*Even after she’d put on the jeans and sweater she kept in her locker, Fiona was still freezing. She unpinned her hair, pulled her fingers through it, and let it fall to her shoulders.
Since she had no other shoes, she went to the garment depository and, ignoring Jaycee’s scowls, found a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. She couldn’t imagine why they’d ever be needed on a time journey, but if she and Lorcan might be here all night she’d at least be comfortable.
She also located a warm Victorian-era cape, put it on, then wrapped Angus’s plaid around her. Why was that scent so familiar? It was making her crazy not being able to remember.
“You can’t just take those,” Jaycee snapped. “All items that leave here must be okayed by me.”
Fiona tried to ignore her snippy attitude. “Fine. If it’s okay, I’ll be takin’ these slippers and this Victorian cape.” She started for the door.
“Get back here!” Jaycee hissed, flicking her tongue. “I need the bar codes!”
“Jeez! I’m not takin’ them out of the building,” Fiona said. “I’m only wearin’ them to the library. I’ll return—”
“I need to scan them,” Jaycee interrupted.
Fiona exhaled, took off the cape and slippers and used her magic to toss them on the counter by Jaycee.
“You don’t have to be a bitch,” Jaycee said. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Service without a smile,” Fiona replied under her breath.
She hadn’t even known there were codes in the garments, but Jaycee scanned them and then shoved them back at Fiona.
“I won’t have to do this much longer,” Jaycee said, lifting her chin.
“Oh. Have you found other employment?”
God, Fiona hoped that was true.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jaycee sniped. “I’m not going anywhere, except up. You’ll see soon enough.”
Jaycee was being deliberately mysterious, but Fiona didn’t take the bait.
“Thanks for your help,” she said sweetly, then took her items and left for LAMB’s massive library, Jaycee’s hateful gaze boring into her back.
She used her newly implemented key card at the entrance. Many areas of the facility required a retina scan, but Dickens opposed technology. She’d even balked about key cards, but the priceless books had to be protected, and this was the compromise.
Everyone at LAMB catered to Dickens. Maybe the old goblin had dirt on them. Most employees—certainly the agents—had secrets to protect.
LAMB operatives were screened extensively and could not have criminal records. However, some—like Lorcan—had committed crimes for which they’d never been charged. Maybe LAMB had their records sealed or erased.
Fiona wouldn’t trust some of the employees with a password, much less the fate of the human world. Jaycee was top of the list.
The massive library was still in darkness save a few recessed lights in the tall ceiling. Fiona fumbled along the wall for the switch, flicked it on and watched as floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with thousands of books were lit up.
She inhaled the scent of all those old tomes and smiled. The magical vibe reminded her of the library at Trinity College in Ireland. The rest of the facility looked modern, but the library was old-worldly and thus Fiona’s favorite part.
Though she’d only seen one, she knew the library had secret passageways and hidden magical doorways that led to other realms.
Still shivering, Fiona located the heat control and cranked up the temperature, hoping Dickens wouldn’t scold her too severely.
Lorcan wasn’t here yet and Dickens was probably back in bed, so Fiona got started on her own. She was comfortable using the tall rolling ladders to reach the highest shelves. First, she searched for books on Scottish history. Some were typical history books, others pertained to supernatural history or Scottish creatures believed to be mythical, but were in fact real.
Lorcan was taking a while but at least he wasn’t apt to be delayed by Jaycee if he was selecting garments. Their brief sexual relationship had fizzled, to Fiona’s relief.
Jaycee had reptilian traits—snake to be precise. Fiona tried not to make generalizations about MBs, certainly not entire species, but hoped there weren’t many of Jaycee’s kind. Oddly, she didn’t feel the same concern over Jaycee’s twin brother, Joel.
Fiona was reaching for another large book when she was startled by footsteps. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the library. What was wrong with her perceptiveness?
“Jesus, Boomer, old people shouldn’t be climbing ladders.” Lorcan’s voice echoed through the massive room.
Fiona jumped, then cussed under her breath. Not because of the ageist remark but because she’d nearly lost her balance.
“Jeez, Junior. Did you go to Brazil to pick the coffee beans or were you just charming and copulating with whoever made the coffee?”
