Maeve’s Book of Beasts

by Deborah Cooke

  “But there is a tactile pleasure to be savored with a physical book,” their waiter said, his gaze never leaving Sylvia’s. She wasn’t even sure he blinked and she sure didn’t want to look away.

  She forced herself to look at the book. It had leather binding and could have been an antique. She picked it up and sniffed it.

  He was visibly startled, but tried to hide it. “Nothing like the smell of a book.”

  “Nothing,” she agreed, and smiled at him. Their gazes held for another intoxicating moment, Sylvia feeling as if her entire body was coming to life after a long sleep, then he nodded abruptly and returned to the bar.

  “What are you doing?” Emily whispered with impatience. “It’s just a plain old notebook, like the kind you get in an office supply store. At best, it smells like dust. Really, I think you must have started without me. He’s going to think you’re nuts, sniffing cheap notebooks.”

  When Sylvia looked again, it was just a plain notebook.

  She frowned and picked it up, studying it more closely.

  “A book,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “Why would they give something like that to someone on their birthday? That’s just strange. There should have been cake. Whipped cream. A candle. Something decadent. Not a stupid notebook.”

  Sylvia didn’t agree. She’d much rather have a book than a dessert.

  What was strange was that the book changed as she turned it in her hands. One moment, it was a plain notebook, just as Emily said. The next, it caught the light differently and appeared to be an antique. Then the binding was leather and the interior pages had ragged edges. Sylvia thought they were vellum, although in the dim light of the restaurant, it was hard to be sure. She opened it and was struck by the fact that it was filled with illustrations. She couldn’t read the text. It might have been handwritten and it flowed around the illustrations in a very odd way. Maybe it wasn’t even in English. She’d have to take a closer look in better light to be sure. The binding felt warm, and that couldn’t be from his hand. Maybe it had been in a warm place, like on top of a radiator, because it felt hot beneath her hand.

  She closed it and letters shimmered on the outside cover, like they were both there and not there.

  Maeve’s Book of Beasts. She shook her head because that made no sense to her.

  Sylvia blinked and it was a notebook, filled with blank lined pages with no title on the cover. No matter how much she blinked and turned it, it stayed that way.

  She was officially losing her mind.

  Emily was halfway through her drink. “I thought you were Miss Manners,” she chided, slurring her words a bit. “You didn’t even thank him, even for a stupid book.”

  “You’re right. I will when he comes back.”

  But he didn’t come back. It was one of the waitresses who brought their food along with Sylvia’s wine and took Emily’s order for a second drink. She didn’t like Sylvia’s either, which meant they were different.

  “What happened to our waiter?” Emily asked.

  “What waiter?”

  “The guy who took our drink order,” Sylvia said.

  The woman dropped her gaze. “There are no waiters here.” Sylvia was trying not to stare at the ghostly black bird that seemed to hover behind her. It was both there and not there, because Sylvia could see the ceiling through it. But it was looking straight back at her, as if outraged that she was looking. Sylvia blinked and it disappeared. “The only guy who works here is Murray, the owner.” The waitress indicated the burly older man who could have run a motorcycle gang on the side.

  Emily and Sylvia exchanged glances. “But there was a guy,” Emily insisted. “He brought us our drinks and took our order.”

  The waitress shook her head. “I took your order,” she said, then pointed to the drink. “You’ve got to be careful with those.”

  “But he was here,” Sylvia protested.

  The waitress gestured to the bar, which was starting to get busier, inviting her to point him out. “Where?”

  Sylvia knew even before she looked that she wouldn’t spot him. Her gaze fell on the book and she wondered just what it was—and why he’d given it to her.

  It looked as if she’d have to figure that out herself.

  “What’s her aura like?” Emily whispered when the waitress walked away.

  “She doesn’t have one,” Sylvia said, choosing to ignore the black bird. It was gone anyway.

  Emily nodded with satisfaction. “See? You just needed a good meal. That’s what you get for living on carrot sticks and cranberry juice. These fries are really good. Eat up, birthday girl!”

