Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (12 page)

Huh.
She hadn’t realized before, but the Scottish-named guards didn’t all have Scottish accents.
Weird. But irrelevant.
Focus, Lizzie.

“Ms. Smith, you’re all right?” the guard asked. He was moving to the area where the sound had originated. Lizzie noticed three very large books splayed on the floor.

Nodding, Lizzie decided it seemed like a good time for an inventory. As she was making sure all her relevant bits were in working order, including her sanity, John ran through the doorway.

After pinning her with an intent stare and then scanning the rest of the room, John turned and spoke to the guard. “Everything in order?”

Lizzie tuned them out. She was trying to figure out why she was so shaken. It looked like a few books fell off the shelf. Big deal. She was a badass, evil-dude-fighting wench. Something like a little thud shouldn’t have been problematic. She sighed. Well, at least she hadn’t blown anything up, or done any spur of the moment, halfway-accidental magic.
Bonus.

“Stop,” Lizzie shrieked, as she saw the guard kneeling next to the displaced volumes.

“Ma’am?” The guard looked puzzled but unoffended. He stood up slowly, taking a cautious step back.

“Sorry. Just, ah, maybe you shouldn’t move the books.” Lizzie made her way across the room, never taking her eyes off the splayed texts.

The guard nodded, looking amused, and said, “I wasn’t planning to.”

“What are you thinking?” John asked.

“I’m not really sure.” Lizzie was only half listening. Her eyes squeezed partially shut, as she peered at the books on the floor. “That is definitely text,” she mumbled to herself. She turned to John and the guard. “Can you see writing?”

“Ah. That’s actually not as unusual as you might think.” This surprising statement originated with the guard.

Lizzie turned to him, smiling, and said, “I’m so sorry. I seem to have forgotten your name.”

“Tavish, ma’am,” he replied.

She was still inspecting the open books. She distractedly tapped John’s leg and murmured quietly, “Cell?”

She smiled up at him when he produced his cell without question. She’d left hers in their room when she’d left in such a hurry earlier.

Tavish explained as Lizzie took several pictures of the books on the ground.

“Years ago, when books were difficult to come by, spell casters would use whatever was on hand as an anchor for their recordings. It’s common to see empty journals in use today, but actual books were once used. And scrolls—but that was some time ago.” Tavish finished and waited for her to complete her round of photographing.

Lizzie nodded her understanding. It was only recently that she’d learned the books themselves didn’t house information. The books were anchors for a spell that allowed information to be recorded. So a massive tome might hold a very small amount of information and a slim volume a great deal more. She liked to think of them much as she would an Internet site. Each site had its own limited quantity of data that you could either search or read sequentially. She had, thus far, only encountered spelled books that were clean journals, no books with printed content.

Speaking of printed content— Lizzie dropped down to the ground next to the books. As she tried to decipher the pages, the typefaces foreign and hard to read, she wondered how Tavish knew so much about spelled books. He wasn’t a spell caster. Of that she was sure. She mentally shrugged. He was a guard for a Library of magic books. Of course, he knew a little about them, she told herself. But she did make a note to revisit her concerns about the guards and all of their peculiarities with Harrington, in the next few days.

John, silent through her prolonged investigation of the books, was finally showing signs of impatience. “You’ve got several pictures. And I know you’re tired. Can we tackle this tomorrow? We know the room is secure.” John looked to Tavish for confirmation.

“Against physical and magical attack,” Tavish agreed.

“I hate to point out the obvious, but if the room is secure—who or what knocked the books down?” Lizzie said.

“We’ll look into it in the morning. After we’ve gotten a little sleep.” John tipped his head encouragingly toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“You’re totally trying to get me out of here so you can come back and consult with security—with Tavish—aren’t you?” Lizzie’s tone was only mildly accusatory. She was starting to get that a protective streak was part and parcel of the package that was John.

“Will you leave if I agree and say I’m sorry?” John asked.

She snorted. “Sure. But only because I actually
am
tired. Exhausted, to be truthful. That red-eye flight is catching up with me. You wouldn’t have heard me scream like a little girl, otherwise.” She hoped.

