Whispered Visions (Shifters & Seers Book 3) (14 page)

The entire bit was done with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader hopped up on meth. Any affection Lizzie might have been feeling before was dying a quick and brutal death. As for Alistair, he looked like he would happily chop all of Layne’s fingers off, one by one, before shooting him in the face.

“Ignore him,” Lizzie said, wishing it was that easy. “So, this surprise…” she coaxed.

“Ah. Yes.” Alistair cleared his throat and forced his gaze back to her. “I’ve come to make good on my promise.”

“Promise?”

“My promise,” he said. “Today, I’m taking you to the library.
”

The Brownlow Manor library wasn’t nearly as grand as the one that won Belle over in Beast’s castle. The ceiling didn’t tower a hundred feet overhead; there wasn’t a single spiraling staircase, let alone two; the floor wasn’t a massive expanse of marble; and stone lions didn’t stand guard over a seemingly infinite collection of books. In truth, it reminded Lizzie more of the bookstore Belle frequented in her provincial town than the fairytale castle library, but it made her blood sing all the same.

“Wow,” she breathed as Alistair led her through the door. The room wasn’t much larger than her bedroom upstairs, and it was decorated in much the same way - antique hardwood floors, paneled walls, and overly ornate crown molding - but instead of housing a bed and chest of drawers, it was filled to its painted ceiling with books. And these weren’t just some outdated Encyclopedia Brittanicas and moth-eaten paperbacks. Even from the doorway Lizzie could see the fine leather binding.

“Do you have any idea how they’re organized?” she asked, her fingers itching to dance across the spines and discover what secrets lie within.

Alistair looked around the room as if he’d never seen a book before in his life. “By subject? And author?” he ventured. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve stepped foot in here since my father ordered me out over fifteen years ago.” He flashed a chagrined smile. “If I remember correctly, I’d decided to add some color illustrations to some old, and doubtlessly priceless, book.”

He looked so boyish Lizzie couldn’t help smiling in return.

“I hope you’ve outgrown that particular urge,” she said. “I’d hate to be forced to toss you out of your own library.”

Directly across from where they stood was a brief expanse of wall without books where a carved fireplace sat. In front of it was a large wooden desk, its top worn down to a dull, scratched surface. It seemed that while Alistair had no use for the library, countless viscounts before him had.

“Hmmm… Wonder what treasures we’ll find in here,” Alistair said, walking around the desk. He pulled out a drawer, looked inside, and shut it with a frown before moving on to the next one. “Ancient love letters from a heartsick aristocrat to a servant? The key to a forgotten lockbox? Or…” He opened up the last drawer and triumphantly lifted a bottle of amber liquid into the air. “A bottle of my father’s finest Scotch!”

A bit more rooting around in the drawer produced two dusty glasses.

“Would you care for some? It’s Balblair. 1983 vintage. I promise, you’ve never tasted whiskey like this before.”

“I’m sure I haven’t.”
Especially since I’ve never tasted whiskey before, period
.
“But no. Thank you.”

Alistair didn’t press the issue. He merely shrugged and poured himself a glass. While he made himself at home in the squeaky chair, Lizzie finally gave into temptation and made her way over to the bookshelves.

As she suspected, the books along this particular row were all hand bound in leather. No titles were embossed on the sides, so she gently pulled one out, freeing it from the space it had occupied for countless decades according to the thick layer of dust she left in its wake.

The front offered no more clues as to what might be found inside, so with anticipation building, she flipped open the cover to reveal the title page.

Manlike Line
.

Lizzie’s forehead crinkled in confusion. She turned to the next page, which was set up ledger style. Names were written along the left column, and on the right, two sets of dates. Some of the names were linked to others, and next to them, annotations denoting different pages, or even different books. Lizzie only had to flip through a few more pages to find what she was looking for. Next to Olek Melnyk, “PL” was scribbled in red.

Heart racing, Lizzie pulled another book off the shelf. Another list of names, these belonging to the Niemi Line.

Her hands were trembling as she walked back up the row of books, occasionally pulling out one to glance at the title page.

Lopez.

Kang.

Hosen.

Hagan
.

“Find anything interesting?”

Lizzie shrieked and jumped at least a foot into the air. Her arms caged the book protectively against her chest.