As Fiona was getting down the ladder, her slipper got caught on a rung. She kicked it off. Then her feet got tangled in the long cape.
Had Jaycee somehow cursed the garments so Fiona would be hurt. Wow! She was becoming paranoid of the unlikeable woman.
Eventually, she used her magic to float to the ground. She’d been with Alainn, the air witch, during the last assignment, and had picked up some new abilities. She couldn’t fly like Alainn, but she could hover.
“I might’ve been heroic and caught you,” Lorcan said, unsurprised by her magical descent, “but then you would’ve wanted to kiss me in gratitude. We both know what that would’ve led to.”
She wasn’t facing him but knew he did his infamous eyebrow waggle.
“You’re a presumptuous arse.”
“Besides, then I might’ve spilled coffee on Dickens’s floor.”
“I’d rather have a broken neck than have to deal with Dickens.” Still freezing, she tugged the heavy fabric closer to her body. How did people manage to do anything in these stupid capes?
“Don’t you pride yourself on your independence? You don’t need a man…to save you,” he added. “As to your previous comment, the cafeteria was empty so there was no one to make coffee, let alone charm or copulate with. I even had to grind the beans myself. Then, I found you an actual mug, instead of those flimsy cardboard cups you dislike. Finally, I found real cream and raw brown sugar. You’re kinda high-maintenance, Boomer.”
“Very.” She gave a vicious yank and got the stubborn garment in the correct location. Then, she looked at him properly and, as her Irish father would’ve said…Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
She could barely turn her gaze from him. Lorcan wore a pair of tight jeans, which would make anyone with a heartbeat and an affinity for males take notice. Plus, he was bare-chested. He had a shirt slung over one shoulder and a coffee cup in each hand.
His muscular chest, arms and firm abs were damn impressive. She’d never been one to salivate over younger men. She’d once gone with some friends to watch male dancers but didn’t find their uninhibited behavior titillating, so much as…inappropriate.
Heat, welcome and uncomfortable at the same time, flooded her face. “What the hell, Junior? You’ve become an exhibitionist as well as a hedonistic sex fiend?”
He snorted, amused. “It’s not like I’m naked. Besides, it’s bloody hot in here.” He blew out his breath. “Dalton adjusted the heat in the building claiming he was cold because of the ghosts here earlier. At his age he’s probably just suffering poor circulation. Now it’s a damn sauna and even hotter in the library.”
“It’s f-f-freezing,” Fiona said.
He looked at her like she must be joking. “Dickens always keeps it warm in here. I know I run hot,” he said with a wink, “but it’s gotta be eighty degrees.”
It was true demons’ temperatures were higher than that of humans but this seemed an extreme difference.
“What?” He glanced down. “You’re distracted because you can see my chest? Now, if you were topless, that would be a distraction.”
She ignored him and sipped her coffee. It tasted wonderful and was already warming her.
He glanced at the books she’d placed on a table. “You’ve been busy.”
She nodded. “I’ve found books listing clans, Highland battles, Scottish historic apparel, and even some on presumed mythical Scottish creatures.”
She shivered and rested the mug against her cheek.
He touched her forehead. “You sick, Boomer?”
“No, I’m just…”
Then he reached for the plaid around her neck. “Wow, that’s like ice. No wonder you’re freezing. Ghostly possessions can make your blood run cold…literally.”
He dropped the tartan on the table by the books and, immediately, Fiona started to warm up.
“Didn’t you learn that in Phantom Facts 101?” He grinned.
“Or Spectral Specifics for Dummies?” she replied.
It was an ongoing joke making up names for the classes LAMB agents were required to take.
“I should have known that,” Fiona admitted. But she felt oddly attached to that tartan. Her fingers itched to pick it up again. But Lorcan was staring, so she sat down and wrapped her cold hands around the coffee cup instead.
“This is really good, Lorcan. Thank you.”
“At your service, milady.” He bowed then sat on the chair beside her.
“Would you put your damn shirt on?”
“Can’t take your eyes off me, Boomer? Maybe we should go behind the bookshelves for a quickie before we hit the books?”
She shook her head. “God, you’re conceited!”
“But you love me,” he jested.
