Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance: Lost Library, #1

By Kate Baray

Lost Library brings together a mysterious, magical book and a quirky heroine to create the adventure of a lifetime!

John arrives unannounced on Lizzie's doorstep looking for answers she doesn't have. She may have a magical book, but she hasn't a clue what to do with it--or even how to read it. And John's revelation that he's a Lycan isn't making the job any easier.

Before the code to the book can be cracked, Lizzie and John stumble into the middle of a power-hungry mastermind's plan. Caught up in one man's search for power, Lizzie soon begins to uncover surprising secrets about her past and powers. Can she and John put a stop to their newly found enemy's plans?

Take a romp through the life of the quirky and well-meaning Lizzie as she discovers magic, creatures that go bump in the night, and maybe love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Baray
• Release date: Apr 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781513070087

Book preview

1

AUSTIN, TEXAS

Lizzie Smith had been Lizzie since before she could remember.

But then she’d moved back to her hometown. Her return to Austin marked a turning point in her life. She’d opened her own business instead of working for someone else, bought a house instead of renting one, and had even adopted a dog. Full-on adult, that was her.

With a new city, a new job, and new clients, why not a new name? She’d introduced herself as Elizabeth, because Elizabeth was a woman who paid her mortgage. Elizabeth was a woman you could trust with your business. Elizabeth was an adult.

But the name hadn’t stuck, and—shockingly—it turned out that Lizzie was just as trustworthy and adult as that nonexistent Elizabeth woman.

In the same mistaken attempt to mold herself into an image of what she believed an adult to be, she’d cut her long, curly hair. Shorter would be more mature and manageable, right? Wrong. Her curls had rioted in their newfound, weightless freedom.

And finally—this should have been a sign that she’d lost all sense of self—she’d even (very briefly) given up her fun, funky nail polish. In trying to abandon it, she’d discovered exactly how happy sparkly pink, navy, gold, and neon-green made her. Funky nail polish for the ultimate win.

Where did all of these failed changes land her? With an ie name, untamable curls, funky nail polish, and exactly the same place she’d started. She was—external changes aside—the same woman. She looked young for her age—thirty-four, though she didn’t announce it from rooftops—and more perky than serious. But on the whole, she was a regular, normal sort of person.

And she was done trying manipulate her image. She was simply herself.

She liked herself.

Well, she mostly liked herself. Everyone had flaws. But the point was that she didn’t think of herself as particularly unusual in any way. She wasn’t brilliant, artistic, or gorgeous. She really was quite average.

And it was the very average Lizzie Smith who received a mysterious package in her mailbox one cold March day.

2

Mixed in with her junk mail and bills, Lizzie discovered a large padded envelope.

A little burble of excitement rose in her chest. She loved surprises and presents. She hadn’t ordered anything, so someone must have sent her a just-because gift.

Those were the best sort of presents.

Her mother sometimes sent her small things—an eye-catching bottle of nail polish, fancy razors she’d gotten on sale—but it didn’t matter what it was. It was exciting and special simply by virtue of being unexpected.

She tucked the other mail under her arm and inspected the package.

It was heavy in her hands, shaped like a box or a book, and addressed in handwritten capital letters to Elizabeth Smith.

Odd. Her family and friends wouldn’t use her full name, but it didn’t look work related. And there was no return address. She shivered. Okay, enough speculation. She was freezing her rear off.

She hurried into the house. Austin wasn’t cold often, but the temperatures had been abnormally low over the last few days. She loved cold weather, so she wasn’t complaining, but her runny nose was driving her batty.

After dropping the mail and her mystery package on the kitchen table, she rushed through her getting-home ritual: check the thermostat, potty the dogs, and get the kettle started.

Two happily pottied dogs later, Lizzie grabbed her tea and sat down at the kitchen table ready to investigate her unusual mail. Their tails wagged furiously as they watched, echoing her own excitement.

She carefully slit the package open and tipped the contents onto the table: a book.

