Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (14 page)

“Kenna.” Lizzie placed a hand on either side of Kenna’s face, covering her ears. Tears ran down Lizzie’s face. “You have to stop the fire. That thing, it can’t die.” She pressed hard against Kenna’s face. “Listen to me. Listen! You have to stop it. He’ll keep burning. He won’t die.”

Kenna shook her head, confused.

Lizzie pushed her face closer to Kenna’s. “It will keep burning. And living. You have to stop the fire.”

She couldn’t stop it.

“Kenna. Look at me. Can you try to put it out?”

“I can’t.” What had she done?

“Yes. Yes, you can.” Lizzie was almost yelling at her.

“A fire extinguisher.” She gasped. “Just like”—she hiccupped and struggled for breath—“just like any fire… Lizzie, I didn’t mean—”

But Lizzie had turned away and was running into the house.

Forty-five more seconds. He burned for forty-five seconds. Kenna counted. She didn’t let herself look away. A huge lump of unshed, angry tears stuck in her throat. She had done this. Unknowingly, unthinking—but she’d done it. Her eyes stung as she continued to stare, unblinking. Forty-five seconds was the length of time it took to bring a fire extinguisher from the house. And then they soaked it—whatever that thing was—with foam.

Harrington had arrived, and seemed to know what was happening. Had a plan to subdue it, contain it. Kenna looked away as soon as the fire went out. The rescue details faded into blurs of movement caught in flashes from the corner of an eye. Her stomach churned and her legs felt leaden with exhaustion. She lifted her hands to rub her face and saw torn fingernails and cuticles, knuckles covered in lacerations. Her chest… She shook her head slowly. Her chest hurt. Her mind sluggishly moved from one injury to the next. She stopped, her body drooping. Where was Max?

One of the security staff walked by—one of the dragons, she thought. She tried to wave an arm, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She called out, “Hey.” He turned. “Where’s Max?”

“Infirmary.” He peered down his nose at her. “Where you should be headed.”

She couldn’t remember, perhaps had never known, where it was.

He must have seen her confusion. “First floor. Second floor, American. Do you need help?”

She shook her head.

“Yes, she needs help.” Lizzie walked up, looking bedraggled but uninjured. “But I’ll take her.”

Lizzie placed a gentle arm around Kenna’s shoulders. “You’re in shock. That’s why everything seems strange and you’re having a hard time thinking straight.”

Kenna nodded numbly. “Okay.”

Gently guiding her into the house and down the hall, Lizzie filled her in on the parts Kenna had missed.

“Max knew shooting it wouldn’t help, so while it was distracted he used his belt to hobble it. Once it had limited mobility, he yanked him off you by the haunches. Then we arrived.”

“How…?”

“How do I know that? I’ve already been up to the infirmary with Max. You’ve been down here staring at the walls longer than you probably realize.” Lizzie squeezed her shoulders. “It was chaotic. A huge mess. And you didn’t look like you needed immediate medical treatment. I’m sorry,” she whispered into Kenna’s ear.

“’S okay.”

They arrived at an elevator. But there wasn’t an elevator in the house.

Lizzie held open the door and nodded encouragingly. “It’s fine. Harrington had it put in since you were here last.”

Kenna really wasn’t feeling well. Her legs collapsed from under her and she slid down the wall of the elevator to sit on the ground.

Lizzie turned back to Kenna after punching the first-floor button. “Oh. Let’s get you back up.”

“I’m good.”

“I know you are.” Kneeling down, Lizzie grabbed Kenna under the arm, and hauled her into a standing position.

Kenna rested her back against the wall. Longest one-floor elevator ride ever.

The doors opened with a soft whoosh.

Lizzie bit her lip. She held the elevator door open and motioned Kenna ahead.

“Don’t tell me. Harrington put in the elevator to give him access to a secret lab where he experiments on guinea pigs and wolves.” Kenna threw out one of the weirder possibilities she could imagine. Hopefully that wasn’t it. Because that was messed up.

Lizzie stifled a laugh. “No, but you seem to be feeling better.”

“Actually, everything is starting to hurt. And I’m still a little foggy. But sure, I think I’m a little better.”

“Yes, that’s how it usually works. The healers here are great. Frank’s here today.” Lizzie ushered Kenna into a small room, a little bigger than a large walk-in closet.

“No Harry?” Kenna liked that guy. Everyone liked Harry. Frank was a hazier memory.

