Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (15 page)

“Yeah,” Max said. “I’m not at my sharpest either.”

As Max was heading out the door, Kenna stopped him. “Hang on. Maybe you can walk me to my door?”

In response, Max propped the door open with his foot and offered her his good left arm.

She hated feeling afraid. The not-quite-dead Lycan was locked up somewhere. IPPC supposedly had a handle on the situation. And Max was hardly in any shape to save her—again—from some nasty magical creature. Logic aside, it would make her feel better, and she deserved that after the last couple of days.

Kenna placed her ragged-nailed, scratched hand on Max’s arm and walked out the door as if she were a princess. Then she stopped and asked, “Can I carry your gun?”

Chapter 12

“I can’t believe I’m sleeping, you’re running around working your ass off, and it’s my mom who’s in trouble.” Kenna splashed cold water on her face, hoping that would help the swelling. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but she’d smacked her cheek on the ground when she fell. When Lizzie woke her, she’d pointed out the redness and swelling.

“I love your mom, too. But really, it’s a question of who’s pregnant and just got mauled versus who’s still allowed to consume copious quantities of caffeine.” Lizzie shoved a glass of water in Kenna’s hand and handed her two small tablets.

Kenna paused in patting her face dry long enough to take them. “Hang on, I need to consult my ten-page list of medications I can’t take.”

“Don’t be a cranky pants. Over-the-counter Tylenol, for your various aches. Frank says take it. Especially since you won’t let him heal you a little.”

“He said the baby’s fine and everything else is superficial. And you saw Max. If there was another healer here, maybe.” Kenna perked up. “Look what I got.”

Kenna pulled out Max’s nine millimeter.

“I cannot believe Max gave you his gun.” Lizzie’s dismay was endearing. She’d never had much use for guns. Kenna knew Lizzie’s first foray into gun ownership had ended quickly, because Kenna returned the gun to the store for her.

“Loaned.” Kenna put the gun back in its holster. “He said his left-hand shooting skills are nonexistent, so I can borrow it until he’s shooting fit. He also warned me that if I hit a civilian he’d claim I stole it. I assume he meant a non-magical person?”

The holster fit neatly into the small of her back. Kenna admired the fit in the mirror. Max would be lucky to get either holster or gun back.

“What was he thinking?” Lizzie took the empty glass Kenna handed her. “And by civilian, I’m sure he meant anyone who doesn’t deserve to be shot. There are way more of those people—the kind that don’t need to be shot—than the other kind.”

Kenna sat down on her bed to put her shoes on—All-Stars, a tribute to her mom. She’d ordered them Sunday on a whim. With crazy-fast Amazon shipping, they arrived before she left Austin. She hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but seeing the bright purpley-pink shoes on her feet now made her feel closer to her mom. “He was thinking I have a concealed-carry permit and am not a complete idiot with a gun.” Kenna’s chest tightened and her pulse felt fluttery. “He was also thinking that I was terrified, that it would make me feel better. He was thinking that I would be too afraid to use my fire again.” She tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m guessing on that last part. He just mentioned the concealed carry.”

Shoes tied and duly admired, Kenna headed out the door, avoiding the sympathetic look sure to be plastered all over Lizzie’s face.

Lizzie hurried to catch up. “It’s fine. The wolf thing. We’re working on putting it back—uh, making it dead again. But you’d never even know…the burns, I mean—”

Kenna stopped suddenly and turned around. “I’m not you, Lizzie. I’d be thrilled if I’d turned that thing into ashes. It hurt Max, it hurt me, and it could have hurt my baby. I just…I didn’t mean for it to go on so long.” She took a short breath and exhaled sharply. “It should have died. And it’s not my fault it’s some unkillable thing. But I shouldn’t have used magic that I already knew I couldn’t control. That was the only mistake.”

Solemnly, eyes huge in her pale face, Lizzie nodded.

“Where are we going?” Kenna asked, leading the way down the stairs again.

Halfway down, Lizzie caught up with Kenna. “To have a chat with your book while I eat dinner. Hopefully you’re hungry. There’s probably a tray down in the basement with enough food for five people.”

They went down the stairs shoulder to shoulder now, so when Lizzie hesitated for just a split second, Kenna caught it. “What?”

“It may have gotten out that you’re pregnant, and the kitchen staff may be taking a particular interest in your well-being.”

All true, but something was missing. “And?” Kenna poked Lizzie in the ribs when she didn’t answer right away. Always best not to let her think too long. Her curly-headed friend was getting incrementally better at lying.

