Mirror of the Gods, page 10
“We’ve got some research to do, but I’ll give you a call before I leave,” Clint promised, and shook the man’s hand again. With a small smile, James turned to Lucy.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Sheridan. I look forward to hearing about your dig.” He kissed her hand one last time. When he had disappeared out the door, Lucy expelled a heavy breath.
“Christ, that was James Foster!” she whisper-yelled, as Clint smiled bemusedly.
“Come on,” Dira said. “We need to get started.” Dira moved forward, no longer hiding her face. Clint was about to ask why she hadn’t introduced herself, but at the frown on Dira’s face, he thought better of it.
***
Stepping out into the morning sun, James reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out his phone. That woman—the tall one with the scowl on her face and the air of superiority—he thought nothing of her. It was the brunette and the flash of silver on her wrists that had spiked his interest.
“James,” the voice on the other end of the phone purred, the tone civil, resigned.
“Alastair, my friend. I just met the most peculiar woman traveling with a colleague of mine. She was wearing bracelets much like the ones you were looking for,” Dr. Foster explained as he walked.
“What was her name,” Alastair demanded.
“Lucy Sheridan,” James supplied. He could just about hear Alastair’s smile.
“Was there anyone with her?”
“Just a blond woman, and my colleague, Dr. Clint McCain. But it was just the three of them,” James answered.
“Perfect, James. Absolutely perfect,” Alastair said after the barest hesitation. “I assume you are in Oxford, yes?”
“I am.”
“I will be in there by this evening. Drinks?”
James chuckled. “Should I inform the others?”
Chapter Twelve
Clint may have been the gruff and coarse professor when it came to his own students, but never before had a woman looked at him with as much disdain as the one before him. Every member of the opposite gender seemed to swoon when he actually took the time to be charming. All except Dira, standing behind him. And now this dour woman before him: the guardian of the proverbial gate, peering at him with dark, piercing eyes behind half-moon spectacles perched high on her hooked nose, and a face as tight as the bun she’d wound her gray hair into.
The librarian.
Clint tried again. He leaned on the antique wooden counter, and gave a charming smile that would make most women’s knees weak. The librarian didn’t even blink.
He glanced down at her name tag. “Ms. Sylvia, I’m not sure you understand. Gaining access to the archives is paramount to the publishing of my next book.”
Dira’s lips twitched as the woman’s eyes narrowed.
“I will have you know, Dr. McCain, I am not an imbecile,” she replied in the haughtiest tone Clint had ever heard. “I quite clearly understand you. We did invent English, you know.” He felt like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His cheeks warmed as he cleared his throat, abashed.
“Ms. Sylvia,” Lucy said, “I’m sorry if we seem ungrateful. We traveled a long way yesterday to find what we need. Without your archives, however, I’m afraid we’ve come all this way for nothing. We only need access to a few of the texts.” She said it lightly, smiling demurely.
The librarian tilted her head up and peered down her nose at Lucy. “At least one of you Yanks has some manners. I will see what I can do for you. In the meantime, take a seat at one of the tables. No food or drink is allowed in this library, and no flash photography. I will know if you break any of these rules, trust me.” Sylvia said, beady eyes fixed firmly on Clint. She scuttled away with the distinct clicking of low sensible heels. Clint gaped and turned to Dira and Lucy, who were trying their hardest not to let loose the laughs they were clearly holding in.
“Women,” Clint murmured to himself with a shake of his head. Lucy gave him an easy grin, like he was a close friend and she was laughing at his expense. Instead of the surly scowl he might usually have given her in response, he shook his head again and turned away, his lips curling up in a smirk. There wasn’t much they could do besides wait.
“The British didn’t technically invent English,” Lucy murmured once Ms. Sylvia away and out of earshot.
“No?” Dira said, tilting her head to the side. Clint raised a brow.
“No, I...” Lucy said, having missed Dira’s dry tone. “Oh, shut it. You already knew that.”
Dira hummed in response, a smirk tugging at her lips. She turned on her heels and walked silently away. Clint watched her, not for the first time noting just how graceful she was. Tall lithe body, sure confident strides, footsteps silent despite her boots. Like a lioness prowling her hunting grounds.
***
Once they were all seated at the table, surrounded by thousands of years’ worth of knowledge and history, Lucy opened her bag and pulled out a notebook.
She flipped it open to a small piece of paper she’d tucked into it, and Dira recognized it as the one Jay had given her before they left. Jay had written down the information about the manuscript they were looking for. Lucy set the notebook and paper in the middle of the table, she glanced around at their surroundings, and leaned in close.
“What happens if we aren’t able to get access to the archives?” she asked.
Clint’s brow furrowed. It was obvious that he’d expected to just walk right into the archives and now had no idea what to do. Dira tried to refrain from rolling her eyes.
Dira rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward a hair. “Then we find a way to break in.”
She said it so simply that Lucy nodded in acceptance, for just a moment. Then her head shot up and she looked at Dira as if she was insane.
