There were shouts. Followed by the sound of wings beating the air nearby. Big wings. Some kind of massive bird clutched the oily ooze in its beak, dripping streamers of the foul stuff toward the ground. There was a pain-filled scream, likely from the reforming wizard caught in the creature’s beak, a prehistoric screech that sounded like a victory cry, and then a familiar voice yelling, “I’ve got her.”
Well-muscled arms caught me as I fell, pulling me against the comforting wall of a firm chest. My head lolled against that chest, the rhythmical thump of a strong heart beating against my ear.
I sighed, finally giving in to the desire to let go. To escape the pain. And allowed blessed oblivion to carry me away.
21
Squeak!
A Phoenix shifter, I mused, still amazed. Who would have known there’d be such a creature in the Enchanted Police Department? The thing hadn’t even batted an eye at the burning ooze as it plucked it from the ground and threatened to swallow it, scaring the wizard into resuming his non-oozy form.
Making myself a promise that I’d shake the shifter’s hand one day, I nibbled on a piece of buttered toast and sipped my tea. Like everything else Alice cooked, both were just a tiny bit off, but my stomach roiled from the previous night’s events and I needed something inside it.
After facing off with the wizard, whose name I’d since learned was Leeds Mathews, I was really second-guessing my career choice to become a Keeper.
Maybe I could become a regular old librarian, far away from all things magical.
I liked books. I liked them a lot. Especially paranormal romance books. Maybe I could become a librarian of only paranormal romance books.
I sighed, swallowing the buttery bite of under-toasted bread and wiping my greasy fingers on a cloth napkin. I hadn’t even known Alice owned real cloth napkins.
That she’d used one for me seemed to imply that she was feeling guilty about something.
Setting the tray on the floor beside my bed, I lay back and closed my eyes, my mind too active, and my burned foot too sore to allow more sleep. I thought about the face-off with the wizard. It had been terrifying. But I’d come through it alive. I’d been no match for the oily black magic Leeds Mathews had thrown at me, but I’d used my wits, hitting the button to call Detective Grym as soon as I’d known I was in trouble. Thank the goddess he’d programmed his number into my phone. All it had taken was a blind stab on my Favorites screen when I’d realized I was in trouble. Yes, I’d been lucky that Favorites had been open when the phone went to sleep. But still…
Through the open call, Grym had heard Leeds admitting to the murder of Gido the gnome. He’d realized I was in trouble, and he’d come with the cavalry to help.
Alice told me I’d still been unconscious when Grym had carried me into Croakies, but that a quick visit from Doctor Whom had, in her words, “put me to rights”.
I had to admit that, whatever the strange doctor had done, my burned foot looked much better. It still ached, but the skin had gone from charred to pink during the hours that I’d slept.
Grym had, of course, filled Alice in on everything. She’d scolded me half-heartedly for not calling her in to deal with Mathews. Secretly, however, I was pretty sure she was pleased that I hadn’t. Her training style seemed to be comprised of flinging me into the deep end and hoping I learned to swim fast enough not to drown.
Footsteps plodded heavily through the artifact library, heading in my direction. I could tell from the speed and heaviness of the steps that it wasn’t Alice. My traitorous mind fed me the hope that maybe it was Detective Grym. I frowned at the pleasure the thought gave me. He was grumpy and judgmental. Although he was really cute. I shoved the thought away and told myself I was just suffering from hero syndrome. He had, after all, scooped me into his arms and carried me to safety.
It had been a heady experience.
Or, it would have been if I hadn’t been drooping like a dead carp at the time, probably drooling on his shirt. Still, I sat up straighter, wiping the sleeve of my tee-shirt across my mouth in case I had butter on my lips.
It wasn’t Grym. But the form that emerged from between the artifact stacks surprised me.
Sebille knocked on the frame of a shelving unit and gave me an assessing look. Lifting a bright red eyebrow, she said, “What’s with the hair? You look like you have a giant starfish sitting on your head.”
My hand flew self-consciously to my head. I glared at her. “I’ve had a day. Have a little compassion.”
She actually snorted at that. “Yeah, compassion’s not really my thing.”
I was sensing that. “What can I do for you, Princess Sebille,” I asked in a cool tone.
She grimaced. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a princess. I’m just Sebille.”
“Okay, Sebille. The question still stands.”
She wandered into my hidey-hole and looked around, eyeing the trunk that grandma told me had come from my mom. She picked up the paperback novel sitting on top and flipped through it, a brow lifting at its subject matter.
“Put that down,” I said a bit defensively. “That’s how I relax.”
“I bet.” Her brows danced in innuendo.
“Sebille, are you just here to annoy me? Or did you have a purpose?”
She put the book back where she’d found it and turned to me, all indication of amusement gone. “I’ve come to offer my services.”
I blinked. “For what?”
“As your assistant. You’ll need one, both magically and practically. Alice will be leaving you on your own soon, and you’ve proven many times over the last few days that you’re not ready.”
Fear and guilt stabbed me in equal measure. Deep down, I knew she was right. But
