Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (8 page)

Lizzie smiled weakly and sniffed a tiny bit. “I’m not usually quite so emotional. It’s just recently, with everything that’s happened—” Lizzie frowned, suddenly distracted by another thought. “Could that be tied to my magic somehow?” With everything that had happened over the last few weeks, it was no surprise that she hadn’t stopped to analyze this one small piece of information.

“No doubt. From Pilar’s description, your magic was locked up in a way that is contrary to your very nature as a magic-user. You would have seen the greatest effect in times of peak stress or emotion. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had an unusual physical reaction to stress.”

“Gah.”
That explained a lot.
“Passing out? Throwing up?” Lizzie clarified.

“Sure.” Harry, now sitting on a sofa across from Lizzie, scooted a little farther away from her. “Uh, you look angry.”

“My magic was all tied up in some bizarre ward that no one completely understands, with a side-effect of making me puke and pass out at the most inconvenient moments. My magic is unlocked and the problem is solved, right? Uh, no. Now I blow up people when I’m super stressed. And by the way, when Pilar explained how magic worked, it didn’t seem that was possible. That a person could do something unintentionally—like what I did to Worth.”

“Okay, slow down. First, your magic has only recently been unlocked. It had been forced into an unnatural, dormant state. Whenever a magic-user is under stress, the adrenaline that surges makes it easier to access our magic. Basically, it’s as if the magic has pulled to the surface. When your magic tried to respond to the adrenaline surge, it was blocked, resulting in—”

“Throwing up and passing out,” Lizzie supplied.

“Yeah, I can see how that would be inconvenient. You need to give your body time to adjust. I suspect that you have a heightened response to adrenaline, and that your magic practically drips from you in those moments. That should go away over time. As to your second question—you are not practicing magic unless you assert will and give the magic a place to go and something specific to do.” Harry seemed awfully sure of his words.

“Does that mean that I willed Worth to start bleeding internally? Because that’s what happened. I don’t remember thinking anything specific, like, ‘I want you to die,’ or ‘please bleed from your eyes.’ I just thought ‘no.’ I wanted him to stop.” She looked at Harry intently. This was important. She needed to know that her magic was controllable. That her magic couldn’t escape wildly at unexpected moments.

“What was he doing?” Clearly he already knew, because he said earlier he’d read the report. And it seemed he’d also spoken with witnesses.

“Wait a minute. If you’ve spoken with other witnesses, why hadn’t you contacted me already?” Lizzie rather thought she was the
key
witness.

“Harrington’s orders. He thought you’d already provided what information you could and that further questioning might be detrimental to your recovery,” Harry responded matter-of-factly.

Huh. She was recovering?
If there was one way to keep Harry away, it was to assert Lizzie would be harmed by the questioning. Healers were funny that way.

“Uh—I feel fine.” Close enough, anyway. Lizzie blinked a few times.
‘K. That was weird.
Since when did Harrington worry about her getting better from an emotional trauma? He didn’t seem the sort. She gave her head a tiny shake. “So, Worth. He was pulling something from Sarah. I know it was partly her magic, because it
felt
like spell caster magic. But that wasn’t all that it was. Did they tell you about Moore?” The thought of the dry husk that had been Moore’s remains, or all that was left of him after Worth had finished draining him, created a sour taste in her mouth and made her stomach churn. She quickly took a sip of tea and banished the image.

Harry nodded. “And I examined him. But I’m not particularly good at analyzing the dead. Especially the very dead. There was nothing of him left—his magic or his energy—by the time I saw him.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows skeptically when Harry said “very dead.” She nibbled on the corner of her lip. “A person can be more or less dead? I thought dead was—well, more of an exact thing.”

“Hmm. It’s more complicated than that.” He was clearly about to wave away the question. Then he looked more closely at Lizzie, and she suspected—as usual—her emotions were clearly written across her face. Frustration, confusion. “Okay—long story short. Magic is a kind of energy. When a person ceases to live, their magic and any other energy that is associated with them—some call it soul—doesn’t simply extinguish. It fades away over a period of time.” He held up a hand forestalling a question that was about to burble from Lizzie’s lips. “Don’t ask; I don’t know where it goes. Chat with your pastor or preacher, whatever you people have in Austin, Texas.”

