Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies Page 5

  Together with Madam Barrington, Lily headed into the shadowed coolness of McCain Library. Besides being the library of Agnes Scott, it also happened to be her office. She was the library’s administrative coordinator and archives manager, which was just a fancy way of saying she kept everything organized. The job suited her neat nature and attention to detail, not to mention her obsession with books. For a bibliophile, working in a library was like dying and going to heaven. The job also provided a convenient cover for her duties as caretaker of the Basement—a magical archive hidden underneath the library proper. It was accessed through a portal in the broom closet of the library’s own basement archive where all the fragile, high-value, and out-of-rotation books were kept.

  As the Basement’s original caretaker, Madam Barrington didn’t need to be shown the way. She made straight for the archive stairs, Lily following with her armful of books. Despite the fact that Lily hadn’t spotted hide or hair of Sir Kipling as they moved through the library, somehow he’d beaten them to the basement and sat, tail twitching, by the closet door. This made Lily grumpy. She was dying to know how the stinker did it, but he would only spout some vague cat-ism if asked.

  Her grumpiness quickly faded as they entered the Basement and she refocused on the task at hand. She kept a surreptitious eye on Madam Barrington, wondering what the older woman thought of her improvements to the decor. When her mentor had been caretaker, the enchanted room had sported only hard wooden chairs and little or no ornament. Now, in contrast, it was populated with comfy chintz chairs, tastefully arranged artwork, and many more light globes. Lily had even put a glamour on the ceiling to make it resemble the vaulted heights of the reading room above. The effect was much more airy, light, and aesthetically pleasing. Beyond a raised eyebrow and a slight twitch of the lips, however, Madam Barrington offered no opinion on the matter.

  Choosing the least poofy chair, Madam Barrington sank gracefully onto it, though she sat straight-backed rather than leaning back into its comfortable embrace. Old habits died hard, Lily supposed.

  “Now, where were we?” Madam Barrington began.

  “Actually,” Lily said, depositing her books on the large oak worktable, “could we wait a bit to discuss John Faust? I thought—um—well, I think…” she hesitated at the hawk-eyed look her mentor gave her and gulped inwardly. “I think Sebastian should join us,” she forced out in a rush.

  Madam Barrington’s expression morphed into a frown of distaste. That was good. Usually her nephew’s name elicited a scowl of severe disapproval. He must have really impressed her when he’d helped rescue Lily from the LeFay estate.

  “That is inadvisable.” She held up a hand to cut off Lily’s protest. “Were he the most upstanding and responsible person of my acquaintance, I would still advise against it. Never has a mundane set foot in this archive. It is a sanctuary for those who commune with the Source.”

  “But by custom, not by necessity,” Lily pointed out. “Sebastian isn’t exactly a mundane, if we’re being technical. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s been using some powerful fae magic of late, a fact I intend to nail him down and grill him on, soon. Just because he doesn’t have direct access to the Source doesn’t mean he has no respect for it.”

  Her mentor’s lips remained pursed, but she looked more resigned than upset.

  Lily pressed the advantage. “I think you should give him a chance. We’re going to need him, whether you like to admit it or not. John Faust was talking a lot about the fae in connection to Morgan, and I have a feeling Sebastian is just what we need to get one step ahead of whatever that man is planning.”

  “But can he be trusted with dangerous and powerful knowledge?” Madam Barrington asked steadily, looking Lily in the eye. “You know very well the company he keeps.”

  Now it was Lily’s turn to purse her lips in disapproval, though at least she managed not to blush. It was hard to stand up for someone you yourself had doubts about. But though she doubted his decision-making skills, she didn’t doubt his loyalty.

  “He would never intentionally do anything to harm our cause. And besides, only wizards can access the Basement, so it’s not as if he or his friends can waltz in uninvited.”

