Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (13 page)

As she sat on the garden bench, slowly and rhythmically swinging her legs back and forth under the bench, a few things settled in her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this angry with anyone, because no one had ever brought her emotions as close to the surface of her skin as John. Her emotions were so strong the effects were physical. He made her feel—more. More anger. More passion. More fear. More alive.

She sighed. She wasn’t sure that was a good thing. She’d blamed some of her emotional excesses on the stress she’d been under lately. Some to her newly unlocked magic. Both were certainly in part to blame. But John was different. She hadn’t lost her temper with Kenna, her parents, or her clients. It was John that brought out the extremes, good and bad.

Was she willing to live a life so filled with emotional excesses? She’d always considered herself more interested in contentment than joy. Happier to avoid the excruciating downs, even if it meant missing some of the thrilling highs. Kind of boring, now that she thought about it. She frowned. But not in a
bad
way. Hmm.

And the flip side— as strong as her emotions for John had been, apparently the same was true for him. Because he had already considered her his mate a short time after they met. She hadn’t missed John’s admission that he had considered her his mate as the battle between the rescue crew and Worth had unfolded. She hadn’t become his mate in truth until after the fight on the flight home when he’d asked and—ignorant of the underlying meaning of his question— she’d accepted.

At the time of her rescue, Lizzie knew John was special. And that he considered her—well, at least worth the effort of a rescue attempt. She smiled a little at that. She’d been certain he’d come for her, because that was the kind of man he was. The kind of man he is and likely will always be. She huffed out a quick, angry breath. But just as he could be counted on to act the knight in shining armor, he could be equally relied upon to push and shove at her personal boundaries and sense of independence. Her stomach was tightening just thinking about the issues raised by the two sides of the singular coin that was John.

She looked around at the green, flowering plants, at the tiny fountain, and she focused on the sound of the moving water. That was supposed to be calming, right?

Ten minutes later, she left the garden feeling slightly more at ease. At least she wasn’t light-headed anymore. It had helped to calm her nerves—once she’d picked something specific to focus on. She’d discovered that trying
not
to think about something or someone was a complete bust.

Revisiting her to-do list. That was an excellent plan. If she focused on any one of the several other pressing tasks she needed to complete, she might just manage to get her mind off questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She started ticking off items on her mental list: the pack book, magical coma research, her graphic and web design clients—
Ha.
She had just the thing. Checking an item completely off her list would make her feel worlds better. Hopefully. The only item on her list that she could easily complete in minutes was a call to Pilar. And, bonus, she’d wanted to speak with Pilar for a few days now.

She’d intended to quiz a spell caster about the difference between her experiences with the pack book and
A Witch’s Diary
. Outside of the fact that she wasn’t sure Harrington was still her mentor, he didn’t have the particular skill, reading magical texts, necessary to make him a good source. He might have second-hand knowledge, but given the ambiguous state of their relationship—why bother when she could likely get better information from Pilar? Heike—well, she just didn’t trust Heike.

With the time difference, Lizzie figured a late afternoon call would be morning in Mexico. She wrote a quick text and scheduled it to go out around four o’clock:
Have a book question. Call when you get a second? Lizzie

Before she did anything in the Library, she wanted to know what the heck Tavish had to say about last night. And she wanted a look at the pictures she’d taken—just in case she could actually discern some kind of meaning or message there.

Perfect. A plan of action always made her feel better. Next stop, Tavish.

Chapter 16

A
fter running Tavish to ground in one of the parlor rooms on the ground floor, Lizzie interrupted him reading a book.

“You’re off this morning?” Silly question. She knew he was because she’d run into his boss a few minutes earlier. It was Lachlan who’d pointed her this way.

He raised his dark blond brows.

For all she knew, he and his boss communicated psychically, and Lachlan warned him she was headed this way. Every time she thought she had a handle on the weird that was her life, she’d run into something—a presence that wasn’t physically there, for example—and she’d be a little freaked out all over again. Psychic communication wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Tavish quickly erased those thoughts with his practical response. “I thought you’d be sleeping late, recovering from jet lag this morning. How can I help you?”

