For Annie, the change in color hid the princess just enough to pass quick glances, but upon really looking at her face, Annie was surprised no one else took notice.
Or had they and we didn’t notice? We’ve done that before.
She scribbled a note on the pad of paper as a reminder to have Bucky Hart, the Wizard Hall computer guru, search the internet for anything they could have missed. After underlining the directive several time, Annie returned her attention to the picture. She knew without a doubt it was Princess Amelie among the crowd, wearing a sneer across pouty, perfect lips—and those eyes. They were the darkest, blackest most inhuman eyes she had ever seen.
Not even Sturtagaard ever looked so angry.
The unmarked package had arrived at her house only yesterday, devoid of an explanation note and return address.
Annie’s personal life had been, up until recently, separate and safe from her job. But after the reporter Rebekah Stoner had stalked her for months believing she was a witch, and after Gladden Worchester broke into her home looking for the magical Ring of Solomon, Annie had taken extra precautions to be safe.
This, she knew, had to have come from someone who knew her and knew where she lived.
So who do I know in France who wants me to see this?
And that’s all Annie knew for certain. The envelope arrived through the United States Postal Service by way of Paris, France; the postal code was visible in the upper right corner of the envelope.
After testing the envelope and the newspaper for hidden potions, powders, fingerprints, or residues, Annie wondered if it had been a magical creature, which had no fingerprints.
But what magical creature knew her, knew where she lived, and knew her connection to the princess? Bitherby and Huxley still lived at Windermere School of Witchcraft, and neither was around for the princess’s murder.
Their friends?
She quickly decided that wasn’t the path to investigate. At a loss, she leaned back in her chair and felt the tenderness in her left shoulder, her injuries from the last hours of the fall of the Black Market.
I should go home and rest.
She had left Cham at home to tend to his own injuries and came to Wizard Hall to deal with what could potentially be huge fallout. It left her exhausted with an uneasy feeling she couldn’t put a finger on.
Annie pushed the newspaper to the side, left her standard office chair, and sat in one of the big, comfy club chairs opposite her desk. She curled against the high back and folded her legs under herself. The chairs and the red walls of her cubicle were meant to comfort Annie. Even the many pictures of friends and family she stored on the bookshelf and the credenza behind her desk should have relaxed her. Today, though, the anxiety sat in the back of her head, and her office was just an office. She summoned the newspaper.
Who sent this?
She ran a finger across the opening of the envelope. It had been thoroughly taped, not licked. Someone had carefully assembled the package to reach her without leaving any evidence behind.
“Is that it?” Annie jumped when her Wizard Guard partner, Spencer Ray, appeared in her cubicle. She hadn’t heard his footsteps or his familiar gait as he made his way down their hallway. He entered without an invitation and sat in the second chair beside her, crossing long, thin legs in pressed blue jeans. His pant leg rose, revealing very funky socks which Annie thought looked like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. She chuckled quietly.
“Yeah,” she answered, handing him the envelope. She watched him as he read each word, as he absently ran his fingers through his neatly manicured head of highlighted hair. After scrutinizing the picture, he summoned a magnifying glass for a clearer view of Amelie’s face. Even with the wig or newly dyed black hair and heavy makeup it was obvious to each of them, this was the Princess.
He continued reviewing the magazine article, moving the glass up and down, observing every centimeter of the paper. He finally stopped, moved the paper closer to his eyes and stared again.
“So, who wants you to know she’s still alive?” Spencer asked and handed her the article.
“That’s the question,” Annie said. “Someone who knows magic, who was close to the investigation and knows me.” She slid the article back into the packaging and shoved the envelope into a folder, starting a new case.
“What about Jack?”
What about Jack?
Spencer was referring to FBI Special Agent Jack Ramsey, who had called them in to work the Princess Amelie case eight months ago. Jack had also alerted them to the John Doe murder outside the now-extinct Black Market just weeks prior.
“No. I don’t think Jack would have sent the article. He’d call, scream, yell. Besides, he just got back from Hawaii. Not France,” Annie said.