  Madam Barrington sighed. “Not exactly. It is true that a non-magic user would have no way of entering the portal. But another magic user, whether wizard or not…magical doors can be forced just like physical ones. That is why limited knowledge of its whereabouts has always been the Basement’s best defense. Wizards do not share knowledge willingly, especially not with witches. By the simple fact that witches gain magic from outside forces, they are influenced and often manipulated in ways they do not understand. They are not autonomous, but linked to those through whom they operate.”

  Lily frowned, wondering how much of her mentor’s opinion on witches was founded on personal experience and how much of it was cultural bias. Of the three witches she knew, one had tried to kill her, one had tried to steal something from her, and one was her best friend. Then again, her own wizard father had tried to use her for a potentially fatal experiment, so calling witches untrustworthy seemed a case of the pot calling the kettle black. The corruptive quality of power did not discriminate between wizard, witch, or mundane.

  “It comes down to whether or not we trust Sebastian to act in our best interests. I do, and I think you do as well, deep down. I also happen to be the Basement’s current caretaker. So I believe the decision rests with me.”

  Her mentor gave her a level look, face unreadable. “That is correct.”

  “Good. Because I already asked him to join us.” Lily gave a tight smile, thoroughly disliking the role she’d been forced to take as peacemaker between nephew and aunt. Sebastian had better behave himself, she thought, or Madam Barrington will be the least of his worries.

  “Kip,” she called, and saw him poke his nose around one of the bookshelves. “Please go watch for Sebastian and let me know when he gets here. I’ll have to let him in.”

  Her cat flicked his tail in acknowledgment and disappeared again.

  “In the meantime,” Lily said, finally taking a seat herself, “would you mind filling me in on the Basement’s history? I’ve always wondered.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Madam Barrington admitted. Her smile was stiff, but at least it was a smile. “The history of this magical archive is quite the story. I chronicled it in full in that eduba some twenty years ago.” She pointed to the red leather-bound volume sitting in the stack of books on the oak worktable. “You can read the details under either the Gregory Rosenberg or Leslie Wilbourne entry, it is cross-referenced in both.

  “Leslie Wilbourne was born in 1885 and attended Agnes Scott in the early 1900s,” she began in a tone that harkened back to the days when she spent hours lecturing Lily on the subtleties of magic. “She was a middle-class wizard, though the Wilbourne family had higher origins in England before they immigrated to America. In any case, it was a dying line, as many have been in the past century. She was the only wizard out of five siblings, but she received a good education. She was fascinated by the design of things and was a pure soul, intensely focused on helping others. At Agnes Scott she studied architectural drafting and later became one of only two Georgia women in this field previously dominated by men. In contrast to most women of the day, Leslie was very entrepreneurial and became a successful architect, focusing on designing family homes and apartment buildings. She combined her love of architecture and her education in magic to develop innovative spells that she worked into her architecture, preserving the buildings and protecting their residents from disease, fire, and other harm. In contrast to centuries of non-interference, she believed that a wizard’s skill in magic was meant to be used for the benefit of all mankind. She tried to start a movement to that effect but was strongly opposed on all fronts—mundanes tend to destroy what they fear and do not understand, so the wizard community’s reluctance was understandable. In any case, many of her buildings still
exist today and are historical landmarks in Atlanta.”

  Lily nodded, fascinated. She vaguely remembered reading about Leslie somewhere before, perhaps in a history of Agnes Scott.

  “At some point in the 1920s,” Madam Barrington continued, “Leslie met Gregory Rosenberg, a much older wizard born in mid-nineteenth-century Germany. He had immigrated to America in 1911 to escape the brewing disaster in German politics as it continued its arms race with Great Britain. He was not alone.” Madam Barrington shook her head sadly. “Many wizards fled Europe in the years leading up to the Great War. They could see as well as anyone what was coming and, being much longer-lived than mundanes and in love with their privacy, went to extra efforts to avoid being involved in the conflict. But that is another story for another day.