When he sat forward she noticed several distinctive jagged scars on his back. She quickly looked away, but it was clear he knew she’d seen them.
“Admiring my battle scars, Boomer?” His voice was strained and he didn’t meet her eyes.
She had the greatest urge to touch the scars, perhaps try to take away the trauma from when they were inflicted. She sensed how deeply they affected him—not only physically. But she definitely wouldn’t touch him.
Better say something. The silence had become awkward.
“I recognize those scars.” She nodded. “Faolan has similar marks—although I don’t think they’re as deep. A soul scythe?” she asked.
That was a brutal barbed weapon that literally ripped a soul from a living body. Apparently, the pain was unimaginable and it left the person a sylph or Leviathan—hideous soulless creatures.
Lorcan’s green eyes turned nearly black—a demon trait when they were hurting emotionally. Physical pain usually evoked anger, making demon eyes glow red.
“Yeah, my brother had an unfortunate incident with a soul scythe, too. And these are a little something my father left to remind me of him,” Lorcan finally replied. “Glad he didn’t succeed in removing my soul like he did a lot of unlucky bastards.
“I’ve always been glad the scars are on my back and not my chest. At least I only catch an occasional glimpse in a mirror.” He inhaled deeply. “I’ve had to create some interesting stories to explain them to the more curious ladies I’ve slept with though.”
“I imagine so,” she said.
“Lion, shark, or bear attack are my standbys. But I have claimed it was a parachuting accident, chainsaw mishap, and alligator wrestling gone bad.” He tried to seem unaffected. “But hey, chicks love men with scars. Must stem from women’s primal instinct in needing warriors to go hunting and shelter them.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Lorcan. Fathers should protect their children.”
Fiona knew only too well that wasn’t always the case. Her demented ex-husband had nearly killed their son, Cal, during the Battle of Magic.
Lorcan shrugged. “Water under the bridge now.”
His pretended apathy didn’t fool her.
“If you’re too warm, put that around your neck.” She pointed to the tartan. Lorcan picked it up and traced the pattern. “What clan do you suppose the MacIntires were affiliated with?”
“Let’s see if we can find out.” Fiona selected the book Scots Kith & Kin.
She closed her eyes and the book magically flipped to a page.
“Hmmm,” she said, after reading silently for a few moments. “Apparently the MacIntires did have their own clan and look, here’s the green, blue, and red tartan.” She turned the book to show Lorcan. “Although it’s sometimes spelled MacIntyre with a y.”
“That would be the original UK spelling,” he said. “Although the Gaelic spelling was probably way different before it was Anglicized.”
He reached for another book that looked considerably older. It might’ve come from a church or kirk as they were called in Scotland. How had LAMB obtained some of these old volumes? She doubted the Scottish Historical Society would approve of their antiquities being in America.
She was aware LAMB had agents, branches and other facilities in several countries including Scotland.
Lorcan still hadn’t put on his shirt, and Fiona found it difficult to stay intent on research. Golden-brown skin rippled over swoon-worthy muscles covered with a thin layer of dark chest hair. She moved to another chair to avoid his masculine scent.
He’s younger than my son.
Though they had some similarities, Cal was about an inch shorter, with hair not as black and he had her blue-green eyes, not intense green like Lorcan’s.
Hopefully, comparing the two would end this ridiculous awareness.
“Here’s a chronological list of battles fought in Scotland and the clans that took part,” Lorcan said. “The more notable ones you mentioned earlier and a few lesser known battles. Some members of Clan MacIntyre are listed among the men who died at Culloden. There were several MacIntyres located in different areas in Scotland. Looks like some had castles and large land holdings.”
“Do you have any memory of meeting him before?” Fiona asked.
“Angus MacIntire?”
She nodded.
“None. But he seemed pretty damn sure of it. As did the men with him. Plus Angus described Darius and Arianna to a tee as well as your elven prince. Angus seemed extremely fond of you.”
“Yes, that was strange,” she admitted. “And Rohese is not mine.”
Lorcan smirked. “Not because he doesn’t want to be.”
She sighed. She didn’t discuss her love life…or lack thereof.
“Several other spirits seemed pretty sure they were involved with you, too,” Lorcan said. “You always have loads of men who aren’t ghosts gaping at you even though you don’t seem to notice.”
