Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (22 page)

She shoved the sheets out of the way and rolled onto her knees. She wrapped her arms around John, her front pressed to his back. And squeezed just as tightly as she could. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but all of a sudden she had a horrible urge to cry. She pushed away the tears and clung that much tighter to his broad back.

After a few seconds, she could feel the tight muscles in his back loosen. She waited a little longer, just to be sure her voice wasn’t choked with those chased-away tears. Then she said, “I’m fine. Are you ok?”

She was shocked when he said without any inflection, “Not really.”

She clung that much tighter. When she heard and felt him let loose a deep breath, she let go. She reached down low with both hands and tugged the hem of his shirt up his chest. It took him a second to register what she was doing; then he lifted his arms and yanked it off.

He laughed, only a little of the strain she’d felt vibrating through his body remaining. “I’m not sure this is what Frank had in mind when he said rest.”

“Pshaw. I’m up for anything.” She paused a second, then she said, “Actually I was hoping for a full-body cuddle, but I’m pretty sure I could be persuaded to get naked and crazy.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this—but naked and crazy will have to wait.” She could hear the mock disgust in his voice. “God. Don’t ever let it get out that those words left my lips.”

“Hmm. Okay. How about a compromise?” she asked. He turned around, an easy smile on his face. She suspected it had taken him that long to get to the point where he
could
smile. And he wouldn’t want her to see him worried. Or angry. Or unhappy.

“I’m listening.”

She wrinkled her nose, taking a discreet sniff of the T-shirt she’d slept in. “Group shower?”

He laughed. “Done.”

After a playful half hour in the shower, John had finally urged her to finish rinsing her hair or she’d end up waterlogged. And when it looked like that wasn’t sufficient incentive, he stepped out and wrapped himself head to toe in a bathrobe—since she apparently had no self-control around his bare ass, he claimed—and bodily hauled her out.

A few neck nibbles and failed disrobing attempts later, he carried her down the hall and dropped her ungrateful butt back in bed. Some thoughtful soul had stripped the bed and changed the sheets. She sighed mournfully, but he refused to join her. At least one of the two of them had some sense, she thought, as she drifted off. She really was too tired to be engaged in anything more active and exciting than sleep.

When she woke, the sun was a little lower in the sky, and John had arranged for a meal to be brought up. He was eating—probably on his second or third helping, if she had to guess—when she rolled over and groaned.

He looked a little guilty at being caught mid-meal.

She chuckled. “I know you were starving. I’d never begrudge you a meal. And shame on you for thinking I would. Did you even eat breakfast or lunch?”

He shook his head and kept munching on a chicken leg. That was her guy.

As she stretched and rolled to her side, he started to fill a plate for her. “I figured we could eat and discuss your—” He glanced at her. “—oversleeping incident.”

“My massive fade overreach?” Lizzie inquired nonchalantly. She had flipped over on her stomach, feet near the pillows and head at the foot of the bed, chin propped up on her hands.

“Figured that out?” John asked in between bites.

“Uh-huh. Hard to believe, but my brain wasn’t entirely in the right place earlier. I feel much more clearheaded now, thank you.” She kicked her feet up in the air a bit. She was also feeling less sore. Actually—she swung her legs again—the last bit of soreness seemed to have faded as she’d slept. Hmm.

“So—I’m actually feeling pretty great.” Eyes wide, she blinked once, slowly. That was her very best I’m-so-innocent look.

He stopped mid-chew. After about two seconds, he narrowed his eyes, finished chewing, and swallowed. “You’re a menace. A menace who’s supposed to be resting,” he reminded her. “And whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure it involves cardio.”

True. They’d not made it to slow, sensual lovemaking yet. Whatever their intentions, they tended to end more in the direction of boisterous, fuck-me-now sex. She sighed wistfully.
Maybe later?

Apparently, John had better self-control than she did. He was telling her something about a meeting.

“I’m sorry. What was that?” she asked, all innocence.

He grinned. He’d totally caught her fantasizing about sweaty, rowdy, athletic sex. He definitely wouldn’t let her forget that.

“I was just saying that we have a meeting scheduled in fifteen minutes. With Harrington, the dragons, Heike, Pilar, and Max.”

