Page 129 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Something was wrong.
Amelia knew it from the moment she activated the chip. The magic around them warped, pushing, and pulling at their bodies.
Silas held tightly to her hand as they shifted through time and space, the air squeezing her from all sides. It was deeply uncomfortable, and then, it was over.
They landed hard.
Saltwater sprayed, the crash of waves deafening in her ears. Freezing water lapped around her hips, her body swaying with the rhythmic ocean tides. Something slammed into her from behind and she sprawled forwards, sand scraping againsther palms as she plunged into the icy water. Hands grabbed under her arms, pulling her free, as she coughed up seawater, salt burning in her lungs.
He dragged her from the cold, dark waves, until they slogged in ankle deep water towards the sandy beach ahead, illuminated only by the moons’ light.
Amelia was still coughing when they both fell to their knees onto damp, hard sand, breathing raggedly.
“Well,” Silas said in between laboured breaths, “now I know what it’s like to be you…always stumbling with Waystone travel.”
Amelia sucked in a laughing breath, but salty water hit her throat, making her choke. Silas smacked her heartily on the back while he mumbled a humoured apology. He hauled himself upright, soaked through and still breathing hard, and helped her up.
She took in their surroundings.
They’d landed on a desolate beach, a stretch of moorland rising above, shrouded in fog that glowed in the light of the moon.
He sighed and glanced at her. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, teeth chattering. “No. But looks like we’re in the middle of nowhere. The chip must have been faulty.”
“Yes,” Silas agreed. “I can see why people are avoiding Waystone travel these days.”
He pointed towards the hilltop, getting her attention. “Up there, I think I see a building of some sort.”
Amelia followed his gaze. Above them, an old cottage stood hunched against the wind, its roof half-caved but still intact. She nodded, limbs turning numb and tingly from the bitter cold of her wet clothes.
They climbed the slope, each shivering as they forced their limbs to keep moving.
When they reached the shambles of a cottage, Silas broke a rusted latch that held the rickety door shut before stepping inside. Amelia took one moment to glance up into the sky, peering with disquiet at the waxing gibbous moon, too close to being a full moon for her liking. She turned and followed Silas inside. She found crumbling stone, shattered glass, and mercifully a hearth, filled with damp-looking logs of wood already carved with the fire rune.
Silas moved straight for the hearth and worked quickly, speaking the activation words for the fire rune. Flames bloomed to life, the logs catching and casting a flickering glow to the small, damp space.
He knelt on a shabby, torn rug, turning to glance at her over his shoulder to where she was huddled, dripping, and shivering near the doorway.
“There’s some blankets on the back of that…” He frowned as his eyes cast over the thing he was about to refer to as a couch. Amelia was amused to find the tilted sofa with a cushion missing and stuffing bulging out in several places. “…Couch?” His nose wrinkled and Amelia stifled a laugh, her teeth chattering all the while. “Grab them and then—” His gaze moved back to her before quickly turning to the fire. “—Best get those wet clothes off and get warm.”
Amelia took the blankets from the couch, the feel of them soft and warm despite the worn, threadbare look. She brought them to where Silas knelt before the warming hearth, watching him for a moment as he used a metal poker to shift the logs around.
“Here,” she said softly, handing him a blanket.
He took it from her without looking, muttering his thanks. Then he stood abruptly and moved over to the couch. He lifted it easily at one end, sliding it closer to the fire.
If she weren’t mistaken, he was avoiding her gaze.
Was he upset that she had gone without him?
She swallowed uneasily. “Finley…”
He shucked off his sodden cloak, brushing the dust off a table before laying the wet fabric across it. Silas kept his back to her as he began to undo the buttons of his shirt.
“Wet clothes, Winslow.”
She sighed and turned away, pulling off her own heavy cloak, still dripping with salty water. She peeled off her pants, cringing as she bent over. Pain lanced up her spine, the saltwater stinging the runes on her back. Amelia hissed out a sharp breath and straightened, moving her shoulders to help ease the discomfort.