  This was what happened when Sebastian trusted anyone else.

  No, this was what happened when he allied with someone who failed to respect the power of magick. He knew better than to have anything to do with grimoires or other volumes of sorcery, and he certainly knew better than to mess with the dark queen, but Micah had found Sebastian’s only point of weakness.

  The key.

  He would do anything for the key. He’d agreed to join the coven, he’d agreed to collect the book and later to deliver the book. He’d agreed to follow Micah’s plan even though he didn’t like it one bit, and now his part was done.

  But Sebastian was snared. He couldn’t even go and collect his prize, the key, not now that he’d seen what he’d seen and heard what he’d heard.

  Fucking magick.

  He waited in a shadowed alley opposite Bones, oblivious to the damp wind coming off the river. He was so motionless and so dark that the few passersby thought him a shadow himself. The moon was one night from being new and he could see only the barest sliver of silver. The stars could be faintly discerned high overhead, and the sound of traffic dropped to a distant hum. He heard the sirens of the emergency vehicles, the patter of the first raindrops, the lapping of the river against the dock as the tide rose, the honking of distant horns.

  He waited and he seethed.

  He should just leave and let Micah’s plan fall out badly. It wasn’t his responsibility. It hadn’t been his idea.

  She hadn’t been his suggestion.

  And that was the problem. Sylvia was the problem. She wasn’t oblivious to the true nature of the book, as Micah had said she would be. She could see what it was, Sebastian was certain of it, and that meant her custody of it was dangerous—to her. He wasn’t fond of mortals, he was less fond of Others, and he was least fond of his own kind, but Sebastian hated when things were wrong.

  He wouldn’t call himself principled. He just liked to be right. He had argued against this plan, he had been told that he was wrong as well as reminded that he had agreed to bow to the collective will—but he was right.

  Sylvia knew.

  She saw the truth of the book.

  That would be the death of her.

  And given the measure of kindness in the dark queen’s black heart, it wouldn’t be an easy demise.

  Sebastian didn’t want to feel responsible but that didn’t change the fact that he did.

  He should have walked away and gone to retrieve his key. Instead, he stood and waited, hoping for a sign that he was wrong.

  He doubted there would be one.

  The thirst came upon him with predictable timing and ferocity. It grew in intensity with every passing second. It made him twitch and burn. It made him think inappropriate thoughts about Sylvia—a librarian! So delicious that he’d been tempted to bend down and just take a nibble. That long sleek neck, such fair skin, such thick hair—was it brown or auburn? He hadn’t been sure—and her inviting scent. Heat and blood and perfume and woman. He growled in the dark and clenched his fists. Her secrets had almost been begging to be unfurled—by him and no one else. Sebastian wanted as he seldom wanted, and he knew it wasn’t just the thirst.

  There was something about Sylvia.

  Something dangerous, even to him.

  This was what happened when those who didn’t respect magick under-estimated its chaotic power. Sebast
ian hated grimoires and magickal tomes of all kinds, but he respected them.

  Micah didn’t.

  For all Sebastian knew, the book itself had created this trouble, and he resented its manipulation thoroughly.

  He didn’t like this bar. He didn’t like his neighbor, Melusine, and he didn’t like Murray, the dwarf who ran the bar. He didn’t like being surrounded by so many Others at Bones or anywhere else, and he certainly didn’t want to talk to any of them about their powers, abilities or fears. He hated being in Micah’s coven.

  In fact, having to surrender his solitude in order to fight the dark queen only made Sebastian despise her even more. The sooner this was resolved, the better.

  He only wanted to be alone, and that hadn’t changed since 1450. He lived for one appetite alone and had for a long time. It was odd to feel an old hunger stirring again.

  And inconvenient.

  Sylvia.

  It was a seductive name. Musical. Feminine. It was ridiculous, but if she’d been named Maggie or Kate, he would have been more immune to her allure. Sebastian knew better than to be seduced, although he was tempted—and that reaction intrigued him more than was healthy.

