Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (11 page)

He tried for a lighthearted tone. “About that, Chris might have some information about Matylda. You remember Chris? She helped out with your kidnapping marathon.”

“Cute. Two kidnappings does not a marathon make…I think. And yes, of course, I remember her. She did all of the background research that you gung-ho, beat ‘em up types have such a hard time with.”

Her words and tone were light, but she still looked subdued. But he couldn’t bring himself to discuss the challenge. Maybe they could just pretend it hadn’t happened. Right. He mentally shrugged away the guilt—for now. Chris. They’d been discussing Chris.

“I know your Internet searches so far haven’t yielded much, so I asked her to do a little background—on both Matylda and your family tree. She’s coming over for dinner tonight, and I think she’s planning to bring something with her.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his. “We’re having people for dinner? Who? When?” she asked and then looked down at her cargo shorts and T-shirt.

He couldn’t help but smile. “You’re fine. We’re doing barbeque. And it’s just Chris and her husband, Ben, Scott and his wife, Max, and Logan.”

“Uh-huh. When are they arriving?” she asked with a look of panic on her face.

“In an hour.” But he was talking to her ponytail as she stripped and hustled to the bathroom at the same time. And when she just about tripped as she hopped on one leg while trying to yank off one of her Keen sandals, he couldn’t help but laugh.

She caught herself on the doorjamb to the bathroom and shot a glare over her shoulder. “They’re your friends, but they’re my
guests.
Grrr.” And with that she continued her frantic flight into the bathroom. From inside the bathroom, he heard her muffled voice. “I’ll be out in five minutes. Five. Is the kitchen clean?”

If he understood what just happened, then Lizzie had said—in a roundabout way—that she felt like this was her home. Maybe he wouldn’t have to explain why he had acted like a complete psychopath today. Maybe she already got it—and maybe she was okay with it.

Chapter 14

“I
have a housekeeper. The kitchen is definitely clean.” John’s muffled voice traveled through the bathroom door.

Steam floated through the bathroom as the water in the shower heated up. A five-minute shower was a crime. Not burying dead bodies on your neighbor’s land kind of crime—but still really bad. She ducked into the shower, banishing thoughts of dead bodies.

Okay, so he had a housekeeper. But still, if people were coming over, Lizzie wanted to at least have a quick walk-through. And what about the food? Who was bringing that? Were she and John supposed to be cooking? Lizzie scrubbed the washcloth a little more frantically over her body. Ducking her head under the spray one more time, she decided that would have to be good enough. She might not have much time, but she wasn’t going to her first Pack event smelling like anxiety and fear. And she’d been sweating in the truck the entirety of the fight exuding exactly those smells, she was sure.

She hopped out of the shower, drying off quickly. “What are we supposed to be doing for food?” she hollered as she towel-dried her hair.

John poked his head in the bathroom door.

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t know you were still in the bedroom.”

He grinned.

Gah—really? This was not funny.

“You showered fast.” He wiped the grin off his face.

He must have noticed her annoyance—finally. “Food?” she reminded him.

“Right. Everyone’s bringing a side, and Logan already dropped off steaks. It’s fine. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. And there’s really nothing for you to do. Except enjoy yourself, if you can. You already know most of the people coming.”

“Except Chris. And her husband. And Scott’s—the guy I met today—his wife. Oh, yeah, and Ben, the guy I met yesterday.” Her lips pressed together. “It’s your house, your town, your Pack. Invite whoever you like, but let me know, okay?”

“It’s our house and our Pack. And I will. Sorry. It didn’t actually occur to me that you’d think of this as an event. It’s just people stopping by to eat.”

“And to get to know me. Remember, judgy rumors floating around? I’m a bitch, couldn’t be bothered to meet the Pack, kept you from coming home…those rumors?”

“Ah.” John pulled her close to him, loosely wrapping his arms around her, and resting his chin on the top of her head. “These are my closest friends. There is not a person coming tonight who wants to think anything but the very best about you. They’re all biased in your favor, because they know how much you mean to me. Well, except Logan.” He kissed her neck. “Logan isn’t particularly concerned about upsetting me. But you’ve managed to wrap him around your little finger.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “You get why I want to make a good impression, right?”

