Page 32 of Discovered Magic
Things felt off, but Wilder couldn’t pinpoint quite what.
“Has this portal always been here?” He gestured to the rock wall, then swore upon seeing the solid stone. “Uh, Castor, our way home… It’s gone.”
“Abbie can create another, and if not her, we’ll petition Isis.”
The careless response was as annoying as the missing portal was concerning, but since it wasn’t his expertise, Wilder remained mute on the subject.
“She stepped through two years ago by the white man’s calendar,” the stranger said. “Like your door, hers closed behind her.”
Two years had to seem like a lifetime in a strange place.
“What is the date? As in the year?” Castor asked.
“1877.”
“Jesus,” Wilder muttered. They’d gone back almost a hundred and fifty years. What would that mean for Abbie, with her modern clothing and ways? “Do you know if she’s been back here or attempted to reopen it?”
“No. She has not returned. She is ill. Here.” The man tapped his temple. “They say crazy.”
What happens to people deemed insane in this century? Asylums?
The urge to scream was too overwhelming to deny, and Wilder stalked away to vent his pain, pacing off his agitation. After a while, the continuous murmur of voices caught his attention, and he rejoined the conversation.
“We would appreciate any help you can provide, Stands-in-Shadow,” Castor was saying, having learned the stranger’s name in the short span Wilder had taken to regroup.
“How far to Perdition Ridge?”
“Twelve miles. But with no horses, you will move like the Guardian and Thorne.”
If they were magical—and with the term Guardian involved, there was a high chance they were—they probably teleported everywhere. Yet Wilder wanted to be clear.
“Move like them how?” he asked.
“Through space. Like all of your kind.”
“So you know other magical people?”
Stands-in-Shadow’s grin flashed. “Yes. I am the spirit Guide and Seer.”
Wilder exchanged a glance with Castor. They only knew of one Seer in their time. Were they more common here?
“You keep saying thorn. The Guardian, we know. What is the thorn?” Castor asked.
“Like him. Thorne.”
With another delighted grin, he slapped Wilder on the back. “Ah! More good news, Wilder, my boy. It seems you have a relative in this land that time forgot.”
“Sheriff Jonas Thorne. He is a good man and will help you,” Stands-in-Shadow replied.
“How do we teleport to a place we’ve never seen?” Wilder asked. Moving from one spot to another without a general idea of what lay ahead could be deadly. If they misjudged, they might end up half in and half out of a wall, their guts torn from their bodies. Or a beam through the brain. Neither option was appealing. It wasn’t as if they could rely on cell service, WiFi, or Google Maps to investigate a location beforehand.
“We put out feelers and tap into this gentleman’s mind.”
“What? How?” As a Thorne, Wilder was well versed in witchcraft, but without tanzanite and his cousin Alastair’s spell, sharing thoughts was virtually impossible.
“If Stands-in-Shadow isn’t opposed, he will pilot us through touch. You and I conjure the magic to teleport, using his image of the town. We only need to get to the outskirts.” Castor addressed the Native man. “Are you willing?”
“I cannot leave my líí'.”