She rolled her eyes. “Unlike some people.”
He only grinned. “Luckily the ghost of Angus MacIntire didn’t take you with him when he left,” Lorcan said. “Good thing they were already dead. It looked like they’d kill each other to be with you. Angus was damn protective.”
Fiona merely nodded again. “The clothing they wore doesn’t tell us much. Even Angus and his men didn’t all have the same type of garments.”
“You’re not to have coffee in my library,” a croaky voice called.
Dickens joined them, now in her typical attire—long dark skirt, white high-necked blouse and beige shawl. Her hair was now back in an old-fashioned bun. Fiona guessed she was attempting a strict schoolmarm persona.
Lorcan ignored Dickens’s previous statement. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not with you gabbing and all the lights on and humming—or is that the sound of sparks flying between the two of ye?”
Lorcan laughed. Fiona said nothing.
“We’re being careful; Scout’s honor!” Lorcan made the sign done by Boy Scouts.
The ancient goblin librarian’s scowl softened. Fiona’s partner could charm nearly every female.
“Och, well.” Dickens’s wrinkled lips flattened into a smile. “Just this once.” She gestured to the coffee. “But don’t ye dare tell anyone, young Lorcan. And put your léine on, lad. How’s your partner to think straight when you’re flaunting your masculinity like Aengus OG.”
Fiona knew he was the Celtic god of youth and beauty—said to be the handsomest of Celtic gods.
“You’re even making me wish I was younger,” Dickens said, “for then I wouldnae object to a wee romp with ye. I’ve heard demons ken how to make naughty feel verra nice.”
Lorcan nearly choked on his coffee. Fiona laughed, relieved when he pulled his T-shirt over his head.
The color made his eyes look greener. She looked away. Maybe she should contact Rohese and at least resume their physical relationship.
But she couldn’t. She’d given him a dozen reasons why her being with a semi-immortal could never work. He’d been interesting, funny, respectful, alluring. The sex had been great—truly magical.
She missed that. She missed him.
Then he’d gone and changed everything, pushing for them to become eternally mated—the elven equivalent to marriage. He was almost always calm, mostly appeared unemotional, but he’d been hurt when she’d declined.
She couldn’t make him understand why she’d refused. They’d quarreled and vowed never to go to one another’s realms again. But he was here now and working for LAMB.
She doubted Rohese would sleep with her. He wanted commitment. But she’d been restless and lonely lately. She missed a man’s touch and dammit, she’d thought those physical desires would lessen with age, but she’d been wrong.
Maybe Lorcan’s views were healthier. If casual sex wasn’t something she opposed she might be less uptight, as he often said.
“What can I help with?” Dickens’s voice disrupted Fiona’s lustful thoughts.
She shrugged. “We don’t even know what we’re looking for. We found info on Scottish clans but can’t find Angus MacIntire’s name anywhere.”
“Wait here.” Dickens’s eyes glinted mischievously, and she scurried away.
*
They spent a long time reading through several books. With his elbow on the table, Lorcan rested his chin on his hand and felt his eyes drift shut. Then Fiona’s high-pitched yawn broke the silence. His arm slipped and he jerked awake.
“You falling asleep, too, Boomer? Want more coffee?”
She got up and stretched. “No, I’ve already had two cups.”
“Yes; you’ve gone way over your strict rule of one a day,” he taunted. He stood as well, thinking he should go for a run or to work out.
She glanced at the old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall. “Bugger. It’s nearly 5:00 a.m. I don’t think we know anything more pertinent than we did when we started researching Scotland.”
They were startled when Dewey stepped from behind the nearest bookshelf. Odd, they hadn’t heard him. Did he live at LAMB’s facility, too? Was he up early? Or did he never sleep?
He looked around like he was on a secret mission and didn’t want anyone to hear.
“Now…this isn’t actually related to this assignment,” he whispered, unusually excited.
“Go on, Dewey,” Lorcan urged.
The young scientist pulled a small cylindrical object from his pocket.
“What is it?” Fiona asked.
“Something Ringo and I have been working on. It’s an MB differentiator. It determines whether someone’s human or MB. It even tells what type of MB with a percentage.”
