The Wicked (Elder Races #5.5)(27)

She glanced at the angle of sunshine streaming in through the nearby window. It was only midmorning. She wouldn’t see Sebastian until lunch, still a few hours away, but she was definitely going to tell him about the conversation.

As they talked, they had started work on the most ancient section of the papyri collection. Dendera knelt in a corner and carefully drew out a thick scroll from the cubicle where it had been stored.

“Carling’s instructions are very specific,” she breathed. “We handle these as little as possible, and transfer them directly to the container. Look at this one. The original wax seal is unbroken. It has survived all these centuries.”

Steve knelt beside Dendera and leaned forward. Olivia left the container she had just closed to walk over. The papyrus scroll was tied with what looked like a strip of leather, and the wax seal was unusually large and thick. The wax had darkened from what had probably been originally a golden brown. Now, either magic or time, or both, had turned it almost black. A sigil had been inscribed into the wax while it was still warm and soft.

“What is that mark?” Olivia asked. After all of this time, she could still feel the strong ward that lay imprinted in the wax. “What does it say?”

“Khewew,” Dendera whispered. “‘It has evil.’”

“Well, hot f**king damn,” said Steve as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “It’s about time.”

His words were so strange that both women stared at him. He pulled something out of his pocket—a switchblade. The blade flicked out, and, quicker than thought, he stabbed Dendera in the throat.

Dendera dropped the papyrus scroll and clutched at her throat, gagging as bright arterial blood spurted between her fingers.

Olivia’s mind went into shock, but her body took over. She leaped to her feet and jumped away from Steve.

She wasn’t fast enough. He was Wyr and so much faster than she. He leaped toward her and his knife flashed out.

One of the first things she had learned as a symbologist was a series of defensive spells in case something went awry at work. She flung out her hand, fingers splayed. “Avertere.”

Avert.

The spell was meant to avert destructive magics, but thrown with enough force, it averted other things as well. It hit Steve squarely in the chest. As it knocked him into the wall, she whirled and ran.

The cottage wasn’t large. She raced down the short hall, through the workroom. She flung the door open, even as she sensed Steve coming up behind her.

She wasn’t going to make it. She spun to throw another avert spell at him, and he stabbed her in the chest. She felt the blade slip into her body, between her ribs.

Instinct told her the wound was very bad. She fell backward in a sprawl, blinking as Steve wiped his blade clean on the leg of her jeans, closed the switchblade and pocketed it again. Warm wetness spread across her T-shirt and spilled in a spreading puddle across the floor.

“I wanted to spare you ladies this,” he said. “But Dendera wouldn’t let me work on the library on my own. Every time I tried to sneak out at night, some damned person was standing guard, and they’re all much better fighters than you two. Sorry about that, it’s just how it all worked out.”

He disappeared down the hall. A moment later, he returned, carrying the scroll. When he paused to study her with a narrow-eyed glance, she closed her eyes to slits, lay very still and pretended she was unconscious or dead.

She must have been convincing, because he turned back to his work. Through her eyelashes, she watched as he shifted a stack of filled containers until he reached the bottom one, which he opened.

The container held some of the most dangerous and expensive items in the library. She knew, because she had helped Steve pack it. He carefully tucked the scroll inside, locked the container and hefted it up, and walked out of the cottage.

Her hands and feet grew colder, and each breath became more difficult. Then she must have passed out, because she went blank for a formless time.

She came back to awareness with a start.

Sebastian.

Along with defensive spells, every symbologist also learned how to call for assistance. It was essential when one worked daily with Powerful and often unpredictable items.

The critical question, of course, was whether or not there would be anybody near enough to hear it.

The spell would be stronger if it was drawn in her own blood. Dipping her finger in the warm, sticky pool, she fought to pull her scattering Power together, and to punch all of her remaining strength into the symbol that she drew on the hardwood floor.

Help.

Chapter Nine

Sebastian was cursed and going blind, and he had never been happier. He was going to have to tell Olivia that he was mating with her, but he held back for now. They had known each other all of a week, and he didn’t want to scare her away.

Mating, for Wyr, was a delicate, difficult business, especially when they mated with non-Wyr. Olivia could decide to end their relationship, but after a certain point of no return, Sebastian never would.

He thought he had not quite reached that place, but he would soon.

Each day he held off was a day they could both live in the present without dealing with pressure, concerns of the future or other implications. Each day gave her more opportunity to fall in love with him in return. She was steady and reliable, intelligent and caring, and each day he grew to trust her more and more. If she fell in love with him, she would never let him go. She was made for a lifetime of marriage.