Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (17 page)

Pilar’s daughter had been held to ensure Pilar’s cooperation during her captivity, and Lizzie’s parents had been threatened. She didn’t know until after Worth fled that her parents were unharmed. It had been an incredibly stressful and traumatic event for both women.

“Tell me about this funny book,” Pilar said, getting back to the heart of the call. Lizzie suspected that Pilar was changing the subject before they both became maudlin over their shared experience. Something neither would enjoy.

“I’m not entirely sure it’s funny. I’ve really only worked with the pack book and the one Library book I managed to translate before the rescue attempt.”

“
A Witch’s Diary
?” Pilar hadn’t been there when Lizzie had been put to the test, trying out her newfound magic for almost the first time in the worst possibly circumstances—in front of Worth. All while knowing that she or her parents might suffer horribly if she failed. Not how she would have envisioned using her magic for the first time.

“Right. I’d forgotten you debriefed with Harrington afterwards. That came up?” Lizzie wouldn’t have thought one small book would have been noteworthy amidst the post-rescue chaos.

“Briefly. I didn’t notice anything too odd, other than a reluctance on the part of the book to share its secrets. Just a moment.” Lizzie could just barely make out the rumble of a masculine voice in the background.

“Sorry. My husband was just heading out for the day.” She paused, likely orienting herself back to the conversation. “Right—a reluctant book. Otherwise, nothing unusual.”

“Okay. That right there. That is supremely creepy, just so you know. Books don’t have emotions or a consciousness—do they?” Lizzie thought of all the shelves and shelves of magical books in the Library.

Pilar chuckled. “I can see you thinking twice about heading into a room full of spelled books. No, they don’t. Not like you mean. But a spell is interactive. It was created by a person and can reflect that person in small ways. I’ve also seen books that interface well with one person and not another. When the book’s spell wouldn’t immediately reveal the knowledge it held, I assumed my magic didn’t work well with it, but I’ve no idea why. What exactly was your question?”

Lizzie huffed out a frustrated breath. “That book
is not
reluctant. It’s more like an affectionate puppy, begging for my attention. Well, a really creepy, affectionate puppy. I feel like I have a connection with the book. When I walk in the Library, I can feel where it’s shelved. Is that normal?”

“Having an awareness of a spell once you’ve identified it is actually very normal. Remember when I explained wards to you? And when you looked for them, they became visible to you?”

Lizzie nodded. Oops—she’d forgotten she was on the phone. “I do.”

“Think of the connection you’ve made with the book in the same way. Now that you’ve had some interaction with the spell, you have an awareness of it. The difference, in this instance, is that the awareness is not a visual one like it was with the wards.” Pilar’s voice had begun to echo about halfway through.

“Did you just walk into a tunnel?” Lizzie asked.

“No. You’re on speakerphone. I’m doing some kitchen prep for lunch and dinner. Both of the kids are home,” Pilar said. Lizzie could hear the contentment in her friend’s voice.

“Oh! Remind me later to ask you about Harry.” She shook her head, thinking about the phone call earlier today with him. He reminded her of a naughty little boy who was always into some mischief.

“Sure.” There was the hint of a question in Pilar’s voice. Then she returned to the subject at hand, the snick of her knife audible in the background. “Any other concerns about the diary?”

“I guess not. It’s just strange that it seems to call me, and yet the pack book—that I’ve had for years—doesn’t seem to have any effect on me.” Lizzie wondered if that was an omen of things to come. She wasn’t getting off to a stellar beginning with the Texas Pack, having not actually made it out to meet them yet. A little more than an oops, more like a massive social gaffe, if not worse.

“Think of your connection as a tie to the spell, not the book. Remember, the physical book merely anchors the spell. And it’s the magic creating and maintaining the spell that either speaks to you or doesn’t.” The chopping sound in the background was getting faster. Pilar must be a whiz in the kitchen.

“So I’m not connecting with the Witch of
A Witch’s Diary
? I’m connecting with the spell caster who recorded that witch’s thoughts?”

“Close. You’re connecting with that caster’s magic.” Pilar’s chopping halted for a few seconds then resumed. “I know next to nothing of witches, but it seems odd that a witch and caster would work together.” Her voice was thoughtful.

