Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (10 page)

Heike. Lizzie sighed. She didn’t have any
proof
that Heike was involved on a deeper level with Worth’s plot, just suspicions. Had Heike played some greater role? Or had she really just been an employee who believed she was working for an eccentric collector? And even if she hadn’t been involved with the kidnappings—Lizzie didn’t like her. Or trust her.

They were alone inside the Library. Only staff were allowed unescorted access. Good thing an intern was considered staff, because Lizzie found the security men to be just a little out of step in some way. She wasn’t sure why. If she had spidey senses, they’d be ringing a loud alarm.
Weird.
She’d have to ask Harrington about them.

“Are you okay?” John asked. Apparently, she’d been silent too long, processing the news that Heike was not only in the building but was to be her coworker for the next several weeks.

“Hmm,” Lizzie said noncommittally.
Not really
was the honest answer. But she could hardly say that without sounding petty.
Hell.
It made her
feel
petty. As far as she knew, Heike had been a grunt. Brought in to translate titles and get enough of a feel for the books to categorize them. Not so very different from Pilar and herself.

“Lizzie,” John prompted.

Except for the kidnapping part. She sighed again. Right—the kidnapping bit was actually a big deal. Not so petty, then.

“Okay. I’m not thrilled. Even less thrilled that Harrington would conveniently leave out the name of the staff he hired, knowing our history.” She should be a little more wary of Harrington. She had suspected he had a sneaky streak, and she’d guessed his priorities were IPPC first, second, and third. She huffed in frustration—at herself. She should have asked.

They sat at one of three tables that were oriented in the center of the room to roughly form a triangle. Lizzie flipped through the notes in front of her. If she understood the process correctly, Harrington’s new librarian, Emme, had started by first reviewing the notes the three women had made while Worth had been in residence. Except Lizzie hadn’t really made any notes. She’d just barely managed to sort out how to use her magic, when her rescue had begun. She’d only interacted with one book,
A Witch’s Diary
.

She had a strange, slightly uneasy feeling. Like an itch but of the magical, rather than physical, kind. And then she realized she knew exactly where
A Witch’s Diary
was located. A shelf directly behind her, low and to the left.
Okay—that’s creepy.
She had her first official mentor topic to discuss with Harrington. Would every book she opened create some kind of connection with her? If so, this temp job was going to be a little more challenging than predicted.

Lizzie rubbed her dry, itchy eyes that seemed unable to recover from the transatlantic flight. She looked up at John and realized she’d been lost in her own thoughts for a perhaps embarrassing amount of time. Or maybe just a rude amount of time. “Sorry. I’m not very good company right now, am I?”

“There’s no right answer to that question, so I’ll pass,” he replied while flipping through one of the books on the table.

“I’ll take that as ‘you’re horrible company but I’m too nice and too worried about upsetting you to say.’” She smiled softly at him. “We didn’t discuss the particulars before, but the healer I met in London, Sarah’s healer? It seems he’s the main one in charge of her care. Maybe the only one.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The important part is that he’s some kind of healer whiz kid.”

“Does he think Sarah might wake?” John said.

“He’s not sure. They really have very little information about her condition. He was very informative about
my
condition, however.” At John’s quick glance, she added, “I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What did this healer have to say about you?”

“Feeling nauseous, passing out, all of those odd reactions I’ve had to stress—you remember, I passed out when you told me you were Lycan?”

“I’m not likely to forget. Not my preferred response to revealing an intimate detail about myself.” Was that a small wince from John that Lizzie detected? If so, it was gone in a flash. He said, “And you guessed. I just confirmed.”

John had a small smile on his face. She’d bet money he was remembering the moment her ass hit the floor. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. She still thought he should have caught her. What kind of guy let his future girlfriend hit the ground with a splat after a faint? Although, she had to admit that there had been no inkling at the time that she would actually be his future girlfriend. And she didn’t actually
know
that he’d let her splat, per se. But she had come to firmly planted on the tile.

“If I were into violence, I’d punch you in the arm right now.” Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Be glad I’m enlightened.”