Not a standard, mass-produced hardcover, more of an old-fashioned journal. The cover was dark green with worn leather, the edges battered and faded to a lighter mossy green. It had aged well, developing an antique-looking patina rather than turning ragged through the years.

Maybe it was an old reference book or a classic?

She flipped it over, examining the cover and spine for some sign of its origin.

Nothing.

Running her finger over the edges of the paper, she could feel the individual pages. They were thick and slightly uneven. She guessed hand-cut.

She flipped the book open, and then quickly turned to the next page and the next.

Lizzie’s eyesight wasn’t perfect. A few too many late nights cuddled in bed with her Kindle, or one too many paperbacks read by flashlight under the covers as a child. But she passed her driver’s eye exam every time it came up, and really, who could read the tiny white letters on street signs? That was what GPS was for.

But maybe, possibly, her eyesight was more impaired than she’d realized. Because her mysterious new book held page after page of faded, dancing letters.

She closed the book, stretched her neck, rubbed her eyes, and, for good measure, got up and flipped on an extra set of lights. Only then did she sit down and front of the book.

But the neck-stretching, eye-rubbing, light-flipping ritual didn’t solve her dilemma. If anything, stepping away and returning had escalated it, because when she flipped the book open, the letters still danced with equal enthusiasm, but they’d changed color. Where there had been faded blue ink before, bold red now splashed across the page.

But really, red or blue, what did it matter? Much more concerning was the fact that the letters on the page swam. She blinked. Or they flipped. Maybe circled. She gave up on finding a pattern and let out an exasperated breath—and that was when they started to glow.

She dropped the book as if its freakish contents had burned her fingers, then shoved her chair away from the table. Distance from the book of weird sitting not so innocently on her kitchen table seemed like a good idea.

Slowly, carefully, she placed her hands on her thighs. She peered at her fingers, wiggled them, and took stock: ten fingers, each tipped with brightly colored polish. Green with gold flecks had been the polish of the week, though that had been a few days ago and chips were appearing.

Gaze firmly fixed on her hands—not straying anywhere near the unwelcome visitor in the room—she had to conclude her eyesight was just fine. Except that wasn’t reassuring in the circumstances.

She couldn’t hang out in her kitchen twiddling her thumbs—or staring at her nail polish—all evening just because someone was playing a practical joke on her. She eyed the book cautiously without moving closer.

Investigate again? Hm, maybe in a few minutes.

One question toppled after the next: Where did it come from? Who had sent it? Why her? What the heck was it?

One of those questions might have an answer if she’d missed an accompanying note. Giving the book a wide berth, she walked over to the recycle bin and retrieved the discarded envelope.

Just as she’d seen on her initial inspection, there was no return address to mark the sender and no postage mark. Had someone hand-delivered it? That sparked a few uncharitable thoughts. First, it was illegal to drop something in a mailbox that hadn’t been properly posted. Second, it was just creepy thinking about some stranger pranking her at her own house.

She shook the envelope sharply, cut side down, but no note appeared. She reached inside and swept from side to side to ensure no message was hiding or stuck inside, but there was nothing.

Those other questions buzzed around inside her head. Why her? What was it? This was the moment when the oh-so-average Lizzie Smith might have decided she was certainly a prank victim.

Or perhaps, more wildly, the victim of mail tampering. Perhaps LSD? Because average Lizzie might think she was hallucinating.

Or maybe she was feverish. Average Lizzie might have decided she needed a trip to the hospital—or even the psych ward.

But she didn’t call a friend for a ride to the hospital. She didn’t schedule a counseling visit. She didn’t even make an appointment with the ophthalmologist.

Lizzie walked right up to that book, sat down, took a fortifying drink of whiskey-spiked tea, and started to study the mystery before her.

She might not be perky, brilliant, artistic, or gorgeous, but it was just quite possible that she wasn’t average, either. She had, after all, just discovered a tiny bit of magic in her very own kitchen.

Magic.

Even thinking the word made tingles run up her spine. Her life had just become an adventure of the very best kind.