“John mentioned you had some thoughts on the falling books?” He didn’t need to know she was avoiding John for the moment—just until she was in a more reasonable frame of mind—and that was why she was here asking Tavish
questions instead.

She cocked her hip, resting it against the armchair next to her. Maybe if she acted casual, he wouldn’t realize she was actively avoiding John.

“Ghost.” At her startled and confused look, he clarified. “Remnant energy, left after a magic-user dies?”

“Ah. That really happens? A healer explained it to me, but it seemed theoretical. Or I assumed it was.” What were the chances? This house. Her. She just had to be the one to witness something freaky.
Awesome.

“They’re not common.” Tavish made the statement with great authority. Then he gave her a sheepish look. “I’ve been around awhile. I’m older than I look.”

Lizzie had learned that you didn’t ask what kind of magic-user a person was. It was considered rude and intrusive. If they wanted you to know, they told you. So, curiosity on high alert, she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from asking—how old? And—what are you?

Since Lizzie constantly got grief about her overly expressive face, it was no surprise when Tavish said, “It’s killing you, huh?”

“A little bit.” She made a corresponding hand motion indicating a small quantity. “You guys do kinda stand out. With your Scottish names and accents that are almost anything
but
Scottish. You and Ewan sound American. I guess Lachlan sounds a little Scottish?”

He chuckled at her question. “Only a very little.”

“And now, you’re telling me you’re an old man, even though you look like you’re in your thirties. Can you blame me for being curious?” Lizzie wasn’t touching the weird feeling the security guys all gave her initially. That would definitely enter seriously rude territory.

“You forgot to mention the scalp-crawling sensation when you meet us,” Tavish added. Damn, maybe he was psychic. And oddly, he didn’t
look
like creeping people out routinely bothered him.

“Uh, maybe more a slightly unsettled feeling.” Lizzie cast a half-worried glance his way.

“Ha.” His sharp bark of laughter cut through some of her discomfort.

“We’re dragons. You should feel unsettled.” Then he winked.

“Huh,” she said. Then she sank slowly into the chair across from him. “But you—” She stopped herself, biting her lip. She eyed him curiously. Starting again, she said. “Um—” She didn’t realizing she’d held her breath after that “um,” until she took a quick, short breath.

“Spit it out. Scales? Fire? There’s always a question about fire.” He was leaning back now, one arm resting against the back of the sofa, his book forgotten next to him on the seat cushion. He appeared completely at ease.

She finally registered his casual pose. The guy had to get sick of people acting like idiots when he said “dragon.”
Shit. That was really cool.
She was looking at a dragon. “Ha. Yes, fire is an interesting topic. Actually, I was trying to do the math of you being, well, not dragon-sized.”

She winced a little. Maybe that was a stupid question. Clarifying, she said, “Lycan stay the same size.”

“Right, but I’m no wolf.” He smiled. “I told your mate I sensed a ghost when I entered the room. Very briefly—then nothing.”

Clearly, that was all the dragon scoop she was getting for now.

“John seemed surprised when I identified the presence as female. I’m not at all certain, but it’s possible,” she said.

“That’s helpful. There’s likely a tie to the house. Or maybe even you. Has anyone mentioned the house was owned by the Kovars at one time?” He cocked his head slightly, bringing attention to his face—and green eyes. They
all
had green eyes, she realized. Well, Lachlan, Ewan, and Tavish.

What was the question? Oh—Lizzie nodded.

“Any relation, by chance?”

“No.” She frowned. “Why would you ask?”

“Seriously? Smith, Kovar? Same name. Immigrants frequently Americanized or translated their names. To better fit in. You’re American. I thought you guys were all into your roots. Don’t you know where your people come from?”

“My people come from Texas, as far as I’m concerned. So, the Kovar name? You’re sure it’s the Czech equivalent of Smith?”

He looked at her condescendingly and refused to answer.

