Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (5 page)

“And?”
Lizzie was looking expectantly at him.

He just smiled. “I told you
I couldn’t read it. That’s what I need you for.”

She looked disappointed.
“It just showed up one day. In my mailbox.”

John waited.

“I can see there’s writing, but I can’t make it out.” Lizzie looked around and saw no one was near. Then she leaned a little over the table, closer to John. She waited impatiently for him to do the same. He smiled a little, but complied. When she continued, her voice was pitched low. “That’s why I decided magic was involved. If the pages had just been blank…well, there’d be no mystery other than who sent me a blank journal. So—how am I supposed to read it when I very clearly can’t
read
it?”

John’s slight smile turned to a broad grin. “You know, you’d make a terrible spy.”

“What?” She looked around furtively again. “There’s not anyone close enough to hear. What’s the problem?” She wrinkled her nose up. “You’re completely laughing
at me
—not with me—aren’t you?”

He laughed out loud. “Yes, I completely am.”

“Okay. I’ll try to be a little more subtle. But you can stop laughing now.” Lizzie was starting to laugh a little herself. Thankfully, otherwise John would be worried he’d pissed her off again.

This meeting was going much better than the last. When he stopped to consider why, he realized it was him. He was relaxed, comfortable. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had been a bit of an ass the previous day. He’d focused too much on the book and not enough on Lizzie.

“Here’s a helpful hint. Magic exists in books, plays, movies, games. It permeates society. Someone overhears little bits and scraps, it’s likely they’ll think we’re discussing a movie. Some discretion is required, but no stealthy spy skills needed…skills which you clearly do not possess. Not a criticism—just a fact.” He held up his hands in surrender, but there was still a tiny hint of laughter in his voice. She was so damn cute, he couldn’t help laughing.

“Yeah…
Got it.”

“To answer your question, I’m not sure how you’re supposed to read it. A lot of magic is instinctual, but some is learned.
I don’t know which applies for reading magical texts. I
do
know that it’s a good sign that you’re seeing something. I don’t see anything but a blank page.”

Lizzie’s expression perked up and took on a look of keen interest. “Are you saying that you have magic?”

“Yes,” John said. She looked like she wanted to ask more, but this was a topic he wasn’t addressing in a public place. He headed her off before she could get her teeth into the topic of his magic. “But not the kind that helps with reading books. That’s a unique skill. What other questions do you have about the book? I don’t know much, but I’ll try to answer.”

Lizzie must have gotten the hint, because she turned her interest away from John’s magic and back to the book.

“What do you know about the type of magic or people who can read magic books?” she asked.

“
My family calls them Record Keepers. The magic I’m familiar with is inherited. I suspect Record Keepers are the same.” He was guessing, but it was the best he could do.

“And you think I’m one of
them—a Record Keeper? Because I seriously doubt anyone in my family has magic. They’re not exactly good at keeping secrets.” Lizzie looked lost in thought. Then she piped up. “Really. I don’t think so. My family is so totally not magical.”

“
Maybe, like you, they don’t know about it, but it’s there. Or it skipped a generation.” John wondered about Lizzie’s family. He mentally shook his head at his foolishness. This wasn’t a date. Her family really wasn’t relevant, other than verifying that none were Record Keepers. Since they lived in Texas, that had been easily accomplished. 

“What exactly is in the book? What’s so secret your family felt they had to hide it in a magic book?  I’ve tried for two years to read it, with no success.” She paused and blushed slightly. “Admittedly, my efforts have been on-again, off-again, but still.”

“I’m not sure. Anything I tell you would be
a guess. But I’m very interested to find out,” John said.

“It sounds like you’re a part of this super-secret society.
” Lizzie blinked a few times when John responded to this statement with a laugh. “What?”

“You make me sound like a conspiracy nut. It’s just funny. Sorry. Go ahead.” John was having way too much fun.

He needed to bring this meeting to a close soon. He thought she was more comfortable with him, and that had been his ultimate goal. He had to tell her about Lycan, and that was best accomplished when she wasn’t drenched with the smell of fear. Unlike their last meeting, he hadn’t caught even a whiff of fear from her today. Actually, that might explain his excellent mood. Lizzie smelled like lust and want. He hadn’t actively noticed until now, but he was pretty sure his wolf had been aware on some level.

“Um. You are. A conspiracy nut, I mean. Just because the conspiracy is real, doesn’t make you any less of a nut.” Lizzie blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.

Awesome.
She thought he was a nut. The reveal conversation should go really well.

“
Can’t you just ask someone else how the book works? It’s a family book—so maybe a distant cousin, an elderly aunt?” She waited. Still blinking those great big blue eyes at him. 

Unfortunately,
her question hit close to the heart of some Lycan cultural taboos. Taboos that he thought more and more about breaking, as time marched on and left the Texas Pack stuck in the past. So—no, he couldn’t just ask another pack.

In this respect,
Lycan were much more like wolves than people. They had a strong sense of “us” and “them.” Wolves belonging to another pack were most certainly “them.” Information sharing was difficult at the best of times, and with another pack... He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

When he looked back up, he just said, “Not an option.”

Lizzie response was puzzled. “Okay…”

John
leaned forward in his chair, dipped his head down a little to catch her gaze, and said, “I have to run, but we have a lot to talk about. Can I call you?”

After holding his gaze for a moment, s
he blushed faintly and nodded.

