Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (21 page)

Head emerging from her fleece, Lizzie nodded. “Large gashes in the corpses. And wounds with ragged edges, as if the flesh had been torn away. I thought there was a lot of blood, but I realize now it was smeared across the bodies. There should have been pools of blood. There were a few very small patches that hadn’t dried entirely, but none were large.” Lizzie was losing some of her color as she spoke. John wasn’t sure he had the patience for much more of this. He wanted her in bed, wrapped in his arms, asleep, with the images of death and blood no longer troubling her. “I didn’t process it consciously at the time. I must have realized on some level what that meant, because when the word Vampyr was introduced, I wasn’t surprised.”

Heike said, “It’s bothered me ever since I was briefed on the kidnapping. With the exception of the blood, isn’t what Worth did
exactly
the same as a vampire? He siphoned off Sarah’s magic, ingesting it like food—just like any parasite that feeds off a host organism.” John thought that Heike looked ill at ease speaking to the small group clustered around her, but she pushed on. “Perhaps that’s the connection Matylda wants us to see?”

Lachlan said, “And for additional motivation, there were men who believed that consuming the blood of their recently slain enemies would imbue them with the enemies’ gifts.”

“Drink the blood of a dying Lycan, acquire the ability to become a wolf? That’s ludicrous.” John’s arm never moved from around Lizzie as he spoke, and he kept his voice even and calm.

But he was disturbed by the dragon’s revelation. He could still feel the agony of separation as Worth had begun to drag his wolf—the embodiment of his magic—clawing and frantic, from his body. Even though Lizzie had interrupted Worth, there had still been a moment of despair when he feared he wouldn’t be able to change. That he’d lost that part of himself. Perhaps, then, not such a ludicrous statement.

Lachlan watched John for several seconds before he replied. “Perhaps.”

“Lizzie’s exhausted. We’ll debrief more fully tomorrow, after everyone has had a chance to rest. And then we can discuss next steps.” After he made the announcement, it occurred to him belatedly that he hadn’t called this meeting. Harrington could fire his ass if he had a problem with it.

John was contemplating the logistics of being an ex-Library employee while living in the house during Lizzie’s internship, when Harrington said, “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

Harrington had been making what John considered to be questionable management decisions—withholding from Lizzie the fact of Heike’s employment, hiring the Dragon Clan and failing to disclose their particular talents, withholding several key points of the kidnapping from Lachlan. Harrington had too many agendas that didn’t coincide with John’s. It was a pleasant change to see Harrington’s agenda briefly align with his own.

Looking down at Lizzie, he could see her lids drooping in exhaustion, and she was blinking frequently, as if she couldn’t hold her eyes open. He debated momentarily, then shook his head, deciding against picking her up and hauling her off to their bedroom. Instead, he said, “Ready?”

She nodded, then turned and said, “Night,” to the group.

He tugged gently on her hand as he walked up the stairs. She followed behind, feet dragging.

“Why am I so exhausted, all of a sudden?” she asked.

“Because you’ve been going nonstop, didn’t get much sleep last night, and apparently had an unpleasant experience with Matylda.” He paused. Deciding again that less was more, he said, “Let me know if you want to talk about it.”

She nodded. They’d reached the top of the stairs. She turned to him and asked, “How much of a weenie does it make me that I want you to carry me the rest of the way?”

He didn’t answer, just swung her up into his arms and hugged her tight to his chest. Even in the lamplight, he could see that the pinkish undertones of her complexion were still washed away. The unnatural paleness combined with the purplish smudges under her eyes to make her look particularly vulnerable. He shifted her slightly in his arms, but she didn’t wake. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he’d settled her in his arms.

As John settled Lizzie in bed, he removed her shoes and clothes, but she still didn’t wake. John knew she’d been running full speed all day, but she was unnaturally quiet and still. He climbed into bed next to her, and pulled her into his arms. He was somewhat reassured when she rolled onto her side and snuggled closer. But even then, she seemed diminished and drained.

Holding her slight frame close, in that moment he couldn’t help but think how very small she was. He smiled slightly. She would disagree. But she was small and so human, with human frailties. He couldn’t ever remember wishing Lizzie other than she was, but now he wished she had the physical strength and healing ability of a Lycan.