3

TWO MONTHS LATER

When did magic become commonplace? Was there a point when it was no longer the fascinating stuff of wishes and dreams?

Flipping through the notes she’d kept over the last few months, Lizzie decided magic might have lost its luster around journal entry 741.

Eyes crossed, standing on one foot. Observe book. No result.

In defense of past foolish actions—because that wasn’t the silliest thing she’d done while trying to crack the book’s code—they’d all seemed like a good idea at the time. And in that particular instance, she’d been trying to look at the book without looking at the book. A bit like catching something in your peripheral vision. The hopping on one foot had been her weak attempt to distract her brain from what she was actually doing.

That particular attempt hadn’t quite yielded no result, as the entry claimed. It had produced one very-difficult-to-explain shiner. She’d gone all lightheaded, fallen down, and thwacked her face.

Yeah, that might have been when magic lost its sparkle. A black eye could do that. Those things took forever to fade. She’d had a rainbow of fun on her face before it was gone.

The little cold snap they were having reminded Lizzie of the day she’d received her turned-out-to-be-not-so-wondrous gift.

She wasn’t a particularly violent person, but she wanted to smack whoever had dropped the thing off. Had they not heard of instructions? How long would it have taken to write a little note?

Yay for her magical book. Sure, it contained deep and unexplainable mysteries. Or at least she thought it did. Who could be sure? But because the contents weren’t decipherable, she could only guess.

If it turned out to be the equivalent of someone’s grocery list, she was going to lose her bananas.

If her first peek at what she believed to be magic turned out to be a honey-do list, or some deranged lunatics scribblings about his third-grade teacher and how she mistreated him, she might have to hunt down the giver of this frustrating gift and strangle them.

It was amazing how quickly what she’d initially thought would be an adventure became just another project that she had to manage.

Each time Lizzie opened the book, a new entry appeared on the first page. Sometimes in red ink, sometimes black, occasionally in unusual shades of violet or green. The writing ranged from loopy, feminine cursive, to printed block letters.

And each time, she failed to decipher the meaning of the scribbles. Hence her current frustrated state.

She wanted to beat her head against a wall.

It was time. Past time, actually. She needed reinforcements.

But who could a thirty-four-year-old, relatively sane woman call when she needed help with her magical book?

Not anyone who would immediately recommend institutionalizing her. Lizzie snorted. That limited her options to a pool of one. Kenna McIntyre, her best friend of twenty years, was the only choice.

If Lizzie couldn’t rely on twenty years of sane, shared history to prevent an immediate call to emergency services, then… Well, she could always fall back on the book as evidence of her story.

She took a fortifying breath, picked up her cell, and called Kenna.

You have a sec to chat? Lizzie tried to keep the nervous edge out of her voice.

Absolutely. Shoot, ladybug.

Ah. Lizzie considered phone delivery versus in person. Only one answer when delivering this kind of news. I was thinking more of an in-person, girl chat.

Nothing I’d rather be doing on a Saturday morning. Come on by, and we’ll have a cup of coffee. After a brief pause, Kenna said, Is everything all right?

Oh, yeah. Absolutely. There in fifteen. And then Lizzie hung up before Kenna could quiz her further.

Her best bud could sniff out a lie from a guy she’d met three minutes previous at a bar while waiting on their drinks. Lizzie’s infrequent lies were a piece of cake in comparison.

She packed up the book and headed out the door. The hope that she’d made the right choice, that she could trust in their friendship, weighed on her the entire way. She didn’t doubt for an instant that Kenna would be supportive. But Lizzie didn’t think she could handle her best friend not believing her.

As she pulled into Kenna’s drive, she suddenly realized there was a serious problem. She put the car in park then let her forehead slowly fall to rest on the steering wheel.

Maybe she could get away with a teensy lie: It just came in the mail yesterday. Really.

Or maybe not a lie, maybe an omission. When did I get it? Oh, you know…the other day.

Omitting wasn’t really lying…right? She groaned.