Lorcan eyed it closer. “That’d be bloody amazing.”
The young scientist beamed proudly.
“How does it work?” Lorcan asked.
“It lightly pierces the skin, takes a minuscule amount of blood and analyzes it.”
“Kind of like a blood-glucose monitor?” Fiona said.
Dewey nodded. “Similar. But the lancet’s so small it’s painless.”
Lorcan held out his hand. “Might as well test it.”
Hesitant now, Dewey touched the monitor to Lorcan’s finger. It beeped and lit up, hummed, then beeped louder.
“Fifty percent human, fifty percent demon.” Dewey pointed to the tiny screen. “The straight lines are paternal DNA. But see those zigzag lines?”
Lorcan nodded.
“Those are your maternal DNA. This proves your mother was a witch.”
Lorcan shook his head. “Say it ain’t so.”
Fiona made a face. “Witches might not be your favorite people. But did you honestly think your demigod father would choose a non-magical woman to bear his son?”
“I try not to think of him, full stop!” Lorcan admitted.
“But look,” Dewey said. “Because it’s still flashing that means it’s trying to determine what type of demon you are. You’re aware there are several varieties. When it’s blinking red, like now, it’s indicating you aren’t merely a lesser or shadow demon. Yours is a powerful bloodline of beings probably once immortal.”
Lorcan nodded. “My sire was once believed to be immortal. You can honestly tell all that from this little device?”
Dewey puffed out his chest and smiled. “Yeah.”
Lorcan looked at Fiona. “Your turn.”
She crossed her arms. Uncertain? Or unwilling?
“You afraid Dewey will discover you’re part demon, Boomer?” He chuckled.
“Of course not.”
But she still didn’t offer her hand.
“Another time then.” Dewey sounded nervous.
He dislodged the lancet in a small container he’d pulled from his pocket, then retrieved an alcohol swab, tore it open and wiped off the monitor.
“Oh fine!” Fiona held out her hand. “I’ll never hear the end of it from my annoying in-your-face partner if I don’t do this.”
Dewey looked between them, then replaced the lancet and touched the monitor to her wrist. It beeped twice and made a whirring sound, then beeped several more times.
“It’s having difficulty processing and analyzing your details. Probably because witches aren’t actually labeled MBs. They’re still considered human—not really a species. There are several types of witches, too. Their magic can be temporary as in the case of a spell or a wish granted.
“The time a witch is born or conceived is important, too. For instance if it’s during Samhain, a solstice, equinox, lunar eclipse or a full moon those all factor in, but it also comes down to lineage.
“Dominant blood witches are the most powerful. If they’re born under one or more of the conditions I mentioned, that’s what produces transcendent witches.”
“Are you a Halloween or Samhain baby, Boomer?” Lorcan asked. “Like the four transcendent witches, Amarra, and me?”
Fiona shook her head. “Mum said I was born the night of a full moon but during Lughnasa.”
Lorcan tilted his head remembering what he’d learned about pagan holidays and their relevance. “Which means you were conceived during Samhain?”
Fiona nodded. “Apparently at a Samhain Druid festival. Mum was born in Massachusetts but went back to Ireland with my Irish father. They must’ve hidden their paganism, for Ireland was predominantly Catholic by then. Not that I dwell on my conception, but it surprises me that my parents would be open enough to procreate at a festival, let alone tell me about it.”
“Apparently you didn’t get your prudishness from them, Boomer?”
Fiona stuck out her tongue. “I can only assume they were very drunk.”
“Dewey, why did you place the monitor to my finger but to Fiona’s wrist?” Lorcan asked, intrigued.
“Witches often use their hands for healing and when calling their powers. I don’t want to mess up Fiona’s magic.”
She scowled. “Not again, anyway.”
Dewey cringed. When the gadget finally quit making sounds, he seemed nearly afraid to look, but glanced cautiously.
“Go on…tell me,” Fiona encouraged.
“Like Lorcan, your line is ancient originating even before Alainn, who was believed to be the first transcendent witch. You do have several traits only found in transcendent witches. There’s also an unprecedently high number of past lives. More than I’ve seen…or even heard of!”
