Page 106 of Discovered Magic
“But that’s better for us. Less innocent bystander fallout.” Abbie’s excitement bubbled up, and she was happy to feel something for longer than ten seconds. “Can we all interconnect minds like we did with Jonas and Wilder? If each of us can check a different location while linked, we’ll narrow it down immediately, right?”
“Brilliant idea,” Trev said.
“This is where I leave you to your human coils,” Isis told them. “I’ve been gone too long from my world. Blessings upon you, my Beloved children.”
They lowered their heads in respect, looking up only when the flash of light signaled her exit.
Abbie rallied the others. “Let’s get this show on the road, fellas. Then later, maybe someone could tell me how the hell the portal kicked me out in an entirely different state.”
THE CANYON - 1877
* * *
Wilder waited until Draven created the giant C—signaling those back home of their plight—before diving into the treachery of the Fates and what they’d done to them.
He provided the details of Draven and Céleste’s story and how the Fates were using Abbie to provoke the Guardian’s sense of chivalry, a subconscious manipulation of his long-buried memories. As he laid it out, he hated the taste of the words. Hated how easily they’d all been played.
“I’m sorry, Masters,” he said.
“I don’t know how to feel,” Draven confessed. “Furieux, oui. But only at their manipulation. This woman, I cannot remember her.”
Wilder wasn’t sure if he pitied him or envied him for forgetting. By including Abbie in their games, they’d fucked up his life, too. And the endless memories of their perfect relationship had left him embittered and raw.
“His mother is a Sister of Fate?” Castor asked. His expression was as dumbfounded as Wilder initially felt upon learning of it. “Did I hear that correctly?”
“Yes,” the Aether said with a slow nod. “Their games make sense in their convoluted way.”
“What are you going to do, Masters?” Wilder asked, silently waiting for the Guardian’s explosion.
“I do not know. I will have to give this consideration.” His lips twisted humorlessly. “Perhaps I will leave it to the roll of the dice.”
Wilder glanced at the others to grasp their thoughts, but both men were keeping their cards close to their chests. He never wanted to play poker with any of them.
Against his back, the rock shifted. “Shit!”
“The portal is open!” Castor shouted over the sudden whoosh-whooshing wind. Its fierce energy clawed at their clothes. “Stand back!”
“Think it’s our ride home?” Wilder called back.
Was Abbie about to step through, or had Quentin created a way for them to return?
Grim determination seized him. “I’m going in.”
“No, son. It may not be safe.” Castor inserted himself between Wilder and the opening. “You’ve been granted gifts and can survive here if the need arises. But traveling is what I was created for, so let me test it first.”
“How the hell do I get back?”
Castor gestured to Wilder’s shirt pocket. “Still have my spell?”
The spell! In all the madness, he’d forgotten. He patted the pocket, sighing his relief when he encountered the vial. How Bart missed it, he’d never know.
“I do.”
“If I’m not back for you in a few hours, use it,” Castor ordered, and with a questioning look for Damian, he asked, “You see any reason why I shouldn’t go in there, Dethridge?”
“No, but don’t delay.”
“Be kind to the pickpockets,” Castor advised with a warm smile and a hearty handshake. “And don’t let this one get into any trouble between now and when he returns.”