He would definitely call me if he saw Amelie alive and walking around.
“What about Stonewell?”
Annie grimaced as she thought of Cyril B. Stonewell, the mastermind behind the attempted coup of the Wizard Council eight months ago. Princess Amelie Maxillian and her boyfriend, Jordan Wellington, had stolen an integral part of his plan, the ancient glass sphere called the Orb of Eridu. So Stonewall had his henchman Wolfgange Rathbone murder the ill-fated pair. Stonewell had hoped to use the artifact to create a zombie army allowing him to overtake and control the Wizard Council. Unfortunately for Stonewell, his two-decade quest for power hadn’t ended as planned, as he had been missing without a trace for the last eight months.
“Okay. So Stonewell escapes the case against him in the U.S., runs all over Europe, and happens across Amelie. Why would he want us to know she’s alive?” Annie asked.
Spencer sat back in the chair, glanced at Annie and chuckled. “Maybe he had her turned and she’s too much trouble for him. He contacts you to dispose of the vampire. Keeps his hands clean and yet he does the right thing?”
Annie grimaced and shook her head.
“Yeah. It’s more his style to not tell us and let it become a huge problem. You have to admit, if this gets out, he can race in and solve the problem. Look like the hero. You know, save the wizarding world. Scratch him off the list,” Spencer said.
Annie had run through the list of all involved in the Princess Amelie murder investigation, starting with Rebekah Stoner, the former Channel Five News Reporter and Annie’s former stalker. It was the reporter’s nature to hold onto an idea like a pit bull and not let go. Including all things Amelie. However, the reporter recently had her memory modified because she had come too close to knowing more about magic than she ever could have guessed. At this point, Rebekah Stoner wasn’t remembering much of anything about magic, Annie, or Amelie.
Annie summoned the rubber ball and tossed it in the air. It flew high before falling to earth. She reached up with her good arm and caught it.
“Does that help?” Spencer asked.
“Only to keep my hands busy.” She tossed the ball again. It dropped back to her hand with a loud slap. “Rebekah has no memory, Jack wasn’t in France, and Sarconis was staked.” The ball flew in the air again.
“Rathbone?” Spencer asked and summoned the ball from the air. Annie frowned and watched him toss it in the air. His fingers directed the ball as it turned curlicues above their heads.
Before Rathbone was arrested, his magical powers had been stripped. Jack arrested a bruised and battered wizard and threw him into a nonmagical prison where he would rot for the rest of his life.
Would Rathbone do this? How would he?
Knowing Amelie was still alive, especially as a vampire, would give Rathbone an advantage.
“Well. I guess he could blackmail us with this. Use the information to get out of prison. I think he’d want me to know it was him sending the article, though,” Annie said.
“Can you have Jack check with the prison and see if Rathbone gets any mail from France, or who his contacts are?” Spencer asked.
Annie stole the ball back and tossed it in the air. It bounced against the ceiling, knocking a tile loose
, before bouncing back to her desk and rolling through her cubicle.
“I need to call Jack anyway and let him know about this tiny little problem. I’ll ask him to look at the prison visitor logs, and phone records. If it was Rathbone, he would definitely have needed help with this.” She sighed and tossed the ball into her drawer for another day of careful thought before she dialed Jack.
He’s going to be pissed.
As the phone rang, Annie mentally ran through just what she would say to Jack in a voicemail. She wasn’t sure which she would rather do, leave the message or speak with him directly. It didn’t matter when he finally answered the call.
“Hello?” Jack asked tentatively.
“Hey Jack…” she took a breath. “It’s Annie,” she said. He blew out air as if he had been holding his breath.
The silence between them was deafening.
But he has to know.
“Hi, Annie. I was going to call you this week. How are you? Feeling okay? Cham okay?”
The lilt in his voice was forced, and he laughed nervously.
He doesn’t want to hear from me. He won’t want this news.