“Now you’re just being intentionally rude.” Lizzie eyed him askance.

Harry grinned. “Perhaps. But here’s an even more interesting factoid for you. How long it takes for the energy to fade, that varies by individual. For some people, in rare cases, it’s so slow that their physical body ceases to exist and only the energy is left. When the energy persists beyond its tie to the physical body, well, you get what might be considered a ghost.”

“You did not just tell me that ghosts are real. Are you a lunatic?” She eyed him askance. “Do I look like I need to know about ghosts right now? I could have done just fine without that tidbit. Now I’ll be worried about the ghost of Moore coming to haunt me every time I enter the Library.” Lizzie shivered.

“I can ease your mind on that count. And if you were paying closer attention you’d know, he’s exactly the ghost you’ll never encounter. I suspect that the persisting energy that creates a ghost is exactly what our evil genius stole from Moore. And what he tried to steal from Sarah. Except, in Sarah’s case, he didn’t completely drain her,” Harry said.

“You still haven’t explained how I made something happen that I didn’t
will
to happen. Pilar gave me a down and dirty explanation of how magic works: find the magic in yourself, decide what exactly you want to happen, and will it to happen. I never imagined or asked for what actually happened.”

“You did—imagine and ask, that is. You imagined and willed a cessation of Worth’s forcible and unnatural manipulation of spirit energy, or magical energy. Whatever it’s called, it is perhaps one of the most powerful types of energy. I suspect you snapped the connection between Worth and his victim. The injuries to Worth were simply a side effect—a whiplash of the momentarily uncontained energy, perhaps?” His voice became less serious, the tone lightening. “Problem solved. Absolved of all guilt. Et cetera.” Lizzie doubted this was Harry making an effort at piety. More likely he was just poking fun at Americans.

“It’s not quite that simple. If I actually felt guilty for hurting Worth—and don’t be mistaken,
I do not
—then you would
not
be helping.” Harry might be a fabulous healer, probably was in fact a fabulous healer, but he would be a terrible therapist. She reminded herself, he
was
a fabulous healer, or Harrington wouldn’t have put him on Sarah’s case.

“Ah. But now you know your magic wasn’t wild,” Harry said.

Lizzie sighed. He was right. Maybe not such a completely horrible therapist. “Thanks.” And she meant it more than she knew how to say. “The possibility of unpredictable magic was driving me nuts. Uh, not literally crazy. You know what I mean.”

Harry laughed. “I do.”

“And if I see red sparkly stuff when I’m upset?” Lizzie asked tentatively.

“Sounds better than being sick or fainting to me. But that’s your call.” Harry was kicking back in the sofa, long lean legs stretched out.

Lizzie digested that for a minute. Apparently red sparkles were not dangerous.
Huh. Who knew?
It seemed freaky to her.

They both drank their tea in silence as Lizzie digested the information Harry had shared.

After a few minutes of contemplative silence, Lizzie sat up straighter and her face took on a firmer cast. “How do we fix this, Harry? How do we make Sarah better?”

“Give her back what Worth stole. If that’s even possible. I’ve never heard of a spell caster—or any magic-user—doing anything like this before. But who knows what our history holds?” Harry gave her a significant look.

Brow crinkled in confusion, Lizzie thought about some other evil, nasty spell caster hurting innocent victims in some other time.
Disturbing.

“Or where we might find information about our history.” Another glance her way.

When Lizzie just looked at him in confusion, he sighed and said, “Really? No ideas?”

“Oh. Oh! Sorry,” she said sheepishly. She wasn’t at her best. An international flight, her first successful interaction with the pack book, meeting the woman whose illness she was at least partially responsible for, and learning that she wasn’t a ticking time bomb of wild, uncontrollable magic. She’d had a big day. Harry needed to cut her some slack. “I’ll talk to Harrington about digging through the Library just as soon as I arrive. But I would have guessed they’d already done that, right?”

