Page 121 of A Bolt of Magic

I start forward instinctively, desperate to reach my mother, to demand answers, to find out what she’s done to Kian. But Lydia’s hand shoots out to grab my arm.

“You can’t,” she says quietly, her grip firm but not painful. “My orders were specific, McColl. You stay right here until she arrives. We don’t want her angry. Trust me on that one.”

“Fine,” I bite out. I’ve waited this long already. Whatever she has done is done.

I watch in growing agony as the procession makes its way down the hillside. My mother walks a little ahead of them. With each step that brings her closer, more details become visible, and my heart sinks further.

Her ceremonial purple robes are torn and dirty, the rich fabric stained with mud and something that looks suspiciously like soot. A bloody scrape mars her right cheek, the wound still fresh and angry-looking. Her right sleeve is singed, the fabric blackened and burned in a pattern that speaks of magical combat.

But despite her disheveled appearance, there’s something in her bearing that makes my blood run frigid. The way she holds her head high, the satisfied curve to her lips, the gleam in her dark eyes. Oh, by the goddess, she looks like a cat who’s caught not just the canary, but the entire flock.

“What have you done?” The words tear from my throat the moment she’s within earshot, raw with fear and desperation.

My mother pauses halfway up the path, tilting her head to study me with those calculating eyes.

“Patience, daughter,” she says, her voice perfectly controlled despite her battered appearance. “We need to be civilized about this. Let’s go inside where we can be comfortable and discuss things properly as a mother and daughter should.” She touches her throat delicately. “I'm quite parched.”

Parched.

Is that all she has to say for herself?

“I want to know what you’ve done to Kian.” My voice vibrates with emotion. Anger, fear, resentment.“Where is he? What—?”

But she’s already walking past me through the door, which she closes as I come inside, too. She’s dismissing my questions with the same casual indifference she’s always shown my feelings.

That’s when something inside me snaps.

All the fear, all the helpless rage, all the terror of not knowing what’s happened to the man I love, it erupts in a surge of desperate fury. I launch myself at her, my hands reaching for her throat, ready to shake the answers out of her if necessary.

“What did you do to him?”

I don’t even see her move. One moment, I’m rushing toward her, and the next, I’m frozen in place, my body locked rigid by invisible bonds. Magic wraps around me like chains, holding me suspended in mid-air for a heartbeat before she casually flicks her wrist.

I’m flung backward across the room like a rag doll, my body slamming into the stone wall with enough force to drive the breath from my lungs. I crumple to the floor, stunned and gasping, my vision swimming from the impact.

Before I can even think about getting up, those magical bonds wrap around me again, pinning me to the floor. I struggle against them, but it’s useless. It’s like trying to break steel cables with my bare hands.

My mother hasn’t even moved from her spot. She pours a glass of water from the nearby pitcher and takes a sip. Then she takes another, watching me with mild interest, as if she’s observing an insignificant insect.

“Have you forgotten your place?” she asks conversationally, setting down her glass with a soft clink. “You are out of control, McColl. Completely and utterly out of control. It’s my job as your mother to bring you back in line, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. I cleaned up your mess, turned something around that could have been a disaster.” She smiles to herself.

I try to move but can’t. I’m still frozen.

The casual ease with which she’s overpowered me is a stark reminder of the vast gulf between our abilities. I may have access to my power now and excellent schooling behind me, but she’s had decades to hone her craft.

She releases the spell, and I slump against the floor, my whole body aching from the magical assault. Slowly, painfully, I push myself up to sitting, glaring at her with all the hatred I can muster.

“Let me be very clear,” she continues, her voice taking on the tone that makes me feel small and insignificant again. Like a failure. “The fact that you’re my daughter will only protect you so long. You can only take it so far. Try something like that again, and you’ll be sorry, young lady.”

The threat hangs in the air between us.

“Where is Kian?” I ask through gritted teeth. “If you’ve hurt him, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” She laughs. “What exactly are you going to do in retaliation, daughter? Please, enlighten me.”

The cruel amusement in her voice makes me want to throw myself at her again, consequences be damned. But I force myself to stay still, to think. Getting myself killed won’t help Kian. I need to take a few breaths. I need to calm down. I need to do it for him.

“Please, will you tell me where he is, Mother?” It hurts me to talk to her with such respect, but I do it anyway.

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