“I shouldn’t be so apprehensive to talk to you. But when we do it’s always bad news,” he attempted to joke, but both of them knew it was true.
FBI Special Agent Jack Ramsey had fallen into the world of magic quite by accident, having worked on the same case as Annie. Though he hadn’t realized it at the time, there were supernatural forces that controlled the evidence and the course of the case.
Once known, the knowledge of magic could not be unknown without a powerful magical spell, and the Wizard Guard had decided Jack’s knowing would only benefit them. He had assisted in the last hours of the Black Market, rescuing victims of the fallout, and he was the only nonmagical to ever set foot inside the market, or even enter Wizard Hall. Annie believed he hated that distinction.
“I’m good. Thanks. And Cham, he’s healing,” Annie said, glancing at Spencer. Her partner offered a smile, which did little to ease Annie’s uncertainty. She took a deep breath and shuddered at the burning sensation. “I have something I need to tell you. Something that… well, could potentially be bad.”
Worse than what he’s already seen?
“Okay. We really need to get off of this pattern we’re in.” Jack’s attempted joke fell flat. He cleared his throat and said, “So what’s so problematic?”
“We think that Princess Amelie may not have actually died. She may have been turned. As in a vampire,” Annie said as her fingers grazed the package. She gave Jack time to formulate his thoughts and respond. Had she told him in person, she would have seen his face blanche and fall ghostly white.
“Damn. Damn,” Jack mumbled as if trying to refrain from saying what was really on in mind. “I… I’m not sure what to say.” Even through the phone, Jack’s heavy footsteps pounded in her ear. “How? Why? Are you sure? Did she kill someone?” With each word, his voice grew higher. His stress was palpable.
“We don’t know how many she’s murdered. What we do know is she or someone who looks a lot like her was spotted in France as of last week.” Annie continued by telling him about the unmarked package, the list of suspects who might have sent the article.
“I remember you checked for vampire marks. How did you miss that?” he inquired.
He blames me!
“I did check for vampire tracks. Her wrists, neck, ankles. There weren’t any. The only think I can’t think is that the vampire that killed her must have bit her under her hair.” Annie was defending herself, but even to her it felt as though she was making an excuse for her mistake.
“So you’re not sure it’s really her?” he asked cautiously.
“I have a picture in a newspaper and no identity of the sender. It’s… well. We’ll need to verify whether or not it’s her.”
Jack must have stopped pacing and returned to his desk chair; it squeaked as he sat down. “So who would send you an unmarked package? Who benefits from telling you Amelie is alive, besides… besides Wolfgange Rathbone?” he asked incredulously.
“Actually, that’s the other reason why I called. Can you find out if Rathbone had any visitors, made any phone calls, or sent and received any packages. It’s our guess that if he knew where she was, it was in his best interest to blackmail us with that knowledge. We figure he’d need help on the outside,” Annie advised.
“Does he have any connection to France? Someone who would send the article?” Jack asked.
Embarrassed she hadn’t thought of that sooner, Annie scribbled across her notepad. Another question for Bucky Hart.
“Actually, I don’t have an answer for that. But I will find out.” Annie glanced at Spencer.
I don’t think Rathbone did this!
“I don’t think it’s in your best interest to tell Rathbone that you have this newspaper,” Jack said. “Any information in his hands could be dangerous. I’ll refrain from speaking with him, but I will ask about phone calls, visitors, and mail. This is going to be a clusterfuck is she’s alive and discovered. You do realize that.”
I suppose I deserve this.
“Yeah. I’m well aware of that, Jack. You don’t need to push the knife deeper,” she retorted.
“I’m sorry, Annie. This is bad. It puts me in a very difficult position if this gets out. I don’t mean to blame you, but this is new for me. I’m not in charge, and my murder victim might be alive and killing.”
“If she’s in fact a vampire. We’ll get her. We have no choice,” Annie said.
“Call me as soon as you know for sure. And have Graham and Bucky prepare some story in case it gets out. I’m not sure what I’d even say if Amelie is discovered.”