She could feel his chin move against her hair as he nodded. She gave him a quick, hard hug, and then shoved lightly at his chest. “Okay. Go start the grill, or whatever you have to do to get ready. I need to dry my hair.”

The frantic energy—probably a mild sense of panic—was gone. Just a quiet dinner with friends, she told herself. If she could remember that, she’d be fine.

Two hours later, she tried to recall what made her think this evening might be a quiet evening. Ben had Max slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and Max was pounding on an area she suspected housed Ben’s kidneys. Chris was doubled over in laughter, and Chris’s husband, Josh, was looking on in quiet amusement.

John walked up and bumped shoulders with Lizzie. “Having fun?”

“Yes.” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “But if you smirk and say I told you so…”

He looked at her with innocent eyes. “I would never.”

It was a good thing Chris chose that moment to join them, or Lizzie would have thumped him—maybe in the kidneys since that seemed to be the thing to do this evening.

Chris held out a small thumb drive to her. “I brought this for you. John asked me to do a little research—he told you about that?” When Lizzie smiled and nodded, Chris added, “I put everything I could find on it.”

Lizzie took the tiny drive and closed her fist tightly around it. She smiled again. “Thank you.”

When Chris hesitated, Lizzie prompted her with a questioning look.

“It’s just—well, there aren’t any ax murderers or anything like that. I think most of your family were good people.” Chris looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her.

Lizzie’s smile broadened and she laughed a little. “Thanks. I didn’t realize my worry was so obvious.”

Chris smiled. “It wasn’t,” she blatantly lied.

Lizzie leaned in and gave her a hug. “Truly, thank you. So, about Matylda. What did you find?”

“Oh, yes. She’s definitely your great-great-some number removed grandmother.” Chris looked quite satisfied with herself for digging up some good details. “She was a seriously cool lady.”

“That’s good to hear, though not surprising since she’s still pretty dang awesome.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, then Chris made her excuses—a new babysitter and an early morning—and she and her husband headed out for the evening. Scott and Heather followed shortly afterwards, leaving Logan, Max, and Ben. They all moved indoors as if by unspoken agreement.

After everyone had settled into a chair or sofa in the living room, Logan asked Lizzie if she’d checked in with Harrington.

“I did. Both on our bet—the scent thing—and on another idea I had. He didn’t see any danger in experimenting with either of them.” She chuckled. “Although he did say something about staying away from live ammunition unless John was supervising. Like I don’t have enough sense not to shoot myself.”

Logan and John exchanged a glance.

“Don’t start. It’s funny.” Looking at two pairs of raised eyebrows, her grin died. “Okay, I thought it was funny.” She sighed and raised her right hand. “I promise to neither shoot nor be shot at while experimenting with this shield ward. Good?”

Looking at John, Logan said, “Can’t really ask for more than that.”

John shook his head. “I guess. But you do need a smaller gun.”

She couldn’t argue with him. When she’d tested the gun out, she’d fired a few rounds, but she hadn’t actually held the gun level for any period of time. In retrospect, the purchase was a mistake. It was much too heavy. With any luck, she could ditch the gun entirely. If she could develop some forms of offensive magic, then she could definitely ditch the gun.

“So, I had an idea for a shield. Well, more of a protective bubble, really.” She loved the idea of magic as a recipe. Get the right components and it would work. Maybe. But she wouldn’t let doubt dull her enthusiasm. “This is a completely badass idea. Combine the scent void bubble with Worth’s bulletproof shield. Cool, right?”

She looked around expectantly. Four faces in varying stages of confusion looked back at her.

Ben, who’d been silently watching up to that point, winced. “From what I heard of the kidnapping rescue operation, Worth’s shield caused several ricochets. Isn’t that an issue?”

“Excellent question, Ben.” She smiled broadly in his direction. “This bubble isn’t specifically about deflecting bullets, since most of you guys don’t use guns. It’s more a no-go area for people and objects. Like a bubble pushing away anything that comes near it. So, it might work for bullets, but I’m thinking more about claws, teeth, even brute strength. You can’t hit something that you can’t touch with your hand. If it works how I’m thinking, anyway.”

