Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (8 page)

“Yes. I texted her yesterday. She’s supposed to give me a call later today. I’ll let you know if I find anything,” she assured him. She looked at the toast he was buttering. “Did you bring groceries with you?”

“Just a few things,” he said absently. He laid the knife down carefully. He seemed to be staring at the counter top. Eventually, he said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. To keep digging for information about Clara, I mean. I shouldn’t have asked. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Aha. She knew there was some serious history attached to his request. She just bet that John only knew a small part of it.

“I think it’s too late to go back. Given my trancelike experience and the unusual nature of the information tied to Clara, I’m worried there’s a bigger picture question that we should be investigating.” She hesitated a heartbeat, then said, “Whether I find anything or not, I did look in good faith. I didn’t even ask you any questions…so you kinda owe me, right?”

He brought his plate over and sat down. His coffee was already on the table. “What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

“Information about John’s dad. I know he’ll tell me—but it’s hard for him to discuss. I thought this might be easier.” She gave him a sincere smile. Easy enough—she was sincere.

“You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “Now, about John’s dad—”

Logan must have resigned himself to the inevitable. When he spoke, his tone was brisk, businesslike, even. “It’s a nasty story. He terrorized the Pack, beat his wife, and abused his child. If insanity were a possibility, I’d say he was mentally unbalanced. But Lycan aren’t susceptible to the same mental illnesses that humans are.”

“No mental illness? That can’t be right. Besides, you guys aren’t supposed to be susceptible to alcohol or drugs, either. And that assumption is clearly being challenged by the facts.”

“Maybe,” he replied skeptically. “But he would be the first I’ve heard of. John thinks the trigger was Clara’s disappearance, or his mother’s death. It wasn’t. I hoped that Clara had run away, that she’d escaped. I wanted it to be true, so I believed it at the time. And John’s mother—humph. She was weak. She couldn’t protect herself, and she wouldn’t even try to protect John. She was pathetic.” He almost spat the last sentence, emotion finally creeping into his words as he made his contempt for John’s mother clear.

“What then? What pushed you into acting?”

“The bastard broke John’s arm.” He snorted. “I know that sounds like a small thing given the damage Lycan can take.”

Lizzie didn’t actually think that was a small thing. Not at all. But Logan was still explaining, so she couldn’t object to his evaluation.

“But John was only four, and Lycan can’t change until adolescence. That healed break will be something John carries with him forever. Richard could just as easily have maimed him, or even killed him. He was his father. Hell, he was the Alpha, and he didn’t care.” Logan cleared his throat. “It was unnatural, obscene. Lycan protect their children, and the Alpha protects his pack.”

“So you killed him.”

“It wasn’t quite that simple.” Logan’s nostrils looked pinched and white as he spoke. “But yes, I killed him. The aftermath was…” Logan lips pinched together and he shook his head. “It was difficult.”

A moment of silence passed and the tension seemed to seep away. Logan turned back to his meal, finishing his toast and coffee. And Lizzie started thinking about her to-do list for the day.

Once Logan had finished rinsing his mug out in the sink, she asked, “So—wanna help me
not
blow myself up?”

He laughed. “What exactly would I be doing?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m trying to figure out some offensive spell casting options. I guess brainstorming might be a good start?” She slumped in her seat slightly, a little of her enthusiasm waning as she considered what a responsible spell caster would do. Dejected, she said, “I should probably call Harrington. He’s sort of my casting mentor,” she explained. “Damn. I’m supposed to call him about that other thing—the drug and alcohol question.”

She was convinced the moment she called Harrington, he’d either make her a tempting offer or wrangle her into some incredibly sticky situation. She waffled. Logan waited.

After a few minutes and no phone call, she said, “I don’t really want to call Harrington.”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted, and he said dryly, “I got that. So what exactly are your options? What can spell casters do exactly?”

Lizzie ticked off the options on her fingers. “Wards. Manipulating objects. Geolocation—but I think guys usually have that talent. Reading spelled books.” She frowned. “I guess the last two are basically variations on warding.”

