The Wicked (11 page)

“There you are,” she whispered as she squatted in front of it. With a careful, practiced eye, she mentally translated the archaic title on the faded leather spine.
Instructions on Angelic Visitations and Demonic Summoning
. “This is a medieval grimoire, a very old book of spells. The oldest books are always the most unruly.”

Sebastian asked in her ear, “What are you going to do about it?”

She wagged a finger gently in the air without looking at him. “I’m going to do my job, and you are not going to distract me. Either that or Bailey can come help me.”

“Bailey’s not going to help you,” he growled. “I am.”

She bit back a smile. “Then be quiet.”

In the vast variety of magical books and treatises that Olivia had encountered throughout her professional life, they all had one thing in common—books wanted to be opened. The key to handling an unruly magical book was to make sure one’s own Power was quiescent, so that it didn’t trigger some kind of backlash or attack.

Carefully she extended one hand, letting the magical energy of the grimoire adjust to her nearing presence. When she finally laid her fingers on the leather cover, it didn’t react.

She pulled it off the shelf, and it came smoothly, even eagerly. As she held it in one hand, she said, “
Claudo
.” At the same time she uttered the single word spell, she sketched the symbol for “close” over the front cover.

Despite its unruliness, it was still a book. The magic it contained snapped shut.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Sebastian’s fascinated expression. “One down. Many more to go.”

They worked through the morning. By lunchtime the air in the cottage was beginning to feel much more settled. After eating, Sebastian and Bailey returned to the library with the symbologists, but by midafternoon it became clear that their assistance was no longer needed, so they took off to fish for their supper. Sebastian gave her a quick, hard kiss before he left.

The symbologists continued to work until early evening and the shadows in the cottage grew dark. Dendera told Olivia and Steve, “We will stop now. We’ve done a good first day’s work.”

Steve looked up from the open container where he was carefully packing a five-volume set. “I’ll keep working.”

Dendera shook her head, her round features softening with a smile. “I know how hard it is to pull yourself away. This library is fascinating, and I could keep working through the night as well. But I don’t want anybody to work on the collection on their own. We’ll leave together.”

“There’s so much to do, and I’m not tired,” he argued. He waved a hand in the direction of the rooms full of books. “You can sense for yourself that we’ve contained the most unruly magics.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m just not willing to take that chance,” said Dendera. “We’ve got plenty of time, and it will all be waiting for us in the morning.”

Olivia watched with interest as Steve’s expression tightened with frustration. He did not like being told no. But all he said was, “If you think that’s best.”

“I do.”

He shrugged. “When do you think we’ll start work on the papyri collection?”

“We should be ready to tackle that section in a few days,” Dendera said. “Let’s go eat supper.”

The next several days fell into a pattern that was pure bliss for Olivia. The mild days were full of seemingly endless sunshine, and the nights turned chilly enough to call for fires, blankets and hot tea.

She immersed herself in all of her passions. By day, she handled rare and unique books. In the evening they ate freshly caught fish, grilled with wild onions and garlic, and sweet dates and almonds drizzled with honey, and they drank rare wine.

At night she explored every manner of sensual pleasure with Sebastian whenever he was free. He did not sleep alone. Either he took his turn at keeping watch, or he stayed with her. He drove her to exhaustion, and when she couldn’t take any more, they piled blankets on the floor in front of the fire and he would painstakingly massage her sore, tired body with the essential oils that he had found in one of the rooms.

In the mornings they would talk drowsily, nesting in the warm bed until it was time to get up for the day.

He told her of his life in Jamaica, and as he talked, he never stopped touching her. Stroking her thigh. Running his fingers through her short hair. Following the curve of her breast with a finger. The constant contact drenched her in pleasure.

She lay draped across him bonelessly as she listened, and it didn’t matter what he told her. He could have been talking about accounting or mathematic algorithms, and she would have loved it. The fact that he actually opened up to her made it even more special.

“How did you and Bailey meet?” she asked.

“We grew up together in New Orleans.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “She’s more than a friend. She’s like my little sister.”

“I think you guys have a wonderful relationship.” Olivia smiled too. She loved to watch them bicker.

“Looking back,” he said, “I can’t believe we made a go of the company. We did almost everything wrong. At least we learned from our mistakes.”

She walked her fingers up his chest as she said, “And you had to have done more things right than not, because you
did
make a go of it.”

“Eventually.” He captured her hand and lifted it to kiss her fingers.

Her mind flashed, without her consent, back to Steve’s negative gossip. “Why Jamaica?” she asked. “Why not the Wyr demesne in New York?”

“I respect what Dragos has done for the Wyr,” he said. “I can even see that there is a necessary place for it in the world, but his brand of nationalism bothers me. I prefer a more inclusive approach to life. We hire anybody based on their talents and resources as an individual, regardless of whether or not they are Wyr or some other Elder Race, or if they are human.”

“Like Tony?”

“Yes, exactly. Tony’s human, but he’s a great fighter, he has a little bit of magic, and while he might not be a doctor, he is a damn fine field medic. All of that makes him a strong, versatile member of any crew.” He shrugged, his shoulders shifting fluidly underneath her stroking fingers. “And of course we could have done all of that in New York too. But that’s where the answer to your other question comes in. Sun, warmth, sandy beaches, endless beautiful water. Hell, we based the company in Jamaica just because we could.”

She grinned. “You must get a lot of applicants for job openings.”