“Ow.” Lizzie rubbed her side.

“You think that hurt? Wait till I out you to your parents.”

“That is so unfair. I haven’t had time in the last few days to tell them. And I really need to do it in person…” Lizzie fell silent when she saw Kenna’s face. “You know, that threat will only work a few times. I should just let you do it.”

“Come on, already. What are you hiding?”

Lizzie sighed. “Max had a talk with the kitchen staff—you know, about your delicate condition.”

Thankfully they’d reached the bottom of the stairs. Kenna sat down on the bottom step with a snort. “That’s embarrassing.”

“I really don’t think so. You know how everyone loves Max. He smiled, said he was concerned because of all the stress you might not be eating very well, and would they mind helping out by making some of your favorite foods, making sure you had access to healthy meals even if you didn’t make scheduled meal times.” Lizzie scrunched her nose up. “They loved it. Thought it was romantic. He practically got cheered on the way out.”

Kenna raised an eyebrow. “How do you know what he said? And how did he know what my favorite foods are?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a colluding traitor.”

“Who has your best interest at heart. I’m just trying to get you fed. I’m not actually matchmaking—unlike some people have done in the past.” Lizzie gave Kenna a knowing look. “And besides, Max actually knew a few of your favorites. It wasn’t all me.”

Lizzie offered her a hand up.

“The matchmaking? Yeah, you really needed the help, sweetie. You were a hermit.” Kenna took Lizzie’s outstretched hand. “And here you are, happily engaged. You shouldn’t complain.”

“Just saying, not complaining. And I won’t harp on how Max is such a great guy, because you’re an adult and you already know that.”

“Right,” Kenna said, although she wasn’t always so sure she was an adult. That needed to get sorted within the next seven months.

Sometimes she felt like she made the mistakes of a much younger woman. It was like those ten years of marriage put a pause on her life, and it hadn’t resumed until she’d divorced. No, until well after the divorce. And that made her feel guilty, like the ten years with Brian had no value, or that those years had been wasted.

“You okay?” Lizzie asked.

They’d just arrived at the library door, having spent the rest of the way in silence as Kenna dissected her, perhaps questionable, life choices.

“We are who we are because of the choices we’ve made,” Kenna said, more to herself than Lizzie.

But Lizzie nodded, and very seriously, she said, “That’s very true.”

“And I like who I am,” Kenna added.

Lizzie smiled encouragingly. “That’s good news. I like you, too.”

“I’m just saying, whatever asinine things I’ve done, I shouldn’t dwell or spend too much time on regrets—because my life today is the result, and it’s a life I’m happy with.”

“Okay,” Lizzie said. “You know that I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

Kenna smiled. “That’s all right. I’m ready to read some witchy books. You?”

In answer, Lizzie opened the library door for Kenna.

As soon as Lizzie walked in the room, she said, “There it is—that book tapping me on the shoulder. I really should have figured out the slither up my spine was a sensing ward a long time ago. It’s significantly less disturbing now that I know where the feeling is coming from.” She sat down at the table with the book. “Where should we start?”

“Ah.” Kenna dug in a pile of paper scraps and triumphantly pulled forth a notepad. “I figured the most efficient use of time would be to have some questions prepped. Have a look and tell me what you think.”

“There’s the legal secretary I know and love.” Lizzie skimmed the page. “Coven of Light, criminal charges, trial, putting out witch fire.” Lizzie’s gaze flew up and met Kenna’s briefly. “Witch prisons. All right. Grab your pen, and we’ll get started.”

Lizzie found it easier to pull information out of a warded book when she was touching it, something she’d discovered and told Kenna about only within the last several weeks. Lizzie laid her hand on the book. “What can you tell me about the Coven of Light?”

Kenna waited, pen hopefully poised.

Lizzie closed her eyes. “A lot of bad feelings—Jane, the spell caster’s. Oh, and Marianne’s. Neither seems enamored of the Coven.” She opened her eyes, lifting her hand to hover over the book. “There’s definitely some Coven of Light information in here. Maybe a more specific question…” Hand dropping back to the book, eyes closed, she said, “What is the Coven of Light?”

The lines on Lizzie’s forehead cleared.

“What? What’s it saying?” Speakerphone would be fabulous about now—but Kenna guessed magic book reading didn’t work that way.

“Huh. They don’t sound half bad.” Lizzie cringed. “Sorry. Obviously, they’re Satan.”

“It’s fine. What does it say about the Coven?”

