The Librarian's Spell Patricia Rice (top 100 novels .txt) 📖

“That’s disgusting, Max.” The weak voice was growing stronger and another thud hit the wall.

Lydia clasped the fabric over her abdomen. A new sensation took root, one that wasn’t lust or fear but. . . life? Throwing a despairing glance to the crumbling wall, she followed Max’s wise advice and protected the innocent. She hurried across the narrow passage and climbed up the metal rungs to the library.

Lloyd and Marta were waiting for her. With cries of distress, they helped her out.

Once back on her feet, Lydia hugged the loyal servants. “Fetch Max’s mother and aunt. Tell them Max is coming in through the library and may need help. They’ll know what to do.”

She didn’t know where she found the assurance to say that. Even an hour ago she might have doubted the giddy old ladies of doing anything except wringing hands.

But she knew better now. They held the wisdom of their Malcolm ancestors—just as Lydia did. And Max, if only he accepted it. Ancient knowledge flowed through them in the same way they inherited blue eyes or black hair.

Now that she was safe, the servants rushed to do her bidding. The clatter of falling stone echoed across the empty shaft. Inside the inner tower, Lydia couldn’t hear what was happening in the yard. She lit a lamp and held it up in the doorway for Max to use as guide.

“I see the light,” the weak voice cried.

“About time,” Max answered with a distinct tone of sarcasm.

Lydia screamed as a crash and tumble of stone sent the two men sliding from their prison into the shaft.

Twenty-eight

Bruised and shaken from the fall, Max reveled in the beauty of Lydia’s screams, knowing they meant that someone cared.

He grabbed his cousin before the dolt toppled, then shouted at the light ahead. “We’re fine, my love. You’re brilliant. We may need a helping hand to haul the idiot up. He seems to have injured himself.”

His betrothed didn’t disapprove of his thick-headedness. She’d said she loved him. He could topple mountains with that knowledge.

Max had never really understood what love was. He still didn’t. He just knew Lydia filled him with joy.

Since his prim Lydia was uncharacteristically shouting some of the Latin lady’s obscenities, he thought maybe he’d unleashed the passion she’d only shown him in bed. He could live with that. She had every right to be furious with him for ruining their wedding day.

She left the light and disappeared from view.

For a moment, a gray shimmering phantasm hovered between him and the library. Max froze. Was that the old librarian?

I told you, she’s more valuable than she understands, the ghost whispered. Be good to her.

The shimmering image evaporated, exposing the iron rail in the wall. Relieved that he didn’t have to battle a ghost, Max caught a rung, but George was clinging to him like a limpet, one arm dangling uselessly at his side. Sore all over, Max couldn’t see a good way of hauling him out without help. Ghosts were bloody well useless.

Richard appeared in the entry above. “Father! They’re forming a party to dig you out.”

“I sent the ladies to inform them otherwise,” Lydia said in her normal pragmatic voice, returning to hold up the lantern. “Richard was at the door, and I thought him trustworthy enough to introduce to the library.”

The library, of course. She couldn’t haul in just anyone. “Excellent thinking, my love. Rich, I think if you can grasp George’s coat just at the shoulder—watch his arm—we can guide him up. How steady are you on your feet, Cuz?”

“Steadier than when you’re sitting on my head, Cuz,” George grumbled.

“Your head needs sitting on if you thought we were hiding silver in a dungeon,” Max said with scorn. “I only dirtied your shirt last time. Test me again, and I’ll break both arms.”

Between them, they hauled George into the library stacks. The chamber was lit only by the lantern Lydia held.

George glanced around at the shelves and the stairs spiraling out of sight to the invisible ceiling above and shuddered. “No wonder Crowley wants this place demolished. It has to be the lout’s idea of hell.”

And then he passed out.

Once they’d found Dr. Dare to set George’s broken bones, and Max took himself off to bathe, Lydia allowed her family and friends to sweep her back to her suite. She was too shaken to argue.

She was an entirely different woman from the one who had left these chambers a few hours ago. Or perhaps not entirely—she had just discovered parts of herself that she hadn’t known existed. She was quite reasonably rattled.

“You saved the day, O Great Librarian,” Phoebe crowed. “Really, I think we should garb you in royal robes and hand you a broadsword to greet the testers. Did the Vikings have witches? I think you’re a direct descendant.”

Lydia’s mother muttered about witches but Lydia focused on testers. “The trustees actually sent the testing committee today, why?”

“We’ll ask later,“ Olivia said briskly. “Let me fix those pins in your hair again so we can attach the veil. The preacher has arrived. The chapel will be filling.”

Could she repeat what she’d just done? Could she summon any book she needed—or a spirit? She desperately needed to read books on librarians. . .

Longing to rush back to the journals to see if she might research what she prayed was her new position, Lydia impatiently allowed herself to be pushed and pulled and pinned and dressed in her finery.

It was extremely fine finery, she had to admit, fingering the satin and lace and admiring the result in the mirror. Her new corset cinched in her waist and raised her breasts, and the delicate, fluttery lace disguised her size—as long as no one stood close to her besides Max. She almost grinned at that.

Max loved her. Max still wanted to marry her even after she’d turned into some kind of medieval harridan. Max wanted to