Lizzie didn’t comment when John dropped her at their room and immediately left. She knew exactly why he was in such a rush. And she hadn’t needed an escort to the room—but he said it would make him feel better. She was learning that it was easier to agree with the little things.

Once she was alone, lying in bed awaiting sleep, it occurred to her—why was she convinced that something or someone had manipulated the books? Why would she think the scattered books had some hidden meaning? She didn’t consider herself even a little prescient. She closed her eyes and tried to bring herself back to that moment. Entering the Library. Sitting down at the table. Settling into a chair. Time had passed. And then—there had been someone there. She’d had a sense of someone in the room with her. Not something she’d consciously registered at the time. But, nonetheless, it was there. She was there. A faint presence. And
that
was why she was convinced the books had been knocked down.
Damn.
Now she’d never get to sleep.

Chapter 15

B
leary-eyed, Lizzie blinked down at her scrambled eggs. Jet lag, crappy sleep, whatever the reason, she was wiped and it was the beginning of a long day. She gave the coffee carafe a hard stare. Maybe today was a coffee day. She was wrapping her head around the need for a stronger, caffeinated beverage when a woman’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Would you like a cup?” Lizzie turned her bloodshot eyes to the surprising source of that question.

“Morning, Heike. Yes, I think I would.” She peered up at Heike, her pixie-cut blonde hair neat and her delicate features looking fresh and well rested. Heike, at least, looked ready to conquer the day.

She reached over and poured two cups. Handing Lizzie one of them, Heike said, “I thought you might do some damage to the pot, the way you were staring at it. That, and you look like you could use it this morning.”

Lizzie smiled wryly. “Rough night.” Lizzie cocked her head. She couldn’t remember ever having a casual, civil—normal—conversation with Heike. Was that one of the reasons she’d not trusted her? She’d never connected with her on a personal level? Even if so, it was Heike who had been abrupt to the point of rudeness during Lizzie’s earlier stay at the Library.

“I heard some noise, but Ewan told me it was nothing.” As Heike spoke, a very faint blush washed across her face and neck and then was gone almost as quickly. If Lizzie hadn’t been looking direct at her when she spoke, Lizzie would have missed it.
Interesting.

There was one obvious reason that Lizzie thought might cause a blush. “Ewan is one of the security team, isn’t he?”

Heike nodded and immediately took a sip of coffee.

Not wanting to try the strange truce that seemed to be developing, Lizzie let the question of Ewan drop. She floundered for a moment, trying to conjure another—preferably neutral—topic but coming up blank. She’d always admired people who could think on their feet. That wasn’t a trait Lizzie had ever claimed, unfortunately.

Work was just making its way to the surface of her brain as a relatively safe topic when Heike spoke. “Ewan and I recently started dating.”

She didn’t seem particularly excited to share the news. Downright reluctant, in fact. Why bother then?

Heike cleared her throat. “I’m not good at small talk.”
You think?
“But I’m trying to practice. Ewan says it gets better with practice.” Heike seemed uncomfortable with her revelation but quite determined.

Damn.
Now Lizzie felt guilty for her snarky thoughts. And a little angry. She should be able to snark and judge without guilt. Heike owed her that. But it was apparently not meant to be, because guilty was exactly how Lizzie felt.

Striving for a light tone, Lizzie replied, “True. It does take some practicing. I’m hardly an expert, but I’m sure we can manage a little morning conversation about our plans and progress in the Library.”

“Work counts?” Heike looked relieved.

“Um, sure. Why not?” Lizzie needed to get up to date on the project. She just would have preferred the person updating her to be anyone other than Heike.

By the time John came by the breakfast room, she and Heike had managed a halfway civil and relatively unstrained conversation. Shockingly.

“When do you start for the day?” John asked after eying her empty plate.

“As soon as I can get to the Library.” Obviously, something was up.

“I’ll walk you,” he said and pulled her chair out.

When they stepped into the Library, John asked her, “Is there any reason you didn’t think the books had been carelessly placed on the shelf? That they’d fallen on their own?” When Lizzie didn’t immediately reply, he said, “Tavish and I made the same assumption that someone or something had pushed them.”