“What? What did I do?” he said, but he was grinning. “Okay, small confession. I did catch you as you—gracefully—sank to the ground. No bruise on your beautiful tush afterwards, right? Although—” He paused in consideration. “—that seems to have been a one-time thing. I assumed it was the shock. But you’ve had more than your share of high stress, shock-inducing situations since then. And your reaction recently hasn’t been—ah, to pass out. Your healer had some insight?”

She’d pay money to know what his real opinion was of her recent reactions to stressful situations. She hadn’t missed his quick mental edit.
Hmm.

“He did. He theorized that there’s a medical, or rather a magical, reason for them. Something to do with bottling up my magic way too long,” Lizzie said. She shifted her weight in the chair. “And now—what I thought was wild, out of control magic—is just easy access to my magic. Bottle it up too long, passing out. Unleash it after being contained, and it—burbles out.”

“And that information is helpful?” John looked a little skeptical.
Party pooper.

“That part not so much. But he said it would likely even out. And he also said that my magic is definitely not wild.”

“So—really easily accessible?” he asked.

“I’m paraphrasing. Until everything evens out, I have to be a little more careful about practicing magic. But I’m not a ticking time bomb.”

“And Worth?” John was asking because
she
was worried about what had happened with Worth. He’d made it clear he was never afraid of her, her magic, or what she might accidentally or intentionally do.

“Apparently, I didn’t hurt Worth directly. I just severed the connection.” Lizzie spoke with confidence. She may have some doubts, but it made sense. And she truly didn’t believe, in her heart of hearts, that she’d willed into being the damage caused to Worth. She was ultimately responsible for it, yes. But that was an important distinction in her mind.

John tipped his chair back and closed his eyes. Watching him balance on two legs of the chair, Lizzie thought she might be getting a glimpse of adolescent, pre-Alpha John. A little silly, less serious, less weighed down by responsibilities. Probably because he wasn’t thinking about what he was doing. He was concentrating on remembering the events of her rescue—and his, she was sure.

“Recoil.” John opened his eyes, and the chair legs came down with a thud. “You cut it, and it snapped back at him. But why not me? The connection was between him and me. Why him, and not me? I felt nothing but stronger once the connection was destroyed. No backlash or recoiled magical energy.”

“Because it was your magic?” Lizzie guessed. “It belonged with you?”

“Perhaps.” John nodded his head in assent, but it was clear his concerned remained. “Not to look at a gift too closely, because this is really excellent news, but—”

“I know. The red, sparkly lights? All good.”

“That was never a concern.” At her annoyed look, he modified that statement. “That was never my concern. I was thinking about whether it was repeatable. If it could be used defensively.” After registering her reaction, he seemed to decide against discussing it further.

His response highlighted the very different worldviews and priorities they each had. She’d been primarily concerned about hurting someone by accident. And he was more concerned about her ability to protect herself.

He gave her a searching look, then said, “I bet Harrington has a liquor cabinet stashed somewhere.”

She walked over to his chair, biting the inside of her lip. “I think it’s incredibly hot that you’re plotting how I can use my new wicked cool skills to defend myself against bad guys.”

He lost the slightly guarded look he’d assumed and grinned. “Hot, huh?” Pulling her closer, he ran his hand down her back following the line of her spine until he reached the curve of her ass. He cupped her ass in both hands, and before she could blink, she was straddling him.

“Are you sure—” she began.

“Always,” he growled into her throat. His mouth was pressed into the hollow between her clavicle and neck, directly above a pulse point.

She wondered distractedly why John loved that part of her neck so much. But before she could consider it, he bit her lightly. She immediately shoved closer, aligning her body with his. She turned her head and he caught her lips with his own. After a kiss that left her gasping for breath, she pulled away and briefly rested her forehead against his shoulder. She blinked, seeing the book-lined shelves.

“Crap. We
cannot
have sex in the Library.” She huffed out a breath in disgust. Why the hell weren’t they in their room? Where she could—

He laughed. “Why not?”

