Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (29 page)

John’s reply was terse.
“Do it.”

Sarah nodded, already concentrating on slowly diffusing the detection ward.
The ward itself was dispersed finely through the air, like a multi-layered net strung between all four walls of the entryway. Tricking this type of ward was a highly refined skill, requiring her to thin it to the point of ineffectiveness without breaking the net. And…done! She was one of the best casters in England when it came to wards, but she still got a little thrill when she worked out a particularly tough problem.

Looking at the next ward,
Sarah worried her lower lip. Tricky. Taking it apart without triggering it was key. She didn’t know what she’d be triggering, so she had to be especially careful. If she did trigger it, she couldn’t very well protect herself and her team against an unknown attack. She took a second to consider her plan. Plan first, then execute quickly. Once she started, Worth would know. She smiled—that was it. She would execute very quickly, almost instantaneously, in fact.

“
I can collapse it in on itself, basically creating an implosion. One huge flaw in this plan—anyone inside could be injured, depending on the amount of magic generated when the trap is triggered.” She waited for John’s decision.

After a brief check
-in with Frank verifying that no women were on the ground floor, John weighed the risk. They believed all the hostages to be women, but had no definitive proof. There simply wasn’t time to debate. “Go.”

As Sarah pushed the strands together and in on themselves, she experienced an odd sensation.
Some of the magic was uncooperative, hard to manipulate. She’d experienced that before, but the specific way this magic acted was strange. Instead of uncooperatively slippery, the magic trap felt sticky, as if the strands wanted to grab at her and not let go. The sensation lasted for a few seconds, one or two maybe, before she felt them start to release her. But that wasn’t fast enough for her to escape a sharp sting. The magic snapped all along her skin as the strands struggled to keep hold of her. Eventually—maybe a minute, two?—they consumed each other and burned out.

She must have gasped at the stinging, burning sensation, because John prodded her. “You ok
ay?”

“Yes. Go. Clear to the stairs.” She gasped in between each utterance.

They couldn’t retrieve the hostages until the house was secure. They’d been fortunate to find all but two occupants on the ground and basement floors. Clearing the ground floor and basement were paramount. Sarah knew there were two men on the ground floor, both in an unknown state after the implosion.

The
men entered, searching for signs of physical traps and the two ground floor occupants. Max led, pistol at the ready. John followed close behind. He carried no weapon; his only concession
to the impending danger had been to wear “disposable” clothing that would be consumed by his magic in a sudden change.

The ability to change was
both a defense mechanism and an offensive tool. To decrease the time, Lycan learned the skill of changing while clothed at an early age.

Around the corner,
two of Worth’s men were on the ground. One was either unconscious or dead. The other was staggering to his feet. Upon seeing them, he reached for the pistol in his shoulder holster as he struggled to rise. Max shot him before his gun cleared the holster. Within a few seconds, the first man was determined to be alive but unconscious, then quickly bound with plastic cuffs provided by Harrington. According to Harrington, they could expect several hours of magic suppression from the plastic cuffs. John checked vitals on the shot man after removing his gun. He was dead.

As they headed back to the basement stairway, Sarah caught up. “I checked in with Frank. He says two women on
the fifth floor, and two men and a woman in the basement.”

“Still?
I’d expect them to be moving this way,” said Max.

They’d arrived at the top of the basement stairs, and Sarah immediately saw the magical equivalent of a series of land mines.
“The stairs are booby-trapped. Give me a minute.”

She painstakingly deconstructed each of the wards. They appeare
d to be pressure triggered. When triggered, the part of the stairs where the spell was attached would break apart into small, sawdust-sized pieces, halting the target’s progress on the stairs and likely causing injury. Interestingly, the traps seemed to be keyed to ignore certain triggers—maybe the occupants of the house? A neat trick. Sarah made a note of the method used; she would study the concept later.