“Hmm. That’s a question for another day. I have enough problems and questions that need immediate attention. If something isn’t marked urgent, it’s moving to the end of the line. Now that I’m relatively certain the diary isn’t going to wreak havoc on me or the Library, I can cross it off my list for now. My ghost is definitely on the priority list. And then, Sarah.” Just thinking of Sarah made Lizzie worry about the diminished focus on Sarah’s magically induced coma. But her ghost was more pressing.

“So—there are some murmurings in the magical community that you’ve become John’s mate. You’re making the international gossip circles, Lizzie.” Pilar didn’t seem particularly concerned that Lizzie was making Lycan news. Her tone was very matter-of-fact.

But Lizzie couldn’t adopt Pilar’s blasé manner. “Good lord, that can’t be good. I’ve been viewing this whole mate thing as a political position, and this proves it. Why else would I be of any interest, but for John’s position?”

“I’m not sure who would disagree with you.” Pilar’s calm assessment didn’t put Lizzie at all at ease. “There are very discreet noises of you being rejected by the pack, or refusing the position of Alpha Mate.”

“And where the heck do people get this stuff?” She still couldn’t believe anyone cared about what was going on in her life.

“Probably just assumptions made because you haven’t met the Pack.” Pilar dismissed such silly assumptions and went right for the interesting stuff. “Who’s this Harry fellow? A new fan?”

“Cute, like I have a string of admirers. John would love that. Harry is the healer in charge of Sarah’s care. And apparently a good friend of your son’s. They went to boarding school together.” Hadn’t she just been thinking the magic-using community was by turns extremely large, then very small? This was one of those odd moments. Pilar lived in Mexico, but her son had attended boarding school in England—where he’d met a healer—who was now caring for a woman—who’d helped save Lizzie’s life. How many degrees of separation was that?

“Ah. You mean Alistair Harrington.” Pilar laughed. “I hadn’t realized he was going by Harry. I suppose it makes sense. He’s never been fond of his given name.”

“Harrington—as in, our Harrington? IPPC’s Harrington?” Lizzie was appalled. She’d practically interrupted the kid having sex. Perhaps that was a mild exaggeration. But still…awkward for him to be related to her boss.

“His nephew,” Pilar clarified.

Lizzie winced.
A nephew? Really?
“I don’t think so. I had a conversation with Harrington about Harry. He didn’t say a word.”

“Harrington’s nephew is a healer, a very powerful and creative one. He’s a great choice for handling Sarah’s unique condition. And he went to boarding school with my son. They’re still friends.” Pilar took an audible breath. “He checked in with me. You know, afterwards, when I was home. He wanted to get as much information as possible for Sarah’s treatment.”

“That little twit. He didn’t say a word about Harrington.” Lizzie sighed. Typical. The interconnectivity of the magic-using community would eventually cease to surprise her, she was sure.

“In Alistair’s…or Harry’s defense, he’s not particularly close to Harrington. Quite the opposite, in fact. I think there was some kind of argument they never resolved, or a falling out.”

“I think I know what their argument might have been about.” Lizzie remembered Harry commenting on Harrington’s efforts to bring him officially into the IPPC’s fold. “I’m not sure why I’m so annoyed, other than I’m tired of being the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Pilar had taken up her chopping again. “It’ll take some time, but until then—you’ve got friends who can help and answer questions.”

“Thanks so much for your help, Pilar.”

“No problem. Why don’t you go ahead and plan to check in with me every day or two, just for the next few days,” Pilar said.

“It’s a date,” Lizzie confirmed before she ended the call.

She was just about to consider herself sufficiently recharged to face the beginning of her ghost vigil, when the source of at least thirty-four percent of her stress ambled through the patio door.

Chapter 21

“I
hate to say this, because I am
not
running away—but I was just coming inside.” Lizzie eyed John suspiciously.

“To start your ghost hunt?” he asked. He didn’t look particularly worried. Or pissed. She peered a little closer. He actually looked calm, maybe even well rested.
Damn.
Had he grabbed a nap, she wondered grumpily. As if there was time for that…oh, he’s Lycan. She forgot he didn’t need as much sleep as her.
Bastard.

