Page 94 of Discovered Magic
And so, together, he and Draven relayed the tale, with him ending his part in the saloon of the Globe.
“I infused Wilder with enough magic to teleport should he get into trouble while I was gone,” Damian concluded.
The Guardian appeared sickly suddenly.
“What is it?”
“Abbie, it seems she created another portal,” Masters said.
“And that’s not a good thing?” Laszlo asked, sharing a nervous glance with the others.
“No. Castor and Wilder were left behind. She made an entire cabin disappear, occupied by herself and two killers.”
“Morcant,” Sabrina whispered. “He’s back, Papa.”
There weren’t many things able to frighten Damian, but the return of his most evil and hated enemy was one.
“Where?”
She turned her pale face up to his.
“Where, Beastie? Tell me now.”
“You can’t go to the top, Papa. If you do, he won’t be sent back.”
There was a but coming. There was always a but when it came to the Arcane Devourer.
“And if I don’t go?”
“Mr. Royal won’t live, and he needs to save Abbie.”
Draven swore, using every French word in his arsenal and adding some English phrases to boot.
“My sentiments exactly, Masters,” Damian said.
The wind on the peak was cutting, whipping the falling snow into a frenzy. Whether caused by predicted conditions or her magical portal, Abbie didn’t know, but it was brutal. Worse than the day she’d fallen.
Thirty feet from her, a half-buried body rested. For a brief instant, she thought maybe something had happened to Wilder, and she’d dreamed her entire time travel in a delirium. As if perhaps they had reached the summit during their climb, but were on the verge of death.
The wind kicked up, shifting the snow and revealing blond hair—not brown—and a strong jawline.
Royal.
Fighting the blinding blizzard, she trudged to him.
His skin was pale, leaning toward gray. How long had he been here? Had the portal staggered their arrivals again?
Kneeling, she sought a pulse, and finding none, she hung her head. He hadn’t deserved to die like he had. Despite doing what he needed to survive in the past, he was a good man, deep down.
“You can save him.”
She spun, falling back against Royal’s body.
Silas was huddled by a rock outcrop, tucked away from the worst of the storm. His fingers and nose were a dark purple, and she suspected frostbite had set in.
Did he retain his gun? If so, he was still a threat.
“I don’t know how,” she confessed. “My magic was latent until the day I fell two years ago. Then a Guardian bound it.”