Lizzie hung a sign on the exterior doorknob then shut the door. “No. No special projects, and you know he and Harrington don’t get along.” Lizzie perched on a stool and invited Kenna to take the one chair in the room.

Everyone liked Harry but Harrington. All the more reason not to like Harrington. Kenna had no idea why Lizzie gave that man so much slack.

“So, what was it? Because it sure as hell didn’t look or act like a wolf. And it wasn’t much like a Lycan until about point-two seconds before it tried to eat both of us.” Lizzie continued to look reluctant, so Kenna added, “The cat is definitely out of the bag, Lizzie, so spill.”

Lizzie rubbed her neck. She looked tired. And dark circles were blooming under her eyes that hadn’t been there a few hours ago. “Not dead, and not alive.”

Lizzie sounded just as confused as Kenna felt.

“Undead?” A shiver ran from the base of Kenna’s spine to her scalp. Dead stuff should stay dead.

“No… More like alive again? Temporarily?”

“Temporarily alive again, TAA. That doesn’t even work as an acronym. Come on—we have to call them something.”

“No, we don’t. Because they don’t exist and this never happened.” Lizzie picked up Kenna’s lacerated hands. “You fell down the stairs.”

“Uh-huh. Because that’s plausible. I look beat up by a wolf.” Kenna peered down the front of her shirt. She lifted it up to show Lizzie the rapidly forming bruises topped by distinctive claw scratches. Then she let her shirt fall and scrubbed at her eyes. “I’m getting a rigger’s belt—that’s what Max uses.”

“Good plan. He used the same belt to muzzle John when he wolfed out and wasn’t in his right mind.”

“That’s right. I forgot about that. Yeah, I’m definitely getting one of those.” Kenna nodded and then looked away, avoiding Lizzie’s gaze. “And a gun. I don’t care if a gun can’t kill not-quite-dead things. A gun sounds like a good idea right now. Fire…fire, not so much.” Her right hand balled into a fist.

And then she remembered the smell. She hadn’t realized it at the time, so wrapped up in the sight and sound of the horror playing out in front of her. A horror she’d created. But her brain had been busy. Her multitasking brain had taken a snapshot of that smell. Burned hair, burning flesh. She could taste it in the back of her mouth. Kenna’s stomach turned.

Lizzie grabbed the trash can just in time for Kenna to lose the contents of her stomach.

“Morning sickness? I didn’t realize you were dealing with that as well.”

Kenna looked at Lizzie over the top of the trash can. She didn’t want to correct her friend. She just wanted to forget that smell, the sounds, all of it. “Maybe. If Frank doesn’t show up soon, I might pop out and check on Max before he sees me. I really am feeling much better. And Max’s arm—Lizzie, it was bad.”

Since Lizzie was busy tying up the trash-can liner with her puke in it, it wasn’t shocking that she looked unconvinced of the merits of Kenna’s plan. “Shouldn’t be much longer. Max is in good hands. They’ll have him patched up soon.”

A quiet knock sounded through the door. Frank opened the door and came inside, followed by Max.

“Thank goodness—” Kenna started, but she stopped when she saw his heavily bandaged arm resting in a sling. Gaze flicking between him and Frank, she said, “I thought traumatic injuries healed well with magic. That you could repair that kind of damage.”

“I’m going to be fine. Scout’s honor.” Max grinned at her. But she could see the tension in his face. He was hurting.

She turned an expectant look on Frank.

“He is. We’ll need to do several treatments, but I think we can get him back to seventy-five percent in the next few days.” Clearly picking up on her displeasure, Frank added, “And he’ll eventually have full use of that hand and arm.”

“When?” Kenna asked.

“I can’t say for sure—”

Max interrupted Frank with a hand on his arm. “Kenna. I’ve already had this conversation with him. Can you let the man check out you and the baby?”

Kenna’s hand flew to her stomach. “Could my baby be hurt?” And then she remembered she’d fallen down. She’d been so disoriented, and she hadn’t noticed anything specific…no pain. Her chest started to hurt and her breath got short. She was going to be the worst mother ever. How could that not have been her first thought? What was wrong with her?

Frank held out his hand. “I’m sure you and the baby are fine. We just need to check and make sure.”

“Right.” Almost panting in anxiety, she took his hand. Grimacing, she said, “You’d never know it, but I’m not normally this emotional.”

Kenna caught Lizzie’s eyes darting away.