He’s ordering me around?
“I promise. I’ll bring you in as soon as I can. And I promise Bucky and Graham will have something for you soon,” she assured him.
“I’m counting on it,” Jack mumbled as they said goodbye.
Annie glanced at Spencer before lowering her head to her desk. “Maybe I jumped too soon opening that can of worms,” she said.
“No, you didn’t. He had to know and you need to find out who sent this newspaper. If it’s Rathbone, we need to be prepared for whatever he’s got planned. I doubt it’s him. As you were talking to Jack, another thought hit me.” Spencer’s smile was crooked, a little mischievous, as if he was about to reveal a secret only he knew.
Annie raised her eyebrows. “Yeah. Who?”
“Where’s Sturtagaard?”
Why didn’t I think of that!
A smile crossed Annie’s lips. “Yeah. Where is that asshole?” She twirled in her desk chair, opened the credenza and pulled out a box marked “Sturtagaard.” The maddening vampire had insinuated himself into their investigation because he was collecting dead bodies for the zombie army, per the plan devised by Stonewell and carried out by Rathbone. It forever linked the vampire to this case.
Inside the box Annie retrieved the clear plastic bag containing a vial and several maps. She unfurled the maps. Several were well used, marked with Sturtagaard’s previous locations. The Wizard Guard had been tracking the vampire since setting him free at the conclusion of the murder case. She thumbed through the series of maps and chose France.
She retrieved the vial containing an atomie bean, a magical pod with two twin beans. One bean was placed underneath the top layers of skin on Sturtagaard’s shoulder; the second sat in the vial Annie now held. It was a magical GPS allowing them to track the vampire’s location whenever they chose.
“Okay, Sturtagaard. Where the hell are you?” Annie wrapped her scrying crystal necklace around her hand with the vial inside her palm.
“He sure gets around,” Spencer noted as he stared at the map of Africa. Sturtagaard had roamed Egypt for several months, and it looked as though he had thoroughly examined the country based on each location he had been discovered at.
The scrying crystal swung with Annie’s guidance. It swayed gently as
it examined the northern border of France and worked its way south. When the crystal found the vampire, it dropped to the map, landing on Paris, France.
Chapter 3
“You really think it’s her?” Milo’s short, stubby fingers kept a tight, sweaty grip on the article, bending the corner and smudging the ink.
“Someone thinks it’s her,” Annie said as she observed her boss. The paper rustled in his shaking hand.
Whatever illness he has it’s getting worse.
For weeks, maybe months, Annie and the rest of the team had noticed Milo’s health seriously decline. Since the fall of the Black Market, the stress seemed to have made whatever was wrong him even worse. No one knew what had been happening to him, and for some reason no one could bring themselves to ask.
“Who sent it?” Milo asked. He continued to peruse the article, which clearly had nothing to do with the princess.
“We figure it had to be someone who knew Annie was involved in the case, knew that the princess should be dead, and would have reason to think she was turned and not a doppelganger,” Spencer said.
“And that’s who?” Milo asked again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if needing to calm himself. Sweat glistened against his thinning hair line.
“We have two thoughts. First, Rathbone. I have Jack investigating any contact in or out of the prison, including visitors. But we really think it’s Sturtagaard,” Annie announced.
Milo grimaced. The memory of the vampire’s role in the plan to overthrow the Wizard Council didn’t sit well with anyone who worked at Wizard Hall. What made it worse was that they had simply let him go in exchange for necessary information. Dealing with the vampire again was something none of them wanted to do.
“Why Rathbone?” Milo opened his red and strained eyes; he looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, which could have been possible.
He placed the article on his desk. His shaky hand tapped against his desk. Something was certainly wrong with him.
“Blackmail. Threatening to reveal the secret for a chance to go free.” Annie said.
Milo nodded cautiously. “That’s definitely Rathbone’s style. I’m inclined to agree with you. It’s probably Sturtagaard. You’re positive this came from France?”
Wizard War Page 3