  Sylvia was attractive, but not so conscious of her charms that she flaunted them. In fact, she seemed to have a protective armor against the world. If she’d trusted once and been betrayed, all the better. Her wariness would make it harder for Maeve or anyone else to trick her.

  Mortal women were more trouble than they were worth, he reminded himself, and he would never willingly turn anyone. He shuddered at the prospect of being bound to another individual forever. Nothing could be worse.

  Nothing except maybe feeling himself being drawn into an emotional web again.

  Sylvia.

  Only ignorance of what she’d been given would save her. The best way to hide a secret from Maeve was to be ignorant of it. The dark queen could read thoughts, no matter how deeply they were buried. No one could hide a secret from her.

  Which meant the book had to be entrusted to someone unlikely and unexpected, someone who had no clue what it was, someone whose situation meant that it could be easily retrieved. Micah had chosen the librarian, but Sebastian couldn’t dismiss his sense that Sylvia had glimpsed the book’s truth.

  Had the book chosen to reveal itself to her?

  What about that vision of a red and black room, a scene set for seduction? Where had that come from? And why? Sebastian didn’t know where that bedroom was located. Was it hers? He found the black and red decor an unlikely choice for such a reserved woman. The sight of her, gaze clinging to his, taking the pins out of her hair, licking her lips, awaiting his touch, luminous and welcoming and aroused, turned his thoughts in a much more earthly direction.

  Had they shared a glimpse of the future? If so, why? Sebastian knew he hadn’t conjured the vision, and really, it had felt as if he had simply fallen into it.

  He’d heard Sylvia explaining to her friend that she was seeing auras. The friend, like most mortals, was oblivious to ninety-nine per cent of what was happening around her and skeptical. It was definitely a problem if Sylvia could see the hidden truth of the Others.

  He was inclined to think the book had prompted a change in Sylvia, given that she’d been surprised by the auras. He couldn’t ignore his sense that the book was changing the rules, maybe just as the dark queen had commanded.

  This was the trouble with books stolen from powerful sorcerers. It was impossible to know what they could do. He hadn’t liked having this one in his possession for even a day.

  He was tempted to reclaim the book, but he’d promised to do as instructed. He should walk away, go hunt, satisfy the thirst.

  But Sebastian couldn’t.

  He should have remained alone.

  Two

  Fury shot through Sebastian when he smelled company.

  He looked down to find that a silver wolf had appeared and now crouched at his feet. It wasn’t just a stray dog. He could smell otherwise. Sebastian snarled at the werewolf and that creature bared his teeth, as if laughing at Sebastian. The wolf’s eyes were different colors, one silver and one blue, and there was something chilling about his stare.

  Another predator.

  One more of the Others.

  The wolf trotted across the road and sat outside the restaurant, clearly waiting for Sylvia. This was not good.

  Was this werewolf allied with the Others? Or was it on a quest of its own? The wolf shifters were loyal to each other but not necessarily to anyone else. Sebastian knew they were listed in the book, and wondered if he’d run his fingertip over this one’s name.

  It had chilled him to see his own there.

  Sebastian’s temper flared as the door opened. He couldn’t meet Sylvia outside the restaurant without raising her suspicions that he was a stalker or some other individual to be feared. He had to protect her, even from himself, and that didn’t improve his mood.

  He watched, powerless, as the women emerged onto the street.

  The one in purple, predictably, stopped to pat what she thought was a dog. The werewolf stood and wagged his tail at her, inviting her to underestimate his lethal power.

  She did. She patted him on the head and talked to him in baby talk.

  Sylvia pulled her friend forcibly away, showing better sense. “It could have fleas, Emily,” she said with disgust. “Or bite you.”

  “He wouldn’t bite. He’s a good doggie-woggie.”

  “Take a look at him! He looks more like a wolf. And those teeth. Let’s get out of here already.” Sylvia tugged her friend up the street, moving at a brisk pace even as the friend looked back.

