The Day of First Sun (Annie Loves Cham Book 1)

by Sheryl Steines

  “Can I talk to him?” she asked Gibbs, though he couldn’t stop her if he wanted to.

  Rathbone didn’t look at her. His head was still foggy from the concussion, his face still swollen and raw. His hands were cut and red from shards of glass raining down on him.

  “So what did Stonewell have on you exactly?”

  Rathbone turned away. Blood had run down the back of his head. His black hair was matted and wet.

  “You killed my father, and he held it over your head. Right?”

  Rathbone glanced at her and back down. “You’re too smart for your own good. It’ll get you killed just like him.”

  “What did Jason discover about you?”

  He sat back against the back seat, flinched and closed his eyes. A spell had burned a small spot into his cheek.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really. I’m pretty sure I know why, though.”

  “You really don’t. Don’t go searching for the reason. You’ll end up like him.”

  You might be right about that.

  Annie exited the car before she dug herself into a hole.

  *

  It wasn’t an easy ride from central Illinois. Jack stopped the car an hour from Chicago at a safe house set up by the VAU. While there, Graham Lightner and his assistant cleaned up Rathbone, repairing the wound on his head, covering up the jinx burn, and healing several cuts and bruises.

  When they had completed their work, Graham teleported to Tartarus, leaving Cham and Jack to finish the drive to the FBI building in downtown Chicago. They arrived to an overly enthusiastic crowd. Jack pulled up to the loading lane where additional agents, including his partner Joan, met them. He exited his car, opened the door for Wolfgange Rathbone, and placed a jacket over the suspect’s head.

  “It’s better this way,” Jack advised and yanked the man from the car, leading him through the crowd.

  Flashes blinded Jack as he strode quickly up the steps with the man accused of murdering Princess Amelie of Amborix. Relief finally washed over him.

  Tired and covered in sweat and vampire dust, Jack hoped no one took a closer look at what he brought with him. He hoped the Wizard Guard had the evidence ready; he didn’t know how to explain the arrest of Rathbone on his own.

  *

  Annie watched Jack on television bringing in the suspect in. Though not yet convicted, Rathbone was already guilty in the public eye. The thought of the handcuffs digging into his skin gave her satisfaction. The wizard spending the rest of his life in a nonmagical prison was the cherry on top.

  Her phone buzzed. With a groan, she glanced at the number and answered.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Ryan’s voice was calm. “How are you?”

  “Tired.” Annie rested against the sofa and switched television stations.

  “You should be sleeping.”

  “Too wired.” A journalist in the field reported on the background of Wolfgange Rathbone, using the information the VAU and Bucky Hart had prepared for them. They had been busy creating the media story prior to Rathbone’s arrest. Annie turned up the volume to get a sense of their work.

  “Can I update you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sturtagaard’s being released at midnight. Sarconis will be staked at eleven tonight, if you’re interested in going.”

  I’m not.

  The report continued about Rathbone, whom the nonmagical media depicted as a highly respected importer of medical supplies. She had to admit to herself that the VAU’s prepared history was impressive. She turned down the volume to concentrate on Ryan.

  “No, thanks. I’d like to move on to something else, something happy.”

  “Cham, maybe?”

  She sensed his smile on the other end and blushed.

  “Maybe.”

  Please don’t pry.

  “Go to sleep Annie. You’ve earned the rest.”

  She had showered when she arrived home, changed into pajamas, and sat on the couch, where she had remained for the past three hours. Her muscles ached, and bruises covered her back and neck. She glanced at her feet and decided that she deserved a pedicure.

  The silence was unbearable. “Rathbone admitted he killed Dad,” she told Ryan. She paused for a reaction that never came. “What did Dad meddle in?”

  “I wish I knew, Annie. He might still be alive if someone else knew.” She shuddered, thinking of her own recently learned lesson: always bring a partner.

  “I’m tired.” She yawned for emphasis.

  “You did well, kid. I’m proud of you. You held it together.”

  “Barely. But thanks.” With nothing else needing to be said, Ryan let her go. After she hung up, sleep over took her and she climbed into bed.

  Just a little rest.

  The last thing she remembered was the bird chirping outside her window as her head touched the pillow.

  *

  At midnight, the giant guards opened the cell door and let Sturtagaard walk from his prison cell. Waiting for him at the gates were Gibbs and Cham, blocking the exit.

  “Freedom is mine,” Sturtagaard said.

  “You might want this.” Gibbs tossed the vampire the vial with the third anecdote to the acidiac poison. The vampire swigged the liquid in one sip and tossed the bottle behind him. He smiled and held his arms open. Cham held the second atomie bean out for a reminder.

  “We can find you anytime.”

  “You won’t need to.”

  The gate opened. A restless Sturtagaard slipped around the Wizard Guards. Gibbs and Cham watched the vampire make his way out of the prison grounds. The heavy gates slammed shut; the demon didn’t look back.

