by Jane Cousins
Hold on. That was twice he had inferred that he had been watching her, observing her. Heat flooded back into her cheeks. No, it meant nothing more than he considered her a worthy adversary, and like her, he was gathering intel. She was so adding sneaky to his long list of faults
Making her way out of the Children’s Wing, she texted Marta, assigning her to be in charge of the Christmas decoration committee this year. Advising that she would personally ensure the decorations destined for the Annexe be sent. If they got a little lost in transit, well, there would only be the blurred labelling to blame.
Poor Cullen, the Charter did have very strict guidelines regarding the date by which all festive decorations were to be hung, how they were to be hung, and when they had to be removed. It would be a futile mad scramble on his part to try and meet those requirements.
Her opponent was smart, wily and quick on his feet. It was apparent now, more than ever, that she ensure Cullen was assigned competing tasks and deadlines. Locking in as many hurdles as possible in a tight timeframe still seemed like the best approach. A barrage if you will. Surely he wouldn’t be able to dodge and weave all her carefully planned strikes.
With that in mind she texted the Fire Chief and confirmed the Annexe inspection date for next week. Then did likewise with Cousin Wally, who headed up the District Occupational Health and Safety office.
Striding into the Mystical and Magic Wing, Patricia made her way down the central plush carpeted area. Ignoring the large number of people seated at the massive desks laid out in rows in the middle of the room, many muttering to themselves, consulting large tomes, making notes.
Almost at the conference room she tapped on an email from Carol. Excellent, Cullen’s name had been added to the Vault duty roster. Not everyone had the nerve to spend a rotation dealing with their more notorious and feisty literature. Carol also confirmed Cullen had been added to the Research Duty roster, two Special Project committees, and the rotation schedule for updating and maintaining the Cryptozoology field guide index.
And, as a piece de resistance, Patricia had requested Cullen be assigned the job of overseeing the Krell Spawn Plane Re-enactment Historical Society. A group of like minded individuals who got together weekly to discuss and map out the campaigns from the Ice era. Since all the campaigns took place during white out blizzards, the historical society members did nothing but sit around bickering about what may or may not have happened. To this day, it was unclear as to who had actually won the battle. All the combatants still frozen solid, encased in ice.
Larson was hovering in the corridor outside of the conference room, wringing his hands. Glancing at her watch, Patricia noted she had ninety seconds before her next meeting started. Hopefully that would be plenty of time to deal with what ever fresh crisis was about to land in her lap.
So basically, just your typical day really. At least it was never dull. Huh, some days she prayed to the Goddess for a dull day. But given her family, and their magic, dull just never seemed to be on the cards.
Hmm, at least by this time next week that silly irritating itch that had settled under her skin, ever since she’d met Cullen and discovered that he had a weird fetish for stealing library books, would be gone.
More strange was the way that irritating itch turned into a vague tingling when she was in his presence. As if her blood had turned into champagne and was popping against the inside of her skin. Weird. Distracting. And the one thing Patricia didn’t have time for was a distraction. Especially a five-foot-eight tall one with a crisp, lilting, British accent and jade green eyes that shimmered with a mix of amusement and heat every time he looked her way.
Huh, she might as well start the countdown clock. Her plans were in motion. Cullen would be locking up the doors of the Annexe for the last time very soon. She would emerge triumphant in this matter. Patricia wanted that itchy tingling feeling gone. Although a part of her, just a very small part mind you, was distinctly looking forward to matching wits with Cullen. Only for the mental exercise, she assured herself. Not because there was something about the popping tingly feeling she felt in Cullen’s presence that she was becoming slightly addicted to.
Obviously the excitement at the thought of finally ousting Cullen’s interfering presence from her domain was making her a little giddy. Which was a silly premise in itself, she had plenty of excitement in her life. She had family, close friends, a satisfying job that came with a workload that would keep a Mensa think-tank scrambling to keep up with. And when she found time, she had her swimming and her ice skating. Wonderful hobbies that gave her rare, brief moments of solitude and peace.
What she didn’t need was Cullen, sinking his superior, take charge hooks into her world. Sure, she’d managed to keep him at bay for two years. But always in the back of her mind she’d been aware of his irritating presence, knowing that if she gave him the slightest opening he would… would what? Damn, she’d never really considered Cullen’s motives for insisting his Potting Shed be declared an Annexe. She’d always assumed he’d done so just to prove a point. But he’d gone above and beyond that point by turning up today to read a story. Hell, just what was Cullen really after here?
And honestly, when… in all of this, had she begun to think of him as just Cullen?
Chapter Three
“There’s…” Marta fanned her pink cheeks, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “…someone here to see you at the circulation desk.”
“Someone?” Patricia’s pen remained poised in mid air, as she took in her employee and distant cousin’s high colour and starry eyed look. “You couldn’t narrow that down for me a little?” She had these performance appraisals to review and sign off. Several cryptozoology entries to re-write. And three back to back meetings that would run through lunch. So if she didn’t find time to eat very soon, she’d miss lunch completely.
“He asked for you by name and trust me, you will want to meet him.”
