Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (26 page)

Harry handed her phone to her. “Thought you might be missing it.”

And her feelings of charity toward Harry tripled. Saving her was one thing, but saving her phone as well was another level of wonderful entirely. “You, Harry, are a gentleman and a hero. What’s next? Or am I on my own?”

“I managed to find a buddy who can fly us.” He hustled her away, moving in the direction of the one of the cross streets.

“Thank goodness. I just realized that I have no idea where we’re going. Worth’s actual location didn’t come up, just that he’d been found.”

He grinned. “Heike told me what a snit you were in. And that they planned to leave you behind because of your medical condition. Since I’m the resident healer and they didn’t consult me, I thought I could at least have a look at you before they left. Harrington declined, saying they were opting for a conservative approach, they wouldn’t be confronting Worth, and so you wouldn’t be needed.” He turned toward her and peered intently at her face. “You know he feels guilty, right? About you being injured. Or maybe responsible is a better word. You’re his mentee, and you made one of the most basic errors a magic-user can make when you outstripped your readily available magical reserves.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. And there was no way Harrington could have helped. I made a mistake when I used my completely unknown, untried, and apparently rare fade talent. How is that Harrington’s fault?” Lizzie was starting to puff a little with each step. They’d made it to a side street, and Harry was pointing out a rental car about halfway down the street. They were walking at a pretty good clip, and Lizzie hadn’t even noticed. Probably riding the last of that adrenaline rush from her ladder adventure. She flexed her sore fingers—stupid swaying ladders.

“What exactly did happen?” he asked.

Harry wasn’t puffing. In fact, he looked like he was out for a stroll with his grandma, his long legs covering ground without appearing to. That was vastly annoying, although why she’d focus on something so small in the grand scheme of things she had no idea.

“I’m supposed to have a clear picture in my mind of where I’m going. Typically, one would be going somewhere familiar, a place one had already visited. No problem, because I was heading to the Library. I constructed a detailed mental image of the Library. John was in the room when I left, so I unthinkingly included him in the image. My guess? By having John in my target location image, there was a conflict as to my intent. My connection to John was stronger, so there I went. I just didn’t think of John as a place. Now I know—no people in location images.”

As she hopped in the passenger seat, she added, “Why
did
it work if there was any confusion as to intent? I thought that was an essential part of any cast—clear intent?”

Harry shrugged as he looked over his shoulder and started to pull into traffic. “I’m no caster, but maybe your intent was clear? Maybe John is essentially a place.” He looked at her briefly as he zipped along between cars. “If that’s true, be careful. A moving destination target could cause you worlds of problems if I understand this fade talent correctly.”

As Harry slid in between two speeding cars, Lizzie thought she might be better served to keep her mouth shut during the ride. Harry drove like he did everything else, with a barely contained energy and clear purpose, overridden by a bizarrely at odds casual, devil-may-care demeanor. In a car, it was mildly terrifying.

Within a short time—made shorter by some breathtaking speed—they were at a private airstrip.
Where did all this money come from?
That was Lizzie’s first thought. Then she quickly revised that, thinking instead, how did Harry know such a wide array of people? Looking at the tiny plane, with its not-so-shiny exterior, and its tiny hunched pilot, Lizzie had a moment of doubt. She looked at the plane again and revised her opinion. Her reservations were quite large.

“How far exactly are we going?” Her skepticism must have shown through in her voice, because Harry laughed in response. She’d made strides recently. Flying didn’t freak her out nearly so much as it used to when she was traveling for work. But this was no commercial plane or posh private jetliner.

When he didn’t follow that laughter up with an answer, Lizzie punched him in the arm. “Seriously. That was a real question.”

“First the ladder, now the plane. You are turning out to be an incredibly unintrepid adventurer.” Harry grabbed a small duffel from the trunk of the car.

“That’s not even a word,” Lizzie replied distractedly. Then she realized—“You’re going with me?”

She must have sounded shocked, surprised—something noteworthy—because for the first time since her jailbreak, Harry was completely still. After a brief moment passed, he slowly turned to her.