Kenna let Lizzie in, offered her a seat at the kitchen table, and handed her a cup of coffee. Kenna’s normally tidy blond bob was ruffled, like she’d just gotten out of bed.

Excellent news. Her attention wouldn’t be as sharp. Hopefully. She hadn’t noticed anything so far. Not that Lizzie had actually said much beyond yes to the coffee that was offered to her.

Silence fell.

Kenna tipped her head. Well, what’s up?

Which was the point at which Lizzie realized she had no game plan. So Lizzie, being the bone-deep-honest soul that she was, spilled the beans. All of the beans. The whole story came tumbling out—the weird package, the weirder contents, her efforts to crack the code. She talked her way around the word magic, but it was definitely implied.

Wait, Kenna said. Two months ago? You received an anonymous package with this freaky book two months ago? Kenna’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. "You’ve kept this from your very best friend for two months?"

Forget that Lizzie was sharing a tale of wonder, magic, and mystery. Sort of. The book could still turn out to be a list of some nut job’s favorite places to stash his belly lint. But so far as Kenna knew, it was all sparkles and magic and cool stuff. It seemed that didn’t matter to Kenna.

Magic, a mysterious puzzle? Nope, not interesting. Kenna had homed in on the fatal flaw: Lizzie had kept an important secret from her bestest buddy.

Since Lizzie was a glass-half-full kinda gal, she focused on the bright side. Kenna had been too distracted by the massive friend code breach to call her a lunatic. Bonus.

"I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t think any rational person would believe the ‘magic book’ part of the story. It’s a stretch for me, and I’ve seen the book." Lizzie tried not to sound defensive—and failed.

Kenna let loose a snort. Oh, don’t be confused. I think you’ve gone around the bend. I just can’t believe you kept such a huge secret from me for so long. You have the worst poker face known to man, and you hate lying.

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. Embarrassingly accurate. True.

"Even if there is no such thing as magic—and I’m not saying there is or isn’t—you believe there is. And if a friend has a life-changing experience, like, oh, say, getting a magic book, she should share that life-changing experience with her best friend. Immediately." Kenna didn’t look ready to turn Lizzie over to the men with the straightjackets, but she did look concerned.

That was typical; the woman was a worrier. But her flippant attitude about magic—maybe yes, maybe no—was very unlike her. Kenna, with her (usually) sleek blond bob, trim figure, and attention to detail was no-nonsense…except in her persistent efforts to set Lizzie up on the perfect date.

About Lizzie and men, she was ridiculous. And, apparently, in her belief that magic might exist. If Lizzie had known her friend secretly watched Supernatural, and might actually believe it, she’d have considered fessing up much faster.

You haven’t mentioned medicating me yet. That’s a good sign, right? Lizzie managed a weak smile.

Clarifying whether Kenna intended to call 911 was definitely a priority in this conversation.

Kenna looked at her steadily and refrained from comment.

Uh-oh. Time for the evidence.

Lizzie pulled out the book and flipped it open to the first page. After turning the book around and presenting the first page to Kenna, she said, Other than the dancing words, there is also the changing text. Every time I open it, there’s a different entry. You can tell because the handwriting and the ink is different.

She closed and reopened the book. Lizzie leaned so she could see the page. Bold, black, slanted writing popped up on the page. She looked up, and for the first time since she’d arrived, Lizzie couldn’t read Kenna’s expression.

Honey, there’s nothing on the page. It’s blank. Kenna grasped Lizzie’s fingers and gently squeezed.

Lizzie let go of the book and watched it fall with a thud onto the table. Her gaze skittered between Kenna and the book. After several seconds, she said, No. No, that’s not right. How can you not see it?

Kenna didn’t even bother to pretend that she was looking at the book. Lines of worry deepened around her mouth.

Trying to sort what that meant made Lizzie’s brain hurt. "I don’t feel like I’m crazy. Delusional for two months and no one notices? You don’t notice?"

A flicker of doubt crossed Kenna’s face.

