Page 76 of Discovered Magic
“A twelve-year-old bottle of Martell, imported all the way from Cognac. Masters, you might appreciate this.” He passed it to Draven. “If you don’t mind, please hold this while I conjure glasses for the group. I suspect the Traveler’s story will be long, if not interesting.”
“Let’s take this to Red’s sitting room,” Jonas suggested. “It’ll be more comfortable.”
“One moment.” Damian held out a hand to Wilder. “You’re another Thorne, or so I’m told.”
Anger kept Wilder from accepting the help, and he climbed to his feet on sheer determination alone.
“You’re upset with me. Why?” Damian asked.
Wilder rounded on him. “You could’ve helped Abbie at any time, but you didn’t. You left her in this hellhole to suffer unimaginable pain and abuse at the hands of outlaws. What kind of person are you?”
Even in his rage, he didn’t miss the wary exchange of glances from the others. He simply didn’t care.
“I’m working on the assumption you know who and what I am, Thorne, yes?” After receiving a sullen nod, Damian continued. “You should also know I’m constantly under scrutiny from the Witches’ Council, the Authority, and the Deities for what my mother became. I cannot afford a misstep for one moment of one day.”
“You’re not your mother, Damian,” Castor said quietly. “You’re stronger than she ever will be.”
His head whipped around, and his jaw tightened. “Will be?”
“Slip of the tongue. I should’ve said, than she ever was,” Castor corrected with a half smile. “And quit trying to probe my brain for details. You, my dear master mind reader, taught me how to form a wall against intrusion.”
“It’s quite possible he can’t penetrate your thick skull,” Wilder muttered. “Can we get back to Abbie now?”
“I appreciate your singular focus.”
“You should, she’s your daughter, dude.” He sighed in disgust. “And look, I’m sorry, but this boys’ club shit can wait. We need to find her immediately. And if you aren’t willing to help, Aether, then restore my fucking powers so I can search myself.”
“You’re out of time,” Damian replied sharply.
“There’s a limited window for requests?” Wilder scoffed.
“I misspoke. What I meant to say was you’re out of your natural time. You don’t exist yet. Therefore, your abilities don’t either.”
“As we feared,” Castor said. “Can we get a loan?”
Damian barked a laugh. “You want me to loan you my abilities?”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“You couldn’t contain the power and would be dead in twenty-four hours.”
“You forget what I am, Dethridge.”
“I don’t know you to forget,” Damian countered smoothly. “You seem to believe I owe you a debt for being my future friend. I do not.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, pal,” Castor snapped. It seemed the thread he held on his temper had snapped, and his charming veneer vanished in a heartbeat. “I have never, not once, failed to be there for you when you needed me. I felt I owed you for saving me from the streets as a teenager. But I’ve more than repaid any debt, and I’m asking as a favor. One you’ll regret not granting down the road.”
The atmosphere around them grew thick with the Aether’s ire.
“I will not go against the Authority in this matter,” he replied coldly. “It isn’t done. And if you know anything about me, you know?—”
“That you bloody well do what you feel is right, no matter what,” Castor snapped, his accent coming out with his anger. “In my century, you don’t give a flyin’ fuck what those manipulative bastards want. You’re on the side of justice and the magical community.”
“But we aren’t in your century, are we?” Damian countered. His silky tone was menacing in a way his shouting could never be. “And you haven’t offered proof they are corrupt. You merely strode in here, assuming you can charm me into doing your bidding. I’m no fool.”
“That’s bleedin’ debatable, ya feck!”
In a flash, a knife was in Castor’s hand, and he was going for Damian’s throat.
