Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (28 page)

She couldn’t believe she was in Worth’s house. She tried to shake off the icy shiver that ran up her spine at that thought and turned down the hall to a room on the right. They’d entered into a side hall from outside, but now she, John, and Harrington were covering the rooms to the right, Max and Pilar the rooms to the left. Lizzie didn’t have her magical spidey sense for spelled books—no magic, no spidey sense—but she and John could certainly look for any books, and Harrington would catch any wards. Pilar could at least see any wards that were there—if she looked very carefully—and certainly could spot spelled books. Although Max had no magical skills, Lizzie learned in the aftermath of her rescue from the Prague house that Max was handy with a gun. Very handy.

They’d discussed briefly how Worth might be hiding his research or his source. John and Harrington agreed that he would likely use a combination of magical warding and traditional security measures. Worth could trap it, hide it, or place sensors on it using warding. And traditional security was a likely initial deterrent, keeping less determined thieves or the nonmagical from stealing it. Whatever
it
was. Lizzie was getting annoyed. Looking for something (she wasn’t sure what) that was hidden (she wasn’t sure where) was a huge pain in the rear.

Her team had cleared a parlor and a living room and were working on a large full bath—you never knew where someone might hide a valuable spelled book—when Harrington got a text. Or Lizzie assumed it was, because he checked his phone then waved her and John out of the bathroom. Lizzie replaced the lid on the toilet tank with a small wrinkle of her nose.
Thank you for small favors.

Harrington flashed the screen at John, who nodded and changed. He was John, then he wasn’t; it still freaked her out a little. Not the massive wolf standing in front of her; him she was fine with. It was the change itself that was disconcerting. She hadn’t blinked but felt as if she had—and presto, wolf. It was disconcerting. She snapped to attention. Her wolf was just about to leave. He usually took a moment to orient to his new form. And from the deep stretching bow he was rising from, she could tell he was about done.

She leaned over, grabbed a handful of dense hair on either side of his massive jaws near his cheeks and pulled his head to face her. Just inches away, her voice barely a whisper, she said, “You will be careful. You will
not
get seriously hurt.” When his wolf eyes stared intently back at her, unblinking, she said, “Right?”

One single, sharp dip of his head. Then he wrenched his head to the side, pulling the fur easily from her fingers. He was gone, the low-lying tip of his tail the last thing she saw before he disappeared around the corner. She looked down at the small bit of fluff left in her hand. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding on so tightly, she thought absently. She wanted to growl her frustration. If her magic was back—

Before she had a chance to finish that thought, Harrington nudged her. He held the screen on his phone towards her and waited for her to figure out what it meant.

Lycan. There was only one way they’d know a Lycan was approaching—he had to be in wolf form. Max and Pilar had seen him. Had the guard seen them?

Lizzie’s mind raced. If the guard was in Lycan form, he was prepared for a fight. Had he scented them? Or had they tripped a ward? Maybe he did his rounds in wolf form, she thought hopefully. Worth’s Lycan henchmen had guarded her during the first kidnap attempt Worth made, and they had chosen to patrol in wolf form. So it wasn’t completely out in left field that the guard was patrolling as a wolf and unaware of them—but she didn’t have a good feeling.

A whole of ten seconds must have passed before a loud crash sounded, propelling her into the hallway. She walked to the corner, pulling Harrington behind her. She was surprised when he didn’t resist. She peeked around the corner, not sure what to expect. If it was bad, she was helping—magic or no magic. What she saw as she turned the corner made her heart pound in fear.

Chapter 31

L
izzie gulped in a quick, short breath. She’d been startled into holding her breath, and now it was coming in short, fast pants. Her first coherent thought wasn’t very complimentary to Max. Her next thought was a little more rational. She’d kick Max’s ass next time she saw him. Two Lycan guards. He couldn’t just take an extra second and type that little “2,” could he?
Idiot.

She looked frantically at Harrington for some guidance as to how they could help John. That’s when she realized Harrington
was
trying to help. He was inspecting the room for wards, she suspected to make sure John didn’t accidentally trigger a trap. They hadn’t cleared this room yet. He must have been casting as she’d dragged him along behind her. That suddenly made a lot more sense.