  “Gregory Rosenberg was one of the last descendants of that great thirteenth-century philosopher and wizard, Albertus Magnus.” For some odd reason, Madam Barrington glanced to the side at the antique card catalog cabinet when she said his name. Lily couldn’t fathom why, the only thing over there was a stone gargoyle and a bunch of dusty old files. It quickly slipped from her mind, however, as her mentor continued. “Leslie and Gregory became good friends, for Gregory was sympathetic to Leslie’s goals, though he stopped short of supporting a movement. He did, however, help her develop her architectural magic, using his considerable collection of texts and artifacts passed down in his family line.

  “Leslie maintained close relations with Agnes Scott, even helping design some of their school dormitories. So when a new library was set to be built in 1936, she had an idea: to build a wizard’s archive as a resource for future generations and to preserve Gregory’s legacy. He had, wisely, brought every magical document and item he possessed with him when he left Germany. But he was a single man with no children or even nieces and nephews. So, together, Gregory and Leslie built this archive, and he bequeathed his entire collection to it. It has since grown, as a few other collections of dying wizard lines have been added, including Leslie’s. I myself have contributed a few texts over the years, though my most valuable possession is now yours.” She glanced tenderly at the beautifully embossed eduba, an object that had been in her family for centuries before she’d given it to Lily.

  They fell silent, Madam Barrington having reached the end of her story, and Lily still trying to process the glut of new information. Foremost in her mind was the sober weight of so much history that seemed to settle on her shoulders. With many wizard lines dying out, who would be left to preserve their legacy? The implications were depressing. To distract herself, she asked the first question that popped into her head. “If most prominent wizard families pass down an eduba, then where is Gregory Rosenberg’s eduba?”

  “Why, with Mr. Rosenberg, I expect,” Madam Barrington replied, looking amused.

  “You mean he’s still alive?” Lily asked in astonishment. She knew wizards were long-lived, but had never asked exactly how long.

  “As far as I know. He left many years ago, after Leslie died prematurely in 1967. They had…deep feelings for each other, though Leslie was too focused on her vision to settle down and marry. But he left a will, which shall make itself known once he passes.”

  “Make itself known?”

  “Yes. A simple enchantment involving a magical seal on a legal document. The seal is linked to the owner’s connection with the Source. When the owner dies and the link is broken, the document is unsealed. There is usually a secondary spell that delivers it to a predetermined recipient.”

  “Oh,” Lily said, voice very small as she contemplated what might comprise a magical will. Considering she’d already survived several life-and-death encounters, it might be time to make one.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a rubbing sensation on her ankles and the sight of a fluffy white tail tip bobbing back and forth around her knees. Leaning forward she gazed down into the monocled and mustached face of her cat, who meowed at her.

  “Sebastian’s looking for you.”

  Lily’s brow creased in confusion. “Looking for me? I told you to get me when he arrived. How long has he been here?”

  “Five minutes or so. I thought it was funny to watch him stare in confusion at your locked office door. He kept asking me where you were, as if I would tell.” Sir Kipling blinked slowly, amusement exuding from every pore.

  With an exasperated noise, Lily hoisted herself up from the chintz chair and headed for the Basement door, shooting a brief explanation and apology over her shoulder at Madam Barrington. Hopefully, Sebastian stayed put and waited for her instead of snooping around and getting in trouble.

  Through the portal, out the broom closet, and up the archive stairs she went. She paused, however, at the door, hand hovering over the handle. She thought she heard a faint scratching sound coming from the other side. Opening it in a rush, she found Sebastian, frozen in mid gesture as he crouched, lock-picks in hand.

  “Sebastian!” Lily exclaimed, aghast. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”

  Straightening his tall frame, he hid his hands behind his back and gave her an I-totally-meant-for-this-to-happen look. “Well, you weren’t in your office, and I know you always disappear down here when you’re working on magic. So I figured this was where your bat cave was.”

  She spluttered for a moment, not knowing what to yell about first: illegal breaking and entering or his apparent habit of spying on her.

