Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (18 page)

The chip hopped up and down on “yes.”

“Were we wrong? Did you not die in the Library?” Lizzie was concerned Matylda found the question of where she died upsetting, but something about her death was clearly important.

The chip moved toward “no” but never reached it, then it slipped back toward “yes.” It moved back and forth between the two words.

Shit.
What did that mean? Lizzie was not good under pressure. She was definitely brainstorming questions the second Matylda left, so she’d be prepared next time. “In this house?” she guessed.

Yes

“Is the location important? Should we spend time on this?”

The chip jumped up and down on “yes.” Then it moved rapidly to the letters. She glanced at John to see if he was ready, but he was well ahead of her.

S-A-R-A-H

Lizzie read the letters aloud as Matylda moved the chip so John could record it.

“Where you died has something to do with Sarah?” she asked.

The chip moved very slowly to “yes” but never quite made it.

“Not quite yes,” she narrated for John. Lizzie thought frantically. “The place you died has something to do with Worth?”

The chip stayed near “yes” but moved a little further away. “Less accurate,” she said quietly.

“The place you died….” Sarah was in a coma. They needed to figure out how to get Sarah out of the coma. “The place you died has something to do with a coma? With Sarah’s condition?”

The chip moved slowly to yes.

She looked at John and saw he was catching everything. Okay. In the house, but not exactly the Library. But not excluding the Library. Freaking riddles. “Is the place you died near the Library?”

The chip hopped up and down on “yes.” Then it moved to the letters.

F-A-D-E

“Fade? I don’t understand.”

The chip raced through a series of letters. Y-O-U-K-O-V-A-R-F-A-D-E

And then the chip sped through the air, impacting with the bookshelf.

“I don’t understand,” she said quietly, shaking her head. She was almost in tears, her frustration was so strong. Matylda was gone. Lizzie was learning to read both the feeling of her presence and her absence. She pushed out a rapid, angry breath.

John looked at her. “She’s gone, I take it.” He retrieved the chip. Or, more accurately, the pieces of the chip.

She nodded once, jerking her head. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tried to keep herself from bawling.
Gah.
This was ridiculous. She had resources. They’d tear apart the encounter and dig up some kind of meaning. And she’d have more questions, better questions next time.

“Okay. The first thing we do is to sit here and come up with the questions we want to ask if”—she corrected herself firmly—“
when
she returns.” She’d noticed that John’s note-taking had been more than Matylda’s spelled-out words.

“She must like a dramatic exit. Tavish said she did something similar last time. Threw the pebble. Dropped some books.” He grabbed a bite of food while simultaneously clearing a spot to work. Wise man. They’d have to eat while they worked.

Then his comment sunk in. “She threw a pebble at the bookshelf. The same bookshelf as today. She knocked off several books. From the same bookshelf. And the night she startled me?” She frowned when John grinned at her understated description of the teen horror scream she’d let loose the night before. “Watch it, buddy. That night, the books came from the same bookshelf.”

Lizzie ran to the door, poking her head out into the main basement room. She was in luck. Heike was back from dinner and tidying up her workspace for the evening.

“Heike. Can you help us?” Lizzie asked. “And do you know if Harrington is still in the building? He’ll want an update on this.”

“Sure. He’s here. Do you want me to find him?” she asked, surprised. Likely because Lizzie was asking for her help.

Lizzie debated briefly, then decided Heike’s insight might prove useful. Looking at John, she said, “Do you mind? I might need Heike’s expertise with the books.”

“No problem.” He turned to Heike. “No one should be in the Library proper alone. That includes you. You’re familiar with the buddy system?” When she nodded tentatively, he continued. “Good. One of you leaves to go to the bathroom, the other waits in the main basement room.”

Heike nodded. Her normal impassivity appeared to be breached. She looked a little worried. “What’s happened?”

