Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (12 page)

“But were actually Lycan,” Kenna said, nodding. “That had to scare the shit out of you.”

“I was ready to completely deny that anything out of the ordinary had happened. The evening happened to play out in a different way. I’m just saying, people with and without magic have lived side by side for ages. Non-magical people don’t want to know, and they’ll do their damnedest not to see.”

“Yeah. I’ve even talked to Lizzie about it. It’s freaky how much willful blindness normal, non-magical people experience.” Kenna pinched the bridge of her nose. “But now I’m intimately involved, and it will be my life that explodes if I’m found out.”

“That’s true. That makes the danger more real.”

She yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “Ugh. I do need to sleep. Can you make sure someone comes to get me just as soon as Lizzie’s able to meet me in the library? If I manage a nap and she’s still not available, I’ll run down and meet the librarian.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be down with the security guys.”

“Working on Plan B,” she finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“Night…or morning, I guess.” She gave him a shy smile and disappeared behind her door.

Damned if they didn’t manage a completely normal conversation for all of…he looked at his watch. Ten minutes. Not bad. He was willing to be patient, and it was a good start.

Chapter 10

Kenna woke suddenly. Something, some noise, had startled her awake. She blinked sleepily. Or maybe it was a dream. A quick look at the clock and a little math and she figured she’d slept for four hours. If she kept to a regular schedule for the rest of the day and was in bed before midnight, she’d be able to beat any signs of jet lag into submission. And then it happened. That tiny window, that moment upon first waking when the day shines new and bright and safe—that window closed suddenly for Kenna. Fear, anxiety, and despair washed over her.

Kenna curled up into as small a ball as she could and pulled the covers over her head. She cried for her mom, terrified and beaten in a jail cell. She cried for her unborn child, conceived through accident. And she cried for herself, as alone as she’d ever been. Eventually, she’d cried so long she had no more tears, but an emotional rawness lingered.

Eventually, thoughts of her mom got Kenna’s feet on the ground and her ass out of bed. Kenna had imagined her mom, beaten, hurting, and terrified, sitting in a cell waiting to be tried. But that wasn’t the woman she’d grown up with. And that certainly wasn’t the woman she’d come to know over the last few days. Kenna smiled, the tired muscles in her face pulling—but it was a good ache.

Her mom wasn’t terrified; she was pissed. And she wasn’t sitting and waiting for anything, especially not her own trial. Kenna’s smile grew broader. She could just see it. Her mom, a Sarah Connor wannabe. Not that her mom would be caught dead watching The Terminator. Kenna could see her doing push-ups and sit-ups with a fierce glint in her eye. The image made her laugh, a watery laugh, but it was an improvement. She sniffled and smiled to herself. Yoga was a little more realistic. But the point was the same. Her mom was one badass bitch—witch—whatever.

Time to step up and own her witch ancestry—or at least be the kind of daughter her mom would be proud of. Kenna rolled out of bed and washed her face in the small sink that was next to the closet. If she could make herself moderately presentable, then she could take a stroll down the hall to the shared bathroom without raising any eyebrows. And if she could get a shower, she could conquer the world. Maybe not the world, but she could conquer the stairs down to the library.

Forty-five minutes later, that was where Kenna stood. Talking to an American woman who claimed to be the librarian.

“You’re not a spell caster?” Kenna asked for the second time.

Patiently, the woman said, “No more so than the last time you asked.”

“And you’re American?” Kenna wasn’t sure why she’d asked. Did it really matter where the woman came from? But it was weird.

“Yes, but I speak and read Czech, as well as several other languages.”

“And you don’t have any kind of magic?”

The poor woman was starting to lose her patience. “I’m a librarian. You don’t need magic to be a librarian.”

Kenna frowned at her, still suspicious. It seemed to her that the librarian of a magical library should have magic. “What’s your name?”

“Emme.” She managed a wan smile. “And you’re Kenna. I was told to expect you.”

“Oh.” But confusion still reigned, so Kenna asked what seemed the most obvious question: “And how are you going to help me if you can’t read any of the books?”