  Obviously wanting to prevent an explosion, Sebastian slipped his lock picks into a pocket and started down the stairs, drawing her with him. “I’m sorry, alright? Sir Kipling was hanging around but you weren’t in your office, so I thought maybe you couldn’t come meet me. Calm down. I won’t do it again.”

  Lily took a deep breath, self-conscious again now that her moment of high dudgeon had passed. When would she learn to not let him set her off? It didn’t help that his arm was still around her shoulders, putting her dangerously close to that attractive face, dark tousled hair, and charming expression. She felt uncomfortably warm and prickly, every point where his body touched hers hyperaware.

  At the bottom of the stairs she disentangled herself and took a step back, collecting the shreds of her dignity. “I apologize for not being more prompt in meeting you. In future, however, please keep your picks to yourself. This library is private property and if a door is locked, there is a reason. You may come across situations in your…” she paused with exaggerated delicacy, “line of work that lend themselves to less-than-savory behavior. But I won’t have any of that here. Do you I make myself clear?” She hated sounding like a teacher scolding a child, but what else was she supposed to do?

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied meekly.

  “I—what?” She was thrown off by his reply, having expected a snarky quip or a roll of the eyes. “Did you just agree with me?” she asked, suspiciously.

  Sebastian chuckled, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “Yes, I did. Now, weren’t we going somewhere?”

  “Well…yes…I…” she stared at him, still trying to regain her train of thought. Why was he acting strange all of a sudden?

  “Your bat cave…” he offered helpfully.

  She pursed her lips again, but without any real bite. “It’s nothing of the sort. It’s a priceless treasure and resource of learning for wizardkind. You, in fact, will be the first non-wizard ever to set foot in it, and I need you to promise you’ll respect it like…” she paused, flummoxed. She had been about to say “another man’s house” but realized that might mean nothing to a ne’er-do-well like Sebastian.

  Sebastian chuckled. “Give me some credit, okay Lil? My parents brought me up respectably. I know how to behave. It’s not very fun, so I don’t do it often, but that doesn’t mean I can’t. This place is important, I get it. I’ll be very careful, I won’t touch anything, and I’ll never tell a soul. Does that just about cover it?”

  “Yes…it does,” Lily said slowly, eyeing her friend. He was still smiling at her, but it was
a sincere smile, not a flippant one, so she supposed it would have to do.

  “So…is the ol’ bat waiting for us?”

  Lily tried to look stern, but was hard put to cover her smile. “Don’t you dare say that where she can hear you. We’re trying to work together, remember?” She poked him in the chest with a threatening finger, then turned toward the closet, motioning him to follow. As she opened the door, she suddenly realized what she had to do and fought back a blush.

  “Um, Sebastian?” she said.

  “Yup?”

  “I, um, need you to hold my hand.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he joked, winsome smile making her heart skip a beat.

  She scowled at him. “I meant, you need to be touching me or else I can’t take you through the portal.”

  “Well, if you’re sensitive about your hands, there are plenty of other parts of you I could touch,” he suggested, face straight but eyes dancing with glee.

  With a ferocious scowl—which did nothing to hide her bright red cheeks—Lily grabbed his hand and marched through the portal, pulling him unceremoniously after her.

  Men, she grumbled to herself.

  As they emerged into the Basement, Lily heard a “Wow!” from Sebastian. She glowed inside, trying not to be too pleased. Then she spotted Sir Kipling, curled up in her recently vacated chair.

  “You, Sir, are in trouble,” she warned.

  “For what? Teasing Sebastian? I assumed you’d give me an award for that.”

  Lily paused, considering. He had a point.

  “Um, Lily?” Sebastian spoke beside her. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy it and all, but could you let go of my hand so I can sit down?”

  “Oh!” Lily dropped his hand like a hot coal, mortified. He chuckled as he passed, heading to the far end of the room to look around.