.” As he turned it over to examine the underside, the weight shifted. He shook the nylon bag; it rattled. Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Spencer dropped the pair of jeans while Gibbs felt around the bottom of the bag.
“Hidden pockets?”
“The boy is smarter than we thought,” Gibbs said. With a flick of his wrist, he revealed the false bottom and examined the bag for the secret latch. Pulling up the bottom revealed a heavy wad of newspaper. He pulled it out, and the paper easily detached from the crystal orb.
“What the hell?” Spencer asked. Taking the object from Gibbs, he scrutinized the glass ball under the florescent lights. No dirt, bubbles, scratches, or mottling; Spencer found the pristine object to be flawless.
Gibbs grabbed the orb and tossed it in the air, catching it easily. “I’ll be damned. Where the hell did the boy get this?” He tossed the orb against the wall of his cubicle. The cheap removable wall bounced and shook, but the orb slid to the ground, unblemished.
“Why do you think he had it?” Spencer asked, summoning the orb to his palm.
“Young kid, maybe stole it for a souvenir or to sell it on the black market. Stupid punk,” Gibbs said. “Wait a sec.” A fine white mist floated within the perfect glass sphere. It pulsed and stretched against the inside, balling itself together before spreading out again.
“Is that… ”
Gibbs pushed a long, stringy blond hair away from his pockmarked face, revealing a long scar under his left eye that stretched below his chin. Gnarled, calloused hands reached for the orb for a closer look.
“You know that’s a trapped soul in there,” Spencer said.
Gibbs nodded. “Amelie’s, I bet. Stupid kid.”
They packed Jordan’s belongings back in the duffel bag and took the evidence to storage. Spencer squatted beside a hidden door—several of the same lined the corridor—and placed his index finger in the lock at the bottom, pushing against the pin until it punctured the skin. Blood trickled over the needle, releasing the lock and springing the door open. The hidden closet stored several randomly seized items, including potions, reference books, and objects associated with black magic. Spencer placed the orb on the top shelf of Storage Unit Five, next to the evidence collected from Jack Ramsey.
After placing the orb on the shelf, he closed the door, pushing against the panel until the lock clicked.
In the courtyard of Wizard Hall, Gibbs looked toward the sky. “Clear night, good for teleporting. Tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.” Spencer waited for his partner to leave, zipped his summer jacket, and teleported home.
*
Particularly pleased with herself this morning, Annie found it difficult to keep the smirk off her face when they headed to Sturtagaard’s cell. The packet of cold blood hung by her side; she carried it by the corner so as to not warm the liquid.
The vampire wing of Tartarus, created specifically to detain vampires, was infused with magic designed to subdue and control the creatures, making all attempts at escape impossible. To a human, the bars on each cell were cool and hard; to a vampire, the metal burned and smoked their skin.
Although small in square footage, the cramped cell contained a high ceiling. Most imprisoned had the sense of being stuck at the bottom of a well, unable to climb out. Twenty feet above the floor, a large window let in sunlight, and as the sun moved through the sky, it illuminated more of the floor, eventually trapping the vampire in a corner.
The window was made from Acidiac, an acid mist which burned away flesh, and ensured no creature or human could escape to the outside. Its misty properties altered the light streaming in and created a haze which caused dizziness and nausea.
The mist played tricks on vampires, either pacifying them or making them go crazy. Many experienced hallucinations as their past kills came back to taunt them. No vampire ever escaped from Tartarus Prison.
Locked on the third floor of the vampire wing, Sturtagaard learned quickly how uncomfortable the cell was. The constant lumbering of the giants’ footsteps maddened him. He pounded on the cell wall to get them to stop. The giants, sensing his discomfort, passed again, glowered at the vampire with their large, gray eyes, and continued on their way. Their heavy footsteps pounded against the floor as they headed out. The vampire slammed his hand against the wall again. Annie and Cham exchanged glances as Sturtagaard finished his tantrum.
Sunlight streamed through the window. At this time of the day, the cell, draped in light, trapped the vampire in the far corner of the small space. Sunlight didn’t kill the creatures; it only made them extra-sensitive to the light, drawing them to darkness and shadows. After spending the day in the sunlight, Sturtagaard’s eyes were raw and bloodshot with deep, purple circles underneath.
“How was your night?” Cham asked with a satisfied, taunting smile.
Sturtagaard ignored him, locking his eyes on the pouch of blood Annie held. She ripped the corner open, letting the smell permeate the vampire’s space. Sturtagaard salivated, and his fangs extended.