Emme blinked owlishly through her glasses. If Kenna didn’t know better, she’d say Emme had judged Kenna and found her a little short in the IQ department. Which made her want to growl. Kenna wasn’t the one surrounded all day by books she couldn’t read. A little twinge of conscience reminded her of the code and case law books in the law office where she worked. But it wasn’t the same. She could read code, sort of. And case law, a little.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Kenna tried to dig up a sincere smile. “Maybe you could tell me what you do? And how you can help me find what I’m looking for?”

“I catalogue all of the books based on a variety of factors: author, topics, estimated date or dates of recording—”

“Wait a minute. Who exactly is the author? The spell caster who attached the ward to the book and who records the information? Or the source of the information in the book?” Kenna was thinking about Witch’s Diary. Recorded by a spell caster, but the story was a witch’s.

“An interesting question.” Emme’s eyes sparkled with the fervor of a fanatic. “We’ve been working very hard to address it.”

Kenna tried not to giggle. A book fanatic. No, a book zealot. She’d have to tell Lizzie about that one. Or maybe it wasn’t that funny and her jet lag was kicking in. Not unlikely.

“And in the case of pack books,” Emme continued in an eager tone, “where you have one book that has a number of recording casters and content contributors. It makes for an exciting cataloguing challenge. We’ve tried to cover each of these aspects. I use the term ‘author’ quite loosely. We’re recording both the spell caster and the primary contributors to a book. But the knowledge in some books is so vast it’s difficult to pin down content.”

Emme peered at Kenna, checking that she was following along. Kenna nodded enthusiastically. And all was forgiven.

“But you can search by content? So if I asked you where to find information on witches, you could tell me?”

“Yes.” Emme drew the word out.

Kenna waited for the bad news.

“But we haven’t even scratched the surface of the content available in the library. We’ve focused on books that have names, the recording dates of all the books, and designating which spell casters recorded which books—when we can make that determination. It’s frequently not clear.”

“So—no? Nothing on witches?”

“Oh, certainly we have something on witches.” Emme nodded firmly. “But what I can provide you with will represent only a fraction of what we have in the library. It’s going to take us years to sort through the books and properly catalogue them.” Emme went to her desk and picked up a pen. “Can you be more specific? Just ‘witches’ is very broad. I can look for more relevant options if you can narrow the search.”

“Anything to do with witches would probably be helpful, honestly.” Especially if she didn’t have a clue what was in her own library and wasn’t going to have much to bring her anyway, Kenna thought. “But anything related to the Coven of Light would be especially good. Oh, also witches and the law, that would be good.”

Emme sat down at her desk and scribbled on a pad. “Got it. Why don’t you pop up to the kitchen for some lunch, and I’ll see what I can find. I should have something for you to get started on when you get back.”

Kenna eyed Emme the librarian suspiciously. How did she know Kenna hadn’t eaten yet? Kenna’s stomach grumbled in protest. That might be why—or the fact that it was lunchtime. She needed to tone the paranoia down a notch.

And perhaps be nice to the lady who was helping her. “Uh, thanks. I’ll be down in a half-hour or so.”

Emme nodded but didn’t look up. Her fingers flew over her keyboard.

~*~

Kenna started her research in a much better mood. A stomach full of food had made all the difference…until she started to see a pattern to the stack of books Emme had provided.

“I’m sorry—where did you say you’re from?” Kenna laid her pen down and looked at the rosy-cheeked young girl across the table from her.

“Elin. I’m from Norway, near Oslo.”

“Huh. Really?”

Elin grinned. “No, not really. About sixty kilometers, which isn’t very close. I used to tell people Moss, and they’d ask—how far from Oslo is that?”

“And I haven’t a clue where Moss or any other Norwegian city is—sorry. I just recognized a polished fib. How old are you, Elin?”

“Sixteen.” When Kenna raised her eyebrows at her response, Elin elaborated: “I’m on internship.”

Figured they’d give her the intern. “You seem…proficient for an intern.”

Elin nodded eagerly. “Books are my favorite, and I practice a lot. I’m hoping to work here when I’m done with school.” In a confidential tone, she added, “The librarian is my aunt, but I applied just like everyone else. And there were a panel of interviewers and everything.”

“You seem very qualified,” Kenna said. And that explained why Elin’s English was spectacular, her attitude eager, and why Emme, non-magical person that she was, had known about magical books. “Elin, we have a problem. All of the books so far are to do with witch trials.”