Mission accomplished. Lizzie Smith was officially fear-free. Now, how to break the news that her newfound magical friend turned furry…

Lizzie wasn’t sure why, but every time John mentioned his family she got a weird Mafia vibe, rather than a warm and fuzzy pic of him sitting at the table with Grandma. She shook her head. She was being silly. Speaking of silly—here she was, driving home, thinking about her meeting with John like it had been a date. It was an appointment, not a date. Not much different from meeting with a client.

But there
had
been a marked difference in his attitude. He’d been friendly, helpful. And when he said he wanted to meet again, she’d been excited. Not worried at all. He was nothing like the abrasive, overly assertive jerk who’d shoved his foot into her doorway and threatened her when she’d mentioned calling the police. Either there was a nice person lurking under John’s scrumptious exterior, or he was trying really hard to make a positive impression. She thought about that for a minute. Probably both. And contrary to the impression she gave some people, she knew she was quite good at reading people.

As she lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep, she remembered that she’d left the bo
ok out on her kitchen table. Speaking with John had rekindled her enthusiasm, and she’d stayed up late trying, once again, to crack the book. As she got up, the dogs didn’t even move. Sacked out next to the bed, Lizzie looked at them and wondered what mischief they got into every day, to be so tired and sleep so deeply every night.

She made her way quietly into the kitchen, and without flipping any lights on, gathered up the book. She’d have left it until morning, but
she felt a little guilty about the book’s outing earlier. She felt like she’d been a little careless, taking it with her to the café. The least she could do was make sure her puny desk drawer lock protected the book.

On the way to her converted study, she passed by the large windows in her living room. She kept the curtains open because it entertained the dogs to watch the squirrels and liz
ards. Kind of like nature TV for dogs. It also happened to be a full-ish moon out. So when a large dog-like creature passed by the window, the movement caught her eye.
What the flip?

She stopped in her tracks. Something, some internal voice,
told her to be very still. She knew it wasn’t Spencer. This time, the creature was in her front yard, not the half-wild land behind her house. And seeing him this close, his size was more apparent. Easily half again as big as Spencer. Likely more. Too big to be a wolf, more the size of a giant malamute, but taller and rangier. Maybe a hybrid? Mr. Cook had said wolf-hybrid.

She watched him as he systematically crossed her lawn,
zigzagging back and forth. Then he moved along the edge where grass and concrete met. It was bizarre. It looked like he was searching for something. As she continued to stand unmoving in her living room, he ran his nose along the bottom edge of her garage door. She lost sight of him for a moment. When he came back into view, she was riveted to the same spot.

She was no expert, but what he did next looked more
like a drug-dog than stray wolf-dog. Watching him, she almost dropped the book she was carrying. He approached her car and circled it systematically. His nose never left the car. He paid especially close attention to the hood, and the driver and passenger doors. At one point, he placed his paws very carefully on her car, only the pads of his feet touching it, and continued to sniff. Focusing on the seams and crevices.
What the hell?

With the moon out and shining
brightly, she was clearly visible through the large picture windows. She must have moved. Something drew his eye, because his tightly focused attention moved from the car to her. His ears were set forward, a look of intent interest on his wolfy face. As she stood in the living room, looking at what must surely be a giant wolf, a burble of hysterical laughter started deep in her chest. It was all she could do to hold it in. She wasn’t sure when she had started, but she was hugging the book tightly to her chest. She felt the edges pressing against her skin. And still the wolf looked at her, his gaze unblinking but his expression more curious, than hard.

As
he continued to simply stand and stare without moving, her brain slowly began to function again. That’s when her mind made a strange leap.
Bright moon. Wolf. Full moon. Giant wolf. No way.
She was holding a magic book in her arms. Why
not
werewolves? She looked up at the big, very full moon. Then back at the wolf…who was gone.

              John caught just a hint of…something. He wasn’t sure exactly what. Not Lycan, but also not quite human. It had intrigued him enough to delay him past the point of discretion. He’d spent too much time out in the open in front of her house. With an almost full moon, there had been enough light for her to catch him investigating her car. John had been reluctant to leave the car without a more thorough investigation, since he suspected it was the source of the odd smell. Maybe. There hadn’t been much, just a trace.

             
It was the worst point in his search for her to see him. She could hardly think his intent interest in her car was normal behavior for a stray. Then he’d seen her expressive face show surprise and turn up to the nearly full moon.
Really? A bloated moon, a moment of distracting scent, and he was outed?
The especially ridiculous part was that her conclusion was right, but the basis couldn’t be more flawed. Where the myth arose, that werewolves were affected or even controlled by the moon, he didn’t know. But the fat, cheery moon, shining brightly down on him as he slipped away, seemed to be mocking him.

Waking up early
, after a night of hunting for signs of other Lycan, wasn’t likely to put John in the best of moods. Then he remembered he’d been outed, or at least his wolf had, and his mood turned downright unpleasant. She needed to hear about Lycan so that he could introduce her to the pack. Hell, so he could convince her that she
wanted
to be introduced to the pack. And now she probably had a pretty good suspicion that there was a werewolf cruising her neighborhood. He wasn’t sure if that made his task easier, or more difficult.

Apparently, both, he discovered when he showed up at Lizzie’s house that morning.

Lizzie started at the knock on her front door. She’d slept poorly, intermittently interrupted by dreams of a large, dark wolf chasing her down her street. It wasn’t a nightmare, but it hadn’t been a warm fuzzy dream, either.
Stupid magic drama.
This girl liked her sleep. She could be flippant, because really—werewolves? What were the chances? She hadn’t figured out what happened the night before, but she was definitely working through alternative possibilities.
Possibility,
being the key word. Werewolves were clearly an impossibility.