“Of course. I wouldn’t send you off with James—” He jerked his head in the direction of the wrinkled, stooped pilot. “—alone. And I should be there.”

Lizzie had no idea whether he’d declined an invitation to join the group or been prohibited from going. But she wasn’t about to ask.

James must have decided they’d been standing around long enough, because he opened the plane door and waved them over. Lizzie eyed him with some trepidation. The man truly did not inspire confidence. Neither did his tiny patched plane.

Clearly seeing her anxiety, Harry smiled. “To answer your earlier question, we’re headed to Freiburg, Germany. It’s a few hours. And James, well, let’s just say James has a way with the wind. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“We’re talking magic, right?” Lizzie tried to clarify. But Harry had already picked up his bag and headed to the plane. She scurried after him. “Wait,” she yelled after him. “What if I have to pee?” They’d be in the air a few hours after all. And she’d actually drunk that orange juice with the message underneath it.

“Go now,” James offered this sage bit of advice while pointing to a small building. Then he spat on the ground.

Several minutes later as they were about to take off, Lizzie was busy trying not to think about possibly needing a potty break at some point. Trying to keep her mind on other things—
not
on having to pee while trapped in a tiny plane,
not
on how most accidents occurred during takeoff and landing, and
not
on how old and frail James seemed to be—Lizzie asked Harry, “Why don’t you go by Alistair? It’s a lovely name.”

“I’ve nothing against the name, rather the person it belonged to before me and after whom I’m named.” He considered his words for a moment. “I’m not a fan.”

She was pretty certain Harrington’s name was Thomas. Maybe it was the mysterious Alistair who was the root of their disagreements. She liked them both—even if Harrington was on her shit list right now—and really wanted them to get along. She mentally chastised herself. Everyone had family drama. She really shouldn’t get invested in the lives of people she didn’t know that well. She sighed.
Right.

“What’s the plan?” When Harry looked at her and shook his head, she said, “When we arrive, I mean. Where are we going? What are we doing?”

“We call Harrington and John and tell them we’re on the way.” He shrugged. “Give them an estimated arrival time.”

“You break me out of IPPC holding, and that’s your plan? It’s seems a little overly simple.” Or maybe stupid. Then she immediately felt remorseful. Harry had gone to a lot of trouble: breaking her out, getting a plane, and risking Harrington’s anger. And Harry was no fool.

“Once we’re there, there’s not much for them to do. They don’t have the manpower to keep both of us under lock and key. And, quite simply, they need our help. Leaving you behind was ridiculously sentimental of Harrington. Something I’m sure he’ll realize once we arrive.” He cocked his head and studied her for a minute. “And John—well, John didn’t say much about the situation to begin with. You likely know more about his reception than I.”

“No idea,” she replied. Which wasn’t exactly true. She had her suspicions that she might be expected.

Why hadn’t she pushed John harder? Maybe because they had enough to worry about right now between the two of them. Or maybe because she didn’t really want to go. An image of Worth—in his bespoke suit, his gray hair recently trimmed, his face handsome and tanned—flooded her mind. She remembered him politely handing her a surveillance photo of her parents, as if he was doing her a favor by providing the picture. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her upper lip. Damn that man and his ability to terrify her.

She kept getting accused of having no sense of self-preservation. When, in fact, it was thriving. She frowned and muttered, “I’m not a coward.”
Was she?

He looked at her oddly. “Never said you were. Unintrepid doesn’t actually mean cowardly.”

Lizzie just shook her head and said, “Never mind. And unintrepid is not a word, Harry.”

Then she settled in to mentally prepare herself for the possibility of a face-to-face meeting with Worth.

Chapter 29

L
izzie sat in the kitchen of the small house on the outskirts of Freiburg that Harrington had found for the team. Contact with Harrington had gone better than she’d expected. Harry called his uncle as soon as they touched down. While Lizzie had no idea what Harrington had said on the phone, the conversation had been short. Harry hadn’t said much more than, “We’re here.” And when Harry hung up, he had directions to the team’s hideout.