Lizzie shook her head. She would not lose her faith in her own sanity. She wouldn’t. She took a slow, deep breath through her nose. This book is real. The words inside, they’re real.

She pushed the book across the table toward Kenna.

Look again. Lizzie swallowed. Please.

The specter of mental illness rose and hovered inside her mind.

It was shocking, really, that she had never seriously considered something was askew in her brain.

That someone might think she was crazy? That had always been a very real concern.

But that she actually was crazy? The thought hadn’t entered her mind again, not since her initial shocked response to the book.

She smothered the hysterical laugh burbling in her throat. Wasn’t the total commitment to a belief in something so abstract, so unreal as magic—wasn’t that evidence of madness? Lizzie pressed her hand to her midriff, trying to calm the churning of her stomach.

As Kenna’s hand closed on the book, she made a small sound of pain and jerked her hand away. Looking at the book, she slowly rubbed her fingertips together.

What— Lizzie began.

It bit me. Zapped me. Whatever. Kenna cocked her head, eyeing the book critically, then reached out again. Just as quickly as before, she yanked her hand back. I’ll be damned. I think your book has an alarm system.

Kenna leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lizzie tentatively reached out to the book, but stopped suddenly with her fingers less than an inch from the cover. It didn’t really hurt you, did it?

Maybe it was dangerous. It wasn’t a huge leap from magic to evil magic.

Oh, hell, Lizzie whispered. She’d brought the thing into her best friend’s house and begged her to touch it. Kenna was one stellar bestie.

Both women looked at the book resting innocently on the kitchen table. Another moment of silence passed, then another.

Um, Kenna? Did it hurt you? Because she hadn’t actually answered when Lizzie had asked before. She hadn’t been writhing in pain, but Lizzie needed to hear the words.

No. No, it didn’t hurt me. Not really. Kenna blinked a few times, as if clearing her head. Before I touched it, it hummed or vibrated a little. Like a cell phone. But then the vibration got more intense and it was hot to the touch.

It was hot but didn’t burn you? Lizzie asked.

Kenna raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. My hand’s fine. As soon as I let go, the feeling stopped. Like no burn I’ve ever experienced, that’s for sure.

Kenna reached down to pick up the book again.

Hey, wait a second, Lizzie said. Do you really think that’s a good idea?

I have no idea. But it doesn’t actually hurt, so why not? Kenna looked down at the book. I can’t see the words. You can’t feel the heat or vibration. You weren’t wrong about the freak factor at play here. Something bizarre is definitely happening with this book.

Lizzie bit the inside of her lip; otherwise, a very ill-timed I told you so might slip out.

Kenna flashed Lizzie a grin. "I may be mostly practical, but I find the idea of magic completely fascinating. And much more palatable than you suddenly having a psychotic break. So… She shrugged. I’m willing to admit there may be some kind of freaky magical mojo involved."

Any ideas how to crack the code?

"You’re kidding, right? I’ve known about this thing for a few minutes. You’ve known for two months." Kenna wasn’t about to let Lizzie’s epic friend-fail fade into the background.

And in those two months, I’ve exhausted all of my ideas. I’m looking for some new input.

Hmm. Kenna tapped her fingers on the table. Magic words?

Lizzie hid a smile. Googled words and tried them.

Ceremonies and rituals?

Also Googled. And I went with interlibrary loan after my initial internet search. I found some bizarre books. Lizzie grimaced. Seriously, some really bizarre stuff, but nothing helpful. And anything requiring more than a drop of blood, sex of any kind, the participation of animals, however innocuous, or chanting in weird languages, I skipped.

She wasn’t that desperate.

Kenna nodded in silent agreement.

After a minute or so, Lizzie asked, Seriously? You’ve got nothing?

Well, I’m not sure what I can add that you, the internet, and a bunch of weird cult books haven’t already contemplated. But then Kenna frowned. Except…well, me.

Lizzie shook her head. What do you mean, you?