She searched the room. Max was in a corner, gun drawn. But there was no way he could risk a shot. His gun wasn’t silenced, so a shot would alert the remaining guard—assuming he didn’t already know. And—Lizzie cringed, looking at the tumble of wrestling furred bodies—he couldn’t get a clear shot. He was just as likely to injure John as one of the other wolves.

Pilar. Where was Pilar? The room they were in was the large entryway with a sweeping, curved staircase. Pilar had positioned herself on the staircase, several steps up. Perhaps she’d been caught unaware and retreated there. Even in her panic, Lizzie could see that Pilar was riveted, but not to the thrashing bodies wrestling below her. Her attention was pinned to the wall opposite Lizzie’s hallway. Fearing yet another guard, Lizzie turned and found…nothing. Her gaze flew back to Pilar and to the wall opposite again. Only on the second look did she register the tapestry hanging on the wall. She turned once again to Pilar, and this time, Pilar saw her. She pointed repeatedly at the tapestry.

Shit.
That’s what they’d come for. Not a book, at all. A tapestry. She tried to calm herself, so she could consider her options. Clearly, she had to retrieve the damn tapestry. Max would hold his position so long as there was an opportunity to pick off one of the guards. Pilar was trapped on the stairs by the unpredictable movements of the fighting Lycan. And Harrington was otherwise occupied, if she had to guess, deconstructing a ward on, near, or around the tapestry.

She narrowed her eyes, trying desperately to pick out which body was John’s and which the guards’. She’d never seen a close quarters fight between Lycan. There was no retreat and reengage, just sliding and twisting, angry teeth and vicious claws. And their movements were lightning fast. It made it almost impossible to track individual movements. She could finally see that bright blood splashed down John’s side, but she thought—she hoped—it might be from one of the other wolves. A rangy, tawny wolf had a mangled ear that was bleeding profusely, so perhaps it was his blood.

Suddenly, the fight shifted. She hadn’t realized that John had been fighting defensively, until he wasn’t. The seething mass of tawny, silver, and reddish fur seemed to heave. Before Lizzie could properly process what had happened, the body of a red wolf—much smaller than John—was lying in a pile next to the tapestry wall. Her ears were ringing from the sound of the two shots Max had fired almost immediately, hitting first the torso then the head of the prone wolf. She couldn’t imagine he had survived his impact with the wall. Whether a broken neck or a bullet killed him, the result was the same. Even from across the large entryway, Lizzie could clearly see the open, staring eyes and the motionless body heaped into a pile of unnatural angles, loose skin, and bloodied fur.

Her stomach roiled and her mouth started to water in a way that predicted the very real possibility she’d lose the contents of her stomach. She inhaled cautiously. Then exhaled very slowly, fearful a fast breath might push her nausea into vomiting. She’d seen a Lycan killed before—but she hadn’t been this close to the corpse. She took another slow breath.

As she struggled to stay calm, she couldn’t help but see John. His silver and black body intertwined with tawny pale patches of fur. With just the two wolves, she could see more detail as the fight continued: the paler wolf’s dangling and useless foreleg, the blood—definitely not John’s—splashed across his rib cage, the increasingly sluggish movements as both wolves tired. Wrapped up in the push and pull, the clawing and grabbing, Lizzie could feel her nausea recede.
John would be fine. John would be fine.
Almost a chant in her head. The reminder kept her moving when she saw her chance to cross the floor. Both of the wolves, bodies still wrapped around one another, had moved closer to the stairs. Closer to Pilar. And that meant further from the tapestry.

Before she had a chance to reconsider her actions, she darted across the floor stopping only inches from the wall. It was then that she realized she hadn’t a clue if the tapestry was still warded or if Harrington had managed to disable whatever Worth had placed to protect it. She spun around, frantically searching for Harrington.

When he saw her panicked look, he yelled, “Clear.”

As Lizzie pulled the tapestry from the wall and began rolling it, she had the irreverent thought that it was about time she heard Harrington raise his voice like a normal person and it just figured that it took life or death circumstances. She also thought—where the hell was that last guard? They’d made enough noise to wake the dead.

