Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (6 page)

Second, create a clear mental image.
Experience had proved that her intent was more important than accuracy of wording when she posed a question. After a few seconds of thought, she went with what was simplest. “What happened to Clara?”

Third, apply will.
She thought of this as a mental push of magic. Her magic worked on and through objects, so she needed to push her question at the recording ward attached to the pack book—not the book itself. And, importantly, more wasn’t always best. Sometimes finesse was more effective.

She had to laugh at how proud she still was of the massive sensing ward she’d cast yesterday evening—finesse all the way. She grinned. If she’d powered through the spell instead of using a gentle touch, she’d likely have been laid out cold from the recoil. But that was just with certain types of casts, she reminded herself. She’d never had any recoil or blowback when dealing with spelled books.

She thought of her question again: “What happened to Clara?” Then she gave it a good mental push.

Her senses were immediately overwhelmed. One moment, it was the book pushing a series of intense emotions at her and then it
was
her. She felt cold. And sad—she was so alone. Afraid, terrified—she had to run. Her legs ached from running so hard. Her chest tightened. She had no breath. Everything around her was so loud. She covered her ears, but the noises wouldn’t stop. So loud, her ears were bleeding, she was sure. She wanted to cry. Her face was so cold, wet and cold. Wrapped in cloth, still so cold. Red. Blood. Fear. A loud rushing in her ears. Then a whisper. A familiar voice. She knew that voice. She wasn’t alone. She loved that voice.

“Lizzie. Lizzie.” She saw John’s hands cupping her face, but her face was numb. Or his hands weren’t quite right. Something was wrong. It was a faint, distant thought. But she wasn’t alone. She could hear John’s voice.

“Ow.” Her ear stung, enough to make her eyes water. She blinked a few times until tears rolled down her face and her blurry vision cleared.

When she saw John’s features tightened in anger, she panicked. “What’s wrong? What happened?” She reached up and touched her earlobe. “Ow. Did you pinch me?”

“I thought that might be better than a scratch.”

Oh, shit.
He looked really pissed. “Uh, I’m sorry?”

“You should be. Do you have any idea why you might be sorry?”

She gave him a small sheepish smile. Touching the tips of her fingers to the tender lobe of her ear, she said, “No. I’m not sure what just happened.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she saw the pack book on the ground and remembered. “Clara.”

Seeing his confusion, she explained, “I was just asking about Clara. After that…” She shook her head.

“Do you remember the Vampyr book? The one from your great-great-great however many times removed ancestor, Matylda?”

Lizzie glanced at the sapphire on her left hand and then back at John. She nodded. “Of course. The one she had hidden in her secret chamber.”

“You told me that when you’d been caught up in the book’s images, Matylda used the ring to scratch your hand. And that snapped you out of it.”

“That’s right.” Lizzie shook her head numbly. Looking up at John, she tried to explain what she’d just experienced. “She was terrified. The little girl—the one from the Vampyr book, I mean—she was so afraid. She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. Her family… The smell of all the blood…” She shivered. “Like iron, but so much worse.”

Thank goodness for Matylda. She may be the ghost of one of Lizzie’s long forgotten ancestors, but she’d still been present enough in this lifetime to wake Lizzie from a dangerous vision.

“I was pulled into the book’s message.” She shook her head, shaking away the last of her confusion. “Just now. The pack book pulled me in just like the Vampyr book had.”

“What do you remember?”

“This was different.” She blinked a few times, clearing the last of the wetness from her eyes. Rubbing her hands quickly across her face, she said, “The Vampyr book was a recording of a particular moment. A horrible, terror-filled moment, but it was a story, like a movie. This—” Lizzie stopped and picked up the battered green leather book off the floor. Staring at the book, she continued. “This was a chaotic rush of emotions. Everything was happening at once, with no beginning or end.”

“What were you looking for?”

She blinked. Her head hurt. Looking at the book in her hand, she remembered. “Clara. I asked what had happened to Clara. Logan couldn’t know that would happen, could he?”

“Logan asked you to check the pack book for information on Clara?” His tone was perplexed.