  There were only two ways on and off the island. When he arrived, the vampire had been teleported. Without any magical being present, his only other option was a small rowboat tied to a five-foot dock. Sturtagaard realized no one was available to take him, so he headed to the boat dock instead. When he arrived, all that waited for him was a rope tied to the post.

  “Annie Pearce!” he shouted, assuming it was her idea of a practical joke.

  Expecting her to be watching, Sturtagaard called for her again. Crickets sang from the tall grasses, waves lapped against the shore. The vampire, alone and unable to leave the island without getting wet, growled and jumped into the water to dog paddle his way to freedom.

  *

  Rebekah spent the day watching the television coverage of Jack Ramsey’s arrest a man named Wolfgange Rathbone for the murders of Princess Amelie and Jordan Wellington.

  And where are you, Anne Pearce?

  Expecting nothing from an internet search, the journalist only typed in the suspect’s name as due diligence. Hundreds of search results for Wolfgange Rathbone appeared on her screen. Business websites: he was an importer/exporter of goods from India, Egypt, and Madagascar. Celebrity news sites: Princess Amelie was a guest at his home. Political news: Rathbone was an ardent supporter of several known politicians.

  Why did he kill her?

  That would come in the next several months. Rebekah knew she would be busy researching the man, the FBI, and the other sources to put together a complete story. For now, Anne Elizabeth Pearce would have to wait. Rebekah was convinced she had discovered something big. She now believed that magic existed in the world, but there wasn’t anyone who would believe her. She took her file with all of her evidence and placed it at the bottom of her dresser drawer, piling clothes on top of it.

  Buttoning her jacket, she grabbed her computer and her notebook and headed out the door.

  *

  Cham ran his hands down his pants nervously, wiping off the sweat. He and Annie had been out together before, oftentimes alone, but this was a real date. His hands shook. He took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and breathed into his hand, checking to make sure he didn’t need a mint, before pressing the doorbell.

  Why am I so nervous?

  Annie opened the door—a stunning vision before him. Her stra
pless red satin dress, showed off the curves of her shoulders, her long neck, and her round hips. Her mass of chocolate curls were pulled up, but some cascaded around her face.

  “You clean up well,” she said, eyes twinkling. She grabbed his hand and led him inside. He handed her a small bouquet of flowers, the Shasta daisies she loved so much, and stepped into the house.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said, though she never once looked at them. Her eyes were on him in his dark suit and tie. Her hand never left his arm.

  Zola pulled the flowers from Annie’s grasp.

  “Have a nice time.” Zola smiled and shooed them from the house.

  Cham teleported Annie to the Signature Room, located on the ninety-fifth floor of the John Hancock Center. His hand rested on the small of her back as they were led to their table along the windows. They towered over the city. Bright lights flashed below them.

  “Is this too much?” he asked nervously.

  “It’s beautiful.” Annie sipped on her sweet wine and watched her date. Even in the low light, she could see him blush underneath all of his freckles. Her hand shook nervously when she lowered her glass.

  “You’re still okay with us?”

  “Yes.” She flashed him that smile that made his heart jump. He reached for her hand, and she squeezed back as they watched the city blow by.

  Epilogue

  September 1: The Day of First Sun

  Cyril B. Stonewell waited patiently for the world to forget Amelie, but it would take longer than the six weeks he allowed for it. The stories were still written, pictures were still posted, information could still accessed from anywhere in the world.

  Without an answer to why she was killed, the public’s fervent need to know continued to grow. But those who asked would never know about the Wizard Council, the orbs, magic, or what Stonewall planned to do.

  Stonewell dragged the man behind him in a sack. The victim slowly woke from his forced sleep and now grew restless inside the bag, so Stonewell dropped it and kicked the man inside until he stopped squirming.

  At midnight, he crossed the well-manicured lawn, yanking the body behind him and leaving drag marks across the perfect grass. The royal family of Amborix owned this vast land and had buried their only daughter far from the prying eyes of the world. But Stonewell knew where to find her.

  Under a large oak tree where the grass hadn’t fully grown back, Amelie’s casket lay buried. Stonewell dropped the bag, waved his palms across the first layer of loose dirt and floated it to the side.

  It was well past midnight, and the wizard soon grew tired. Even with magic, the removal of earth exhausted him; he expended so much magical energy to unearth the coffin. Three hours after he began, the cement tomb was finally visible. His short, fat body was drenched in sweat, and loose dirt covered his expensive suit. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he left behind a streak of new earth on his face.

  Inside the sack, the prisoner began to struggle again. His muffled voice shouted from the bag, screaming obscenities in a language Stonewell didn’t understand. The man, attempting to escape, scratched against the rough bag; his legs kicked out as if he could break through. Stonewell glanced at the indigent and threw a jinx at the moving mass, immobilizing him. He bent over his victim, checking for a pulse. The blood needed to be fresh.

  Returning to his hole, Stonewell held his palms upward and raised the heavy cement lid. It floated up and over, landing on the grass with a thud. Below him, the coffin—still shiny, almost pristine—lay untouched by air or time. He jumped beside the casket and raised the lid where Amelie lay, an already risen vampire. The silk lining had been shredded as she had fought for her freedom for so many weeks. She lay inside, her eyes angry and cross.