She looked around the group, trying to gauge whether or not they thought her idea seemed nutty. John looked grim. Yeah—she wasn’t really okay thinking about people hurting him, either.

At least Max looked interested. “I’m still not sure I get how this combines the scent void with the shield, since I’m not up on the mechanics of how the scent void works. But either way, I say let’s do it.”

“Anyone interested in being my first guinea pig?” When no one jumped up immediately to volunteer, Lizzie clarified, “There’s about an eighty or ninety percent chance that you won’t be injured at all.”

At which point Ben, Logan, and Max all started to look intrigued.

“Oh, we’re in,” Ben said.

“Hell, yes,” Max agreed. “What do we do?”

“I don’t really want to try this on myself first, because—well, someone running at me is distracting and I’m still trying to figure out how this shield works. There’s also the simple fact that I’m not interested in being on the bottom of a tackle pile.” Lizzie saw John’s raised eyebrows and revised her statement, “John being the exception. He can tackle me any time.”

Max raised his hand. “I’ll be you.” He flexed a few muscles. “A really manly, handsome, buff, version of you.” And then he flashed her a cheeky grin.

“Oooo-kay. Who wants to be Max’s attacker?”

Surprisingly, Logan spoke up first. “I’ll do it. Ben might break his neck accidentally on purpose.”

She
thought
he was kidding.

“So, I can either have the shield deflect and redirect the force of an attack, or absorb and discharge the force. Any thoughts on what might make more sense, from a mechanics standpoint?” The physics of it all was well outside her comfort level.

Commonsensically, Max said, “Which is easier?”

“Huh. Don’t know, so let’s try both.” Gosh, this was fun. When she removed the life-or-death aspect from the equation, it was just a great big puzzle.

She grinned. Now to see if she could get the pieces to fit together exactly right.

An hour later, Max was cheerier than he’d been when they started. Lizzie had a few misfires initially, but in the end Logan was charging him like a mad bull with no discernable effect. That was more than enough to make up for the dozen or so tumbles Max had taken at the experiment’s beginning when Lizzie’s shield had failed.

Trying to attach the ward to a large surface area—Max’s clothes—had been a problem. She’d thought the greater the surface area and the more diffuse the ward, the better the coverage. Not so. The bubble had been uneven and quite weak in some places.

Taking a page from the unknown spell caster who’d created the scent void ward, Lizzie settled on a small object that was near the center of Max’s body—his belt buckle. The resulting bubble was much more even.

During a break, while Logan and Max wrestled without benefit of Lizzie’s shield, John nudged her and asked, “Did it occur to you that you may have discovered a decent weapon? That you’ve flipped a defense into a possible attack?” he asked her.

It took a moment for her to realize what he meant. “It’s not the point to hurt anyone.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Cracking one open, she said, “But I’d love to get rid of the gun.”

John had tapped her nose and replied, “I don’t blame you. You’re terrible with a gun.”

“So,” she announced to the group of rowdy guys wrestling on the lawn, “does this ward officially meet with Texas Pack’s approval?”

“Not exactly,” John replied.

The guys huddled up around her.

“You need more pressure,” Max said.

“Stress changes everything,” Ben added.

She puffed out an annoyed breath. “Okay. Let’s give it a go.” She narrowed her eyes. “But it works better if you use a little force—so not John.” She scanned the group. “Logan.”

Logan had started earlier with a tackle, so they agreed that would work.

No problem. She’d cast the ward at least a dozen times successfully now. She could do this—“oomph!”

“Ow.” It came out muffled because her cheek was mashed into the grass and Logan’s 200-plus pounds of bulk lay on top of her.

After he got up, the sensation of being squished into the ground didn’t immediately fade, so she decided to hang out for another few seconds. A pair of scuffed Adidas appeared in front of her nose. She blinked.

A hand appeared.

“Ow.” Even thinking about moving made her hurt. “Uh-uh.”

John squatted down next to her. “Come on, now. It’s not so bad as that, is it?”

She propped herself up on an elbow. “Hey. I deserve a little sympathy.”

This time when he reached a hand out to help her up, she took it.

“Would you like to try that again?”