“Clear to the end of the stairs.” But where was Worth? Sarah couldn’t understand why he wasn’t confronting them. She felt as if she was missing something important. The further she followed the men down the stairs, the more uneasy she became.
What had she missed?

             
Worth had almost reached the door, when he stopped, straightened, then let out a guttural snarl. A noise very unlike the urbane, sophisticated man Lizzie had seen thus far. He stood silently for a moment. When he turned, Lizzie couldn’t see any sign of the anger or distress he’d voiced. He looked exactly as he always had, elegant and in control. Her heart beat erratically, quickening in panic, then slowing as she willed herself to be calm. Something was horribly wrong, every instinct told her so. But she
would
maintain her composure.

             
Worth spoke to both Moore and Lizzie, saying, “I’ll be keeping you company for a few minutes longer. We have some unexpected guests.”

             
No! Not now, not yet
. That was her first thought. She knew it was John. In her gut—in her heart—she knew it was John. She feared for her family, certainly. But the immediacy of his presence made him the focus of her fear. Worth was a factor John couldn’t have accounted for.

             
Her response to Worth was visceral. He frightened her on a level she didn’t truly comprehend. It was as if the juxtaposition of his polished image and the malevolence she knew he harbored made him even more terrible and frightening. Evil should
look
evil, dammit.

             
She needed some kind of plan. She had to help, because sitting by and watching the man she just might be falling in love with, fall prey to Worth—well, no. That wasn’t happening.

Worth eyed her speculatively. “Moore, shoot her if she looks like she’s making trouble.” Damn her expressive face, she thought.

Lizzie sat quietly at her table, her arms resting on the tabletop and her hands clearly visible. She tried to look as innocent as possible. Moore was a loose cannon. He’d shoot her just because he’d been given the authority. So she needed to appear as non-threatening as possible. Keeping her face as blank as she could, her mind raced. Could she aid her rescuers with her magic? She certainly didn’t have any useful fighting skills. Remember the steps. She had to stay calm, because she’d never be able to reach her magic if she didn’t.

“Three? Such a small force
—they mustn’t suspect the library,” Worth muttered.

Moore replied, “Sir?”

Speaking more clearly, Worth said, “The IPPC has underestimated me, it appears. They’ve sent a rather small group. I’m not sure if I should be flattered they’re making an effort, or offended it’s such a paltry one.”

She thought Worth might be feeling more pressure than he conveyed. He was becoming chattier
and less decisive.

“Your gun, Moore.”
He accompanied this order with an outstretched hand.

Moore handed over his only weapon without a pause. He was either incredibly loyal, or he had some magic talent of which she’d been thus far ignorant. She suspected both were likely.

Worth turned to her. “Ms. Smith.” He held out the hand that was not pointing a gun at her.
Great. “Please use me as a hostage” must be stamped on her fricking forehead. Enough, people.
Scared for John, frightened for her family, and terrified she was about to get shot. All of these feelings coalesced and transformed into a hard ball of anger.

Gripping her upper arm with surprising strength, Worth moved her in front of him and then opened the door.
He stood, patient and calm, in the doorway of the library. Lizzie stood as a shield between him and her rescuers. She was confused by his actions. She didn’t for a moment think he planned to leave his precious library. She looked fleetingly at the rows and rows of gorgeous, leather-bound books. No. He had some kind of plan. Stay calm, remember how to reach for your magic, she reminded herself. What she should do with it? That she didn’t know.

Sarah was behind John on the stairs. Max had taken her “all clear” of the basement in stride, and immediately headed for the only open doorway. He was inside what looked like a small bathroom. She had told the men she could create a shield for herself and whoever remained close to her. So John was her responsibility. She had a few offensive warding capabilities. Max’s gun could penetrate some types of wards—but not all. The same was true for John’s ability to use his superior strength and speed. They planned a three-pronged attack on Max’s cue.