Matylda had come back as soon as Lizzie had disappeared. Wise ghost. A room full of some of the more powerful magic-users in the community—no telling what they would have done had she not conveyed Lizzie’s safe arrival and imminent return. Visions of an impromptu demolition in the Library aside, John had been truly frightened. He couldn’t forget the horror of seeing Lizzie literally fade from sight.

He bent down and nuzzled her neck, breathing in the warm, womanly smell of her. Letting out a slow breath, he remembered how frustrated he’d felt. He couldn’t follow her. He couldn’t protect her. He didn’t even know what the dangers were. Why was it he only ever felt any sense of inadequacy or inability when it came to Lizzie? Protecting and caring for her was a full-time job. In the short time he’d known her, she’d been a walking magnet for magical mayhem. He sighed. She needed someone to have her back.

He fell asleep amidst his worry for Lizzie and the nagging thought that the distance between the hidden chamber and the basement stairs where Lizzie had reappeared was well beyond the twenty feet the dragons believed maxed out teleportation skill. Clearly Lizzie was unique, but what did it mean that she’d so far exceeded the anticipated scope of teleportation?

Chapter 25

L
izzie woke feeling stiff and disoriented. And sore. Her whole body ached, like she was recovering from a fever. For a brief moment, she thought she’d been sick. Then she remembered that yesterday had been a long day; she was just tired.

Just as she was starting to consider the idea of getting out of bed, John came back in the room with—Frank? The healer? He’d helped to rescue Lizzie when Worth held her, but what was he doing here now? Why did she need a healer? Maybe she had been sick?

“You’re awake.” John eyes lit up when he saw her. He sounded relieved. And surprised. Thrilled, even.

Lizzie looked more closely at him. His face looked drawn and tired. He hadn’t shaved, and he had on the same clothes he’d worn last night. What the hell had been happening?

“What’s going on?” she croaked.
Yuck.
Her mouth was all dry and cottony, her throat parched. She cleared her throat and licked her lips. “What time is it?”

Before he answered, John poured her a glass of water from a carafe on the nightstand. Handing it to her he replied, “Two—in the afternoon.” He spoke curtly. He seemed a little angry, but Lizzie knew he wasn’t angry with her.

She rubbed her eyes, but she stopped immediately when she felt the dry, gritty residue.
Ugh.
It was a good thing she wasn’t worried about John’s feelings for her. Otherwise, she’d be feeling pretty damn self-conscious right now. Scratch that. She was feeling pretty damn self-conscious. She felt disgusting. The last time she’d been anywhere near this funky, she’d partied all night and woken up with the flu. Hung over and sick, she’d felt about as bad as this. Well, except for the puking. There was no hint of
that,
thankfully.

“I really need to freshen up before I see anyone this morning.” Lizzie glanced at Frank and back again at John. Then she said, “Um, hi, Frank. Doing okay?”

Frank just nodded.

John walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. “I couldn’t wake you up this morning.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Lizzie didn’t understand “I overslept. I was pretty tired after everything yesterday.”

“No. I tried to wake you up, and I couldn’t.” He looked out the window. “I shook you. Slapped you. Nothing.”

Oh, shit.
That John had felt like he had to smack her was a really, really bad sign. He was pretty staunchly opposed to hitting women that weren’t actually attacking him.

She ran her hand across his broad back. “I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” But as she said it, she could feel the pull in her muscles just from the simple act of lifting her arm to rub his back. She closed her eyes. She let the feel of smooth cotton and rigid muscles continue to play under her fingers for another few seconds before letting her arm fall back to the bed.

Turning to Frank, she said, “You’re here to check me out, I assume?”

Frank nodded. “If you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Go ahead.” Lizzie knew that healers were very particular about how and when they used their skills. There were strict ethical guidelines that most adhered to. So Frank wouldn’t begin to scan her until she agreed. Kenna had explained it to her after her rescue. Frank had played a critical part in their success, but he’d had to scan the house from a distance. Only the presence of hostages, people in need who couldn’t provide consent, had made it possible for Frank to help. It had seemed an interesting ethical dilemma when viewed in the abstract. But when Lizzie considered that her life had been on the line, she’d decided the ethical question became less academically fascinating.