“Funny you should mention that.” She hadn’t really planned to discuss the presence she thought she’d sensed. Surely, if it was real, she would have noticed it at the time? It was only afterwards in the middle of the night, alone in her room, that she’d thought someone else had been in the Library.

What the hell. “Late last night, I kinda had the same thought. Weird that I was so startled. Weird that I immediately assumed something was wrong when they fell. And weirder yet that I was so sure the position or content of the books meant something. So, I tried to replay exactly what had happened.”

She paused. Really, it was a crazy thought, right?

“And?” John prompted.

Lizzie wrinkled her nose a bit.
What the hell—why not?
“I felt like someone else was in the room.”

“Why didn’t you tell us last night?” John asked.

“I was already in bed,” she said, a little defensively. “And, um, I
didn’t actually believe she was really there. All the more reason for me to expect someone else to believe she was just a figment of my imagination.”

Lizzie peered at John, looking for some reaction. “You don’t seem particularly surprised.” Her tone was light but laced lightly with suspicion. She knew something was up.

“Hmm,” he responded noncommittally. Then he said, “She? Are you sure?”

Lizzie frowned thoughtfully. She hadn’t actively realized that the presence she sensed was female, but in articulating the events for John—well, apparently she was a woman. “Of course, I’m not sure. Once the sun was up, I thought I’d imagined the whole thing.”

“Unlikely. Tavish had a few thoughts that he discussed with me last night.” He held his hand up defensively when Lizzie inhaled a quick, huffy breath. “Hang on. Nothing that couldn’t wait until this morning. And I knew how tired you were. Better at least one of us get some sleep.”

Lizzie snorted. “And that’s part of our problem. I didn’t sleep well at all. I kept wondering—why would I realize there was a presence only afterwards, as I replayed the events? Why not immediately? Because I sensed her with my magic? And I don’t always understand how my magic works—we can all agree on that. Or because she wasn’t really there? Because I was editing the events in my memory after the fact?”

Now she was on a roll. Her voice wasn’t escalating in volume, but the intensity was increasing as she spoke. “If you had any useful information and had thought to share it, it might have given me a little peace of mind. But you assume that you can make decisions for me. And that you know what’s best. And that you can protect me.” Her voice had finally risen slightly near the end.

Crap.
Her pulse was beating a rapid tattoo, her breath coming a little faster. When did she get so pissed off? She gulped, trying to catch her breath. When had that happened? She knew everything she said had been lurking in the background of their relationship. Of course, she knew. And she knew she was upset, but she hadn’t realized how deeply those feelings ran until now. She blinked, trying to clear the blur from the angry tears that were gathering. Apparently, this was the last straw, and she was the camel.

John’s eyes burned. “Did it ever occur to you that it kills me I wasn’t able to keep you safe? Did you even think for a second what that feels like? To be helpless in the face of mortal danger, not only to myself but also to my mate? I didn’t ask for the feelings I have for you. They just are. And I can’t change the need to protect what’s mine. That’s who I am. An essential part of what makes me who I am. What do you want from me?”

He was pissed. Violently pissed, if the throbbing pulse at his throat and clenched jaw were any indication. She’d poked at something raw—his inability to protect her. But Lizzie wasn’t sure she cared. She thought there was likely a compromise, a middle ground where they both could be who and what they needed to be. But she was in no state to consider where that place was. If he was this implacable…. If he continued to view her possessively, like a piece of steak he had to hunker over and protect from the world…. If he had no desire to compromise….

How had this conversation devolved so quickly? She wanted to scream. Or to cry. This situation was so frustrating. He was so frustrating.

She took a slow, almost even, breath. “I’d like to know what you and Tavish discussed—” Another breath. “—but not now. Maybe later.” And with that last statement, she got up—slightly light-headed as she rose to her feet—and walked out the Library door.

Thoughts racing, she headed for the garden. She needed a quiet moment. A few minutes of silence, green plants, blooming flowers—surely that would help? She felt lost. And she very much needed that feeling gone before she saw anyone else.