Page 2 of Discovered Magic
Without missing a beat, Abbie reached for the narrow crack and slid a cam into place, tugging to test the hold. She gave a slight nod as if assuring herself it was secure.
Then, everything changed.
A pulse rippled through the air, and it felt like the mountain exhaled. Wilder knew the instant his magic abandoned him, and the sensation was similar to ice water gushing straight into his chest. His heart sank into his stomach, and a chill embraced him, refusing to let go. The cold was nothing he’d ever experienced on the mountain. In the past, he’d kept Abbie and himself warm in hostile conditions by heating their cells.
The weather shouldn’t be so fucking frigid!
Something was wrong, and the urge to teleport the hell out of there was intense.
“Abbie, wait!” he shouted.
But her next placement missed. The rock she’d weighted broke loose, clattering down as warning shots. Her terrified scream ripped through him as her body pitched backward, and the cam she’d set yanked free.
Wilder locked the rope and braced to catch her weight, only to feel nothing. The rope went slack. He lunged, fumbling for her line, heart in his throat.
But she was gone. Simply vanished. No resistance. No impact. Hell, not even a secondary cry.
Just silence.
The kind that echoes for years.
“Abbie!” he screamed. Scrambling forward, he scanned the wall below, along with the ledge and slope.
He stared, hollowed out and disbelieving.
* * *
Two years later, and he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The perpetually lost sensation created a haze wherein he dwelled.
Wilder glanced up at the window where light glowed behind half-drawn curtains. His stomach was twisted in knots, and his hands were shaking. Asking Ebba to shift into her wolf and search was a desperate move. The last one he had.
The apartment door swung open, and the stranger greeting him caught him off guard. Wilder stared, mute. It didn’t stop the man from introducing himself or ushering Wilder into the foyer.
Alexander Castor, the Traveler, in the flesh. The man was a living legend and, coincidentally, best friends with another formidable warlock, Alastair Thorne, Wilder’s cousin. Odd how they’d never met before. But if they had, he’d have immediately known who the man was.
Laszlo entered with a smiling Ebba in his arms.
“Wilder?”
His brother’s confusion wasn’t surprising. Wilder hadn’t sought anyone out since Abbie fell. He’d kept to himself, avoiding conversation and comfort, feeling disinclined for the first and undeserving of the second. But here he stood, in the doorway, with his proverbial hat in hand, prepared to apologize if need be. Anxiety was eating him up, but not because of his brother’s expected reception. Hell, he had no fear where family was concerned; they were all tight. It was the Thorne way.
No, mainly his apprehension stemmed from the worry that time was running out to find Abbie, if she could indeed be found.
“What is it?” Ebba asked, her concern written all over her face.
There was no need for her to ask if he was okay; she’d probably already guessed he wasn’t.
“I have a favor to ask you, Ebba,” he said, trying not to choke on the words. “You can say no, but I hope you’ll consider it.”
“Of course.”
She gave Laszlo a pat, silently demanding to be let down. When her feet were on the ground, she crossed to Wilder and hugged him. The gesture was unexpected, and he didn’t realize how much he’d needed it. If he held on a little too tightly, for a little too long, she was kind enough not to complain.
“You may want to wait until I explain before saying yes,” he said in a quiet warning.
She waved him to the kitchen like it wasn’t a big deal. “You can tell me over breakfast. Do you still take your coffee black?”
Castor set a mug and a platter of bacon in front of him. “If you want anything else, you’ll have to conjure it yourself.”