“Pursuit of greater knowledge. Enlightenment. Learning is good. More of the same.” Lizzie opened her eyes and shrugged. “It seems the goals are all pretty positive. Kind of uplifting, actually. Especially if you consider these women lived in a time when access to any learning beyond very basic reading and writing was considered outrageous, unnecessary, or revolutionary.”

“Well, something’s wrong. How does that jibe with all of their nasty feelings about the Coven?”

“Oh, right.” Lizzie rubbed her neck. “Just a little tired, and it’s starting to show. Let’s see…I asked, ‘What is the Coven?’” When Kenna nodded, Lizzie thought for a second then said, “Did the Coven hurt you?” Lizzie nodded emphatically. “How did the Coven hurt you?”

Lizzie pulled her hand away and shoved her chair back from the table, clearly having found something important or exciting.

“Oh my God, you have got to figure out some kind of speaker option for this process.” Kenna perched on the edge of her seat, well beyond annoyed. She pulled out her secret stash of cold special-brew tea and took a gulp. “By the way, the Nalgene bottle was brilliant.”

“Huh? Oh, that was John’s idea. He stuck it in my bag. He thought you’d appreciate some portable happy-juice. His words, not mine.” Lizzie chewed on her lower lip then she huffed out an irritated breath. “So—what would you say if I told you Marianne was locked up by the Coven of Light? For treason?”

“I’d say that sounds really helpful. And why aren’t you grilling that freaky little book some more?”

Lizzie nodded and gave Kenna a significant look. “Really helpful.”

“You think too helpful.” Kenna couldn’t dodge how convenient it was, now that Lizzie had pointed the fact out.

“I don’t know. But what are the chances? One book and it’s exactly what we’re looking for? Maybe I just have a bias against the book, since we’ve had an ongoing, bizarre relationship for a while now.”

“Is it so very strange if the Coven does this a lot? What if they’re as nasty as you and I think they are? Education and pursuit of knowledge aside. Wouldn’t they be throwing people in the dungeons routinely? And how much info is in this book? Maybe we’re talking a small library’s worth of info stored in it—then it’s a lot less weird that something useful is popping up.”

Lizzie looked thoughtful. With a distracted air, she said, “Jane called it a prison, not a dungeon.” Tapping her thumb against the table, she stared off into space. “Maybe. I wonder…” She picked the book up and directed a question to it: “What’s inside the book?” Quickly, she added, “Generally. Generally, what’s the book about? Marianne’s life. What part of Marianne’s life? Life with the Coven, the Coven’s betrayal, her imprisonment and her escape, moving to England, having children, their grandchildren—ah, enough.” Lizzie took her hand off the book.

“Imprisonment and escape?” Kenna thumped the table with her palm. “Jackpot.”

“Yeah, and that’s a really early slice. I think the book chronicles Marianne’s whole life, given that her grandkids are included. The autobiography of Marianne, former Coven of Light witch.” Lizzie ran her hand down the cover in an affectionate manner. “Witch’s Diary is a sort of diary after the fact. This is a great find.”

“Can we focus on her time in prison and the escaping?” The pressure of time passing weighed on Kenna, and Lizzie’s inability to focus was driving her nuts.

“Of course. How about you feed me the questions and I’ll spit out whatever response the book gives me?” Lizzie gave her a knowing glance. “You seem to be the more coherent of the two of us.”

“Fair enough. Um, what was Marianne accused of?”

Lizzie picked up the book, wrapped her arms around it, and leaned back in her chair. “Sorry, my back’s starting to hurt.” She closed her eyes. “Treason.”

Clearly not specific enough. Kenna tried again: “What did Marianne do that resulted in the accusations of treason?”

“Questioned elders. Disobedient.” Lizzie frowned. “Different.”

Questioned about what? Kenna found this process inaccurate at best. She wasn’t sure how Lizzie had the patience for it. It was like she was using an internet browser she was unfamiliar with and a search engine with funny rules. “Give me an example of how Marianne questioned her elders. Uh, please.”

Lizzie opened her eyes. “You know you’re not actually talking to the book, right? Just telling me what to ask it?” At Kenna’s annoyed look, Lizzie closed her eyes. “Just saying. Should the villagers suffer for our knowledge?” Lizzie cocked her head. “For our advancement.” She blinked. “I’m also getting an icky feeling. I think our Marianne was a pacifist and not-nice things were happening to the locals. That certainly fits better with imprisoning Gwen than all that bull about pursuing enlightenment.”