“We’re not breaking into the Bodleian!” she hissed quietly. She looked around again to make sure no one had heard her.
Clint gave Dira a smug grin. “See? She doesn’t agree either.”
“Of course, I don’t. I’d like to come back here someday and study, so I would like to not be banned for life or thrown in jail, thank you very much,” Lucy deadpanned.
Dira’s lips thinned as she looked away, not wanting to show how sorry she felt for Lucy. Lucy looked down at the bracelets.
“Oh,” Lucy whispered.
That’s right, Dira thought. Lucy would never have a normal life again unless they found a way to get the bracelets off her.
Lucy’s eyes welled up and she shut them quickly.
“I’m sure there’s a professor who specializes in”—Clint took the piece of paper from Lucy—“Rawlinson manuscripts. Huh. That’s interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?” Dira asked, swallowing back the unease she felt at watching Lucy crumple so quickly. Clint looked at her, and she was struck for the first time at how handsome he was. His golden wheat-colored hair and bright blue eyes shone with sympathy, not only for Lucy but for Dira as well. It was as if he was silently telling her that he understood. That he knew that she didn’t want to keep Lucy from living her life. Dira felt the walls she’d erected at the age of fifteen begin to crack. Never before had a man given her pause like this, or made her feel like just a normal, ordinary woman.
She’d sworn off love nearly five hundred years ago. After witnessing firsthand the betrayal that could come with love, she’d vowed never to allow herself to become that weak. That vulnerable.
She’d never had someone for more than a night, or maybe two. But those dalliances were few and far between. Clamping down on those thoughts, she looked away from him as well, down to the paper he was holding.
“Well, the Rawlinson manuscripts are a set of works collected by a man named Richard Rawlinson,” Clint explained. “When he died in 1755, his entire collection of manuscripts, texts, paintings, and so on, was given to the Bod.”
“So there may be a professor we could contact to help us gain entry?” Lucy asked, glancing between them. “It sounds like a much better plan than breaking into one of the oldest libraries in Europe.”
“Essentially. It may not be that easy, but if worse comes to worst, then it’s another option besides going all Nick Cage on the Bodleian.”
Clint gave Dira a look, at which she shrugged and leaned back in her seat. “It’s the backup plan for the backup plan.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Lucy muttered.
Eventually Sylvia the terrifying librarian returned. And when she did, she didn’t come bearing good news. Lucy’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“While there is nothing I can do for you,” the librarian said, “I have taken the time to write down the name and phone number of Dr. Krauss, our head of early and rare collections. I would not hold your breath—the man is a notorious recluse—but I wish you luck all the same.” She slid a card toward Lucy, who gave her a demure smile.
“Thank you, Ms. Sylvia. We appreciate it immensely.”
Sylvia sniffed and gave Clint a withering glare before turning back to his student. “Yes, well, if he asks how you got his information, I hope you will be discreet. For now, good afternoon.” She turned on the heels of her incredibly sensible shoes and went back to her desk.
“So now what do we do?” Lucy asked, picking up the white card with looping cursive written on it. Clint sighed and rubbed his temples as he shook his head.
“We’ll go back to the house,” Dira said. “Have Jeger do what she can to look up this Dr. Krauss, and we’ll go from there. We can try to contact him over the phone, but if that doesn’t work, we may need to track him down.”
They pushed their chairs in before they made their way past Sylvia and out into the warmth of the day.
***
They’d been in there for a little over an hour, but Lucy was already slightly drained from the emotional highs and lows she experienced in such a short time.
While in the car, she couldn’t stop her mind from going through all the things she’d be giving up if they didn’t find a way to get the bracelets off. And if they did, that meant she’d never see the Vanir again. They’d disappear into the shadows of society, and she’d have lost a group of people who’d become dear to her without even trying. Kreager had been kind and honest, a stoic yet gentle brotherly figure. Jeger was welcoming and friendly, and warm. And Dira, the most intimidating of them all, was quickly forming a bond with her that Lucy didn’t want to give up at all.
And then there was Ridder, the tall, lithe man who made her stomach flutter and her heart constrict in a wonderfully painful way every time their eyes met. The things she’d started to feel for him in such a short amount of time were intense, and extremely overwhelming—even scary, but she found that the mere thought of never seeing him again had her gut twisting painfully.
But if she did stay with all of them, she’d be putting her family in danger. Each side of the coin was as painful as the other. So painful it threatened to consume her completely.
By the time they got to the safe house, Lucy could practically feel her entire being devolving and her mind spiraling. Her throat was tight, her vision fuzzy, and her chest felt as if someone had a hold of her heart in a relentless, vice-like grip. She took one step out of the SUV and wavered.
***
Kreager opened the door, and his face paled as his eyes landed on Lucy.
She was as white as a ghost, her breathing erratic. She slowly slid down the side of the SUV and onto her knees. He crossed the yard immediately, followed by Dira and Clint, who turned just in time to see her slump to the ground.
As Kreager approached, her gray eyes were wide and filled with terror, and she was struggling to breathe. He knelt, careful not to crowd her.