After a cursory exam, Frank asked, “Have you been doing magical laps?” At her confused look, he said, “Burning the midnight oil? Your magic is diminished—like you’ve overworked yourself. Or maybe you performed some big magic yesterday?”

“Yes,” John answered for her.

She did?

“You’ve overexerted yourself, magically speaking.” At her blank look, Frank said, “You’ll be fine with a little rest. Take it easy—no magic for a day, maybe two.”

“When do I know it’s okay to use magic again? I’m supposed to be here, working. And how do I prevent this from happening again?” Especially since she didn’t know how it had happened to begin with, she thought.

“It’s not exact, but I can give you some guidelines.” When she nodded eagerly, he continued. “If it hurts, don’t do it. And if it’s hard to bring your magic up, stop.”

“Seriously? That’s your advice? But I don’t even know how I did this to myself. How can I prevent myself from accidentally doing it again if I don’t even know how it happened?”

Frank was looking a little helpless and harassed. And well he should, if he couldn’t even answer her simple questions.

“I’ve got this, Frank. Is there anything you can do for her?” John avoided her eyes, but he reached down and twined his fingers with hers.

On more certain ground, Frank said, “I can help with the muscle aches and the general fatigue. I assume that’s an issue?” When she nodded, he continued. “But I can’t recharge your magic.”

She needed to give the poor man a break. For whatever reason, John knew what was going on and he wasn’t sharing it with Frank. Her muddled, sleep-fuzzy brain understood that much. “That would be great. And thank you. For your help and for coming out to the house. I really appreciate it.”

“John was insistent, and Harrington wasn’t far behind. But I’m always happy to help.” He reached his right hand out, palm up, inviting her to place her hand in his.

She gave John’s hand a quick squeeze and gently disentangled her fingers. Placing her hand in Frank’s, she asked, “Do you see this frequently?”

“No. Most magic-users know where the line is and don’t cross it. I know you have an unusual history with your magic being locked away. You might discuss this with Harrington, and he can help you see the warning signs more quickly.” While he spoke, Lizzie could feel the ache in her muscles fade, the bone-deep feeling of exhaustion was slipping away, as well. In moments like these, Lizzie was really glad magic was a reality.

“What happens if you keep pushing?” Lizzie had a horrible thought. “Not what happened to Sarah?”

“No. No. That I’ve never seen before.” Frank stopped his ministrations, clearly distracted. “I’m honestly not sure what would happen. I suppose you could push until there was nothing left. It would probably take you a very long time to recover. But I just can’t see how it could cause you permanent damage. Based on some of Harry’s observations, I’d guess Worth took more than the usable magic we generate. You tried to empty the well, but Worth took away the rain and the underground river that feed the well.”

Frank snorted and shook his head. “This is not my area of expertise. Much more Harry’s line. I’m a hands-on, intuitive healer. Harry’s better at the theory. I understand you guys hit it off. He’d be a great person to ask these questions.” Frank suddenly looked as if he regretted his words, shooting a quick sideways glance at John.

John had been patiently sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Frank to finish. He hadn’t backed up, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned by Frank’s nearness. Or by the reference to Harry. Lizzie wasn’t really sure why Frank had looked concerned. John had never been jealous or possessive. Maybe that was a Lycan stereotype he didn’t live up to? And he certainly wasn’t unreasonable, in regard to her or anything else. It was sometimes frustrating when she could see people around her viewing John—and sometimes her—through a cultural filter she had almost no information about. She mentally shrugged. She needed to get over it or get informed; those were the only options.

“That should do it. At least get you back on your feet and relatively pain-free. But take it easy for a few days.” Frank’s words rung in her ears as he walked out the door.

Take it easy? Seriously?
There was a ghost mucking around in the Library. A secret cell to be investigated more thoroughly. The mystery of Sarah’s coma to crack. And some magic books to delve into. Books that might hold the key to solving Sarah’s medical mystery. Lizzie thought of them, sitting in the Library unread. She sighed. Heike would have to do it.
Damn.
She really wanted to have a look at them. But Frank was right—one step at a time. Then it hit her. She’d been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours.