Page 31 of Discovered Magic
Amusement flashed in the dark-haired man’s eyes.
“Parlez-vous—” Castor began.
“I speak English,” he said.
“Thank the Goddess. Other than French, my foreign-language skills are shit.”
Wilder snorted. “It’s uncanny how much you and Quentin are alike. Never serious.”
“Well, he is a chip off the old block, Thorne.” He gestured for the stranger to move closer. “Since you’ve not lost your tan or soiled yourself, I imagine you’ve already witnessed a Traveler pass through this portal. Can you tell me where she is?”
“Traveler’s child.”
With his heart pounding hard enough to crash through his chest wall, Wilder met the man halfway. “You’ve seen her? You’ve seen Abbie?”
“I do not know Abbie. But Mary lives near.”
“Mary. Right.” His disappointment was keen, causing the man’s face to blur. His lungs shut down, refusing to function as they were designed.
“It doesn’t mean she’s not here, son,” Castor reminded him as he joined them. “Only that he didn’t see her.”
“Traveler’s child was here. Climbed rock and fell.”
Had the man witnessed Abbie’s fall from the mountain? Hope once again gave Wilder life. “Who is the Traveler’s child? What does the rock climber look like?”
The man gestured to Castor.
“It’s her! It’s Abbie!” Excitement thrummed through him, and he had to hold himself back from kissing the stranger on the mouth. “Can you tell us where she is?”
“Perdition.”
Did he mean she was dead?
Wilder traded a concerned glance with Castor. “What the fuck?”
Brows drawn together in consternation, the Traveler considered the stranger. “What is Perdition? Hell?”
“Some call it that, but it is a town. Perdition Ridge,” the man replied. “Due east.”
“So she’s alive? This rock climber you call Mary?” Wilder asked.
Why go by Mary and not Abbie? It made no sense.
“Yes.” Sympathy clouded the man’s face. “But she is not whole. Not the same as before.”
Bile swept up from Wilder’s gut, burning his esophagus and throat as the urge to vomit rode him hard. If he spoke, he’d lose control and puke.
Luckily, Castor wasn’t similarly afflicted.
“What happened to her?” he demanded, no longer the jovial time-jumper and every bit the enraged father.
“Find the Guardian and the Thorne.”
“Guardian.” His tone was razor sharp. “Would his name happen to be Draven Masters?”
“Yes, this is he.”
Castor’s grin flashed his delight. “This is excellent news! Come, Thorne, let’s find Masters. He’ll help set things to rights.”
