Wizard War Read online

  Wizard War

  Copyright 2018 Sheryl Steines

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9858652-7-6

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are reserved. With the exception of fair use excerpts for reviews and critical articles, no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Table of Contents

  The Wizard Hall Chronicles

  September 1: The Day of First Sun

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 38

  About the Author

  The Wizard Hall Chronicles

  The Day of First Sun

  Black Market

  Wizard War

  September 1: The Day of First Sun

  Cyril B. Stonewell waited patiently for the world to forget Princess Amelie Maxillian of Amborix, but it would take longer than the six weeks he allowed for memories to pass. Hundreds of stories had been written, pictures were posted to millions of websites; her life story could still be accessed as if she were still living. It was in part, due to the lack of closure. Though they knew who killed her, no one outside of Wizard Hall America or the Wizard Council of America knew the real reason why she was murdered. Most importantly, no one anywhere knew what Stonewall was planning to do.

  Stonewell dragged the heavy sack across the perfectly manicured lawn. He was surprised by a divot in the earth that caused the bag to bounce, waking the man stuffed inside.

  Even in a magical stupor, the man inside woke and grew restless, or possibly he was just scared. He tugged and clawed at the canvas sack. When he was unable to loosen the ropes that tied the bag closed, he kicked and flayed, then shrieked in terror when all else failed. Stonewell glanced at the sack, at the body that shook and squirmed. Stonewell was not a young or healthy man, and the work was making him tired. Rather than using his beloved magic, he issued a hard kick to the man’s kidney and squatted beside the dirty bag.

  “Keep this up, and I’ll kill you now,” Stonewell hissed. Though the man spoke only German, he understood the tone of Stonewell’s words. Now totally helpless inside the hot sack, the man stiffened into a tightly wound ball and let himself be dragged across the dew-covered lawn owned by the royal family of Amborix.

  With his destination in sight, Stonewell stopped again and panted in exhaustion; the bag was heavy, even as thin and malnourished that his victim was. It was too much exertion for Stonewell.

  But he couldn’t risk anyone discovering he was alive. Leaving any magical trace was dangerous. Though he loathed living without magic, he had remained alive and hidden without it.

  Stonewell yanked on the drawstring of the sack and hobbled his way toward the gravesite, where the royal family had buried their only daughter, far from the prying eyes of the world.

  With each labored step, the formerly high-ranking member of the Wizard Council grunted, sweat rolled down his cheeks. He wrapped the canvas handle around his hand, and took another step toward the large oak tree at the center of the open land.

  Voices carried in the wind.

  Panic filling his gut, Stonewell hobbled as quickly as he could toward the gravesite, where the grass hadn’t fully grown back. A moist patch of dark earth, smooth yet visible lay at his feet.

  Stonewell dropped the bag and wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving behind a streak of dirt. Exhausted, he leaned against the granite headstone.

  The voices grew closer, yet they were still off in the distance, traversing the large clearing. It would be a while before they found him.

  Not relishing the thought of being discovered, Stonewell glanced around the clearing, searching for the shadows of the security officers against their flashlights. When he saw none coming, he waved his palms across the first layer of loose dirt, pushing it to the side of the grave. He stopped for a moment and waited again, not just for the security guards but for the Wizard Guards. He expected they would arrive at any moment, assuming they were still looking for him. When no one came, he continued to remove heavy earth with swipes of his palms. It felt good to use magic.

  Reassured that he was alone, Stonewell removed several cubic feet of dirt. All the while, every sound in the darkness made him jump. He would stop and turn toward the sounds, anxious he’d run into the security team that patrolled the lands surrounding the royal residence—even worse, he feared the Wizard Guard.

  He continued to remove dirt from above the grave, heaving it onto a growing pile. He quickened his pace; he didn’t want to get caught messing with the grave.

  Streaks from flashlights illuminated the thick, dense trees that encircled the clearing. He could hear harsh German voices growing louder, stronger.

  Stonewell ducked behind the large oak tree as Amelie’s headstone lit up with streams of light.

  “There!” Footsteps sloshed across the wet grass, heading toward the grave, obviously tampered with—and toward the bag. He had forgotten the bag. In that moment, the man inside realized he was nearly free and began shouting.

  Stonewell tossed a spell around the thick tree trunk, swiping his palm in the direction of two security guards, just before they reached the mysterious bag. Little did they know it contained a half drugged homeless man.

  “Help me!” the man shouted, just as the team of security officers was hit by Stonewell’s jinxes. Both men stopped mid step, their faces frozen in confusion, their arms up and wide.

  Poking his head around the tree trunk, Stonewell surveyed the landscape. There were no other security team members in the vicinity. The only noise came from the man in the bag, who was squirming and calling for help.

  Stonewell’s first order was a swift kick to the bag; he heard a crack in the man’s ribs. “They’re gone. You won’t be saved,” Stonewell sneered and returned to removing the dirt in the grave.