  “What took so long?” she asked.

  “I know, love. It couldn’t be helped.” He smiled and took her hand, helping her from the coffin.

  “I’m hungry.” Her purple lips pouted against pale skin that glowed in the moonlight. Her hair was wild and knotted from tumbling about in the coffin. It hung from her head. He wanted to run a brush through the golden locks, to clean her up like the princess she once was. But Amelie would no longer respond to warmth or human kindness, and from this moment forward, she would only exist to satisfy her primal urges of the vampire race.

  “I’ve brought you your first blood.”

  He climbed from the hole, slipping once before pulling his legs up and out, and trudged to the victim, removing him from the bag. The man’s gray eyes, red from too much drink, barely registered the woman who jumped from the hole in the ground and sauntered over to him, her hips swaying inside the bright green dress.

  Hungry for many weeks, the young vampire knew nothing about the sensuality of the kill. She only knew hunger. As she lunged for her prey, the man struggled against her newly acquired strength but the former princess easily subdued him, sinking her never-used fangs into his neck. The warmth passed her lips as she sucked the blood from him, only then realizing the ecstasy. A moan escaped her as she writhed against her first victim. When she depleted him of the last of his blood, Amelie tossed the corpse to the ground, stepping over him and walking to the man who saved her.

  “My master,” the vampire whispered. She smiled coyly before averting her eyes to the ground. Stonewell smiled, believing the princess was happy to feel alive again. She touched the back of her head.

  “Did they notice, my dear?”

  She shrugged.

  It was unlikely that even Annie Pearce had detected the bite marks beneath Amelie’s golden hair.

  “They did a fine job. Fine job, indeed.” Stonewell smiled again as they walked from her empty grave.

  “I’m so hungry,” she said, pushing her body against his.

  Her breasts and hips curved against him. Heat rushed through him as her every touch aroused him.

  “I will find you someone to eat. Come, my love.”

  “No,” she said, pulling him toward her. Confusion and fear lined his face.

  “Now, my dear. I’ll fetch you someone new. Le-let’s go,” he stammered.

  But Amelie no longer felt compelled to listen. Pulling him to her like a rag doll, she pulled his neck to her mouth and sank her fangs deep into his neck without ceremony.

  He cried out, “No! My love, no!”

  Life faded from his eyes. Cyril B. Stonewell’s body slumped against Amelie’s cold body as she sucked from him all that he had.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  This book came at a crossroads in my life. I was going through personal changes, trying to find a job, and turning forty-one. When I didn’t get the job, I had a serious talk with myself about what I really wanted to do with my life. It occurred to me that I hadn’t accomplished certain goals that I had wanted to, one of which was to write a book. And with that, I set myself on one of the most amazing journeys I’ve ever embarked on.

  So why did I rewrite the book? It was simple: I hadn’t taken the time figure out this whole publishing process, and I didn’t give myself enough time with the book to really understand what the story should be.

  After a year of not reading it or editing it, I came to this final edit with new eyes and, most importantly, a new vision for this story and for the entire Annie and Cham series. As I edited, I rewrote, added storylines, and removed scenes and insignificant plots that added nothing to the story. As I hit my stride, I found renewed enthusiasm for my book, and I stopped being stubborn about keeping ideas because I thought they were cool.

  What you’ve just read was a result of a lot of hard work, a journey I set myself on, one which I came out of with a newfound career and a new confidence. I didn’t get here on my own. There were a lot of people who helped me on this journey, and I owe them a lot of thanks. My brother, Brad Aronson, was my first editor. He kept me on the right path and made sure my book was my own voice and not someone else’s.

  To the rest of my family—my husband and children who read the book, listened to my
ramblings as I wrote it, and who put up with me pulling the car over to take notes when they popped into my head—I thank you. Thank you for being my first publicists in getting your friends and teachers to read the final product.

  To my friends who bought and read the book, read my blog, follow my Twitter account, and like my Facebook page, I appreciate the support and I thank you.

  To Pavarti Tyler, Melissa Storm, and Bri Clark, thank you for teaching me a little something about publicity. To Ashley Egan and Kira McFadden, I will never be able to fully thank you for your support. It means everything to me—all of your time, kind words and encouragement.

  We don’t get to where we want to go by simply waiting for things to happen, and we don’t do it alone. It takes a lot of help and support from friends and family. I thank them all.

  About the Author

  Sheryl Steines lives in Deer Park, Illinois, with her husband and two children. She’s equal parts driven, passionate, and inspired to make the most of her life and accomplish a life long dream. With a degree in English from Wright State University, Sheryl dedicates time every day to her art.

  In her spare time, she enjoys character-driven novels of every genre, watches television shows, and spends all summer behind the wheel of her ’66 Mustang convertible.

  Sheryl can be found on Twitter, Facebook, or her blog at sherylsteines.com. She also encourages her readers to e-mail her about what you think of Annie and Cham!