“Wait—wow. When did that all happen?” Lizzie couldn’t believe it. Max. And Pilar. Her heart melted a little that Pilar had come all this way. Lizzie was sure it was to help out with the seven dangerous books. She was so completely and utterly reliable. And motherly.
Oh, no.
“Has anyone told Pilar about my magical mishap?”

“Yes, but she knows you’re fine. And as to when—it’s been about twenty hours since you passed out. A lot can happen in a day,” he said.

***

As John answered Lizzie’s questions, he was careful to skirt certain details. How he’d been worried as she’d slept through the entire night, barely moving. How Max had called in the midst of him trying—and failing—to wake her. How he’d become more frantic as she’d stubbornly refused to wake up. How Pilar had harassed Harrington when Lizzie hadn’t answered her phone, then immediately grabbed a flight to Prague when she pried an update from Harrington. How he’d dodged calls from Kenna and voicemails demanding to know what the hell he’d done with her friend.

“The whole gang is here—except for Kenna. How did that happen?” Lizzie groaned. “Never mind. Max is coming, so she probably skipped out to avoid him. She is being so completely weird about Max. I still haven’t gotten anything useful out of her, but my best guess is that she screwed around with him and then dumped him before there could be any real relationship.”

“That explains a lot.” John grimaced slightly. What was Max thinking? “Max asked if we really needed her here. I thought she’d demand to come per her usual pushy, managing self. But when I told her who was here and that we had it well under control, she agreed to wait a few more hours before hopping a plane.” He shook his head at Max’s lack of sense. Lizzie’s best friend, of all people. “And now I know why.”

For a very brief second, Lizzie looked like she might argue the pushy and managing comment. But objectively, she couldn’t deny that’s exactly the kind of person that Kenna was. And frequently she was being pushy and managing to further Lizzie’s best interests—so it wasn’t exactly like he was pointing out a character flaw. There was no arguing that Kenna could be a force of nature.

John watched Lizzie roll out of bed and on to her feet, stretching her clasped hands above her head and shaking off the last bit of sleep. She seemed completely fine. He let out a breath that he felt like he’d been holding for hours. And he could feel his shoulders fall down an inch, as some of the remaining tension fell away. He hadn’t realized how keyed up he’d been. She’d woken up hours ago. Frank had said she was fine. But seeing her now, doing something so small, so normal, as shaking off a long nap—it comforted him and made him feel that she truly was okay.

She was bouncing up and down on her toes, checking to see that everything was in working order. He smiled. And that was one of the things he loved about her, the way she could always make him smile, even with simple, small acts. And he did, he realized. He did love her.

Damn, but he didn’t want her at that meeting. He sighed. It wasn’t always about what he wanted. Sometimes it was about what she needed. And she needed to be a part of this. A part of finding Sarah’s cure—if there was one. A part of the hunt for Worth.
Fuck.
He could rationally understand the need, but the thought of Lizzie anywhere near Worth tied up his insides and made him want to throw someone through a wall.

She was already dressed, almost ready to leave, and just doing the little things that women do. Lip gloss, face cream. He needed to leave. Before he did something rash, something he’d regret. Like lock her in the room. Or tie her to the bed. Or tell her that he forbade her to participate in anything,
anything at all
, that had to do with Worth.

“I’ll see you downstairs? We’re meeting in the main room of the basement,” he said, his hand already on the door. By the time she responded in the affirmative, he was already out the door.

Chapter 26

L
izzie had just finished reassuring Kenna for the sixth time that, yes, she was totally fine. And no, there were no lasting effects. And yes, she’d be more careful. And no, Kenna didn’t need to hop on a plane immediately.

“Mom’s been out of town at a conference, and I’ve got your boys. I thought I’d save them a kennel visit. But I’ve dropped them off and am ready to head out,” Kenna said.

That explained why Kenna wasn’t making the meeting Lizzie was about to step into. She’d seriously underestimated her friendship in thinking a little thing like a sexual relationship and an awkward break-up would keep Kenna from flying out to check on her.

“Really, everything is fine. No need for you to drop everything. And your boss wouldn’t be thrilled with losing you for several days so soon after our last adventure,” Lizzie said.

“If you’re sure—” Kenna sounded doubtful.

“I am.” Lizzie shifted the phone on her ear. “Although, it does look like Max has made it. I guess he has nothing better to do with his time.”