As John headed out the door, Lizzie explained. “Our resident ghost may have a little anger issue.” Lizzie brought her up to date, both on the content of the exchanges and the violence with which the ghost had responded at times. “I think there’s something going on with the bookshelf itself. We’ve been focused on the content of the books she’s knocked off the shelves. But Matylda seems focused on a particular set of shelves. Each session is so short, I don’t think she can clearly spell out the ‘where’ that is so important to her. And as her time starts to end, she gets frustrated. Or maybe spelling is harder because there’s more movement and it wears her out faster.”

At some point during the conversation, Heike had dropped into one of the chairs. She didn’t look upset or overwhelmed, just a little tired.

“What do you think?” Lizzie asked.

“I think we need to move all the books,” Heike said with grim determination as she stood up and approached the shelf in question.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Do we need to keep them in the same order?”

Heike cocked her head, thinking. Then she turned to one of the tables and picked up a clipboard with a laminated diagram of the shelves. “No. These have all been screened for basic content, but none have been thoroughly reviewed, categorized, or grouped yet.”

Emme, the librarian, was still creating a unique numbering system for the Library. So even books with translated titles that had been roughly grouped together into categories hadn’t been labeled yet.

“All right then. Let’s do this,” Lizzie said, making the final decision. And the two women started moving the books.

Chapter 22

H
eike and Lizzie were about halfway done when John returned with Harrington. Harrington raised his eyebrows slightly and patiently waited for an explanation.

Lizzie explained her theory about “where” being the important message Matylda had been trying to convey. Harrington said, “Let’s get the rest down. It can’t hurt to have a look.”

They decided to empty the shelf up to the point at which it joined another series of shelves. It didn’t take long with three of them working. Harrington was busy studying the notes from the encounter.

When they’d finished with the books, Lizzie said, “We need to have a series of questions prepared. She’s caught us unprepared twice now. I’m sure we can make more efficient use of her time if we have a list.”

Harrington nodded briefly. “As soon as we’ve examined the shelving.”

Walking to the shelves, Harrington began by examining the seams visually. An hour later, the four searchers were frustrated and stumped. No mechanical triggers could be found. No false shelves. No encoded message on the shelving. The shelving itself couldn’t be removed without tools. Harrington—rumored to be excellent at warding—hadn’t spied a ward.

Most wards could be easily seen. The caster had to attach the ward to some physical object, and it was these points of attachment that were most easily detected. Unless the caster used sophisticated methods intended to obscure the ward—a reasonable assumption in this case. Even then, a talented caster—like Harrington—could identify a hidden ward. So long as the caster actually
looked.

Harrington had looked. Then he’d utilized this opportunity as a teaching moment for Lizzie. “You’re here to learn, so learn.”

What followed was a minor dissertation on warding that Lizzie was still trying to wrap her brain around fifteen minutes into the lecture.

She wrinkled her nose. “Couldn’t you give me the Cliff’s Notes version?” When Harrington responded with a disdainful look, Lizzie altered her approach. “Maybe I can summarize, and you can tell me if I’ve got it.”

“Certainly.” Harrington settled into one of the chairs scattered around a worktable.

“Okay, so first I find my magic. Then I formulate a clear picture in my mind. In this case, since I’m looking for warding on a large, solid object, I should create a net that drapes like fabric. I then envision that net covering the surfaces that I’m scanning. Any contact between the net and a ward will create a reaction.” Lizzie stopped to gauge Harrington’s reaction. Mostly to see if her magic-made-easy explanation would pass muster.

Harrington gave her a bland look and said, “Try it.”

So she did. She carefully crafted a fine mesh net—but not too fine, because that needlessly ate up too much magical juice, per Harrington. Then she mentally cast that net over the now bare shelving. The push, or application of will, that drove the cast she accomplished with a hefty shove.

That shove was apparently a small miscalculation. In the moment her cast took hold and became visible, it was clear she’d made an error. Harrington’s sensing wards had a bright glow—hers was blinding. Something she could clearly see from her vantage point on the ground. The moment she’d pushed, she’d felt a recoil strong enough to land her on her ass.

As she blinked and tried to determine where she’d gone wrong, she registered Harrington’s quiet laugh in the background.

“I’ll work on the assumption that you knew that wouldn’t actually be dangerous,” John spoke in a quietly clear voice.

