Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (23 page)

He was a good sounding board, she had to admit. So even if she wasn’t in the mood to improve her technique, she should take the opportunity.

“Okay. Focus on that part. How did you mask your scent?”

The aroma of cooking bacon filled the kitchen.

“Those almost done? I’m starving over here,” Lizzie groused. Her appetite seemed to be back. Bacon smell will do that.

“You cannot rush the creation of a cooked slice of perfection.”

Lizzie couldn’t help it—she rolled her eyes.

“Scent masking, how. If I speak in sentences with fewer words, do I make myself clearer?” Logan asked. “And stop rolling your eyes at me.”

She sighed. “Someone explained that scent moves like smoke. So I pictured billowing smoke wrapped around me. Permeable enough to breathe, since that’s always a concern.”

“You need to separate air from scent,” Logan concluded.

She made a frustrated noise. “You think I don’t know that?
How
do I separate them? Scent, air, it’s all the same thing—it’s all mixed together.”

“First, scent and air are not the same thing. Second, it doesn’t matter. We’re talking about magic, Lizzie.” When she started to speak, he held up his hand. “I know—there are rules and limits to magic. Of course, I understand that. But you’re creating limitations that don’t exist.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.” She was losing her patience, and that wasn’t fair. Logan was trying to help her. In a grumpy, Logan kind of way, but he was trying.

He shoved some perfectly crisped bacon and an egg in front of her. “What color is air?”

Rather than scream in frustration that air wasn’t any color, she picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite. The salty, fatty goodness exploded in her mouth. Hmm. Maybe she was just a little bit cranky because she was hungry.

Five minutes later, she was looking at an empty plate. Yep. She was in a much better mood now. “Sorry, Logan. Thank you for cooking breakfast. I feel one hundred percent better now. But I still don’t get the whole what-color-is-air question. Air has no color. Well, unless we’re talking smog or fog or something.”

“But imagine it does. Part of how your magic works is to envision the end result, right?”

Lizzie nodded.

“So imagine air is—

“Blue,” she supplied. “A bright, sky blue.”

Logan smiled. “Okay, blue. And scent.”

“That’s easy—red.”

“Close your eyes,” he directed her. “Now mix them together, you get purple. Separate them, you get red and blue.”

Eyes closed, she corrected him, “Bright blue.”

He laughed. “Right. Bright blue. Try pushing them together and pulling them apart several times.”

She nodded, eyes still closed. “Okay, easy enough.”

“Fix in your mind that air is blue. And blue is breathable air.”

Lizzie cracked one eye open. “You know that sounds loony.”

He waited.

She sighed, closed both eyes, and mumbled, “Air is blue. Blue is breathable air.”

“Are you breathing blue?”

Her eyes popped open. “What?”

“Eyes closed. Breathe blue. Sorry—breathe bright blue.” He looked to see that she was following his instructions.

She closed her eyes and breathed in bright blue. Okay—big deal.

“Mix your blue air and red scent together,” he instructed.

She nodded.

“Now breathe in the blue.”

This time when her eyes opened, she was grinning from ear to ear. “You clever man.” Without even thinking about it, she’d pulled the blue—breathable air—and left the scent behind.

He shrugged. “You’ve still got the issue that smoke is permeable, but I think you can solidify that scent-air mixture and create a barrier that is only permeable to air.”

“I think I can, too.” She couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. “That was really cool.”

“You still need to spend some time working out the details. Practice is important.”

Lizzie wiped the grin off her face and said quite seriously, “Absolutely. I will definitely practice.”

“John’s here.”

A minute or so later, John joined them in the kitchen, and he didn’t look happy. After he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, he sat down at the kitchen table. “We’re going to Vegas.”

“What happened at the meeting?” Lizzie poured him a coffee and set it down in front of him.

She watched as he played with the cup before he took a drink. He was nervous. Or upset.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter. We have two leads right now: Vicky’s phone and e-mail accounts and the death itself. The few other leads we’ve had either haven’t been productive or are exhausted. So what the Council had to say doesn’t change the fact that our best shot at ending these attacks is in Vegas.”

Worry shining in her eyes, Lizzie said, “Then we’ll go to Vegas. I’ll book us a flight immediately.”