  The wolf sat watching them, tail swishing on the sidewalk.

  When they were out of sight, he turned to Sebastian, as if to issue a challenge.

  Sebastian wondered if all the old injunctions about drinking from other kinds were really deserved. He thought it might be worth an experiment. He could think of one candidate he’d be glad to sacrifice to the search for knowledge. The thirst raged and he took a step forward, knowing he looked fearsome when the thirst was this strong.

  The werewolf barked, then cantered after the women. His walk was uneven, as if he favored one leg, but that didn’t slow him down.

  Sebastian swore and leaped for a fire escape. He climbed to the roof of the building with lightning speed and set off after the women, leaping from roof to roof. It was easy to spot them, given how quiet the streets had become.

  They had linked arms as they marched quickly toward the busier thoroughfare several blocks away. The werewolf left the alley, trotting to intersect the women’s path in a more busy area. Sebastian flitted from shadow to shadow behind the women, watching over them protectively, wondering how long the book would be safe in Sylvia’s care.

  Thirsting for blood all the while.

  What would Micah do if Sebastian reclaimed the book?

  His key would be sacrificed, if not more.

  “He’s following us!” the friend cried with delight when she spun to find the werewolf behind them.

  Sylvia eyed the dog with justified suspicion and hailed a cab. She shoved her friend into it and the werewolf was left behind for the moment. Sebastian had little time to feel triumphant. The wolf disappeared into an alley. Sebastian lost track of him and didn’t care, for the moment. He ran across rooftops, following Sylvia’s scent. It was exhilarating to run and not that hard to keep up to the taxi in the evening press of traffic. They headed toward Gramercy Park. When the cab slowed in front of a townhouse converted to apartments, Sebastian descended to an adjacent alley to watch.

  Their destination was a gracious house with broad stairs rising from the sidewalk and a double-doored entry. There was a small patio with a gate, reached by half a dozen steps that descended from the sidewalk. Once, this level would have been the servant’s quarters, with the kitchen in the back. The first floor was a few steps above the street, and he could see that there were three more above it. The
top one was smallest, with a patio across the front.

  To Sebastian’s dismay, a man stood at the top of the steps to the townhouse, carrying a large box. He had silver hair, cut short in a military style, and wore jeans and boots with a leather jacket. When he glanced up, clearly sensing Sebastian’s presence, Sebastian saw that his eyes were different colors.

  One was silver and one was blue.

  The smell of him proved Sebastian’s suspicions. He wasn’t a man. He was a werewolf and worse, the same werewolf that had been outside the bar. Sebastian wanted to snarl—or better yet, rip out the werewolf’s throat and solve the problem.

  But if he revealed himself to intervene, Sylvia would wonder how he’d found her home, how he’d arrived there before her, and undoubtedly distrust him once she witnessed what he could do. His chance of retrieving the book easily from her would drop to nil and his ability to protect her while she possessed it would be seriously compromised. She might become curious about the book, and closer inspection could only put her in more peril.

  He hadn’t liked Micah’s plan in the first place, and he liked it less with every passing moment.

  That’s what he got for joining a team.

  The werewolf gave a hard look at the shadow that was Sebastian, like a warning, then glanced toward the cab at the curb. He tipped the box so he was holding most of its weight in one hand, and flicked through keys with the other.

  No. The shifter couldn’t be living in Sylvia’s building.

  Sebastian wanted to rage. His hatred of werewolves hit new heights, but there was nothing he could do for the moment.

  But watch, wait, and burn with the thirst.

  No, not even that. Bella touched his sleeve, having approached with her usual silence. “You need to feed,” she said.

  “I can wait...”

  “Micah says you might draw attention to her if you don’t leave her alone.”

  Sebastian inhaled sharply, more than ready to give Bella a terse message to take back to Micah. He wasn’t some obedient lap dog, to be commanded at every moment, even if he had reluctantly joined the team.