Having managed to reduce the tapestry to a more mobile size, she stopped suddenly. While the wolves had been mostly silent as they’d fought, there had been the background noise of movement, the slide of fur on the floor, and an occasional whimper or groan of pain. That was gone, replaced by the singular, softly huffing sound of labored breathing. Looking up, she saw John standing on all fours, his head and body sunk low in exhaustion, his sides heaving, and blood sprayed across his muzzle and chest. But standing, definitely standing. She felt some of the tension seep from her. A growing pool of blood caught her eye, drawing her attention to the ground. The tawny wolf’s neck had been ripped open and the blood was draining at John’s feet.

Reality and a sense of place reasserted itself. They needed to leave—now. There was a third man unaccounted for, and Max had fired his weapon. They needed to retreat quickly. Harrington and Max both came to that conclusion a hair earlier. Max had reached Pilar and was walking her down the stairs. Pilar looked pale, and she took Max’s arm when he offered it. But when she moved, her steps were sure and purposeful.

Harrington had crossed the room and stood before her, hand outstretched. “Check on John.”

She must have been in a mild state of shock to have to be told to check on her wounded mate. She handed the tapestry to him, and moved toward John. Realizing he was still on four legs, panting heavily, she turned back to Harrington and said, “He needs to change, right?”

At Harrington’s nod, she turned back and continued on to John. She frowned, the furrow deepening as she got closer. He should have changed by now.

She had an uneasy feeling as she approached the last few feet. She had the distinct feeling she was facing not John, but a wild animal. Her heart said to touch, but her eyes and common sense said to stand very still. As she watched, John swayed and his glazed eyes swung in her direction. She reached a hand out to his shoulder to steady him, unthinkingly. John’s response was shockingly swift. His posture became rigid and he lifted a snarling lip at her.

Harrington called to her, “Hurry him up. We’re leaving.”

Lizzie was frozen in place. Not by John’s snarl. It had lasted a second, and with a tiny dip of his head and a slow blink, he’d stopped. But her indecision and uncertainty couldn’t be banished as quickly. Body still, she tried to relax—as much as she could while her brain zoomed along at rapid speeds. He was clearly injured, or he wouldn’t be acting like he was. If he didn’t change, he’d never make it out of the house. Not as injured as he was.

She glanced quickly at Harrington, Max, and Pilar. They had the tapestry. If it contained the information she believed it did, they needed to leave with it immediately. “Go.”

At their incredulous looks, she repeated herself. “Go. While you still can. I’ll be right behind you.”

Pilar said, “No.”

“Worth is on his way. He has to be. Please,” she begged. “Leave.”

Finally, she said, “I could see the sparks. When Harrington dissolved the ward.”

Harrington nodded in understanding, grabbed Pilar, and spoke quietly in Max’s ear. Max shook his head. Then Harrington left, pulling Pilar behind him.

“You better not be full of shit,” Max said grimly.

She was about ready to cry. She didn’t need to be bullied right now. “Fuck you. Help me move him. I can’t get near him, let alone get him to change. Something’s wrong.”

Her terse words must have made some impression, because he jogged toward her immediately.

“What do you suggest?” Max asked.

Tears leaked down her face. She brushed impatiently at her cheeks, looked at John, then at Max. “Muzzle and carry him.” She said it with much more certainty than she felt.

“Fuck.” Max ran a hand through his hair. “You muzzle; I’ll carry him.” He yanked off his rigger’s belt and handed it to her.

Okay, she had one shot at this. No way could she ever muzzle a healthy wolf, but the half-wild, swaying, exhausted animal in front of her couldn’t keep his eyes open. She could do this.

She looked at the belt, tried really hard to remember that Pet First Aid class she took—five years ago? Three? At least she’d actually attended the whole thing, unlike that self-defense class.

She was procrastinating, because she really didn’t want to get bit. Worse yet, for John to ever find out he’d bitten her. She took a breath, waited for him to sway, and just as he was blinking, she wrapped the belt around his mouth, then behind his head. As soon as she had crisscrossed the straps, Max had reached out to hold them in place. If he hadn’t—well, John was pissed and he was a wolf with preternatural speed, injured or no. She worked as quickly as she could to make the final wrap around his muzzle one more time. Was that right? She wasn’t sure, but it looked secure. She hoped it was. Otherwise, Max would likely suffer some serious puncture wounds wrestling an unhappy wolf. She cringed at the thought.