Logan looked concerned. “Are you sure that’s the best choice—leaving Pack territory now?”

John shook his head. “It’s decided. But I get it. Trust me, I get it.” Turning to Lizzie, he added, “I’ve already talked to Ben and Max. They’ll follow us tomorrow. Max is meeting with his hacker contact. She wouldn’t meet anyone else. And Ben needs to get some sleep.”

“And Scott?” she asked.

“Scott can’t leave work right now, and, besides, we want him at the office.”

“Got it. I’ll get tickets.”

Chapter 29

“O
h no,” Lizzie said, looking down at her left hand. She always wore Matylda’s ring, and she just realized she couldn’t remember when she’d last had it on.

Gently she shook John’s arm. “John,” she whispered, “I think I might have lost Matylda’s ring.”

“Hmm—no, it’s on the bathroom counter at the house.” He tipped his head back again to sleep.

She knew he hated flying. That he got horribly air sick, and descents could be especially difficult. So Lizzie left him to it, hoping he’d sleep through most of the descent.

But no such luck.

“Holy crap. John.” Lizzie shook John’s arm, much harder this time.

Slightly green, but breathing evenly, he asked, “What now?”

“We just crossed a massive sensing ward. I mean, huge. Like cover-the-whole-city huge. How is that even possible?”

He frowned. “That’s highly improbable. The amount of power it would take to cast such a ward, let alone to constantly renew it—that would cause a caster to burn out.” He kept his voice low, but the plane was nearly empty. They’d taken the first available flight, which happened to be a red-eye.

She was nodding emphatically. “I know. That’s my point—it’s impossible. Issue number one—I’ve just encountered evidence of the impossible.” She gripped his arm tighter. “The other issue is that we’ve just been identified.”

His lips pressed together grimly. He was definitely completely awake now. “What do they know?”

“I’d guess at least that a Lycan and spell caster crossed the ward. I don’t actually know how specific sensing wards can get. I’ll add that to my infinite list of questions for Harrington. Along with—what the hell is this massive ward attached to? How is it so big?”

It took Lizzie a second to wade through her own confusion and frustration to see that John was seriously pissed.

“Okay—what did I miss?” she asked him.

“Vicky. Whoever set this ward knew when she arrived.”

“Ohmygosh. You’re thinking she wasn’t followed, that she came to her killer,” she whispered in a rush.

“It’s a thought. This is one hell of an early warning system. Whoever managed it is a serious player.”

Lizzie considered for a minute. “It doesn’t feel like Worth. He’s always been low profile and very confident, overconfident. This is out there for any spell caster to sense—it hit me in the head without even looking for it. That’s unusual.”

“And a city-wide ward is hardly overconfident. It’s exactly the opposite—cautious.”

“Our woman spell caster?” she guessed.

“Maybe.” He rolled his neck and then gave her a small smile. “Well, at least you’ve distracted me long enough for us to land. I’m feeling much better.”

As she started gathering her things in anticipation of exiting the plane, John murmured quietly in her ear, “Wait a minute. We’ll wait and go last.”

“Ah.” Since she and John were traveling without his enforcers and someone—the same someone who was a suspect in the Texas Pack attacks and Vicky’s murder—had an idea they had arrived, John would want to be extra cautious. “I can cast a sensing ward for any magic-users.”

“Cast right before we exit,” he said tersely.

They waited until the last passenger was heading down the aisle, then followed behind. John was alert, and Lizzie managed her sensing ward, but neither had a hit. From the rental car desk, all the way to hotel, neither experienced anything that indicated a magic-user was near or they were being followed.

Once they were settled into their room, Lizzie asked, “Are you as completely creeped out by the lack of any interest in us as I am?”

“I find it odd. I wouldn’t say creeped out.”

Lizzie scowled at him. “Make fun if you want. It’s weird.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s weird.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, then sat down on the bed. “I still haven’t heard from Harrington.”

“Call him. It’s been less than a week, but he may have something.”

Harrington picked up immediately. “Braxton.”

“Harrington, I’ve got you on speaker, just Lizzie and me.”

“I’ve been meaning to call. We had an emergency and I’ve been working on cleanup. Give me a second.” The sound of shuffling papers followed. “Here. Four lieutenants that we know of, two of whom operate in the U.S. A spell caster and—this is interesting—the second is human. Fully human, by all appearances.