“Manipulating objects—like missiles? Flying objects?” When she looked stupefied, he clarified, “I’m not talking about nuclear warheads. For example”—he dug a quarter out of his pocket and flicked it at her—“can you throw this?”

She shrugged.
Why not?

Fifteen minutes later, she was getting a headache and feeling more than a little frustrated. “Grrr. Seriously? How hard can this be?”

Logan rested his crossed arms on the table and looked amused, which didn’t help. “How about you just try to move it a few inches?”

She blushed slightly. “That’s been the goal for the last five minutes or so.”

She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text to her ever-informative buddy, Harry.
Moving objects – any tricks or tips?

Chewing on her lip, she waited for a response. She’d met Harry through the IPPC, when he’d been brought in as an expert to help an injured employee. And that was the beauty of Harry. He wasn’t an IPPC employee—refused more than one job offer, in fact—but he worked with IPPC and had a vast store of knowledge pertaining to magic and the magic-using community. Her phone beeped.

Not likely. Stick to Fade.

She frowned and thumped her phone down.

“Okay, let’s give it a rest for now.” She gnawed harder on her lip. “There’s got to be a way to use warding in an offensive way, right?”

Logan pursed his lips. “Explain to me how warding works.”

“The general idea is that a physical object anchors a spell. But you know that already.” When he nodded, she elaborated, trying to remember some of the specifics she’d picked up over the last few weeks. “From what I understand, it might be helpful for the object to have something to do with the function of the spell—but that may also be tradition. For example, books typically anchor recording spells, and personal items anchor finding spells.” She stopped, considering what she’d left out. “There are also sensing wards that warn when a person comes within a certain distance or indicate a certain object or item is present. And the scent void—that one’s new. I’m not sure how it works.”

“What are the limitations? It sounds like you can attach any kind of spell to an object.”

“Well, I know I can do recording spells, but a lot of spell casters can’t. I’m not really sure what determines the types of spells a caster can create, but some casters can do certain ones and others can’t.” She wrinkled her nose. “My mentorship was cut short, and I’m pretty new to all of this.” She sighed. “I’m supposed to start teleconferencing with Harrington soon.”

“Uh-huh. How’s that supposed to work when you don’t want to talk to him on the phone?”

Ouch.
She’d ignore that comment for the sake of good will, peace, and all that. Maybe brainstorming with Logan hadn’t been the best idea.

“About that scent void, how does that work?” Logan asked.

“As best John and I can determine, it traps scent close to the body. But it still must let air in and out somehow, or the person using it would suffocate.”

Logan nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Well, it’s not offensive casting, but it would be a neat trick to keep something specific—say someone—out of that same kind of bubble, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure.” But she wasn’t sure where this was going.

He must have caught the hesitation in her voice, because he said, “A shield. What if the bubble acted like a shield?”

Lizzie was swiftly caught up in a memory—Worth being shot at and the bullets ricocheting off him. She shook her head. Too uncontrollable. She was pretty sure that was how John had been shot: a bullet glanced off the shield that Worth had created and struck him.

Logan’s voice jolted her to the present. “What are you thinking?”

“I saw Worth use one to deflect bullets. It wouldn’t work in most circumstances, because of the risk of ricochet. But…” She twisted the concept a little in her mind. Maybe. “What if the shield could encapsulate me—without smothering me—and it could stop people. Now that would be pretty cool.”

He nodded in agreement. “And I’m not sure why a shield deflecting gunfire is problematic.” He pulled a small pad of paper and pen out of his shirt pocket. Sketching quickly, he showed her what he meant. “See, if your attackers are situated here, here, or here” —he made several X-marks at points north of an east-west line, then made circular marks south of the horizontal line—“and your people are there—then I don’t see a problem.”

“That’s a lot to consider when there’s gunfire all around.” That sound and that feeling wouldn’t soon fade from her memory.

“True enough,” he agreed. “And it certainly would be useful to have a more broadly applicable shield.”

“Now to figure out if I can actually do that.”

Before she had a chance to dwell on the improbability of her success, John came home, sweaty and grim-faced. Lizzie knew with one look that something bad had happened.