“You really do get lost in books, don’t you?” Alistair reached out as if to touch her cheek. Lizzie flinched, and he dropped his hand, but not before she saw a flash of irritation in his eyes.

Her heart paused, terrified this was
the
moment. The one where she pushed him too far and he decided he was tired of her pushing him away.

She knew things couldn’t go on like this infinitely. Eventually, he would expect her to let him touch her, and if she didn’t get to that point voluntarily…

No. She wouldn’t think about that. Not yet. Not when he’d already reconstructed his mask of patient flirtation.

Lizzie forced herself to release the death grip she had on the book and let if fall idly to her side.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up,” she said, sliding the book back into its spot. “I’ve been looking for the real books. So far, all I’ve found is a bunch of ancient accounting journals.” Which was more or less true.

She made a mental note of the book’s location before stepping across the room. When Alistair lingered, she grabbed his hand in her gloved one and pulled him along.

“Come on,” she said. “There has to be some classic smut hiding on these shelves somewhere. What respectable Englishman doesn’t own a copy of
Fanny Hill
?”

Physical contact and mentioning an erotic novel did the trick. Alistair was much more interested in her than the books on the shelf, which for once was a good thing. If he’d been paying even the slightest bit of attention, he would have quickly noticed how every title had something to do with wolves, coyotes, or werewolves. When Lizzie discovered a collection of fairytales and declared she was going to find something for Caroline to read, Alistair decided it was time to reacquaint himself with his father’s Scotch. Lizzie waited until his attention was completely consumed by the task at hand before darting across the room and slipping the Hagan Family Record back into her stack.

Layne knew something was up. It wasn’t just the way Lizzie had laid her books down on the floor instead of up on the table and then angled her body in front of them as if they were a prize worth protecting. It was more in the way she was giggling at everything Alistair said and touching his arm over and over and
over
again. Lizzie didn’t flirt. She found the whole process tedious. So if she was playing the part of a tease, there had to be a reason, and since the liquor cabinet smell was confined to Lord Preppy Pants, it wasn’t because she was drunk.

“Thanks for showing me your library,” she said, making it sound as if he’d shown her something else entirely. Layne’s fingernails bit into his palm. “You’ll take me back again soon, right?”

As if the guy was going to say no with her looking up at him through her eyelashes like that. Alistair was a spoilt psycho with no heart, but he wasn’t an idiot. Still, it took another five minutes of polite dismissals laced with sexual innuendos before the loser got a clue and left. Lizzie waited for the doors to unlock themselves once again before she turned to face him.

“Where is Caroline?” she asked, gathering the books off the floor and dividing them into piles on the table.

“Outside,” Pari said from her post at the window. “She’s picking flowers and teaching Midge how to skip.”

Emotion made Pari’s voice thick. Lizzie looked to him for an explanation, but he could only shrug. It had taken days of coaxing and threatening to get the kid the fresh air she needed. When Midge came in and announced she would be taking Caroline outside for one hour a day, three days a week, starting now, Caroline had jumped up and down, squealing at ear-damaging pitches while silent tears ran down her mother’s face. Layne had been fighting to keep his emotions in check ever since.

“Okay, that’s good. That’s good,” Lizzie muttered, starting to pace. “Not that she would understand, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? I mean, she’s a kid. Who knows what she might decide to repeat? And then they would figure everything out, and that would be bad. So this is good.”

Layne stepped into her path, forcing her to abandon her attempt at digging an escape route with her feet.

“I know you think you’re making sense, but you’re not.”

Lizzie walked over to the window and thrust a stack of books at Pari. “Here,” she said. “Flip through these. Keep your eyes down and expression neutral. Remember, we’re being watched.”

Pari took the books, giving Lizzie a curious look before doing as she had been asked.

Lizzie grabbed another book as she walked past the table. It looked old and important. The exact sort of book you would expect to find in the library of an old English mansion. She caressed it lovingly before coming to stop in front of him.

“Make it believable,” she said. “Don’t take it immediately. Pretend I’m talking you into it.”

He thought about mentioning that no matter what he did, they were going to know something was up by her jerky, frantic movements, but he bit his tongue. Now wasn’t the time to start yet another one of their epic arguments, especially since the only argument he wanted to have was a continuation of the one they had been having when Alistair so rudely interrupted. He wanted - no,
needed
- to know why she was upset about the few minutes of oblivion he’d found with a Lizzie stand-in back in June.