“Man, goes by the name Sylvester and any number of last names.” Harrington shuffled a few papers. “Hang on. It looks like they started the summary. Let me see if I can pull up the file.” A few keyboard sounds followed. “Sylvester was spotted in Manila three weeks ago. That’s the most recent information we have on him.”

“He’s the human?” John asked.

“That’s right. Your spell caster is a woman, Marguerite Brasseaux. Surprising. Worth is known to have a poor opinion of women. No sightings, rumored to be in the U.S.”

John and Lizzie shared a look. She mouthed a questioning “maybe.”

“Do you have anything else on her?” John asked.

“A generic physical description. Medium height and build. Blonde, but hair color is easy enough to alter. In her twenties. We really don’t have much. The other three lieutenants are likely to be bigger players given Worth’s general disdain for women. Do you suspect she’s involved?”

“We have some evidence that a woman is behind the attacks on the Pack and involved in a possibly related murder of a Lycan. But we have nothing that ties this Brasseaux woman to the crimes.”

“At this point, it’s hard to imagine Worth’s not involved, although I’m sure you have other enemies.” Harrington cleared his throat. “Apologies—I don’t mean to make light.” His voice was gruff. “Sylvester and Marguerite, or Margot as she’s known, are the only leads so far. My people focused on Worth’s crew first. They’re looking further afield now though, and I should have additional information for you in a few days.”

“Excellent. Lizzie and I are in Las Vegas now, following up on a lead, but—”

“Vegas?” Harrington cut John off abruptly. “How do you find it?”

Lizzie said, “Oddly depressing, for all the lights and shows and fun.”

“Yes, it would be. Vegas is a dead zone. Although I don’t suppose you were aware before you arrived.”

Lizzie saw the flash of confusion cross John’s face. Since she hadn’t a clue, either, she said, “Sorry—I’m not familiar with that term. What’s a dead zone?”

“That’s an area that—for whatever reason—fails to harbor a magical community for any lengthy period of time. Usually hundreds of years. Since no one knows why magical communities fail to thrive, there are some superstitions surrounding dead zones. They’re also creepy as hell.”

John nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “That explains why there’s no Pack in the area. It’s a known banishment location for Lycan, because no Pack has existed in the area for—well, for as long as anyone in the Texas Pack can remember.”

“What brought you to the city?” Harrington asked.

“The murdered Lycan I mentioned earlier was killed here. She was a former Pack member.” A brief expression of distaste flashed across John’s face when he spoke of Vicky as Pack.

Lizzie thought John was light on the details, but Harrington seemed to immediately grasp the finer points of the situation.

“How long?” Harrington asked.

“Less than twenty-four hours banished at the time of her death.”

A lengthy silence greeted John’s statement.

Eventually Harrington said, “You might not want to hear this now, but any time she had after leaving the Pack was a gift. You know that’s true.”

John’s head moved up and down. Lizzie didn’t even think he knew he was doing it. She hadn’t realized how hard Vicky’s death had hit him. Vicky had betrayed him. She’d betrayed the Pack. But apparently that wasn’t enough to absolve him from some sense of guilt. She sat down silently next to him and wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders. Then she rested her head in the crook of his arm.

Finally, John said, “Thanks.”

“Do you have any connections with local law enforcement?”

That caught John’s interest. “No. Do you?”

“I’m not sure. Being a dead zone, it’s obviously light on magic-users. But I’ll ask around. Give me a few hours.”

“Access to the victim’s phone might be helpful to us. Although—” He gave Lizzie a nudge.

She picked up where he left off. “We thought the killer followed her here. But then we realized—maybe not. When we flew in, we passed through a massive—I mean huge—sensing ward. It must encompass the entire city. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. Completing such a large ward seems impossible, especially without burning out the caster’s magic. Maybe collaborative magic—but, no … Are you sure?” Harrington sounded odd, a little too intent.

“I’m not sure how I could be mistaken. I wasn’t even looking for it. We were just starting our descent. Checking for wards is hardly something I’d think to do in the air. It felt big.” She couldn’t really blame him. She’d had the same skeptical response initially, and the ward had practically smacked her in the face.