“I thought that’s what you were looking for?”

“I’m looking for witches, real witches, pursuing some kind of legal action against their own kind.” Kenna tapped the books, giving them a disgusted look. “Not this.”

The books were full of witch-hunts and trials, but they never seemed to involve any actual witches. Humans with no magical talent at all, spell casters, healers, all falsely accused of witchcraft. And Lycan cited as familiars, equally falsely.

“Let’s chat with Emme again and see if we can narrow it down to anything on the Coven of Light. Or maybe fire witches in particular.” Kenna stretched. They’d only been at it an hour or two, but her back and neck were already getting stiff.

“You’ve got to get up and move around every twenty minutes or so. Otherwise you won’t be able to work for long stretches.” Lizzie’s voice floated through the room.

Kenna turned toward the door. “Hey! I thought you wouldn’t be done for a while yet.”

“Just taking a break.” Shifting toward Elin, Lizzie said, “Hi. We haven’t met, but you must be Elin.” Lizzie stretched her hand. “I’m Lizzie.”

“Oh, hi.” Elin seemed pleasantly surprised to meet Lizzie. “Very nice to meet you. Should I fetch Witch’s Diary for you now? I know you’re working on another very important project…” She stopped and blushed. Turning to Kenna, she said, “Not that this project isn’t incredibly important. I know your mom…” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “What would you like me to do?”

“It’s all right.” Lizzie gave her an encouraging smile. “And that would be great if you could grab it or us.”

Kenna stopped her as she was about to leave. “Take these with you.” She grabbed a pile of four books and handed them to Elin. “And tell Emme to modify the search. No witch trials. Focus on the Coven of Light and also on fire witches.”

“Got it.”

Kenna touched Elin’s arm. “Wait. Not fire and witches. We’ll get the witch trials again, I bet you anything. Fire witch, as in elemental magic.”

Elin nodded. “Got it.”

Lizzie plopped down into one of the chairs at the table. “They’re bringing some food down for me. I worked through lunch, so I need to eat while I’m working on this.”

“Wait a sec. Where have you been working?”

“You know that side office that Emme has? The one we built for her workstation?” When Kenna nodded, Lizzie continued, “Kind of like that.”

Hmm. “Oh, you were in the top-secret room you have to fade into.”

How could Kenna have forgotten that there was a secret room located somewhere close to the basement, housing several dangerous books? No doors, only accessible via teleportation, truly top secret. Well, she had a lot on her mind.

“No. I’m the only person on the project who can fade.” And that was all Lizzie said. Hush-hush, apparently. “What’s up with the witch trials?”

“All of the books so far have been about falsely accused witches and their horrible fates. Grim reading. Depressing, in fact. I think that was making my back hurt more than sitting in one place. Hearing about the smell of burning hair, how to create the perfect pyre, and whether drowning is truly a good test for witches—not fun.”

“Poor Elin.” Lizzie waved an arm at the man who’d just entered the library. “Here. Bring me food, please.” She sounded like she was starving.

He walked to their table and deposited a tray full of food. As soon as the tray was on the table, he hurried away.

“What’s up with that? Afraid you might chew his arm off?” Kenna waggled her eyebrows at Lizzie.

“I’m hungry; give me a break.” A loud crunch sounded as Lizzie bit into a raw carrot. “Some of the staff are creeped out by the library.”

“Why work here, then?”

“It’s a good job? What do I know? Any number of reasons, Kenna, I’m sure.”

Elin reappeared with Witch’s Diary clutched in her hand.

“Speaking of creepy,” muttered Lizzie.

Kenna thanked Elin. “And why don’t you take a break. Lizzie has this covered for now.”

“Okay,” Elin said, but she sounded disappointed.

Once Elin had left the library, and Lizzie had inhaled half her sandwich, Kenna nudged the book closer to Lizzie. “Do that thing that you do.”

“All right, already.” Lizzie wiped her fingers on her napkin and held the book with both hands, closing her eyes. Cracking one eye open, she said, “I swear this book has a thing for me.” A small wrinkle appeared between Lizzie’s eyes. “No, this book has a thing for us. Not you and me, per se, but our spell caster/witch connection.”