Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (13 page)

Lizzie set the book down and picked up the second half of her sandwich.

“Really? How do you know?” Kenna couldn’t believe Lizzie could eat and talk shop and handle that weird book.

Around a bite of sandwich, Lizzie said, “What? I’m hungry.” She had a sad puppy-dog look on her face. She swallowed. “I asked it ‘why me?’ and its response was that it recognized I had some connection to a witch. Super creepy, because you weren’t a witch at the time.”

“I’ve always been a witch—I just had no witch magic. I know some Lycan children don’t grow into the ability to change. But witches aren’t like that. Mom said every biological witch gets their magic.” A prosaic truth pushed through that assertion. “Unless you die first.”

“Okay. The question still remains, though, because there was no magic—witch or otherwise—to detect. And that leads to my second question. It checked. A magical book that theoretically only stores information, that book reached out until it found a spell caster who was witch-friendly. How is that possible? Now I’m finishing my sandwich, because that is freaking me out.” Lizzie took a big bite and chewed. And glared. At Kenna, at the book, and at her sandwich.

Everything had a reasonable, logical explanation. Even magic—to a certain degree. What Kenna and Lizzie hadn’t been able to figure out usually ended up being some kind of magic they weren’t familiar with, or a new application of magic they’d already encountered.

“Didn’t you tell me once that part of being good at magic was thinking outside the box? Basically, taking the tools you had and using them in a unique way.”

“Sure,” Lizzie said. “Creativity will get you further in many instances that pure magical juice.”

Kenna let her brain churn through a few different possibilities. Then—bingo. “A ward is just some kind of magic that a spell caster has attached to an anchor object. But just because the anchor, the book in this case, has recording spell…”

“There’s another ward attached to the book. Dang it. I’d have thought of that if I wasn’t so damned brain-fried.” Lizzie threw her napkin on top of the tray. “If it’s there, I wasn’t the only one to miss it.” She grabbed the book with a new sense of purpose.

“Maybe the first time you touched it, you activated it?”

Lizzie chewed on her lip, a good sign her brain was churning away at the problem. “It was the first unsupervised magic I ever did. I poked just hard enough to access the title of the book. Then John and the cavalry showed up to rescue me. It was the first book that Worth gave me to decipher.”

“The only book,” Kenna said, finishing Lizzie’s thought. “And it’s been trying to communicate ever since?”

Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Reaching its creepy magical tentacles out to touch me whenever I’m in the vicinity. I told you it was weird. Hang on, maybe it’s a perspective issue. Let me try this.” She set the book down, got out of her chair, and moved several feet away.

“I feel like you should have a wand to wave or sparkly lights,” Kenna said quietly.

“Shush.” Lizzie stepped back a few more feet. “So annoying. It looks like a simple enough sensing ward set to trigger about ten, maybe fifteen feet out.” She laughed. “At a guess”—she grinned broadly at Kenna—“instead of alerting the caster, it alerts the target. It’s ingenious. All this time, the sensing ward has been tapping me on the shoulder, and I was just getting a funny, stalked vibe.”

“That is seriously cool. Open that bitch up and figure out who came up with the idea.”

“And why,” Lizzie added.

“Yeah. ‘Why’ might be important.” Working out a puzzle, fiddling with magic problems, Kenna could almost forget the purpose behind their research. Almost.

“But my first question”—Lizzie put her hand on the book, palm down—“is how the ward sensed witch magic on me when you were nowhere near me—and not even a witch. I mean, when you didn’t have witch magic yet.”

“And?”

“Shush, I’m asking. You know, this actually takes some concentration—unlike your candle trick.”

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four—

“Quit counting!”

“Sorry, I thought that was in my head.” Jet lag for sure, Kenna figured. Pregnancy surely wasn’t making her an idiot, but she knew switching time zones sometimes did.

Speaking of candles… Kenna dug one out of the backpack she’d hung on the back of the chair. She’d asked the kitchen staff for a few at lunch, and they’d been more than accommodating. She held the tapered candle gently between two fingers and pictured a small flame in place of the wick—and a duplicate flame appeared, exactly as she’d imagined it. Kenna’s heart flipped. Was it that easy? Was it all visual? She envisioned the flame disappearing, but the tiny flame persisted.