“Not exactly—more a ghost wait. I’m planning to hang out in the Library, do some work, and see if the resident ghost happens to stop by while I’m there.” Lizzie glanced at her cell. “And my dinner should be about ready to pick up. The kitchen folks were kind enough to make a tray.”

“I understand you’re spending a lot of time with Tavish,” he said.

Lizzie thought about it. Had she been? Then she looked at him. “You’re jealous? Seriously? Please tell me you’re not.”

“No. Well, not in the way you mean. If you needed help, I’d rather it be me.” He shrugged.

“Tavish just happened to be on duty, and then I found out about his—” Lizzie looked up at John.

“His handicap?”

She raised her eyebrows at that. “Um, right. Because he’s—?”

“Mammal-challenged?” John asked.

Lizzie just shook her head at that.

“Are you telling me he’s a reptile? Because you’ve obviously never met the man, if you are.” She stood up and headed to the patio door. “Let’s head to the kitchen. My phone call was a little longer than I planned, and I’d like to get back to the Library quickly.”

He opened the door for her, ushering her through first. “I’m saying if he breathes fire, has scales, and likes shiny objects, then he’s not a duck.”

Lizzie waved his ridiculous comments away. “You’re just jealous that he can cook his own dinner in three seconds flat. The relevant point is that he and the rest of the Clan have been around awhile. And know a little about ghosts.” She considered for a moment, then she said, “Do you want to keep me company in the Library while I wait? Tavish made a big fuss over me not being there by myself.”

They’d just about reached the kitchen, but she stopped before entering. Turning to him, her tone accusatory, she said, “He totally filled you in. Asked you to keep an eye on me so I wouldn’t be alone in the Library, didn’t he?”

Calmly, John replied, “Yes.”

“Am I twelve? I heard him. I have no desire to be thwacked on the head by a flying book. Or to bleed profusely, with no one in sight to help me. Geez.”

“He told all of the security staff. And suggested a rotation so you’d never be alone in the room.” John nodded toward the kitchen door, indicating they should continue. “He’s doing his job.”

She wrinkled her nose in consternation. “I’m a little sensitive where you’re concerned. So if I’m overreacting, I’m totally blaming you.”

A small, surprised laugh rumbled from his chest. “Sounds about right.”

John insisted on carrying the tray. She didn’t protest, because it was a lot of food. A lot. She looked again.
Ah.
The kitchen staff had planned for two. She sniffed in annoyance, then stopped herself. She’d normally appreciate it. It was just her recent hypersensitivity to being managed, to having decisions made for her, to having so many people—other than herself—concerned about her welfare.

Really, she thought, even if she was in a completely normal relationship, she’d be having a hard time giving up some of her independence. The fact that she was in a relationship with a sometimes control freak who was part-time alpha-macho made it harder. Could be worse, she thought. She could have fallen in love with a full-time controlling alpha overachiever. As it was, John tried really hard to be reasonable, even though she knew it wasn’t always easy for him to see her side.

Once in the Library, food laid out on one of the three tables, Lizzie checked that her board was still in place, her pebble on top. John pulled something from his pocket and placed it on the board.

“Any objections?” he asked as he picked up the pebble and closed his fist around it.

Lizzie looked at his replacement, and shook her head. Apparently, Tavish hadn’t spared the details of their earlier encounter. Because John had brought a small plastic poker chip to replace her stone.

He tucked the pebble into the front pocket of his jeans. “I thought about a cotton ball, or something made of cloth, but then our temperamental ghost couldn’t throw it very far. That might frustrate her. But this is slightly better than a pebble, and it should slide well.”

It did, Lizzie saw right away. Because as soon as John placed the chip on the board it moved.

Yes

“Holy crap,” Lizzie said. “It’s only been an hour.”

The chip slid back and forth over “yes.”

As Lizzie was trying to suss out what that meant—maybe she was impatient?—John grabbed pen and paper. Lizzie made a guess.

“Can you only stay a short while in this room?”

The chip hopped on the “yes” word.

“Shoot—I haven’t had time to prepare questions,” she said frantically, looking at John. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“Hey. Take a breath. If we have more questions, my bet is, um, Matylda?” A quick tap of the plastic chip on “yes” was the response. “Matylda will come back again.”