Lizzie blinked dazedly at the bright light, now slightly faded. Since she wasn’t looking at John, she could only guess that he was directing that comment at Harrington.

She looked at the hand Harrington extended to her, narrowed her eyes, then grasped it. Once on her feet again, she asked, “Okay—where did I go wrong?”

“Finesse is preferred to power when casting a sensing ward. Especially when a caster has your power and chooses to cast over such a large area.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Which I was trying to explain when you became bored and decided to hurry the process along.”

Rather than addressing his criticism, she decided to move their search along. “I didn’t see any wards.”

“You wouldn’t need to see them, because any ward near the bookcase would probably have singed you given the wattage you employed. And if there was a trap, you would certainly have triggered it.” Disapproval rang in his voice.

“But you knew there weren’t any traps.” Lizzie blinked at her ward again. It was finally assuming the same glowing quality of Harrington’s wards rather than the brilliance of an interrogation spotlight.

“I knew there weren’t,” Harrington agreed.

John and Heike were discussing methods for checking the interior of the wall, whether the shelving should be removed and, finally, if the wall should be knocked down.

At this last pronouncement, made by John, Lizzie piped up. “Have you considered, maybe, that I’m wrong? We’ve looked, and nothing is there. And it’s not like I’m sure.” Her tone became exasperated. “You can’t tear an entire wall down. Especially not based on a guess.”

“We can. But you shouldn’t have to.” Lachlan had stepped into the room so quietly, his statement was the first indication Lizzie had that he had joined them.

She was surprised it had taken him so long to investigate. At one point, they’d made a racket knocking on walls and shelving, listening for some small change in the sound.

“What exactly do you suggest?” John asked.

“No suggestions. I’m merely stating a fact. If there is something behind the shelving— and I suspect there is— there had to be a way to get to it. Did your ghost give no message hinting at the answer?” Lachlan raised his dark eyebrows.

Harrington responded to the question, which was a good thing. Lizzie was certain his familiarity with the notes would be more valuable and yield a more accurate picture than her muddled recollection. “F-A-D-E. She repeated it, so I assume it has some significance.” He lifted his gaze from the paper in his hand to Lizzie. “Any idea what that means?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Lizzie said. She caught Lachlan out of the corner of her eye—a broad grin, flashing white teeth, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He was certainly entertained by the unfolding events.

“What’s so entertaining?” Lizzie wasn’t about to miss out on the joke.

“Fade. It’s an archaic term for something known more commonly today as teleportation. Very rare and found in only a few caster families.” Before Lizzie could wrap her head around the existence of yet another freaky magic ability, Lachlan began pointing out the various possibilities. “There’s an exit or a passageway only accessible from the Library via teleportation—fade, if you will. Or, perhaps a secret chamber used to house prisoners. Perhaps our ghost is no Kovar, but a prisoner left by the Kovars to die within the walls.”

“Seriously? Do you try to sound creepy and weird? Or does it just come out that way?” Lizzie was surprised that thought had escaped and not stayed firmly in her head. But really. The guy was giving her massive chills. Just the thought of a dead body trapped in the walls. Slowly starving. Dying of dehydration. And all while inside what was likely a tiny cell.
Ick.

Lachlan seemed unoffended. He’d lost the grin, but still looked faintly amused. Who was this guy?

Ignoring Lizzie, Harrington commented dryly, “Of those, I’d opt for an exit. Strategically it makes sense that there’s another way out.” He followed that train of thought to the next logical conclusion. “And if that’s the case, then the other message from the ghost is a pronouncement and a command. You, Lizzie, are a Kovar. And as such, should have the ability to fade. Or so the ghost believes.” He turned to her, waiting for a response.

“Tavish thought it not unlikely that I’m related.” Lizzie scrunched her nose up. “But I haven’t had time to look into it. My parents wouldn’t know, so we’re talking research. And I haven’t even had time to do a simple online search. I’ve been busy,” she said defensively. Sounding a little huffy, she added, “I could really use an assistant, these days. All this magic stuff is really time-consuming.”