“Lucy, you need to breathe,” he told her gently. She frantically shook her head and gestured to her chest as if to say she couldn’t. Kreager cursed under his breath. He lifted her easily into his arms and strode toward the house.
***
Ridder looked up as Kreager burst into the house with Lucy in his arms, depositing her gently on the couch in the living room. He was there in an instant, on his knees in front of her as his brother backed away, giving them both space. Ridder’s dark eyes met Lucy’s, satisfied when recognition flashed in them.
“How can I help?” he asked.
Lucy could barely register what was happening. Her vision was clouded and tinged with black, save for the sight of Ridder in front of her. Her foggy mind registered his rough, hot hands delicately cupping her face. Without words, he leaned forward, drawing her toward him, and rested his forehead against hers. His warm breath fanned across her face as he breathed evenly and deeply, silently coaxing her to mimic him. After a few moments of sharing their breath, he hummed deeply, the sound resonating between them.
“That’s it. Keep breathing, querida,” he said softly, as he too closed his eyes. Slowly, she stopped shaking, and her breathing stabilized. He didn’t pull back when her small hands found his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of his crisp button-down shirt, keeping him close. She didn’t want him to leave, she didn’t want him to pull away. As if reading her mind and the terrifying thoughts of having to leave the Vanir, or having them leave her, Ridder shook his head. Inhaling, he murmured low, so quietly only she could hear it.
“I won’t leave. I promise.”
His words, while gentle and so soft, held such weight that Lucy found her eyes flying open to search out his own, as she jerked back an inch. She was looking for even the smallest trace of falsehood. And when she found none, the tears she’d been keeping at bay since the library welled up. She trembled like a leaf in the wind, and then she launched herself into his arms. Ridder held her close, burying his face in her neck as if to ground himself in her.
***
“What’s happening?” Clint asked.
“Ridder’s made his choice,” Dira said lightly. “Whether he knows it or not.” Her gaze slid toward Jeger’s, who’d stood from her place at the table to watch Ridder and Lucy. Jeger nodded firmly. Lucy Sheridan was now, and would forever be, a part of their small family.
Ridder had chosen to give his heart to someone for the first time in five hundred years. It was a choice they all knew the others would make someday, but seeing it happen right in front of their eyes, so quickly, had the gravity of their situation crashing down on all of them. They needed to find a way to keep Lucy safe, to keep her grounded in her new reality. A way that would let her live her life while also being at Ridder’s side—if that was what she wanted too.
Dira hoped for her brother’s sake that it was.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days had passed since Lucy had her panic attack, and they were no closer to getting into the archives than they had been before. Tensions were mounting. Lucy and Clint refused to break into the Bodleian, each of them stating in no uncertain terms that they didn’t wish to be put in jail for breaking and entering. Dira was trying not to be frustrated with them, but it wasn’t easy. Especially when one of the people she’d always counted on being in her corner now supported what Lucy said without hesitation.
She didn’t blame them. But being stuck in the safe house for any amount of time, while no doubt the Order were searching for Lucy and the bracelets, was upping her stress levels immensely. That was how Ridder’s idea to train Lucy and Clint came to fruition. To get them all out of the house, and into the fresh air, while also giving Lucy and Clint the means to defend themselves if needed.
Clint was more than a little offended at the notion that he wouldn’t be able to protect himself. He said he’d been an avid boxer since his early undergrad days. But after going head-to-head with Jeger and getting his ass handed to him, he reluctantly agreed to let the others show him a few moves.
Lucy was beyond excited. Her entire life had been upended, and she didn’t want to be even more of a burden than she already was to the Vanir.
After her panic attack, she’d apologized to Ridder for clinging to him, but he had hushed her quickly as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a hold of her chin gently, with a small smile, before letting go and walking away. Something had changed between them that day, and Lucy was finding that it was increasingly harder to breathe around the man. He made her feel so many things, while hardly even trying, that it had her feeling constantly unsteady.
Being able to blow off some steam, and learning some self-defense techniques, was just what she needed to feel like herself again. She was used to exercising every day, but with an invisible target on her back and four very protective descendants of gods, Lucy hadn’t exactly been able to adhere to her normal routine.
As they all gathered in the back garden, a large open yard bordered by a riot of brightly colored flowers, Jeger took her laptop toward a small table under the shade of a large tree, Kreager following closely after her.
“How come they aren’t participating?” Clint asked, his voice a low grumble that made Lucy snort. He sounded like a pouting five-year-old.
Dira raised a perfectly sculpted blond brow at him and narrowed her icy blue eyes. “Why?” she snapped. “Eager to get thrown onto the ground again?”
The sharp remark had come out harsher than Dira meant for it to. Noticing the almost motherly look of disappointment on the Lucy’s face, she sighed and shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.
How was the smallest of them all able to make her feel as if her mother had somehow risen from the dead to inhabit the mortal woman, chastising her as easily as she had when she was alive? Mollified, Dira gave Lucy a small sheepish look, then turned to Clint.