“Makes sense. You’re kind of an old soul, Boomer,” Lorcan said.
Fiona widened her eyes. “You didn’t tell us the gadget could determine that. Can you tell when I lived those lives?” Fiona asked Dewey.
He tilted his head to one side then the other, like a canine trying to figure something out. “I could re-study the data. Possibly discover the general era but with this many past lives over thousands of years it might be easier to determine when you didn’t live. There’re barely any breaks between when you died and were reborn each time.”
“What do you mean re-study?” Lorcan asked, arms crossed.
Dewey’s eyes darted nervously.
“Come on, Dewey,” Lorcan urged. “Spill!”
Dewey took a breath, glanced around again, then began whispering. “The blood samples taken before and after time journeys are analyzed for more than just medical reasons or determining how time travel affects agents. LAMB wants to collect data and learn more about all operatives, especially MBs.”
Dewey lowered his eyes.
“I’ve heard rumors of what’s done here at LAMB to study MBs,” Lorcan said.
Fiona didn’t look any more thrilled than he was about them doing extensive tests. She probably didn’t want to dwell on things done here. They both might have to re-evaluate whether ridding the world of dangerous unnatural creatures was worth working for an organization that could be involved in unethical practices.
“Some believe souls keep returnin’ until they’ve completed all lessons they’re meant to learn,” Fiona said. “I must need to learn a lot.”
She sounded sad again, which always bothered Lorcan. He wasn’t heartless, but other people’s feelings didn’t affect him unless they were family or children.
“Maybe you two knew each other in past lives,” Dewey suggested. “Often souls reconnect even though it might be a different relationship each time.”
Fiona looked at Lorcan more seriously now.
Had they been together in another life? Friends? Relatives? Lovers? Was that why he was so drawn to Fiona? Or was it her witch magic? Those Scottish Highlanders’ ghosts certainly seemed bewitched by her.
Lorcan cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Do you only have one of these devices, Dewey?”
“We’ve produced two so far. The new 3D printer is unbelievable. It makes almost anything possible. Mr. Dalton says if you’re going to the historic Scottish Highlands it might be good to have one with you. I’ve read there’s cool supernatural creatures there. Like the Loch Ness monster and kelpies and unicorns.”
Fiona picked up the plaid again. Holding tight to it, she closed her eyes.
Lorcan watched her closely. She began shivering again, then gulped air. He shook her arm lightly, but she didn’t respond.
“What’s wrong with her?” Dewey asked.
The scientist had a brilliant mind, but he didn’t handle stress well.
“I suspect she’s drifting,” Dickens said, startling Lorcan.
Like always, she’d approached silently. Lorcan hadn’t even known she was near.
“Drifting?” Dewey asked, nervously ruffling his already tousled hair.
“Aye,” the goblin replied ominously. “Some call it traveling. I’d wager Fiona’s consciousness…her mind and soul, are presently parted from her body. She’s perhaps being called to the Highlands by that handsome Angus MacIntire, for I ken they’ve been linked before, though I couldn’t find anything about him…not even in my secret files.”
Dickens kept secret files?
“Should we shake Fiona?” Dewey’s voice trembled. “Is it like sleepwalking when you’re not supposed to disturb the person?”
Lorcan put his hands out frustrated. How the hell would he know? This was freaking him out; he wasn’t sure he could think straight.
“Give her a bit of time,” Dickens suggested. “She’ll likely come out of it on her own.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Lorcan was beginning to panic, which never happened…except when it had to do with Fiona. It occurred back in ancient Ireland, too, when he’d thought they’d lost her.
“Och, well you’d best slap her then.” Dickens sounded serious.
Dewey looked horrified.
“I wouldn’t!” Lorcan replied. “Not unless it really was to save her life.”
“What happens if she doesn’t come around?” Dewey stepped closer.
Dickens shrugged. “You’ve heard of the poor mindless beings in a catatonic state staring straight ahead like they’re looking at something nae one else sees? Sometimes they’re eventually institutionalized, you ken. I suspect some were drifting and their consciousness simply didnae return.” The shapeshifter clucked her tongue.
Dickens reveled in being a fearmonger. She was a goblin, and they were well-known for their desire to create chaos.
But what if Fiona really was gone?