“Um. It’s the Library. No public sex—we talked about that one already, remember?” She grinned when he snorted out a half laugh at that. She’d talked. He’d never agreed.

“And,” she continued, “it’s the Library.”

“You said that already.” But he was slowly lowering her feet to the floor.

“It’s worth mentioning twice.” She kissed him on the cheek. “And you’ve distracted me from my research.”

“That’s all you—you said hot.” He stood up, shaking the wrinkles out of his shirt.

Lizzie looked at the abandoned notes in front of her. “Damn. There’s a chance that something, some small piece of information, in the Library can help Sarah. I’d like to at least develop some kind of strategy for approaching all of this information before dinner.”

Glancing at his cell, he said, “Too late. Dinner’s in half an hour.”

Lizzie huffed out a small puff of air in frustration. “After dinner then, and before bed.”

After a quick recap of dinner logistics—where, when, who would be there, and appropriate dress—John left to grab a quick shower before the meal. How was he always finding time to shower and she was running around like an idiot hoping to catch a second to brush her teeth. She sighed.

Up to this point, Lizzie had forgotten about
A Witch’s Diary
and the odd feeling it had given her earlier. But once John had left the room, there it was. That odd, itch-in-the-middle-of-the-back feeling. Lizzie tried to remember how exactly she formed a connection with the book originally. She had felt an awareness. Not human, just…something. She turned toward the wall where she thought the book was shelved. And she let it reel her in. She kneeled down and ran her finger down the spine.

Yep, that was the one. The newly hired librarian must be shelving all of the books that had title translations completed.

She didn’t really have time today to delve into the diary, much as it appealed to her sense of adventure and her curiosity. But, wow, this book was wicked weird. She debated, then decided, a few quick questions. She hunted back in her memory and remembered. She’d addressed the book, much as she’d address a person.

Here goes.

“Um, hi. I’m in a bit of a time crunch right now. I’ve got to help a girl who’s really sick.” A thought popped into her head. Surely it couldn’t be that easy? “I don’t suppose
you
know anything about magically induced comas?” Dang. She forgot. Find her magic. Done. Think about what she wanted to happen. Well, that’s what this conversation was, right? Done. Apply will. Um, probably done. She still didn’t have tons of practice, so the success of the last part was somewhat debatable.

She waited a few seconds. Last time, the answer to her question had popped right into her head. But all she was getting was a kind of low-level static. It was something. The book wasn’t ignoring her. Maybe that was a “no” in spelled book speak.

She felt incredibly foolish, but she continued. Magic, question, and will; steps one, two, and three. “So I’m hunting for information about this magically induced coma. Specifically, how I can reverse it. This really bad guy—” TMI. Be specific. Be clear. “How do I reverse a magically induced coma?”

More static. Maybe more specificity was needed. “How do I reverse a coma caused by siphoning off a spell caster’s magic?”

Not witch magic.

Whoa.
How cool was that?

“Does the diary contain information that will help wake up the coma patient?” Lizzie wanted to pursue the whole “what is witch magic” line of questioning, but now wasn’t the time.

Silence. Not even static.
Crap.
Maybe she made a mistake. She rubbed the spine with the tip of her finger. “I’m sorry. I have to focus on the coma question right now. But later—” She sighed. It was like talking with Sarah all over again. She was speaking to thin air. After initiating the conversation, she couldn’t help but say goodbye—even if she felt silly. “I’ll be back.”

Chapter 13

D
inner had been uneventful enough. Heike had been as she was before, polite but uninterested. As far as Lizzie had seen, Heike experienced no twinges of guilt or feelings of awkwardness. The fact that her coworker, Lizzie, was a woman whose kidnapping she’d played a part in—indirect though it might have been—didn’t cause Heike any apparent concern.

Lizzie had requested a meeting with Harrington sooner rather than later. Hence their meeting after dinner, scheduled even though Lizzie was still struggling to overcome the symptoms of jet lag. The squishy sofa she sat on threatened to put her to sleep if it didn’t swallow her first.