“What’s wrong?” Lizzie asked, her pulse leaping in her neck.

He gave her a weak smile. “Everything’s going to be fine.” He dropped into a chair next to Logan. “But I just received a challenge.”

Chapter 11

J
ohn wiped the sweat from his face. Carlos had approached him during his run. The bastard had brought an enforcer, probably thinking John would feel at a disadvantage without the trappings of his position—half-dressed, no enforcer, on a country road—but John couldn’t give a shit about that. What bothered him was the cheek the fuck had demonstrated when he’d challenged him.

“So soon,” Logan said. Not a question, just a resigned statement.

“What? I thought you expected this.” Lizzie’s glance pinged between the two men.

“Hmm.” He wasn’t going to lie, but he also didn’t want to tell her that this was
fast.
Too fast. “I’m thinking that your conspiracy theory is looking less unlikely every day.” More accurately, he was beginning to feel like a trap was closing in around him.

Lizzie scrubbed both hands over her face. “I guess we need to call Harrington and get IPPC involved.” She gave him a guilty look. “I’m sorry. I haven’t talked to Harrington today. I was procrastinating until you came back.”

He couldn’t help a small laugh. Sometimes Lizzie was so predictable. “Easier to say no to him when I’m around, huh?”

“Yes,” she said sheepishly. “But now I’ll ask if they’ve had any hits on Worth, or maybe have any other likely candidates. But seriously—why you, of all people?”

Logan said, “It’s not John. It’s the Texas Pack that would be the actual target—assuming there is a larger picture plan at work. We’re on the cusp of a serious shift in how packs engage one another. Unimpeded, I see North America following a model similar to IPPC in as little as five to seven years, and Texas is currently the driving force for those changes.”

Logan’s thoughtful, well-considered response gave John a minute to regain some perspective. He needed a cool, logical head. And reframing the events of the last few days as the expression of a political agenda rather than a personal attack was a good start.

“Right,” he said decisively.

“Got a plan?” Logan asked.

“Kick this guy’s ass and then grill him. Primarily about the timing. Why now, does he have inside information, what precipitated the challenge—that kind of thing.”

He was dripping sweat on the kitchen chair, something he might want to worry about now that he lived with someone who cared. He grinned, trying to lighten the mood a little. “But right now I’m going to hop in the shower. Then we call Harrington. Get a current location for Worth and Harrington’s opinion as to possible players. IPPC has information on some questionable magic-users, even if the organization’s focus is in Europe.”

He left Lizzie looking dejected and Logan looked unruffled, both sitting at the kitchen table. His first morning home, and this was the shit he had to deal with. He stepped into the shower, distracted by thoughts of how different this second challenge would be from the first. He was angry at the disruption to his life and the offense to the Pack. But he was most concerned that he was losing respect in the American Lycan community. He would have to do something drastic to salvage his reputation—more than a quick kill. He rested his forehead against the cold tiles.

He heard the front door close—probably Logan heading out—then a few seconds later the shower curtain moved back. The smell of her filled his nose and some of the tension eased from his shoulders. He didn’t lift his head up immediately, and after a few seconds he felt the warm press of her body against his back and her arms around his chest. He turned, grinning down at her. “I thought you already showered?”

“Why would you think I’m here for a shower?”

He loved that her eyes crinkled at the edges when she teased him, even when her lips didn’t smile. “No reason. No reason at all.”

Quite some time later, cold water spraying his back, he had to admit it might be past time to get out of the shower. Lizzie squeaked when he moved an inch to the right resulting in a dash of cold water right in her face. “Uh, duck,” he said belatedly as he turned off the faucet.

“Funny.” She wiped the water out of her eyes, then wrinkled up her nose and said, “Harrington.”

“Yeah.” Procrastination was great when it involved acrobatic sex with his enthusiastic and creative mate, but the crash back to reality afterwards was that much harder. He sighed. Thinking about Harrington when he was checking out his naked mate was wrong on so many levels. “Go ahead and see if you can catch him on the phone. I know you’ve got a few questions for him. I’ll be out as soon as I’m done shaving.”