  His back hurt. It had been years since the rotund man had completed any form of exercise. And yet he continued for three hours, until he finally saw the cement tomb at the bottom of the hole. He wiped sweat and dirt from his face, using the sleeve of his expensive suit, which was already covered in mud. He bent over and stretched his back while he wiped away loose dirt from the coffin cover, revealing the bronze plaque on the cement lid. The humble sentiment simply read, Amelie Victoria Maxillian, Rest in Peace.

  Stonewell stood next to the hole. Beside him, the victim sensed his time was drawing to a close. He struggled against the binding that held him inside the bag. He screamed, swore, punched at the bag, but he was no match for all the sticking spells and other magical jinxes used to preve
nt his escape.

  While he continued to panic, Stonewell threw a jinx at the moving mass, immobilizing him.

  Exhausted and running out of time, Stonewell stood at the edge of the hole, held his palms upward, and raised the heavy cement lid, floating it up through the grave and setting it on a clear patch of grass. Shining a light inside, he examined the coffin—still polished, nearly pristine—it lay untouched by air or time. He jumped down, and touched the coffin; adrenaline coursed through him as he raised the lid, unsure of what he’d find.

  The silk lining was ripped to shreds and covered in streaks of blood.

  The newly risen vampire lay still, wrapped in an emerald green dress with a crystal bodice, covered in blood. Stonewell started when he looked in her angry black eyes. Having been in complete darkness for so long, she blinked rapidly as she gained use of her vampire vision.

  “What took so long?” she sneered.

  “I know, love. It couldn’t be helped.” He smiled and reached for her hand, but the agile young vampire rejected his assistance. Using her taught, strong muscles, she bent her legs beneath her and pushed herself up without difficulty. Towering over him, she pushed him aside and leaped from the grave.

  Stonewell hoisted himself from the hole, slipping in the wet earth and landing in the coffin. Amelie sneered. Rather than watch him struggle to free himself, she paced her gravesite. Impatiently, Stonewell teleported to the grass, bent over and sucked in a deep breath.

  “I’m famished,” Amelie cooed through purple, pouted lips. Her hair fell wild around her face; her dress slipped from her shoulder. She licked her raw and bloody fingertips, the result of scratching away her coffin lining as she tried to escape. She groaned in delight.

  “I’ve brought your first blood, Your Highness.” He bowed low to the princess as he showed her the bag with the victim squirming inside.

  “Don’t call me that!” she shouted. Her voice rolled through the trees.

  “Yes. Amelie. Here. Here’s the food I promised.”

  Stonewell, once a high official of the Wizard Council, now succumbed to being Amelie’s slave as he untied the strings that held her first victim inside.

  As a young vampire she knew nothing about the art of the sensual kill. She pounced on her prey, ripped opened the bag, and held the victim to the wet grass. She sniffed him and licked his tender neck. He struggled against her vampire strength; she held him tighter, bound his hands behind his back in one of her delicate hands and pulled his neck backward, giving her room to sink her fangs into the artery. Warm blood passed her lips, and she sucked deeply. Her first taste of blood was all she needed to understand the ecstasy in that moment. A slow groan of pleasure escaped her as she writhed against her first victim. As he was drained of life, he no longer struggled against her grasp, so she loosened her hold on him until he finally went limp.

  She held him in her arms until there was nothing left inside of him and pulled her sharp teeth from his neck. Amelie licked the last drops of blood from his neck, licked her lips of whatever she hadn’t sucked and then tossed the corpse to the ground. She stepped over him, sashaying to the man who saved her from her confines.

  “My master,” the vampire cooed. She smiled coyly, averting her eyes from his lecherous stare.

  The princess is happy!

  Stonewell smirked to himself as he reached for her hand. He shivered at the icy chill that emanated from her skin.

  “Did they notice, my dear?”

  Amelie shrugged. “I have no idea what happened to me after I died,” she hissed.

  It’s unlikely they found the vampire tracks beneath that thick, golden hair at the back of her head.

  “They did a fine job. Fine job, indeed.” Stonewell glanced at the mess he created, reached down for the dead homeless man and pulled him toward the coffin. He was still very heavy.

  “I’m so hungry,” Amelie whined. She pressed her lithe body against him.

  “I need to clean up this mess. We can’t give anyone a reason to investigate this grave. They will know you aren’t here,” he said as he dumped the body inside the coffin.

  “Now,” Amelie said as her breasts and hips curved against him. Heat rushed through him as her every touch aroused him; even the cold chill from her skin felt alive.

  “I will find you someone to eat. Now let me finish,” he ordered and lowered the coffin lid on the dead man.

  “Now!” she screamed.

  Amelie grabbed Stonewell’s wrist and twirled him around to face her. Confusion and fear lined his face.