She tipped the candle and let a tiny drop of wax fall on the table, and then stuck the candle on it so it wouldn’t fall. As soon as Kenna’s fingers left the candle, the flame extinguished.

“You’re cleaning that up before you leave.”

Kenna jerked her head up to find Lizzie wearing a disapproving look. Was that guilt Kenna was feeling? Nah. Okay, a little. But not because of the table. “Naturally.”

“Do you know how old these tables are? I don’t remember you ever being this careless with other people’s stuff before. Ugh—never mind.” Lizzie threw her hands up. “I get nothing from the book on how the ward works. The spell caster didn’t bother to record that in the book. I mean, why would she? The book’s not about her and her magic. Get this—it’s about… Hey! Pay attention.”

Kenna looked up from the candle that had distracted her. “Check this out. No hands.” She waggled her fingers at Kenna while she envisioned a steady flame fueled by the wick and wax. “And I’m still listening.”

Lizzie crossed her arms. “Now how do you put it out?”

Kenna shrugged. Clearly removing physical contact was not an option. She’d already tried to “visualize” it out and that had failed. She leaned over and blew it out.

“My recommendation? Figure out how to put them out before you move past a candle. Do you want the scoop on the book?”

“Absolutely.” Kenna picked up her pen and waited.

“Like I said before, there’s nothing in the book on the ward, or very much about the spell caster at all. Every time I pushed for information on the caster, the book redirected me to the witch.”

Kenna nibbled nervously on the cap of her pen. “It is called Witch’s Diary.”

“But there’s no doubt that the spell caster, Jane, was madly in love with the witch, Marianne.”

“Really?” Kenna scribbled the women’s names on her pad. “I thought that was completely taboo back in the day. Wait, when exactly are we talking about?”

“Eighteen hundreds, I’d guess.” Lizzie looked intrigued. “I’m certain it was strictly forbidden in non-magical society, and guessing the same would be true for the magic-using community. But it doesn’t matter. The point is, they were madly in love and completely devoted to one another. The book is Jane’s account of Marianne’s life.”

“Her entire life?” Kenna asked. Because she would dearly love to read the parts about how Marianne learned to use her magic.

“Hmm, not sure. That’s as far as I got. I have to head out now, but I’d like to try Pilar with the book. Whatever made the book work for me had something to do with you, Kenna. So with you here, Pilar might just get it to work.”

“We’ll give it a try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll check in with Max.” Kenna’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She only wished Max was the cause. Her anxiety had built through the afternoon as she’d failed to hear anything from him. She feared the continuing silence meant Max’s consultation with the security team hadn’t produced a better, more actionable plan. One that was less likely to get everyone she loved dead. And who would make the final call as to whether it was worth the risk to even attempt the breakout? God, she hoped it wasn’t her.

Chapter 11

Elin had stepped out to run an errand in town and Pilar was still tied up, so, lacking any means to pull information from the spelled texts, Kenna went in search of Max. Maybe she should have met with Max and the security guys, skipped the nap, skipped the research. But she couldn’t think when she was tired—and she was tired all the time these days. That was one question answered at her doctor’s visit. The exhaustion she’d been experiencing was completely normal, per her former OB.

So sleeping had made her brain right, or as right as it ever was these days. As for planning—what did she know about staging a breakout? Who even had that skill set, except for criminals? She hoped the security guys were criminal enough to have come up with something. Kenna had just about made it to the security staff’s quarters when she bumped into Heike, one of the spell casters employed full-time by IPPC to staff the library.

Lizzie had decided she liked Heike. But Kenna wasn’t as forgiving. Anyone who could work for filth like Worth couldn’t be redeemed in a few short months, regardless of how Lizzie and Harrington felt about her. Not in Kenna’s eyes. A great addition to the library staff, a valuable asset in future, maybe. But Kenna wasn’t sold. And Heike was dating a dragon, the head of security for the Prague house. Somehow, Kenna had a hard time wrapping her head around dragons. The idea was just freaky. Magical wolves? Spell casters? No big deal. But dragons seemed to stretch her imagination a little too far. What was next? Unicorns?

Kenna’s subdued greeting reflected some of her feelings. “Hi. I’m looking for Max?”

Heike smiled shyly. “It’s good to see you. You just missed him. He headed out to the courtyard.”