“How about I act like you’re starting to freak me out a little?” He asked since she really was. Lizzie didn’t get uptight and fidgety. It was almost as foreign to her as flirting.

With a deep breath, she held out the book. Layne crossed his arms over his chest. She pushed it towards him again, and this time he reached for it.

He hoped to God it was the kind of scene she was wanting because there was no way he was going to take another stab at it. Acting was nowhere near his wheelhouse.

There was a hesitation, a moment of holding on too long, as Lizzie handed over the book. For some reason, her reluctance made Layne nervous. What the hell was in this book? He threw open the cover and stared blankly at the first page where someone had scrawled “Hagan Line” in black ink.

“What is this?”

Lizzie’s eyes were feverish with excitement.

“I know where we are,” she said.

There was a loud whack as the books Pari was holding hit the floor.

“Where…? How…?” Pari fumbled for the fallen books, but all of her focus was on Lizzie.

“Cameras,” the Seer reminded her with a smile plastered on her lips.

Willing himself not to look at any of the electronic eyes scattered throughout the room, Layne folded himself into a chair and began flipping through the pages of his book, only taking in bits of information here and there.

“The book Layne has is a detailed record of the Hagan Line of Shifters,” Lizzie said, pretending to look through the refrigerator. “The library was full of them. One for every Shifter family in the world, if I was guessing.”

“Like an Archive?” He only had a passing knowledge of the giant Shifter libraries scattered across the world. Most of his knowledge came from the mini-lectures he got from Liam’s great-aunt who ran the one in the United States. Basically, Bibliothecaries, the Archives’ librarians, divided their time between documenting the whole of Shifter & Seer history and collecting every book ever written pertaining to the supernatural.

“Exactly like an Archive,” Lizzie said, pulling out a carton of ice cream and grabbing a spoon off the counter. “More specifically, the English Archive, which ceased to house a Bibliothecary either during or after World War II.”

Pari turned away from the window. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Lizzie settled into a chair at the rickety kitchen table and pretended to be engrossed in her ice cream. “The Archives are repositories of Shifter and Seer knowledge. Each one is ran by a Seer, typically one who was at some point in line to become the next Alpha Female. Her job is to gather information about the packs in her area and record their histories. There is one on every continent, but for a long time there were two in Europe. The one near the old Alpha Den in Romania, and this one near Bath.”

“Bath,” Pari said as if testing out the word. Her eyes flicked back to the window. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely,” Lizzie nodded. “Story has it, a Seer came to London sometime in the 1800s looking for a new place to set up an Archive. It was after Napoleon was defeated, and England was the center of the world. The Alphas thought having a presence here was important for their image, so they sent one of their brightest Seers to accomplish the task. I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but some sort of scandal occurred. Knowing England in the 1800s, someone probably showed an ankle or held hands, but whatever it was, a noble family found themselves at the mercy of the Alpha Pack. A deal was struck, and the family agreed to house and fund an Archive for one hundred years. As far as I know, everything was going swimmingly until one day in 1940-something when the British Bibliothecary died. When the Alpha Pack sent someone to replace her, the family informed the poor girl that their service to the Alphas was over and shut the door in her face.”

“And we just let them keep the books with all of our top-secret Shifter knowledge?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but there is no denying that book you’re holding is an account of the entire Hagan Pack, complete with notations about Pack Leaders. It’s just like the ones Aunt Rachel showed me when we visited the Archives in Minnesota. And that room was filled with them, Layne. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands.”

Layne fanned the pages until he found the last page with writing. It only bore a single name: Samuel Hagan. His great-grandfather.

“This is how they know who we are and where to find us,” he said, still not quite believing it. “They have the name of every pack in the world.”

“And location,” Lizzie added. “I didn’t find one, but Aunt Rachel has a Shifter atlas. I would think they’re standard issue for every Archive.”

For years the Alpha Pack had been trying to figure out how the SHP knew not only about the existence of Shifters and Seers, but how to find them. Turns out, the bad guys had the equivalent of Shifter GPS.

“One day, I’m going to invent a time machine, and the first thing I’m going to do is go back in time and punch whoever left this shit laying around here in the throat.”

“It was a bit careless,” Lizzie agreed, “but who would have thought that a bunch of humans would use that information to try to hunt us down and kill us?”