“Ask Harrington, but I don’t think they’ve had enough time to make good progress. Even if IPPC is actively working on it, another set of eyes won’t hurt. Has any magic-user ever stolen energy, magic, life force from another? Is there any record of a magically induced coma? What’s the best recipe for lemon cake?” Harry winked at her. “You know the sort of questions.”

“I do. Thanks, Harry. It’s been…interesting. And informative.” Lizzie flashed him a grateful smile.

Chapter 10

A
fter her chat with Harry, Lizzie had said a quick good-bye to Sarah, reiterating her promise to fix the mess that Worth had created, then made it outside just as John was pulling up in a cab.

A yummy-smelling John, clearly showered and shaved, leaned over to kiss her in greeting.
Great. He’s the one with an amazing nose, and I’m the one who hasn’t showered. Not cool.

As his lips brushed against hers in a PG version of a typical kiss, she thought—what if they couldn’t work out their differences? What if it was all too hard? What if she couldn’t do whatever it was a mate did? And then he was helping her into the cab, and the moment passed.

John climbed in after her. “How is she?”

“She’s the same, still stable. I did get a chance to meet her healer.” She settled herself more comfortably into the cushions and watched the confusion of wrong-sided traffic outside the car window. It was mildly disorienting. Tuning out the rush of traffic, she turned back to John. Her voice firm with a strong sense of purpose, she said, “We have to figure out what’s going on with Sarah.”

John shifted in his seat. When he spoke, his voice was wary. “I assume that’s what her healer is doing.”

Anything even hinting at Worth’s involvement was guaranteed to put John on guard. Lizzie knew he didn’t want her near anything dangerous, and that was doubly true for Worth. Her brain stuttered to a halt, finally catching the contradiction she’d overlooked the last two days.

“You didn’t want me to go to Prague.” She spoke slowly and deliberately as her brain did the math.

John looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “No,” he agreed.

“Not because it would split us up—because you’re here.” She looked at him as she slowly put the pieces together.

He didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to finish sorting through her thoughts.

“I thought you were mad because I didn’t discuss it with you first.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I was, and you should have.”

She snorted. When he raised his eyebrows and gave her an impatient look, she conceded. “We should have discussed it.” After a brief hesitation, she added in a small, slightly sheepish voice, “Thank you for coming with me. I know it’s hard for you to get away. Although—”

She’d been about to comment that he’d barreled ahead with his plans to join without ever discussing
that
with her. But she wanted him here, and at some point, she needed to learn to pick her battles more wisely.

He waited for her to finish her thought. It was incredibly annoying. It was like he knew she’d fill the silence. If she were a skeptical soul, she’d say it was a deliberate tactic to get more information out of her without disclosing anything himself.
Hmm.
She eyed him suspiciously.

He returned her look with a calm expression.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m on to you.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied casually.

“Never mind.” She shook her head. That was a conversation for another time. “But back to Prague—”

“I wasn’t aware we’d left that topic.” When she shot him an accusatory look, he just grinned.

“You don’t want me in Prague because of Worth. Because I’m closer to him and to the investigation.” And why she hadn’t realized that before now, she had no idea.

“Of course.” He glanced out the window then back to her. “That’s surprising?”

“You couldn’t just say that? I feel a little like an idiot.” She was annoyed to see they were almost to the airport.

“It didn’t occur to me that I needed to,” he told her matter-of-factly. He looked at her and must have seen her bewilderment. “You didn’t think twice about Worth when you received the offer.” That wasn’t a question, and his tone was resigned.

Maybe they needed to focus more on communication in general. Because as much time as they’d spent together in the last few days, they hadn’t discussed any of this. Granted, they’d been busy with other things. She pulled herself away from thoughts of sex on the sofa, the kitchen table, her office floor…what the heck had they been talking about? That’s right—Worth and John’s irrational fears.

She frowned. “Why would I be worried about Worth? The Library should be safe now. IPPC controls access, and security is ramped up. And Worth is who knows where, probably still recovering.”

“Do you have no sense of self-preservation?” He was clearly exasperated.

Of course she did, but before she could pursue that thought, they arrived at the airport. She’d think about what a condescending ass John could be, and then—once she was less annoyed—she’d consider if maybe, just maybe, she’d glossed over some concerns when she’d made her decision to come to Prague.