Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (24 page)

Max looked troubled. “Are you saying you think Canada, Mexico, Australia, and …” He stopped, closing his eyes for a second. Harrington
and Max spoke “Columbia,” simultaneously. Max continued, “And Columbia… were all projects like Lizzie?”

“It’s possible.” Harrington walked to his desk and spoke in
to an intercom requesting his assistant. After a brief conversation in the hall, he returned. “I’m having some of my people look for similarities between the type of expenditures made. And putting out feelers for any missing magic-users.”

Kenna
looked confused. “Why would you think there would be others?”

Harrington
looked thoughtful for a moment. “Each of the countries is a particularly good choice if you wanted to stay below IPPC’s radar.” He smiled slightly. “We may be a fledgling organization, but we’re gaining influence and authority daily as magic-users begin to see the advantage of a united policing force. I don’t think it immodest to say that Worth is more likely to be successful if IPPC is unaware of his activities.”

“There must be any number of reasons he could be directing funds to those countries
,” Kenna stated. John suspected she was afraid to be too hopeful.

Right on cue, Harrington’s assistant returned and handed him a sheaf of papers. He flipped through them.

He held up a piece a paper. “A dead spell caster in Columbia, resulting from a failed kidnapping attempt.” He held up another. “A missing spell caster in Mexico.” And another. “The Mexican spell caster’s non-magical daughter is also missing. And there’s evidence that Worth’s private jet was flown out of Mexico within twenty-four hours of the missing mother’s disappearance. That’s three female spell casters targeted in less than two weeks.”

“We know from experience
that Lizzie’s kidnappers were quick to leverage loved ones, which makes the mother-daughter disappearances especially troubling. There are too many points of connection. It’s no coincidence that Worth is in the middle of them. He’s our target.” John was past ready for action. “We’d appreciate access to everything you have on Worth that you’re willing to share.”

“Done,” Harrington respon
ded.

Lizzie’s heart thumped a little faster
after she knocked on the door. But there was no answer; only silence. The rapid tattoo of her heart slowed. She debated knocking a second time, but before she could make up her mind, the door directly opposite opened. Her shoulders jumped just a little, the only thing that indicated she was startled. A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, poked her short blond head out of the door.

“No one is assigned to that room.” Her accent was predominantly
British, but Lizzie picked up some other accent, as well.

Lizzie reached out her hand
. “Hi! I’m Lizzie Smith.”

“Heike,”
the girl replied as she clasped Lizzie’s offered hand. She had fine features emphasized by her pixie cut.

Lizzie struggled to find something
situation appropriate to say. “Hi, Heike. Do you have a second to chat?” A little silly, but that was better than:
Did they hold a gun to your friend’s head, too?

“A few minutes, yes.
Did you arrive today?” She opened her door, and invited Lizzie inside.

Unlike Lizzie’s room, there were personal items displayed throughout the room. An easel with a
sketchpad was set up next to the window, and a partially completed sketch of the view from the window was on the top page. A few framed photos stood on a dressing table covered with toiletries. Lizzie eyed the makeup and moisturizer enviously.

“I did, less than half an hour ago
,” Lizzie replied. “How did you get the sketching materials?”

She thought the question an innocuous enough beginning. But Heike looked at her askance, eyebrows
raised.

“There is a provision in my contract for such small
expenses, a weekly stipend that I use for personal items, including art supplies. Perhaps you failed to obtain a similar concession?” Heike’s tone had become slightly condescending.

Lizzie bit her tongue on a snarky retort, and asked the obvious
—to her—question. “I apologize, but what contract?”

Heike’s condescension faded immediately, and instead she looked confused.

“My employment contract with Mr. Worth. You are not here without a contract, are you?” This seemed a foreign concept to Heike. And Mr. Worth? Was the man Lizzie had dubbed Larry actually Mr. Worth?

Lizzie worded her response very carefully. “Mr. Worth didn’t provide me that employment option.” She paused, trying to think of a way to formulate her next question. “Are we working on the same project?”

“I am not at liberty to speak about the project. There was a confidentiality clause. You will sign one before you begin, I am certain. If we’re working together, you will be brought around to the work room tomorrow. Or Mr. Moore will let us know at dinner.” Heike was looking at the door, as if she regretted having invited Lizzie into her room.

Lizzie quickly asked her another question. “Is anyone else staying on this floor?”

“Pilar is in the other room. I don’t think she speaks English, though. Or perhaps not well.”

“I see. It was nice meeting you, Heike. I’ll be seeing you at dinner this evening?” It was a question
, since no one had bothered to tell her about meals or the household routine. And she thought she’d better excuse herself before Heike could kick her out.

“Yes, until dinner then.” And with a click of the door, Lizzie was again in the hallway.

As Lizzie turned to head toward her room, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She saw that the door opposite her own was open just a split second before it closed. She wasn’t sure, but she was willing to gamble that her neighbor was showing a little curiosity. Lizzie mentally dug out what few words of Spanish she knew, approached, and very lightly tapped on the door.

The door opened and a very pretty woman with dark hair and hazel eyes looked solemnly at her. Lizzie mentally grimaced, then tried her best.

“Hola. Me llamo Lizzie Smith.”

Pilar
smiled slightly and gently tugged her into the room. Only after she shut the door did she speak.

“Hello, Lizzie. I’m
Pilar. Maria del Pilar Flores Rodriguez.”

Lizzie smiled widely. “You speak English.”

“Yes. My grandfather was a diplomat. My mother and he spoke excellent English. I learned as a small child.”

“Heike,” Lizzie
said as she gestured in the direction of Heike’s room, “thinks you only speak Spanish.”