“Okay. Give me two minutes.” She bit back on a sigh, just once, it would be nice if one of her senior staff members could step up and deal with a major or even a minor crisis. She encouraged them to be proactive, to take on more responsibility, but it was like they, along with everyone else, saw Patricia as a vital cog that all matters must be passed through.
Something she had taken comfort in when she first began working her way up the managerial ladder. After it had become apparent that Great-Aunt Alma wasn’t coming back from sabbatical anytime soon and that there would be little else to keep Patricia occupied in the future but her work, her job. No meld mate for her. No rushing home for a hot meal and even hotter sex. No excuse not to put her hand up and take on more and more responsibility over the years, until she’d naturally been appointed Head Librarian.
Standing up, Patricia absently checked to make sure she looked presentable. Brushing down her taupe coloured tapered pants that she’d paired today with a matching short sleeve top and a chunky amber art deco necklace. Check and double check. And just in case she ran into Cullen today she’d worn three inch wedge sandals. Tossing her mane of wavy sable hair back over her shoulders she headed towards the front desk.
In the central dome area there were several people reading and partaking of the available free beverages. Patricia nodded and murmured greetings but didn’t slow her stride. Choosing to ignore completely the five men currently seated right in the middle of the room, playing poker, tool kits and various pieces of equipment littering the floor around them. All were present and accounted for, so at least she could take comfort that all was right… Damn, overhead the lights flickered wildly, this was immediately followed by several surprised shouts emitted from the Scientific and Medical Wing. The acrid scent of something having been singed suddenly tainting the air.
One of the men at the poker table abruptly folded his hand, reaching down to grab his tool kit. “Looks like I’m up.” He sauntered away from the table, giving Patricia a polite yet wary look as he passed by.
Woo-hoo. Patricia, than
ks to sheer will power, kept her expression carefully blank and refrained from punching her fist in the air in delight. Getting the Scientific and Medical Wing rewired had been on her list.
Now, where should she move Cara to next? Hmmm, it was a toss up between the unreliable air-conditioning in the Cryptozoology Department and the loose spiral staircase in the Historical Wing.
Okay, she knew it was wrong to use Cara’s chaos mojo powers to get things fixed around the Library gratis. But Patricia liked to think that she was channelling Cara’s powers for the good of the Library.
Honestly, given how nervous she was at the moment, if Cara wasn’t careful she’d bring the roof down. Hmm, reminder to self, order more fire extinguishers.
Until this whole thing with Cara’s Great-Great- throw in a dozen more Greats, and then a dozen more -Grandfather was resolved, Patricia was going to keep Cara focused, since she refused to stay home, saying she preferred to keep busy. And if the side benefit of keeping Cara busy was that a lot of niggly things around the Library happened to get fixed for free in the process, so be it.
Now. On to her mystery visitor. She prayed that it wasn’t another religious text salesperson, they got so offended when Patricia kept referring to their books as works of fiction. Striding into the reception area her eyes instantly locked on to the tall, handsome man barely wearing any clothes standing stiffly at attention by the circulation desk.
No, as her breath caught in her throat, her stomach fluttering, Patricia revised her description. Oh, sure, he was tall, handsome and only wearing two long panels of black cloth that reached mid-muscular thigh, secured around his narrow heavily muscled waist by a solid gold band. But this was no mere man, this was a Warrior.
It was like he’d leapt off the cover of one of her favourite books. Straight honey blonde hair falling to his shoulders. Dark, piercing eyes. Square, jutting jaw. And a full, generous mouth. And he wasn’t just tall, he was at least six-foot-six, so even in her wedges she still had to look up at him. Oh, my.
Patricia came to an abrupt halt several feet from him, trying to make it look casual as she leant against the circulation desk, and not like she suddenly needed some support for her trembling knees. “Can I help you?” Thank Goddess, her voice sounded strong and confident.
“You are the one in charge?” The tone was disdainful and surprised as dark eyes swept past Patricia in clear expectation.
“Yes.”
“A woman?” The assessing dark gaze now travelled slowly down over Patricia’s frame.
“Clearly.” Oh, so he was one of those chest thumping macho type warriors who needed to be taught that women were as good as men? How many stories had she read where that was a running theme? Too many to count.
Hold on, could this be… no, really? Could this be Great-Aunt Alma’s attempt to match her? At her age? No, her and this… warrior? Hmmm, her and this warrior.
Not that anything would come of it, Patricia was sure. She liked her life. Liked being single.
Huh, she wondered if this was how all Alma’s targets felt like in the beginning? Well, at the very least this should be interesting. “I’m Patricia Bennett. Head Librarian.”
“I am Zartel. Leader of the Seventh Sun Guard Battalion. Protector of the Flame of Truth. Servant of the Gods, lately in the House of Ra, now in the House of Apep.” His words rang out loudly, echoing and expanding.
Patricia might have imagined the small feminine gasp of shock emanating from the Scientific and Medical Wing, but she didn’t imagine all the lights suddenly going out, and two seconds passing before the emergency generator kicked in. Hmmm, looked like the entire Library was going to need re-wiring.
All acts of Gods or their descendants fell under the High Council’s discretionary budget. Score.