Pari let out a huff of breath and leaned against the window frame. “Aye. Who would have thought that an aristocratic family forced to play servants to a bunch of supernaturals for a century would eventually try to put said supernaturals in their place? Bit mental, isn’t it?”

“If that’s the case, why did they wait almost seventy years to do it? Wouldn’t they have come out, guns blazing, back in the forties when they knew exactly where we all were? Most packs stay put for a good long while, but not all of them. And almost every person in those books are dead now. Figuring out who the current pack members are and where they could be found had to take forever,” Lizzie said, giving up the pretense they weren’t talking about something important. She sat on the edge of her chair, punctuating her points with wildly flapping hands.

“What I don’t get,” Layne said, his thoughts venturing down a completely different path, “is if Alistair knew about us because he has a library full of top-secret Shifter books—“

“Alistair’s father,” Lizzie interrupted. “Alistair has no idea what he’s got in that room.”

“Well, then, let’s thank God for small miracles.” Heaven only knew what that idiot would do if he had any idea of the wealth of information he had at his fingertips. “But if
Alistair’s father
knew all about us because of his Room of Forbidden Knowledge, it begs the question, how did he know about
you
?” The last he directed at Pari. He knew there was nothing on Thaumaturgics or Immortals in that room since the majority of Shifters and Seers believed them to be nothing more than the stuff of bedtime stories until a few years ago.

Pari didn’t turn to face them. Instead, her focus stayed on the yard beyond the window. It was then Layne realized she hadn’t been doing it to honor Lizzie’s request to seem nonchalant. She literally couldn’t pull her gaze away from her daughter. Layne wondered what it was like to care for something that much.

No, that was wrong. If Lizzie was out there, he would be doing the same thing. Watching. Cataloging every movement. Praying she stayed safe. Vowing to cause triple the pain to anyone who might hurt her.

He knew exactly what it was like to care that much. What he didn’t know was what it was like for someone to care that much for him.

“Robert, Alistair’s father, found me just after Caroline was born,” Pari said, a single finger tracing down the window pane. “Carol, the woman who raised me, had passed on her water talent just a year before. She had cancer in her pancreas, and we knew it was only a matter of time. When she asked me to bring a locked wooden box to her hospital room, I thought she was going to be giving me a will or her bank papers. Instead, it was a ceremonial knife. A few muttered words and a slicing of palms later, I was the one who could do water tricks.” She held her hand out, palm up, and tiny droplets of water rained onto it. “She died the next morning.” The small rainfall went from a drizzle to a sprinkle. When Pari cleared her throat and sniffled, Layne realized where the liquid was coming from.

“After Carol was gone, I was a mess. I practically lived in the pubs. I just couldn’t stand looking at the wallpaper and curtains of the house I grew up in anymore, you know? So I partied. I don’t know what would have become of me if I hadn’t found out I was pregnant. Nothing good, that’s for certain. But the moment the doctor told me I was going to be a mum, I quit. Problem was, I had pissed away every bit of Carol’s savings. I was able to work as a waitress for a while, but then the pregnancy got complicated, and I started missing work, and the next thing I knew, I was jobless and on the verge of becoming homeless.

“It got worse after Caroline was born. I couldn’t afford childcare, but I couldn’t afford not to work either. That’s when I got the bright idea to use the one thing I had that no one else did to earn some coin.”

“Your ability to manipulate water,” Lizzie guessed.

Pari nodded. “I took a train into Edinburgh six days a week and worked as a street performer. I did all sorts of little tricks with a single glass of water, and tourists ate it up. I wasn’t getting rich, but I was getting by. And the best part was, I could do it all with Caroline strapped to me. Some people got annoyed when I would have to take a break to feed her, but mostly it just got me bigger tips.

“I thought I was being so smart. They were just simple little tricks, most of which any good illusionist could do. At first, I didn’t really notice the older gentleman who was coming around. I drew in big crowds, and eventually every face started looking the same anyway. But then he started asking questions. He made me nervous, but not nervous enough to give up my only source of income.”

She shook her head at decisions she could no longer unmake. “It was a perfect July night when I was grabbed. Because the sun stays out so late in the summer, I performed until nearly ten at night. One moment I was walking along North Bridge, back towards the train station, and the next I was waking up in this room to the screams of my daughter.”