"I’m talking about the funky vibrations and heat that you’ve never seen before. I’m the only altered variable, so clearly it was the book reacting to me. So let’s experiment with me." Then Kenna grinned, like being the equivalent of a lab rat was no big deal.

I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Lizzie said, but she was already too late.

Kenna was reaching slowly for the book.

Stop, Lizzie snapped. At Kenna’s exasperated look, she swallowed her gut response and said instead, Let me at least get a piece of paper and a pen.

4

Lizzie and Kenna had experimented with the supposed magical book, and the results

Reviews for Lost Library

[jetangen4571 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

urban-fantasy, magic, artifact, shifters Interesting and different. Good characters but they need more depth to my way of thinking. Worth investigating. I found it on sale with the audio at a bargain price narrated by Catherine G Cobb who does the perky very well.

[mozzie_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A very interesting world

What would you do if a book arrived on your doorstep...one where what you saw when you opened it was constantly changing and yet nobody else saw anything but blank pages? The characters in this story are very realistic and relatable. The plot moves quickly but without losing the reader. I look forward to reading the rest of the series.

[funstm · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

In theory this should have hit all the marks - but it kind of just fell flat. It's not bad but it wasn't fantastic. I didn't really like Lizzie or John. Lizzie is kind of an idiot. The romance was okay but it didn't really grab me. I may pick up the rest of the series at some point. 2 stars.

[aliciaflanagan · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lizzie receives a mysterious book delivered to her door. Next thing she knows there is a mysterious hunk at her door asking about said book. Her life becomes in danger being kidnapped more than once because of this book.

I think Kate Baray did an excellent job writing this book. I absolutely loved it. I fell in love with the characters. There was a hint of romance and lust. I cant wait to read the next book in the series!

[liscarey · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

There's a lot to like about this book.

Lizzie Smith and John Braxton are likable, interesting characters. The Lycan don't act out a stereotypical and scientifically disproven version of wolf dominance. The story is exciting, and keeps moving. The way magic works is interesting, and even the bad guys are somewhat interesting.

But.

You knew there was a "but" coming, right?

When Lycan John Braxton starts hanging around Lizzie's home (for good and sufficient reason), naturally the local dogs go nuts over the presence of the wolf. This includes Lizzie's two dogs.

Lizzie sees the wolf the first night, and mistakes him for the neighbor's dog, Spencer, a big, friendly, affectionate malamute.

Notice how much we know about the neighbor's dog. We know his name, his breed, his personality.

Guess what we know about Lizzie's dogs. Not just at this point in the book, but by the end of it, we still know only that they are dogs, and there are two of them. No names, no breeds, not even any dog type, and no clue where they came from or why she has them, something most dog owners can tell you at length and in as much detail as you seem up for tolerating.

Lizzie never talks about her dogs. She is concerned that someone gets them fed and walked at a point where she, without spoilers, genuinely can't herself. She tells us she's happy to be back with them when that happens. But it's very superficial, and none of it feels real.

My initial impression was that Baray must not be a dog owner, but apparently she is. She has pointers and bloodhounds. That makes this even weirder. Why does the otherwise likable Lizzie have dogs she doesn't even bother to name? Seriously.

Maybe the pointers and bloodhounds are a Clue. Maybe she decided that Lizzie's dogs must be small dogs, and that, as it does for many Big Hunting Dog people, makes them "not real dogs" for her.

And maybe not. But that's a huge lapse, for a dog-owning writer to make her protagonist's dogs anonymous, faceless, personality-free props.

There's a lot I liked about this book. But the dogs being there apparently solely for Lizzie to be really, really annoyed that they bark at, first the wolf outside, and then the guy that she initially doesn't trust at all, is weird and distracting and annoying, and really kicked me out of the book every time they were referred to in passing (they never got more mention than that.)

I liked it. I did, honestly, when I was allowed to forget the cypher-dogs.

But some serious eye-rolling happened.

Important note: No dogs die in the telling of this story.

I bought this audiobook.