“Heike is wrong.”
Pilar’s flat tone conveyed some sense of her feelings for Heike.

Lizzie looked around
Pilar’s room, equally as barren as her own. “I see that. Might I ask where your things are?”

“The same place that yours are, I believe.
In my home.” Pilar’s eyes widened slightly, and Lizzie suspected that she was trying to keep tears from falling from her over-bright eyes. Pilar turned away to look out her window.

Lizzie turned with her. What she saw might have explained
Pilar’s interest in speaking with her and her willingness to speak so plainly. Pilar’s room wrapped around to the front of the house and overlooked the street. Pilar had seen her arrive with little luggage and escorted by the man Lizzie believed was Heike’s Mr. Worth. One of Worth’s henchmen had actually pulled her from the car and held onto her arm as she’d walked to the house. At the time, she’d been frustrated, tired, and angry. As a result, she’d pulled violently away from her escort, even knowing there was no point to protesting. Unbeknownst to her, she’d likely given Pilar a very good impression of her situation and feelings, all in that brief moment between the car and the house. Maybe Pilar was in a similar situation.

“Heike told me she receives a stipend for personal expenses in addition to her contracted fee. Do you have the same arrangement?” Crass to discuss money within less than five minutes of acquaintance, but
it was the quickest way Lizzie knew to determine if Pilar had been kidnapped or not without asking outright. And she was feeling cautious.

“I certainly have no such contract with Moore or Worth.
Yourself?” With her question, Pilar left the door open for her to tell all if she chose.

Lizzie’s gut reaction was to trust
Pilar. She was usually pretty spot-on with people, so she went all in.

“I was kidnapped. They say they’re following my family
—to make sure I cooperate. They won’t say who, just that it’s someone close to me.”

Lizzie stopped when she realized
Pilar was silently crying. Lizzie was a sympathy crier. She gave herself a mental shake, convinced if she started that she might not stop anytime in the foreseeable future. Instead she hugged Pilar, squeezing hard, then let go and took a step back. Pilar wiped her damp face.

Pilar
spoke first. “They have my daughter. Not following her. They actually have her. She’s in a house, here in Prague, I believe.” 

“Have they said how long they plan to keep us?”

The question made Pilar hiccup a tiny sob, but she replied calmly enough. “I’ve only been here a few days, so I don’t know that much. Heike’s a paid employee, so they may have told her. I think she knows I am not here willingly. She doesn’t seem concerned, so I have kept my distance from her.”

“And not spoken any English with her.
You mentioned a Moore and a Worth. Do Moore and Worth know you speak English?” Lizzie was thinking of all the information the Goons and the Three Stooges had seemed to know about her. She thought it likely Pilar’s skill at speaking English was known.

“When I arrived, they had a translator waiting. They knew I could speak English, but not my fluency. So the work I do is in Spanish. And it’s
true, I am much more comfortable working in Spanish. My English conversation is much better than my writing.” After a brief pause, she continued, cautiously, “Moore was the man with you when you arrived. And Worth, he’s the one who is truly in charge. You’ll probably meet with him. To discuss his project.” She said project with a strange inflection, a certain flatness of tone that conveyed her dismay. And a look of distaste definitely crossed her face when she mentioned Worth.

Which led to the question Lizzie really wanted to ask…

“What is the work? I know it has something to do with categorizing books. I assume these are special books?”

“Spelled books.
You didn’t know?” Pilar looked merely quizzical. Unlike Heike, who had clearly been concerned about violating her confidentiality agreement.

“I thought it likely.” Lizzie belatedly realized
that she should have asked about the safety of discussing their situation so openly in Pilar’s room. Maybe that had been a mistake. “Can we speak freely here? I should have asked earlier.” She blushed a little. She was new to this super-secret, bad-guy mastermind thing.

“Of course.
I thought you saw the wards. I warded the room against magical eavesdropping. They could certainly break my wards. I’m not that good, honestly. But they give me a sense of privacy and cause no inconvenience to the staff here. I suspect that’s why they let them stand.”

“Wards?
I don’t actually know—” She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Lizzie looked anxiously at
Pilar. “Am I allowed to be here?”

Pilar
replied, “I don’t see why not. They have not restricted my movement on this floor. Only said I’m to stay on the fifth floor unless escorted.”

Pilar
walked across the room to open the door. She opened it a few inches and peered through the crack. A man’s voice—Moe or Curly—said, “Ms. Smith?”

Pilar
opened the door wider and waved Lizzie over. Pilar whispered, “Later,” as Lizzie passed by.

Lizzie followed her escort down the five flights of stairs.
Really, people? Five flights?
Her legs were just starting to ache a little when she reached the bottom. Her breathing was even, though. That was an improvement. Assuming she lived past tomorrow, she should really consider working out more frequently.

Nerves always made her mind skitter from topic to topic. And now she flipped from a hope that
Pilar could help her learn enough to fool her captors, to thoughts of escape, to feelings of homesickness for Kenna and her parents, to John and the kiss that never was. No caffeine for her over the next few days. She’d fry a few circuits if she wound her brain any tighter.

They
finally
reached a study near the back of the house. The walk from Pilar’s room to the study had taken two or three minutes. But it had felt like twenty. Very often, Lizzie found the anticipation of something feared could become more awful than the feared thing itself. Not so, in meeting Mr. Worth.

Wort
h—she assumed it must be him—was standing near the lit fireplace, pouring himself a drink. Tall, trim, and athletic, his short graying hair was the most obvious indication of his age. Lizzie put him in his midfifties. He looked up as she entered and greeted her with a warm smile. “Good afternoon, Ms. Smith.”