“That’s odd? Wait—do you know who Clara is?”

“Yes.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “Enough to be surprised that he’d mention her. I knew her when I was young, too young to remember her myself. I only know what I’ve been told, but I’m pretty sure Logan thought she’d be his mate. They grew up together and were close before she disappeared.”

Lizzie could feel her eyes getting wider. She knew there was a story, but that wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “And?”

“And what? That’s it. She disappeared. She’s a part of Logan’s past. It’s been so long, I’m surprised he still thinks about her.” He shook his head. “Even more surprised he’d mention her to you.”

“Did he go look for her? Or did he find her later—you know, dead?”

Lizzie remembered feeling panicked, fleeing, and the feeling that she—or, rather, Clara—couldn’t go any further. Lizzie frowned. The whole idea of
being Clara
when she was connected to the book was unsettling. Especially if Clara was dead. If that flight Lizzie experienced through Clara’s eyes had failed—if Clara hadn’t gotten away—then it wasn’t so farfetched to think Clara might be dead.

“No, he didn’t look for her. You have to understand—things were different back then.”

She waited. After a moment, when he didn’t continue, she poked him.

He flinched slightly, as if he’d been lost in thought. Ordinarily, she never managed to surprise him, so either he was still worn out by his lack of sleep, or speaking of Clara was upsetting him. She sighed. Maybe both. There were still a lot of things she didn’t know about John, but she didn’t want to push.

“It was all a long time ago.” He gave her ear a soft kiss and said, “We need to head out if you’re feeling okay.”

She nodded. “Absolutely. And I’m packed for a few days. Let’s get going.”

But she intended to give the question of Clara and Logan some serious consideration on their way to Smithville.

John must have seen something in her face, because he gave her an amused half smile and said, “I can see the wheels turning in your head.” More seriously, he added, “We’ll talk about it later, all right?”

She nodded her agreement.

“And the book—”

Lizzie interrupted him. “I won’t look for any more information on Clara unless someone is with me.”

Grim-faced, he said, “Maybe it’s best if you don’t do
anything
with the book unless someone’s with you.”

Lizzie remembered how angry he’d looked when she first recovered her awareness of her surroundings. And then she realized: he’d not been angry. He’d been scared.

“Absolutely. Promise.”

Chapter 8

J
ohn eyed the road ahead of him and shook his head. Anything that required him to hurt his mate was guaranteed to put him in a shit mood. Not okay. Pinching an earlobe obviously wasn’t going to really hurt her—but still, she’d cried. He’d be happier if she was just a little more cautious. His fingers tightened reflexively around the steering wheel. But realistically, he wouldn’t have thought the book was risky. She’d dug some information out already without any ill effects. Why had inquiries about Logan’s lost love created such a drastically different response? One or two of his suspicions weren’t particularly flattering to the Pack, unfortunately.

They’d been on the road for twenty minutes before he decided it was unavoidable. And he’d rather she hear it from him.

“We should talk about what happened.” It was past time for some of the Pack’s history to see the light of day.

“Not if you’re going to get all protective and weird, we’re not.” Snarky, and yet she said it with a smile. When he didn’t immediately respond, she eyed him suspiciously and said, “You have that look.”

“I want to talk about some Pack history.” He paused. He preferred to keep this particular part of the Pack’s history in the past. But it might be important.

“Ah. Okay.” Her tone was suddenly chipper.

“Clara was a member of the Pack a number of years ago. She and Logan knew each other.”

“You already told me that,” she reminded him gently.

He glanced down and saw his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. He immediately loosened his grip. “She left the Pack during a very turbulent time.”

When he didn’t continue after a minute or so, Lizzie said, “I knew that things were rough before Logan took over. That both of you have moved the Pack in a different direction.”

John’s sharp bark of laughter held no amusement. “Yes. Except whatever you’re picturing, the Pack was not that. We’re not talking about Idaho. Clark is a good man, an excellent Alpha. The Texas Pack was—” He couldn’t hide the distaste that ran through him thinking of the stories, of his few memories of his mother, and worse, of his father. “The Pack was broken.”