“You will attend me.”
What? Oh, yes, the big strong warrior in her reception area. “When you say attend?”
“Do my bidding. Act as my lackey. Anticipate my needs.”
Patricia stiffened, pulling her shoulders back, meeting Zartel’s dark eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight. None of that, what you just said, is going to happen. Now. You can state your business here, respectfully mind you. And I’ll gladly listen. But I make no promises to help or hinder until I hear you out.”
Zartel didn’t just look surprised, he looked down right shocked. Whether it was her snappy tone or the fact that she was a female or a combination of the two that was causing his reaction wasn’t quite clear. A scowl appeared on his face, which didn’t make him any less handsome. But his entitled macho attitude was seriously beginning to piss Patricia off.
She didn’t know how the fictional heroines put up with all this malarkey. She supposed the happily ever after part made it all worthwhile in the end.
Glancing at her watch, Patricia winced, there went her chance of grabbing a quick bite to eat. “And can we hurry this along? I have three back to back meetings starting in six minutes. And I will not be late.” She despised being anything other than punctual.
“I…” Zartel lifted his head, staring down his long straight nose at her. “… am here as Apep’s security representative. The God of Chaos has made several…” Zartel winced as if the next word pained him. “… requests to meet with his descendant. All have been rejected.” Clearly shocked at the audacity.
“Yes. Well, as you can imagine, Cara is a little… concerned, in regards to meeting Apep.”
“She should be honoured.” Zartel roared the words, his thankfully minty breath making the ends of Patricia’s hair lift.
“She is allowed to feel any way she wishes.” Seriously, he was going to yell in her Library? She’d have this macho jerk begging for mercy if he didn’t change his tone and lower his voice immediately. “And as far as I’m aware, none of the suggested meet and greets have been to Cara’s taste.”
Who could blame her? Not Patricia. A ceremonial banquet involving the hunting, killing and roasting of a Triquilion fanged boar? An invitation to the gladiatorial death-match games on the fourth plane of Horus? Or a play, depicting the death of Griertmonsian? Who was torn apart by the four horses that pull Ra’s chariot across the sky. His only crime? He’d wanted to pat one of them. No, Cara had declined each and every offer, all the while growing more and more nervous at the idea of meeting her relative, a God, of chaos no less.
And the more nervous Cara got, the more mishaps and mayhem occurred around her. That’s why the lights had gone out. Why there were five highly qualified building and maintenance experts on stand by constantly these days, playing poker in the central dome room to pass the time. And why Patricia was going to be able to afford to upgrade the security in the book vault this year, since the High Council would be covering the cost of all the Cara related repair work required.
“Apep will meet with the descendant. You, will decide upon an appropriate venue, time and theme. Under my guidance, of course.”
“Me?” Patricia was very conscious of the time ticking away. “By whose authority-”
Zartel produced a gleaming black scroll, seemingly from thin air. “Your High Council have deemed it a… special project.” Zartel was clearly just repeating by rote what he knew. He had no idea how binding a special project was when it was assigned to the Library, and by default, became Patricia’s responsibility.
There was no point in arguing, instead she just held her hand out for the scroll. She’d read it later after her meetings. “Okay. Thanks… er, nice meeting you.” That was stretching the truth but there was no reason not to be polite.
“Wait.” Zartel growled out the command. “I must tell you what to do.”
Patricia’s hackles rose, grrr, the thick headed pile of muscle was still trying to order her around like he was the boss of her. Problem was, she had no time to take him to task. “I’m running late. We can have a meeting, to discuss all the details. Speak to Marta.” She pointed to her cousin standing behind the circulation desk, her eyes avidly locked on all the drama taking place
in front of her. “She can access my schedule and find a time to fit you in.”
Zartel might have made more protesting noises but Patricia ignored him. She had exactly forty-two seconds to get to her first meeting. She certainly wasn’t going to let some autocratic arrogant warrior make her late, the snowball effect on her schedule could potentially become catastrophic.
Grrr, looming, superior… warrior. Seriously, the fictional heroines thought they were worth all this aggravation? If… and it was a big if, if Zartel was her perfect warrior mate, then he was going to have to change his attitude quick smart.
Heavens, is this how everyone else felt when Great-Aunt Alma’s machinations began? No wonder they were all so upset with her. Patricia had always been aware there was a rather trying process involved for the couple targeted. Hmmm, not to speak ill of Alma’s expertise, but she couldn’t help but think that Zartel was kind of… well, kind of an arrogant idiot.
She prayed that Alma knew what she was doing. Hmm, maybe Zartel was one of those warriors who made a poor first impression. It happened all the time in romance novels.
At least Alma had got the warrior part of the equation right. But all that arrogance? The man had a humongous superiority complex. Huh, but when she came to think about it, so did most of the fictional warriors at the beginning of all the books she secretly read. Usually it took meeting the heroine for them to learn respect for the female of the species and feel comfortable enough to express their inner, softer side.
Okay, if Marta could fit Zartel into her schedule, then Patricia was prepared to give him a second chance. He was a warrior after all. Tall, and definitely strong enough looking to sweep her off her feet.