“Huh.” She felt like she was saying that a lot. But really, he needed to stop dropping unexpected news on her if he expected her to keep up. “It’s a really common name. I’m sure there’s no connection. Didn’t you say that the ghost could be tied to the location?”

“Certainly. But then why present herself to
you
? No one else has had an experience with her. I checked with Heike and the other guards. None of the Dragon Clan sensed her presence.”

“Dragon Clan?” She was like a puppy with a butterfly, except her shiny, fluttery distraction had green scales and played with fire. Maybe. No, she wasn’t skimping on that mental image. Definitely flames. And horns. Definitely horns. Okay, the green scales were negotiable. Ooooh. Purple dragon. She was contemplating a particularly nice shade of deep, rich eggplant when she caught Tavish’s eye.

He gave her a mildly exasperated look.

Damn. Focus.
“Sorry. So the falling books incident was the first ghostly experience in the house that anyone knows about? Maybe this was a wrong time, wrong place thing.”

“Maybe.” But he sounded skeptical. “And by the way, Smith isn’t actually a common name among the few spell caster families in America.” Before she could ask, he added, “Or Great Britain.”

She’d been told the Kovars were powerful spell casters. And she’d been warned that it was possible she would become quite powerful, herself. She wasn’t an idiot—or willfully blind. She knew enough to ask if strength of magic was a heritable trait, and she’d learned it could be. Was that proof that maybe the Kovars were her ancestors? It seemed so farfetched. The world was a big place. She wouldn’t just stumble onto her relatives—would she?

With each passing day, the magic-using community seemed to grow both larger—she looked at her new dragon acquaintance. And smaller—she thought of her possible connection to the former Library keepers. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Well, okay, dragons were definitely cool. She knew how she felt about
that.

Chapter 17

L
izzie clicked her laptop shut and settled more comfortably on her bed. Google hadn’t yielded much in the way of family history for the Kovars. Apparently, important spell caster families weren’t particularly excited about press and notoriety, now or back in the day. The Kovars either kept a very low profile, or time had erased much of their lives. Well, there was also the distinct possibility it was there but in Czech. She’d have to get out the big guns and go chat with Emme, Harrington’s librarian, about how to do some better online research. But Emme wasn’t expected back for a few days yet. Maybe she’d check to see if there were local sources—a historical society, perhaps?—that she could utilize in the interim.

The identity of the ghost was important. If the ghost had limited means of communication, knowing a little more about her would surely help in understanding her.
Crap.
How much could ghosts actually understand? Or even think? Maybe there was no communication happening. Maybe she was reacting to the stimulus around her.

She fluffed the pillows on her bed, crossed her legs Indian style, and then picked up her phone and hunted through her contacts.
Eureka.
She dialed.

Silence greeted her, so she prompted, “Harry?”

“Just a moment,” a sleepy, feminine voice murmured on the other end of the phone.

After some rustling noises, Harry came on the line. “Harry, here.”

Hmm.
To comment and apologize, or to completely ignore? She said, “Hi Harry. It’s Lizzie Smith. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions?”

“Absolutely.” The tone of his voice changed, sounding more excited. “Have you found something?”

“Sorry, not how you mean. I think I found a ghost. Or, rather, she found me.” She could hear noises in the background, like Harry was moving around. At the mention of a ghost, he’d stopped.

Lizzie just realized that she might have put him in an awkward situation if he was with someone who wasn’t in on the whole “magic’s real” thing. “Are you someplace you can speak freely?”

The background rustling and movement picked up again. “Sure. Grizzie’s cool.”

“Grizzie?” Lizzie just couldn’t help herself.

“Sorry. Griselda. Terrible family name. Something we share and commiserate about over large quantities of cheap booze every once in a while.”

Harry wasn’t bad, but she had other things to worry about. “Griselda is a great name. But about my ghost? I was calling to pick your brain about ghosts in general.”

“Are you sure? They’re not very common. Maybe I put the thought in your head. If I did, I apologize.” After “common,” his words were muffled. Pulling a shirt on, if she had to guess.