             
Before Max signaled, the remaining door opened. Again, the feeling she was missing something pulled at Sarah. Worth stood in the doorway with a woman shielding him. From John’s growl, she assumed the woman was Lizzie. He held a gun casually in his right hand. What was he thinking? This was not a move she’d expect from an experienced caster.

             
And then it hit her. A sticky, clinging goo. She felt it all over her. Pulling at her. Instead of protecting them, the ward shielding her and John was being eaten. Consumed by the taffy-like strands of magic. Lizzie was a distraction. This was the plan. And Sarah had absolutely no idea what was happening.

             
“My protective ward is almost gone,” she told John. She thought she might be speaking slowly. Her body felt like it was surrounded by molasses. Her actions and thoughts were slow, clouded.

“Sarah?” John turned to her. “Can you hear me?”

Sarah shook her head. Or she meant to. Her body wasn’t acting as it ought. She thought she heard a pop. Was that a shot? She felt as though her very life was being pulled and sucked away. That was her last thought as she fell to the ground.

John tried to stop Sarah, but she’d been pulled right past him away from the stairs and into the basement. He’d grabbed her and tried to hold her, but as he touched her he’d felt his strength start to slip away. She’d simply slid from his grasp. He’d called to her, but she seemed not to hear him. And that was when he’d felt the tug. It was like someone, something was pulling at his wolf. His wolf howled a protest. Frantically, John held onto the wolf and changed.

His wolf was enraged. He’d never felt such a separation between rational
, human thought and animal before. Not since puberty had he even come close to losing himself in his wolf. And that was it, his last thought. Then he was only fur, and teeth, and mad rage. The wolf charged at the man who held his mate, stole his soul, his wolf…and then he felt a burning pain in his head and collapsed on the ground.

John felt his wolf slipping away from him, yanked from his body. His human
self lay on the floor. His body ached with despair, and his chest felt tight and panicky. He wasn’t sure why… his wolf, was his wolf gone? His heart hurt at the thought. Sarah. Eager Sarah, keen for adventure, lying still on the floor. Lizzie, left all alone…

              Lizzie could see it, as solidly as any object she could hold in her hand. The magic moved from the woman to Worth. Spell caster magic—she could taste the flavor of the stolen magic. Worth was sucking the magic, the very life of the woman, away. Lizzie could feel her breath coming in shorter gasps. She was seeing a woman die.

             
She tried to calm herself. Magic was her only tool, and if she couldn’t control it, she was useless. Worse than useless, she was just a hostage. Then Max fired. At her. Or so it seemed to her. Her rational mind knew he was firing at Worth. But she was looking at the barrel pointed at
her
. Her heart raced in fear.

             
Slowly, so slow and yet unstoppable, she saw John’s wolf flinch as he was shot. How? Max was firing, not Worth. But Lizzie could see the mirror-like ward surrounding them. A ricochet? His beautiful wolf was prone, bleeding on the floor. Tears ran down her face. And then the taste of the stolen magic changed. She could feel the fur, smell the musk of John’s wolf in the magic Worth was siphoning. He would kill the wolf, and then he would kill the man.

“No.” It was a whisper.
A tiny sound, barely moving past her lips. But it held all the horror and conviction of John’s looming death. “No.” Firmer. He couldn’t die. Not now, not here. In front of her, as she stood and did nothing. And then…welling up from a place deep inside her, a mad rush, uncontrolled by thought, her magic. He would not die. “No!” Not a protest. A command. 

Worth shuddered, dropp
ed her arm and fell to his knees. Without looking back, she walked to John, and dropped down beside him. Seeing he was still alive, she glanced at Worth. On his feet once more, blood dripping from nose, ears, and eyes, Worth was holding Moore firmly by both arms. Except Moore was barely recognizable. There was almost nothing left of Moore but a lifeless husk of a man. As Worth drained from Moore the last drop of magic, life, soul—whatever it was he was stealing from his victims—he looked at her. Calmly. Not with hate or rage. He just looked. Then he was gone, vanishing into thin air right in front of her eyes.