“How was your night?” Cham asked again.
“I could use some food.” The vampire had already grown weak in the walls of the prison. His voice barely rose from the corner of the cell.
“Say what now?” Cham asked.
The vampire trudged to the
cell door with the blanket draping his head. Swaying with dizziness, he appeared small and feeble. Reaching through the bars for his food, his thin blanket slipped to the floor. He shielded his bloodshot eyes with his hand.
“I could use some food,” he whimpered.
“Answer first. Food later.” Annie waved the pouch back and forth. The vampire’s eyes glazed over, but he followed every movement of the blood, the only thing that mattered to him at the moment.
“What do you want to know?” Sturtagaard reached through the bars again, careful not to touch the metal, and took a swipe at the blood pouch. His reach was weak and fruitless as Annie held it just a few inches from his hand.
“Before Princess Amelie was murdered, we tracked you to find your zombie army. Anything to say about that?” She raised her eyebrows and jiggled the packet.
Hunger made Sturtagaard compliant; he stood patiently on his side of the bars. His fangs remained extended, and his eyes still tracked the blood packet.
“I’ve been known to dabble in such pursuits. But no, I am not creating an army as you seem to think.”
Annie opened the packet’s corner wider; the smell of iron wafted to the vampire. Sturtagaard drooled and wiped the unsightly dribble from his lips with the back of his hand.
“So what did you need the orb for? You like pretty, shiny objects?”
Sturtagaard’s eyes darted between Annie, Cham and the blood pouch. “I wanted to know why that boy broke into my lair. I’ve answered your question. If there’s nothing else you need, I’d like my blood now.” Even in hunger, the vampire displayed a fair amount of cockiness. Annie rolled her eyes.
“You don’t do anything without a purpose, Sturtagaard. You were at the cave with Jordan. Why?”
“I told you, the boy found my lair. I wanted to know why, and we heard intruders. I’m assuming it was you. So we left.”
He’s playing with us. Annie thought. The vampire was exasperating.
“According to Jordan, you were after the orb. I’m pretty sure you know what the orb is used for. Regardless of your denial, I know you’re creating an army. So I put one and one together, and no matter what, I always get two.”
The vampire’s discomfort was obvious as he shifted his weight and squirmed under her gaze.
“Finding the orb was part of my job. My employer really wanted the orb,” he said slowly.
“Does the employer have a name?” Cham asked.
“I’m sure he does, but it was never revealed to me. I’ve only met his associate, who referred to him as such.”
“So this employer knew Jordan had the orb. How do you suppose he knew that?”
“It was his orb, and he wanted it back. I wouldn’t have known to go after Jordan otherwise, now, would I?”
Annie’s mind raced from point to point. Sturtagaard is creating a zombie army. Rathbone owns an orb that can create a zombie army. The orb goes missing, and the vampire is searching for the missing orb. This is the link! So how do I prove it?
“It was nice talking to you, Sturtagaard. You’ve been more informative than we expected.” Annie said. She tossed the pouch through the bars.
Blood drained from the bag onto the floor and down a channel of mortar, heading to the metal drain at the center of the cell. Frozen in horror, the vampire watched his meal drain away and seep into the rock. Cham and Annie’s laughter trailed after them, rattling around in his head. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he jumped on the receptacle and drank.
Chapter 14
Jack called Annie for the third time in two days, desperate for news though not expecting an update. Surprising him, she announced they had something definitive and requested a meeting. Even with the apparent progress, Jack hung up feeling more anxiety than before he called her. He popped another antacid to quell the churning in his stomach before his meeting with the medical examiner.
The autopsy report lay on the examination table. It stuck out like a sore thumb and gnawed at him—that piece of the puzzle that just didn’t fit even though it was the only piece left inside the box. All lies, Jack thought to himself. That feeling of dread washed over him, the one he couldn’t escape. This case was just unnatural, unnerving, and highly illegal, and it went against everything Jack was trained to do.
Dr. Gordon Martz, MD smiled warmly when he saw Jack standing beside the table. The medical examiner lifted the folder for Jack to see. “Your experts did a nice job with their assessments. I’d like to meet them.” The doctor genuinely wanted to. He had questions about their methods and conclusions, answers he never would have arrived at on his own.
Jack offered a smile that fell flat. He had already read the report, sent by someone named Bucky Hart around four in the morning.
“Dr. Kennedy emailed the second opinion on cause of death an hour ago,” Dr. Martz added.
Jack blanched. Who the hell is Dr. Kennedy? Never mind, I don’t want to know. “Maybe someday you can meet,” Jack managed to say.