“Thanks.” Kenna added an awkward little wave, and turned back the way she’d come. Since Heike seemed to be headed the same direction, Kenna hoofed it. When she entered the courtyard, Max was standing at the far end of the courtyard on a bench, his back to her and his phone to his ear.

She quietly closed the door behind her, quelling the urge to ask why the heck he was standing on a bench, and waited for him to finish his call.

“Hell no. I’ve tried that. Okay.” Max’s voice was pitched low, but throbbed with intensity.

Kenna tensed, immediately put on notice that something wasn’t right.

Max shifted slightly atop the bench, and she saw a gun in his hand just a split second before he fired.

The sound reverberated in the tiny courtyard, making her ears throb and her entire body shudder with each shot. Without hearing protection, unprepared for the discharge, this was worlds away from the firing range. Standing from the crouch she hadn’t even realized she’d fallen into, she started to speak. A low rumbling sound made her words disappear. The hair on her neck stood on end. Fuck. That sounded like a deranged dog.

Kenna wanted to move but couldn’t. Seconds went by before she was able to lean to the left—then she saw it. The crouching form of a red wolf, body low and completely still, hackles raised, muzzle closed, lips lifted in a snarl that showed too many teeth. And then the growl. Kenna felt sick. Lycan didn’t growl. Lycan didn’t posture or warn. They killed. This thing, it was Lycan, but not.

The small movement alerted the…whatever it was that she’d entered the courtyard. Its head turned slowly, the growl ratcheting up in intensity and volume.

Max looked over his shoulder. “You have got to be kidding me. Kenna, you need to go back inside.”

And leave Max out here to get eaten by the rabid—and maybe not really bright or not quite right—Lycan? Kenna didn’t think so. “Uh, no?” She’d moved when she answered Max, and now the laser focus of the wolf was solely on her. Without moving, she said as evenly as she could, “Why aren’t you shooting it?”

“I have. Six times. Can’t stop it with a gun. Security is on the way.” Max paused. “And Lizzie.”

Kenna tried to slowly take a step backward, but stopped when the animal lunged several feet in response. Closer to both her and to Max.

“Yeah, maybe don’t do whatever it is you’re doing back there. He seems to be coming out of it.”

“Out of what?” Kenna said.

“The fugue he was in when he appeared.” Max’s back tensed. Very quietly and calmly, he said, “I think our voices are upsetting him now.”

Kenna could see it. The animal was sharper, his eyes watchful, with a newly acquired gleam of intelligence. And the growling had ceased. He was looking and acting…Lycan.

And then—the red-furred body flew through the air, shots sounded, Max was on the ground, and she ran—closer. Her feet brought her to Max before her mind knew why or how.

The Lycan tore at Max’s arm, its head shaking sharply to the right and left. Kenna swallowed a gasp. Not his throat, she told herself. The blood covering his neck was from his arm, not his throat.

Her startled, partially muffled sound of fear turned the Lycan to her. Her body crashed into the ground, two hundred pounds of fur and muscle landing directly on top of her. A moment became infinite as she struggled for air, but no breath came. Finally, she gasped. Then retched, her nostrils filled with a noxious odor. Her heels scrabbled on the ground, shoving at gravel, grass, dirt, but gaining no purchase. Heavy paws pushed into her ribs, claws stabbing into her skin. She shoved. At his chest. At his muzzle, wet against her neck. A pull on her skin as he inhaled—and still she shoved. Her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest—and she shoved.

Why didn’t he bite? Thank God he didn’t bite. The two thoughts warred in her brain.

The weight vanished, and the wolf was gone, lying on the ground. His hind legs were hobbled.

Kenna scrambled away, small pebbles scraping her hands and knees. And then Lizzie was suddenly there, at Kenna’s elbow, pulling her to her feet. “Kenna.” Lizzie shook her hard. “Kenna. Inside, now. We can’t hold him long.”

How was that bastard not dead? Kenna’s eyes flicked quickly to the writhing mass of fur. Fur that was covered in Max’s blood. And rage overcame her. She pictured his body alight, burning and burning. A fire hot enough to make him dust.

“Oh, God, Kenna.” The sharpness of Lizzie’s voice snapped Kenna out of the trancelike state she’d fallen into. And then Kenna heard the canine screams. Piercing yelps of agonizing pain. How long had she stood and watched it burn, oblivious to its horrifying screams?