“Hmmph. He really doesn’t have anything better to do. The guy can’t take a hint.” Kenna sounded more than just a little annoyed.

“Ah. That’s too bad.” Though Max was hardly the normal type for Kenna, Lizzie had held out some hope that maybe he’d be around a little longer than the usual fling. But it was clear from Kenna’s reaction that now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

It had taken Lizzie another five minutes of cajoling to convince Kenna she was fine. She’d been wound pretty tightly by her failed attempts to make it to Prague quickly and adding Max to the conversation hadn’t helped. Hanging up the phone, she reminded herself that it was a wonderful thing to have a friend who cared so much about her. But that had been an exhausting conversation.

She stopped at the top of the basement stairs, composing herself before she headed down to meet the planning crew. When she arrived, silence settled over the group for about four seconds, and then conversations picked up again.

Pilar rushed forward and wrapped her in a motherly, expensively scented embrace. After two quick kisses, one on each cheek, she pulled Lizzie further into the room. After greeting Max and Ewan, she did a quick head count. John, Harrington, Tavish, Lachlan, Ewan, Heike, Max, and Pilar.
Oh, my.

After everyone had found a seat, Harrington started the meeting. He addressed Lizzie first. “You’re feeling better?”

“Fine. No magic for a day or two, but otherwise great. Frank stopped by and patched me up. Thank you.” She looked around the table. No healer, but Lycan, dragon, caster, and non-magical human sat side by side. She was glad to have John on her right and Pilar to her left. Her strength and her confidence were bolstered by their presence.

“We have a few items to discuss. First, Heike and Pilar have started translating the seven books found in Matylda’s cell. Pilar, what can you tell us about the books?” As Harrington spoke, Lizzie wondered if this was an IPPC meeting and an IPPC operation.

None of the group gathered at the table were regular IPPC employees, though several—if not all—were contracted to work for IPPC on a temporary or per project basis. It didn’t really matter, she supposed. She’d gone beyond analyzing and deciding if her and her friends’ actions were considered legal by mainstream society or under whose authority she might be acting.
Wow.
She’d never realized what an about turn she’d made. That was a wildly different view of society from her previous strict adherence to the law and societal norms. A change she’d embraced after just a few short weeks of exposure to magic and magic-users. Did that make her fickle?
Nah.

Things change and she had to roll with it or be incredibly stressed out by it. Apparently, her subconscious had decided she’d be rolling, because she hadn’t actively debated the issue —thought about it at all, really—until now. Well, except to be aware that her actions might be illegal and she didn’t want to get
caught.

Failure to report a crime was the least of her offenses, given everything that had happened to her recently. She was pretty sure she was also an accomplice to a variety of dodgy activities. Things really had changed in her life.

She reined in her stray thoughts and focused on Pilar’s description of the books she and Heike had been working with.

“—categories. The Vampyr books, death magic books, and necromancy. There are three books that we categorized as death magic books and two each of the other types. The death magic books were concerning.”

“And creative,” Heike added. “Torture and death were used to super-charge a variety of spells. To reinforce personal protection wards, to eavesdrop over long distances, even—” She glanced worriedly at the dragons, seated together at one end of the table. “Even to kill dragons.”

At Lachlan’s intent stare, she said, “I’ll explain later. Your people should be aware, if you’re not already familiar.”

Lachlan simply nodded. The dragons were at turns taciturn, mischievous, and then forthcoming. Dependent on what, Lizzie wasn’t certain. She did know she wanted them on
her
side.

Pilar picked up the thread again. “Death magic is little understood, and I’m certain that these books will provide valuable insight. Not only into death magic, but also into the underpinnings of casting. Why certain casts work and others don’t. As disturbing as the material can be, it is useful. But I don’t think it relevant to Sarah’s case.”

Now that Lizzie looked closer, she saw that Pilar looked careworn and slightly frazzled. In her earlier enthusiasm, she’d missed the slightly less than perfect chignon and the faint shadows under her eyes. And how she had failed to notice Pilar’s attire, Lizzie did not know. Pilar was wearing a pair of jeans. Stylish jeans, but jeans. Lizzie hadn’t spent that much time with Pilar, but she’d only ever seen her in dresses and slacks. Not a single Facebook picture showed a hint of jeans. They’d have to talk later.