“What? I’m not.” The tight feeling in her chest passed.

“You’re not normally this teary and anxious.” The words coming out of Lizzie’s mouth sounded like an agreement, but Kenna recognized the avoidance tactic.

“But?”

Lizzie shrugged and looked sheepish. “You know you have a temper, right? Usually you’re crusading for me or someone else you care about. But honey, you are definitely emotional. And practical. And great at puzzles.”

“But definitely yes to the temper.” Max threw up his one good hand when she gave him a dirty look. “I’m injured. I get a pass, right?” He gave her his most charming smile.

“All done, and everything looks great.”

Kenna blinked. “You’re done? And you can tell everything is fine?”

Those sneaky turkeys had distracted her just long enough for Frank to have a look.

“Absolutely. The lacerations on your hands are superficial for the most part, and should heal fine on their own.” He pointed her to a little sink set across from the door. “Go ahead and wash up and then I’ll have a look again.”

As she washed her hands, he told her the bruises on her chest would last quite a while and that he could give her a boost to speed up the healing, but she declined. She knew from past experience with healers that Frank had a limited amount of healing that he could do before he exhausted or overextended himself. Better he heal Max’s more serious wounds.

“Frank, one last thing. Do I have to use an OB? If I could find a healer in my area, is that an option?” When Frank looked uncomfortable and hesitated, Kenna decided she should ’fess up. “I had a really bad experience at my first appointment.”

Max did a double take.

“Nothing medical,” Kenna quickly said. She could feel her face warm. Stupid hormones. “There might have been a miscommunication regarding the legality and safety of my profession and some concern about illegal drug use. Maybe.”

Frank covered his mouth and cleared his throat.

“How am I supposed to be honest and not mention I’m a witch? Get answers for serious medical questions, but not disclose I’m taking some hokey tea my mom gave me? You try walking that fine line.” Kenna included Lizzie as she waved her finger across the group.

“I think maybe you’re supposed to be subtle and discreet.” Lizzie was the only one brave enough to venture a comment. Kenna couldn’t help but notice that Max had his mouth tightly shut.

“Under the best of conditions that wouldn’t be easy. These are not them.” Kenna tried to be self-aware. And she could admit subtlety and discretion were not her strongest suits.

Frank finally busted out with a deep, hearty chuckle. “Given your experiences, I’m happy to prescribe a local healer. Let me see if I can find one near you. You’re in Austin?”

Kenna nodded. If she didn’t have to have her lady parts examined with a microscope again, that would be a huge bonus. But even better, she could be honest with a healer. And not feel sleazy, judged, or worried that she missed some important information.

“But Kenna, if I do find a healer for you, they’ll likely have a doctor they routinely work with. Unlike Harry and I, many healers don’t work in the medical profession.”

Damn. It had been too much to hope for.

Frank excused himself, leaving Kenna, Lizzie, and Max in the little recovery room.

“So, what was it?” Max asked. “All I got from Harrington on the phone was that it wasn’t alive or dead.”

Kenna made a disgusted noise. “Lizzie and I were just talking about this, but she hushed me up. I figure it has to be one or the other, right? That thing was stalking, growling, and clawing. It was alive. Or at least not quite dead.”

Lizzie ran both her hands through her hair. “It was animated—but beyond that…I’ve already told you both too much. The problem was supposed to be contained. Something like this, it should never have happened.” She grunted in frustration. “I have to get back, see if I can figure out what happened, how that thing ended up in the courtyard.” Lizzie lifted her head. “Not that there’s any danger. Not anymore.” Lizzie chewed on her lip. “You guys are okay on your own? You’re still working on an alternative plan, right, Max?”

“Working on it,” he replied.

Kenna gave Lizzie a grim little smile. “We’re good, Lizzie. Go figure out how to save the world.”

Lizzie gingerly hugged Kenna and promised to check in around dinner, pushed back two hours to accommodate the courtyard drama. Lizzie didn’t even fuss over the “saving the world” comment. Which meant that either she was saving the world, or she was so stressed out it flew right past her. Neither option appealed.

After the door had clicked shut, Max said, “Jack’s gone to find Clifford, our locating expert.”

“I assumed. He’d have shown up with your dragon security if he’d been in the house. You look rough, and I feel like shit. Maybe we should both take a break. By the time we’re feeling better, Harrington may have something on those names I gave him. And we can talk strategy. Because right now…”