“I’m sorry about the cause of death. I’m not sure how I’m missed it.” The doctor handed Jack a copy of the report.
What would you think if you knew what went into this report?
“It just needed a second set of eyes.” Jack glanced at his watch. He was running late.
Dr. Martz took out the storage box and placed it on the examination table. “This is all we had for her.”
“Thanks, Doc. The rest of her things were already picked up by the family. This is helpful.”
The royal family had sent representatives the previous morning. Jack had waited for them in the silent autopsy room. Once they arrived, a flurry of activity swirled around him as they washed her body, carefully drying every inch of her young frame. They took great care in fixing her hair, large blonde ringlets cascaded around her shoulders. They dressed the princess in a green silk gown with a bodice of crystal and matching ballet flats. Though they took great care in readying Amelie, they had all the emotion of a police officer processing a suspect.
In the end, Princess Amelie looked stunning in her elegant, expensive coffin made from rich mahogany, polished to a mirror shine. Inside, the princess lay on a lining of creamy white silk.
This seems a bit much, Jack thought. But it wasn’t for him to judge the family of the victim; he only needed to sign the paperwork releasing her to them. He respectfully helped them load the casket into an unmarked black van and remained in the street until it drove out of sight.
“Are you okay, Jack?” Dr. Martz said.
Jack checked his watch one last time and knew he needed to leave.
“Yeah. Just thinking of yesterday. It was an experience.”
“Yes. I’ve never had so much life happen in here. At least they have their girl. May she rest in peace.”
*
Jack grunted while navigating through heavy traffic, thinking of his trip with the Wizard Guards. He fully understood Gibbs’s aversion to slow-moving traffic and even envied their ability to come and go in an instant.
Pulling his hot car into the parking garage, Jack drove around, deeper into the belly of the beast. Choked with car exhaust, he pulled into a spot four floors below Michigan Avenue. The clock on his dashboard reminded him how late he was.
Meeting Annie away from the FBI headquarters assured her secrecy at least to those that Jack worked with. He alone knew about her and about the existence of magic. He suggested Grant Park as a neutral place that was both busy and easily accessible; their meeting would go largely unnoticed.
Climbing two stairs at a time from the underground parking structure left him tired, though he still raced to their agreed meeting place and took a seat.
“Hey Jack.” Annie sat beside him on the retaining wall. He watched children playing in the fountains, the tall brick structures with the video of the faces of Chicago residents, laughing, smiling, and making faces. A little girl leaped and fell into the water that pooled on the cement.
I know I’m late. Did she watch me from elsewhere?
“He didn’t do it.”
“That’s what you said on the phone. Are you absolutely sure?” Jack scribbled in his notepad but felt guilty for questioning her assessment. Even if Annie lied, he wouldn’t likely find out.
“He didn’t do it. We tested his magical signature against the spell that killed her. It’s not even close. We’ll work something out so you have reports and evidence for whomever you need to send them to.”
A breeze blew off of the lake; Jack shuddered. Before asking the question he was afraid to ask, he cleared his throat and looked at Annie. She seemed content sitting beside him, observing the crowd.
Annie was a pretty girl. Her long, curly brown hair, blew in the light breeze. Her light-blue summer dress fit her slim frame, showing off her curves, and the muscles in her arms flexed when she adjusted herself on the seat. She seemed far too young for so much power and control.
“So are there any other suspects? Or should I ask?”
Annie’s demeanor remained the same, there seemed to be no worry or hesitation and Jack noticed. “Nothing specific. Jordan described the men who ambushed them. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to obtain any names, though he’s sure the men who attacked them work for a man named Wolfgange Rathbone.”
Jack ran his hand through his hair, displeased they were back to square one, or at least an idea with no evidence. “Wolfgange Rathbone? Who is he?”
Annie explained Rathbone’s history and his connection to Jordan’s father, leaving out other Wizard Council business. Her description of the Rathbone’s ruthlessness left Jack craving another antacid tablet.
“Any evidence?” His voice sounded flat and defeated.
“Not yet. Just a connection.” Annie slowly chewed on her bottom lip.
After his many years working as an agent, Jack could tell she was holding something back, debating whether to share or not. “Okay. What is it?” Jack regretted asking as soon as it came out of his mouth. The less he knew about them and magic the better it was for him, because in the end, they manufactured the evidence anyway. It didn’t matter, and he really didn’t need to know.
The Day of First Sun (Annie Loves Cham Book 1) Page 15
