Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (17 page)

“I’ve had an update from Jack. He’s in Wales. Access to Clifford has been as challenging as anticipated, but Jack seems convinced they can breach the castle.”

“I’m sorry—breach the castle?” Maybe that one whiskey had been too much.

Ewan laughed. “Didn’t know that part, did you? Clifford is holed up in an old castle in Wales.”

Max started to speak, stopped himself, then decided what the fuck. “This guy is a complete nut job, isn’t he?”

Harrington didn’t respond. He might as well have agreed wholeheartedly.

Ewan laughed, with a little less humor this time. “Oh, yes. But an unbelievably talented one.”

“Do we need to send Jack help? Do I need to go?” Max didn’t want to leave Kenna, but he would. Reluctantly.

“No offense, but my kid just arrived on the scene and she’s a little more qualified than you. Jack will be fine.” Ewan almost sounded proud. Okay, maybe really annoyed and a little proud.

Max’s eyes darted from Ewan to Harrington. “So you’re sure Jack has this covered? Sorry—Jack and company have this covered.”

Ewan sighed. “Spirelli Paranormal Investigations.”

“You’re kidding me.” How did Max not know this shit? He and Jack ran in to each other, even worked together. Not a lot…but still.

“To clarify, the public face of the company deals with debunking paranormal fraud.” When Max raised his eyebrows, Harrington smiled and said, “My idea, actually.”

And the more Max thought about it… “Okay, maybe. But it definitely seems risky. I know he’s still working with the magic-using community.” He shook his head. Not his problem. “Whatever. So if you guys think Spirelli Paranormal Investigations can handle Clifford, and Harrington, you’ve got a handle on the negotiations with Margot, then that leaves digging up as much as we can on the Coven of Light.”

Ewan lifted a finger. “Let’s you and I meet tomorrow morning with the tech guys, Max. We can have a look at what kind of research they’ve been doing.”

“And since they haven’t found anything, maybe point them in a different direction?” Max suggested.

“Right.” Directing the question to Harrington, Ewan asked, “Have Kenna and Lizzie found anything in the library?”

“I’m due a report. I’ll let you both know. I have made some progress with the list of suspected witches Kenna and Lizzie cobbled together from Gwen’s address book. I have a few names that look like promising witch candidates.” Harrington was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter.”

Frank opened the door and greeted everyone. The lines around his eyes were etched more deeply than Max remembered, and he seemed to be moving slower.

Ewan stood up. Tipping his head at Harrington as he walked to the door, he said, “Thanks for the drinks.”

Max cringed inside at how tired Frank looked. “Any chance we’re almost done with these sessions?”

He knew the healing sessions tired Frank out, but he also wanted his damn arm back up to speed. So he felt like a dick for taking advantage, but could hardly say no.

“Not even close.” Frank took Max’s sling off.

There was a reason the guy didn’t just heal him all at once. The damage to his arm had been extensive, making the healing process complex. Frank had to knit together and repair bone, muscle, tendons, skin…a bunch of shit.

Max turned away as Frank removed the bandages covering his arm. He really hated to admit it, but the sight of his own ripped flesh made him feel like puking. Dealing with someone else’s spurting blood, exposed intestines, or crooked limbs—okay. His emergency first-aid training kicked in, and he went to work. But seeing bone through bits of raw, red meat that was supposed to be his own arm… He swallowed reflexively. Definitely going to puke if he didn’t start thinking about something else.

“Hey, it’s not nearly so bad now. You can check it out. It looks good.” Frank’s deft fingers moved along Max’s arm as he spoke.

Frank’s exam didn’t hurt. But Max couldn’t say it felt great, either. “Pass. But thanks.”

Every accelerated healing process sparked by Frank’s ministrations—they were all powered by magic. Specifically, Frank’s magic. The way Max understood it, a healer had a reservoir of magic that he could draw on. And only time recharged a depleted store of magic. Interestingly, each healer’s magical storage capacity varied. And he was lucky that Frank was a relatively big gun in the world of healers. Or maybe he should be thankful that IPPC had the foresight to employ some of the best magic-users in their fields.

“All right. You’re done until tomorrow morning. Check in with me after breakfast.” Frank tidied up the stray bandages and bits of gauze. He was headed out the door, but he paused and gave Max an expectant look.

“Will do.” Max extended his left hand. “Thank you.”