Lizzie reached over and turned off the radio. He hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking over it.

“Logan killed my father.” After the words left his mouth, he smelled a light citrus scent—surprise. John glanced at Lizzie out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction.

She seemed to be weighing her words. “Your father was the Alpha, and challenges are usually to the death. That’s not so strange, is it?”

“No challenge. My father was murdered.” He couldn’t quite say the words “Logan murdered my father.” But technically, it was true. The reality was far grimmer. This time, his eyes stayed glued to the road.

“Pull over.”

He did look at her then. “We’re in a hurry—sort of.” Max was fine and the crisis averted, so five or ten minutes wouldn’t matter. But he’d rather be looking at the road than her when he told this story.

She gave him an exasperated look. Sighing, he pulled into a Dairy Queen parking lot.

Once he was parked, she grabbed his hand and twined her fingers with his. “You love Logan and I love you.” She cocked her head in thought, biting her lip. “I’m not sure exactly how that all plays out for Logan and me, but that minimally earns him the benefit of a full explanation. And I can’t imagine you’d forgive him if what he did was truly so heinous.”

He ran his thumb lightly along the outside of her hand, intently studying the contrast between his skin and hers. “There was nothing to forgive. Someone needed to kill him, and no one was up to his weight in a fair fight. Logan was really young at the time, younger than David. And Richard Braxton, my father, was phenomenal in a fight.”

“What does Clara have to do with all of this?”

“Logan fancied himself in love with her, and Richard didn’t approve. It was a combination of her disappearance, my mom’s suspicious death, and escalating violence against me that precipitated Logan’s decision. He wasn’t as good of a fighter, but he was twice as smart as Richard. Thank god.”

John could see the emotions flash across Lizzie’s face as she processed his words. Watching her expressive face and seeing each emotion cross it as she reasoned through the catastrophe that had been his early childhood, he almost had to laugh at how hard she was thinking. Almost. Then she finally put the pieces together.

“You think your dad killed Clara. That she’s dead, and that’s why I had such an intense and unsettling experience with the book.” She shook her head firmly. “No. I don’t think that’s it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “How do you know? It seemed a lot like the experience you had with the Vampyr book. The one that recorded the aftermath of the murdered family.”

“Hmm. I think the similarity is the intensity of emotion. I’m so wrapped up in the experience that I lose myself. I didn’t see anything bad happen to Clara. I think.”

“You think?”

She puffed out an annoyed breath. “The Vampyr book was vivid with detailed images and feelings. Like I said before, there was an underlying story. This was just so chaotic. Feelings: sadness, loneliness, fear. A sense of being cold and tired. Feeling like I was being chased—all jumbled and piled on top of each other. There was no linear sense of time and space.” She brightened visibly. “But I can say with certainty that I didn’t see a young woman being done in.”

He grinned at her. Even on the worst of days, Lizzie could make him smile. He kissed her hand, then let her fingers go. “Call Pilar before you try again, okay?”

She wouldn’t leave it. Her curiosity alone was enough to keep her digging, not to mention the fact that Logan had asked her to do it. She’d feel some sense of obligation to see it through for his sake, as well. She’d promised not to experiment with the book alone, but he didn’t think that was enough.

“Definitely,” she readily agreed, apparently unruffled by his request.

After they’d been on the road a few minutes, he said, “I almost forgot. The reason we’re in a rush—Max pulled a gun on a smartass pack member who was shooting off his mouth. We have legitimate avenues for complaint, and calling me an irresponsible douche in a public place doesn’t actually meet any of those requirements.”

Horror and humor warred momentarily on Lizzie’s face. Humor must have won, because by the time his eyes were back on the road, he could hear her laughing.

“Ohmygosh,” she gasped. Laughter gurgled up again.

“Take a breath before you hyperventilate.” Out of the corner of his eye, John could see she was almost doubled over in her seat.

After a few minutes, she wiped the tears away from her eyes. “I cannot believe any of the Pack would say something so, so”—she grappled for the right word—“so stupid. What an asshat.”

John choked. “Asshat?”

“Well, he is, isn’t he?”