Page 34 of Discovered Magic
Despite the late-afternoon sun, the scorching heat of the Arizona desert was brutal, and the journey to Perdition Ridge was pure hell. Wilder hoped the town wasn’t aptly named.
“When we arrive, I will procure new clothes for you,” Stands-in-Shadow said after they paused to rest his horse, and likely because he realized Castor was quite literally running on empty.
It was rare to see a warlock red-faced from exertion since they usually handled most tasks with their abilities. But healing, teleporting—hell, even stopping time—was now outside their range.
The Guide’s instincts were good. Their clothes were too modern for anyone not to notice.
“Should we be proficient in gunfighting?” Wilder asked. He’d hate to delay, but if it was a matter of survival and getting Abbie out of a bad situation, he’d do whatever he had to.
Although he frowned, Castor didn’t weigh in and instead looked to their new friend for answers.
“It would be helpful, yes. Perdition is a town of outlaws, of every nation. They test their skills on newcomers.”
“Fucking fantastic.” Wilder sipped his water, hoping to preserve as much as he could for the two doing the actual exercise. One canteen and a single bladder for three men and a horse would’ve been dire if they had left earlier in the day like he’d wanted to. Thank the Goddess for levelheaded strangers. “I know how to shoot, but I can’t claim to be skilled.”
“It’s about appearances,” Castor replied, ripping off a piece of buffalo jerky from Stands-in-Shadow and passing the rest on to him. “You only need appear ruthless, and most of those cowards will leave you be. Very few want to tangle with a killer.”
“And the few who do?”
Castor’s grin flashed. “Well, they’re liable to shoot you down in the streets.”
“How does my cousin tolerate you?”
His laughter rang out, tugging a reluctant grin from Wilder.
Even without his abilities, Alexander Castor possessed a magic all his own. It lived in his charm and easygoing façade. Underneath, the deadly opponent existed for anyone who cared to challenge him. But if one was smart enough not to rattle his cage, the likelihood existed that he’d live and let live. The actual problem was Castor’s smartass tendencies. He rattled others’ cages for the hell of it. Although his arrogance was well-earned, it stemmed from his descent from a god, with the looks and skill to back it up.
Wilder had a touch of it himself. It came with the name Thorne.
Those in his family had been taught from a young age what they were, the power they held, and the empathy and kindness they should offer. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t used to having it all and living comfortably in his skin because of it.
Only when he lost Abbie did he understand. Life had a way of making the haughty humble. The day on the mountain, when he was left vulnerable, thereby leaving her unprotected, he’d learned a valuable lesson.
“You see much,” Stands-in-Shadow said quietly.
Wilder glanced up and met the wisdom in his dark-eyed gaze. “Not as much as you.”
“What will you do if Mary doesn’t remember you?”
“Abbie. Or at least I hope it’s her.” He swallowed another sip of water and passed the canteen. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll play it by ear.”
The very real worry existed that she might not know him, and if she didn’t, she’d fear him. Making her whole again could be a problem without someone of their magical caliber.
“Earlier, you mentioned a Guardian and a Thorne. Why were they unable to heal her mind?” Wilder asked Stands-in-Shadow. “Does that level of magic not exist here? Is there some sort of interference?”
“They cannot get close. She allows few to touch her.”
“Why?” Castor asked, leaning in and accepting the canteen.
“Her mind is broken, Traveler.”
“Is she lucid?”
“This word is new to me,” Stands-in-Shadow said.
“Awake and able to speak. Can she hold a conversation despite the claims she’s crazy?” Wilder clarified.
“Ah. Yes, if she chooses. But Mary lives in her head and draws pictures in the dirt of faraway places.”