Frank shook his hand. “No problem. But do try to take it easy.” He headed out the door, looking unconvinced Max would take his advice.

Harrington had busied himself at his desk for the duration of Frank’s visit. But as soon as the door clicked shut, he said, “I understand there was something you wanted to discuss with me. A private matter.”

“Two things. The first you may not be able to help me with. I want you to do everything you can to keep Kenna away from her mom’s rescue mission.”

“Realistically, I don’t see that happening. And I’m not sure I have an incentive to try.” Harrington wasn’t trying to be an ass. He was even giving Max an opportunity to point out an error in his conclusion. But the man grated on his last nerve.

He was also predictable. Max pulled a trump that worked well with Harrington: “Lizzie. If you can find a way to keep her pregnant best friend out of harm’s way, I’m sure she’d be appreciative. I know Lizzie is one of your more promising assets.”

“As I said, I’m not sure it’s possible, but I’ll consider what can reasonably be done.” Harrington leaned back in his chair. “The second?”

“I need you to find someone competent to draw up a will that will be recognized in Texas. I need it finalized before I leave on this harebrained scheme of yours.”

“I don’t see any difficulties in fulfilling your second request. Although my harebrained scheme only involves determining Gwen’s location. The responsibility for her breakout—be it a success or failure—is your own.” Harrington tapped a finger impatiently on the desk. “Just to be clear.”

Max simply nodded and kept silent. As if he needed any more pressure.

“If we’re finished?” Harrington asked. When Max murmured “yes,” Harrington said, “Good night, then. You look like you could use a solid night’s rest.”

That was a massive understatement.

“Night.” Max hoped his feet would take him all the way to his room before he crashed from exhaustion.

Chapter 14

Kenna woke again in a state of relaxed contentment, as she had the previous day. But this time, there was no shocking rush of reality. Her situation—half-baked witchy magic, single momhood, and her mom’s imprisonment, trapped by the wicked witches of everyone’s nightmares—slowly crept back into her consciousness. She groaned. Rolling over, she pulled the covers over her head. She was still tired enough to sleep another several hours, but the need to do something was pushing her to get her butt out of bed. And then there was a knock on her door.

“Yes,” she hollered, but the sound came out muffled from under the covers.

“It’s Max. Can I come in?”

She groaned again, but louder.

“Are you okay?” He sounded a little worried.

“Just peachy,” she grumbled in what she knew was a grouchy—some might say bitchy—voice.

Max cracked the door. “It’s about nine. Harrington thought you might want an update. He has some information for you about that list you gave him.”

Kenna threw back the sheets. “Nine?” How could it be that late? She fumbled around for her phone and discovered she’d forgotten to plug it in the night before. “Dammit. My alarm didn’t go off.”

“Uh—can I come in? I have breakfast, and it’s getting heavy. One arm and all that.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Max. Come in.” She grabbed her robe from the chair next to the bed and quickly wrapped it around herself. She ran a hand through her hair.

Max delivered the tray to the small table next to her bed. “I’ll let Harrington know you’re headed down in…?”

Kenna rubbed her eyes. “Twenty minutes. Thanks. And, really, sorry for oversleeping. I appreciate you bringing me breakfast.” That was downright civil for her. Especially before her morning coffee. Her single allowed cup of morning coffee. The reminder of the nasty restriction on her caffeine consumption was a serious mood killer.

“No problem.” He turned to go, but hesitated. “We haven’t been able to find Margot. And no leads on the Coven that lead to any information about Gwen.”

“So sticking to the original plan. Shit.” Kenna hurried to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. “I cannot believe I forgot. We found a way into the Coven holding cells last night.” She grabbed her toothbrush, started brushing her teeth, and then hunted around for fresh clothes.

“And? What is it? What did you find? And the location—did you find the location?”

Max’s rapid-fire questions sparked Kenna to brush her teeth faster. She twirled her finger around, and Max turned his back to her.

She stripped and threw on clean clothes as fast as she could as she explained. “Not an exact location, but maybe a way to narrow down the choices. But that geo-location nutball should be here soon, right? You can turn around.”

She was so busy rinsing her mouth, it took a few seconds to realize Max hadn’t answered her last question. “Clifford, geo-location guy, he’s on the way?”