Although maybe hideout wasn’t exactly the right word. Lizzie looked around at the cozy kitchen, full of cat-themed kitchen paraphernalia. A soap dish and a hand towel, she could understand. But the theme carried through to the wallpaper, curtains, kettle, and refrigerator magnets. It was a little overwhelming initially. Lizzie craned her neck to scope out the cat-themed light fixture.

John walked in at a good clip, almost screeching to a halt when he saw her. “Max said I’d find you in the kitchen.”

He held out his arms to her. She hopped off the kitchen chair and stepped into an almost smotheringly tight hug. She could feel the gentle pull of air as he inhaled her scent. When she could breathe again, she said, “Miss me?”

“Not enough for you to come here.” He held her a moment longer, and then he set her away from him just far enough so that he could easily look into her eyes. “But I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

“You have more faith in my abilities than I do. They left Tavish at my door.” She scrunched up her nose. “He can be really big and scary when he’s not on your side.”

“Harrington actually locked you in? With a guard?” A small chuckle escaped from him. “I’m not sure whether to be pissed, or pat him on the back for making a solid effort. You did notice my restraint on the topic when you were arguing your case?”

She poked him in the chest. “You left me on my own to make an argument for the only reasonable course of action. It makes sense to have me here.”

“You’re not wrong, but why would I ever argue to bring you into danger? Especially when you make such a fine case without my help.” Bastard. He was so rational. And absolutely correct—she had made an excellent case. Unsuccessful, but excellent. He continued, “From Harrington’s standpoint, it makes sense to have you here if you can protect yourself. About that—can you protect yourself? Is your magic back up?”

Lizzie knew there was a right and a wrong answer to that question. If she was still recovering her magic, then why had she come? She’d had a quick chat with Harry on the drive over—who knew the stooped, wrinkled pilot, James, would be such a wicked fast devil in a car?—and he’d told her she looked to be recovering well, but her magic battery wasn’t fully recharged. And was told “no clue” when she asked when she’d be up and running. Apparently, that varied from individual to individual. At this point, she wasn’t sure she’d ever fade again. Even though she’d only just recently acquired her magic, doing without it was turning out to be a massive inconvenience. And hazardous.

“I’m guessing from your silence, that’s a no.” John’s voice was grim.

Oops. She hadn’t intended to avoid the question. She’d just been considering her response. “That’s why I have you?” she said hopefully, a small question in her voice.

“Nice try. Play on the poor Lycan’s protective instincts. You know what you’re describing is just a smidge hypocritical, right?”

Lizzie sighed. “Yes,” she said dispiritedly. “Do you have to be so consistent and so honest? It can be really annoying. Loveable, but annoying. And what’s with ‘smidge’? What kind of word is that? You and Harry—oh, speaking of Harry. Harrington was surprisingly restrained when I showed up on the doorstep. In a good way. But—what’s going on with him and Harry?”

“A very large argument that I’m trying
not
to overhear.” John face reflected his distaste for unintentional eavesdropping. They must have raised their voices, if John couldn’t avoid the conversation.

“Ah. Forget I asked.” Lizzie stared at the cat kettle. Where did one even buy such a thing? “So, um, how angry are you on a scale of one to ten?”

His answer surprised her. “Not.”

At her assessing look, he said, “You forget. It wasn’t that long ago that I handed you over to Worth’s men in exchange for your best friend. Against my better judgment and every desire I had to keep you safe.”

“But I wasn’t your mate then.”

“And you think that’s why I didn’t stop you?” He sat down in a kitchen chair, pulled her hand until she was right in front of him and pulled just a little bit more. She tumbled into his lap. “Really?”

She hooked her arm around his neck and looked into his eyes. “Okay. Then why didn’t you?”

“Because it was your choice, and you needed to go.” Before he’d finished the sentence, she pulled him closer for a soft, appreciative kiss. That was the plan, anyway. Minutes later, her heart was racing, her bra was too tight, and she was really annoyed that they were in the kitchen.

“Although I did consider tying you up,” he said. “Briefly.”

“Huh?”
Oh.
She thumped him on the shoulder. “You couldn’t just let that go, could you?”

He grinned mischievously. “You said I was honest.”