“Quite a few,” he said dryly.

“How many people do you employ?”

“Almost a hundred. We’re still technically a small company.”

She blew out a soundless whistle. “It sounds like a big company to me. I had no idea.”

He chuckled. “Sometimes having so many employees is almost like having that many children.” Then he paused. “Don’t tell any of them that I said that.”

“I won’t,” she told him. “Probably.” He bit her forefinger in retaliation, and she laughed. “And anyway, employees and children are nothing alike.”

He sighed. “I’m sure you’re right. At least none of my employees need to be diapered.”

She chuckled, and he rolled her over, reversing their positions, so that she lay on her back and his head rested on her shoulder. Then, lazily, he played with her nipple, and even though they had made love through the night until she had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion, she felt arousal stir at his touch.

“How about you?” he asked. His voice had turned very quiet so that she almost couldn’t hear him. “Have you ever considered having them? Children, I mean. Not employees.”

She went still, turning her face into his hair as she listened to the nuances in his question. Then she whispered, “The right relationship never came along, and I never wanted to have children on my own. But if I found the right partner…”

Dare she say it?

She realized that he had gone as still as she had. That he seemed to be holding his breath. That gave her the courage to whisper, “With the right partner, I would adore having children.”

Then he moved and sighed, and pressed a kiss against the side of her breast as he spread one hand over her flat abdomen. “I love children,” he said simply. “And you would make a beautiful mother.”

Luminous emotion filled her as she imagined him with his own children. He would make an incredible father, strong, protective, patient and loving. The image was so compelling, it made her chest ache. She covered his hand with hers and pressed her lips against his forehead.

They fell silent and lay like that for some time, until he stirred and said, “Tell me more about Louisville.”

It was hard to let go of the moment, but then she followed his cue and talked of her life and friends in Louisville, and Brutus her cat, who was currently staying at her parents’ house.

Neither one of them broached the subject of how they would continue seeing each other when they left the island, although they came close to it several times. She wanted to talk about it, but each day she fell further and further in love with him, and she grew more and more afraid of what might happen next.

She could leave her life and friends to live with him in Jamaica, and she could build a new life there that would make her very happy. But what she couldn’t do was live Sebastian’s life of constant adventure.

She knew she could never ask him to settle down and hope that he could change that completely. Sooner or later, even if he did grow to love her too—even if he did mate with her—she was afraid that he would get tired of being in one place and end up feeling trapped. And that would be intolerable for the both of them.

Still, despite her growing trepidation for what the future might hold, she couldn’t turn him away when he came to her room. He drew her too powerfully.

During the daytime hours, the symbologists methodically worked from section to section and room to room in the library, handling works from all nationalities and races—French, medieval, Chinese, Hungarian, early American, and Greek and Roman auguries. Light and Dark Fae works, Elven, Nightkind and Demonkind. Books on Wyr magic, Other lands and the Elder gods, and books upon books on Vampyrism.

Finally one morning they reached the Egyptian section, which contained the papyri collection, and Steve’s attention grew sharper and more focused.

Olivia wasn’t the only one who noticed. Dendera asked him, “Have you studied Egyptology or Egyptian magic?”

“My employer has,” Steve replied. “He’s talked quite a bit about it, and it’s piqued my interest.”

“Don’t you work for Edinburgh University’s Magical Depository?” Dendera asked.

“Currently I do,” he said. “I’m talking about another employer.”

Did that sound odd?

As she locked the lid of one container into place, Olivia frowned, drawn in spite of herself into the conversation. “Do you mean a former employer?”

Steve didn’t reply, and her frown deepened.

She had grown used to Steve being a bit of a dick, but this was something entirely different. To get hired for this job, he had to have gone through the same thorough background check as everyone else, but she couldn’t help but wonder what Sebastian would make of Steve’s behavior.

She glanced at the angle of sunshine streaming in through the nearby window. It was only midmorning. She wouldn’t see Sebastian until lunch, still a few hours away, but she was definitely going to tell him about the conversation.

As they talked, they had started work on the most ancient section of the papyri collection. Dendera knelt in a corner and carefully drew out a thick scroll from the cubicle where it had been stored.

“Carling’s instructions are very specific,” she breathed. “We handle these as little as possible, and transfer them directly to the container. Look at this one. The original wax seal is unbroken. It has survived all these centuries.”

Steve knelt beside Dendera and leaned forward. Olivia left the container she had just closed to walk over. The papyrus scroll was tied with what looked like a strip of leather, and the wax seal was unusually large and thick. The wax had darkened from what had probably been originally a golden brown. Now, either magic or time, or both, had turned it almost black. A sigil had been inscribed into the wax while it was still warm and soft.

“What is that mark?” Olivia asked. After all of this time, she could still feel the strong ward that lay imprinted in the wax. “What does it say?”

“
Khewew
,” Dendera whispered. “‘It has evil.’”

“Well, hot fucking damn,” said Steve as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “It’s about time.”

His words were so strange that both women stared at him. He pulled something out of his pocket—a switchblade. The blade flicked out, and, quicker than thought, he stabbed Dendera in the throat.

Dendera dropped the papyrus scroll and clutched at her throat, gagging as bright arterial blood spurted between her fingers.

Olivia’s mind went into shock, but her body took over. She leaped to her feet and jumped away from Steve.

She wasn’t fast enough. He was Wyr and so much faster than she. He leaped toward her and his knife flashed out.