  “Now, my dear. I’ll fetch you someone new. Le-let’s go. We’ll go, now,” he muttered as he glanced at the frozen security team feet from where Amelie held his wrist.

  But Amelie was no longer interested in the man who freed her from her prison. Pulling him to her like a rag doll, she yanked on his chin, pulling his head back and exposing his neck. No longer able to wait for the taste of iron, she sank her fangs deep into his neck and let the blood flow.

  He cried out. “No! My love, no!”

  Stonewell struggled as all victims did when they realized they were about to die. She felt the life slip from him as his muscles went slack and the light faded from his eyes. Cyril B. Stonewell’s body slumped against Amelie as she sucked from him all that he had.

  Six Months Later

  Annie gladly stayed in bed past eight in the morning; when she woke, the sun was bursting through the curtains, blinding her. She blinked and took a deep breath. The pain of the last few weeks, of several misfortunes on the job, slowly faded away.

  Beside her, Cham slept peacefully. His injuries had been far worse.

  Sleep faded away as the sun rose higher and her bedroom grew lighter. She sat up and gained her bearings. Freshly laundered clothes lay in neat piles near her bed.

  Leave it to Zola to clean when she’s ill.

  Annie grimaced. Even her Aloja fairy, protector of women and children wasn’t safe and had been kidnapped as a way to get to Annie. The fall of the Black Market affected every one of them. She could still see the dead when she closed her eyes.

  All those people.

  Cham was unaffected by her movements as she climbed out of bed and followed warm, wafting smells of food cooking.

  She wasn’t surprised to find Zola busy in the kitchen.

  “Why aren’t you resting?” Annie asked, wrapping her own weak, tired arms around her friend.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Zola turned and this time gave Annie a warm, motherly hug.

  “I’m done sleeping. The food smells good.” Annie helped herself to eggs and toast and carried them to the den.

  “Go rest!” she called as she let the sofa envelope her.

  “After you and Cham are cared for.” Zola began in the den, rearranging piles of folders and notes, picking up Annie’s work from her last case, the one that changed the makeup of the wizarding world. Annie couldn’t even begin to understand the consequences of losing the Black Market. Not yet.

  As she took a bite, she watched Zola work. The fairy grew restless with Annie staring at her.

  “I need to stay busy. It’s when I’m alone I remember,” Zola said as she picked up a pile of folders labeled with Wizard Hall stickers.

  “Wait. Can I see those?” Annie held out her hand. It was Zola’s turn to look at her with edge.

  “You need to rest too.” Zola ordered. Her wings, which had been broken when she was kidnapped, hung loosely behind her, sad and shapeless. She sighed and handed Annie the folders. “No work,” Zola said and straightened a pile of folders on top of her laptop.

  Annie lay her plate on the ottoman and opened the first of four folders she found in the Wizard Hall records chamber. It was her father’s last case.

  He met the Fraternitatem.

  Her mind raced with thoughts of her dad—the last week of his life, the last day she saw him, what his last hours must have been like at the hands of the Fraternitatem. She knew they were responsible.

&nb
sp; But why?

  The question brought her back to the missing fourth file, which hadn’t been in the records chambers. Ryan suggested it might be hidden in the house.

  I need to find that file!

  Her hands had been tied at the conclusion of her last case, when the Fraternitatem was set free for the sake of the magical world. And though their crime started the dominoes that led to the end of the Black Market, Annie wouldn’t be able to let it go. She didn’t trust them and believed that at some point in the future, they would come back to haunt them.

  So where would Dad hide a file?

  Annie glanced around her small den. She had checked her bedroom, her closets, the guest room, the garage.

  The basement probably?

  Feeling a cold chill blowing in from the large sliding door, she summoned a hoodie and zipped it to her chin before heading to her basement.

  In all the years she lived in the house as an adult, the basement was the one room she hadn’t tackled. It was as messy and disorganized as it had been when she was a kid, crowded with junk and boxes filled with stuff belonging to her sister Samantha or to her father. They were small hills and mounds of a life well lived.

  I’ll check those later.

  Annie surveyed the packed room—the cement walls, the return air vents, the laundry room at the far end—and chose to start with the obvious: the utility room.

  It was a long, thin room along the back wall of the basement, completely unfinished. It housed the washer and dryer, water heater, furnace and air conditioner.

  The light illuminated a dull and dingy room. There were only a few places the room could hide a box, places Annie and Samantha would have missed any time they did their laundry. She glanced behind the heater and furnace, then behind the washer and dryer. Knowing it wouldn’t be so easy, she began to thump the walls, assessing the thumping for voids in the wall.

  He didn’t hide it here.

  Her attention was drawn to the metal chair leaning against the wall. Still attached to the leg was the iron shackle that had trapped Zola before she was abducted and taken to the Black Market.

  Why did the clean-up team leave that here?