“No. Not yet. Jack’s been delayed—but he’s still confident he can bring Clifford in. And Harrington’s tech people are still working on the decoy interface. They say they won’t even be ready for him for another day, maybe two.”

“If this crazy plan of Harrington’s is going to work, we need him. I don’t think we can pinpoint an actual location with the information we found. We can find several locations where cells are more likely to exist, but that’s not very exact.” Lizzie grabbed the tray and waited for Max to open the door wider for her. When he raised his eyebrows, she said, “I’m not leaving a perfectly good breakfast. Oh, and thanks again. Come on.”

Max held the door for her. “Are you going to tell me what you found?”

“No. Don’t want to explain twice. Seriously, get a move on.” Even with the tray in her hands, she was outpacing him down the stairs. Then it occurred to her his arm might be bothering him…and that wouldn’t slow his legs down. “Unless you have some other injury besides your arm?”

Kenna wasn’t sure what he said, but mumbling, grumbling, and bitching were eventually followed by a loud “No.”

Harrington was sitting behind his desk typing on his computer when Kenna and Max arrived. He barely spared her breakfast tray a glance.

Setting the tray on a side table, Kenna said, “We found something.” She frowned. “Maybe Pilar should be here.”

Harrington stopped typing. “Not possible. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

What the hell were she and Lizzie working on? The not-quite-dead Lycan was supposed to be taken care of. Shit, she could not make that her problem. She sat down and consciously tuned out the not-quite-dead issue. “Okay, whatever. So we—Pilar and I—figured out how the Coven of Light constructs these escape-proof cells where they keep their dissidents, traitors, whoever they have a beef with. Marianne—”

“One moment. Who is Marianne?” Harrington held a pen poised over a legal pad.

She could hardly be impatient with Harrington, because Kenna was the one late for their meeting—but she was. “Marianne was a former Coven of Light witch imprisoned by them for having the audacity to think they shouldn’t willy-nilly kill the local villagers in their magical experiments. The Coven has this underlying principle, the pursuit of knowledge without limit.”

“I’m becoming familiar with it.” Harrington started scribbling. “Go on…Marianne?”

“Right. Imprisoned for various crimes, she’s sitting in this cell figuring they’re going to kill her.” Kenna swallowed, an image of her mom sitting in that cell filling her mind. “So, ah, so she starts mentally deconstructing the cell. The people who built it used air, water, earth, and fire magic interwoven into a complex pattern to make the cell walls unbreachable by any one witch. Since the cells are designed to hold only one witch, voila, instant prison. Marianne eventually pieces together a strategy to escape—one we can’t exactly mimic. Apparently, she was some kind of special witch. She used all four elements.” Kenna frowned. “I don’t think that’s typical, though. And I’m pretty sure her captors didn’t know she could, or they’d surely have realized they couldn’t hold her in that cell.”

“From what I’ve learned, witches only wield one element.”

“Right. That’s what I thought. Honestly, I’m not sure on the specifics of how she used all four elements, just that she did. But it’s not important”—Harrington’s glower said he disagreed, but Kenna barreled on—“because we don’t have to replicate what Marianne did. She was breaking out. We’re breaking in. So we just hunt up a team. We get four witches.”

“As concerned as I am about the missing pieces of information—” Harrington held up his hand when Kenna would have interrupted. “Wait just a second. We’ll get back to the question of missing information. But for now, if you do need some witch help, I may have a solution. The list of your mom’s friends yielded two exceptional candidates and two additional, lower-probability possibilities.” He flipped open a file on his desk and, after perusing it for a moment, scratched out a few names on a notepad. Before he handed it to her, he gave her a piercing look. “Figure out your Marianne’s trick in escaping on her own. It may be important.”

“I’ll keep looking.” Kenna stood up and grabbed the slip of paper out of Harrington’s hand. “But first, I’m making a few calls.”

“How did the information get recorded?” Max had been quietly taking in the back-and-forth between Harrington and her until now.

“That’s a juicy bit of gossip—at least for the nineteenth century. Her lover, Jane, who she met after escaping to England, was a spell caster. Jane recorded Marianne’s life in the Witch’s Diary. They both seemed really worried well into their senior years that the Coven would hunt Marianne down. So the book was both leverage and proof of several questionable Coven practices.” Kenna curled her lip. “Only one of which was the torturing and killing of those villagers Marianne wanted to protect.”