Page 64 of Discovered Magic
Her good eye burned from the sudden onslaught of moisture.
For two solid years, she’d been in the dark, and for the last three months of it, her brain was little better than Swiss cheese. How had it repaired itself? Certainly not the knockout, right? Had it shaken a bone fragment loose?
And Wilder hadn’t moved on. He’d been steadfast in his love, and adding to his dedication, he’d traveled to this godforsaken place to save her.
Along with a man claiming to be her father.
She and Castor were related. There was no denying their hair color and eye shape. But her mother had said Abbie’s father was a man named Alex Collins. Why lie? Who had she been protecting? And if Mama had told the truth as she knew it, then it meant he’d fed her false information from the start. Again, why?
Movement beneath her sank into Abbie’s consciousness, as did the oppressive air under the thick cover brushing her face with every sway of her transportation. Turning on her side, she felt around in the dark: wood, dirt, or grain—hard to tell—and a fuzzy item as large as her foot.
It squeaked when she touched it, and she choked back a scream.
Dear Goddess, don’t let it be a rat!
Another something, long and skinny, dragged over her wrist as the creature scurried away.
A tail. Definitely a tail!
She added horror to her list of uncontrolled emotions. Did rats in the late 1800s carry plague? At the very least, they’d have a nasty bite.
If only she had Wilder’s cousin’s ability to talk to animals, then maybe she could have it gnaw through her bindings.
Wait! According to him, she was now a witch, possessing potent powers, like a Traveler. Even the term seemed badass. The ability to manipulate time? Her? It didn’t seem real. Perhaps it wasn’t. Maybe her mind hadn’t survived all the traumas she’d suffered during her stay in Perdition Ridge.
The Devil’s Backbone.
It certainly was.
Not a day went by when some lowlife didn’t try to harm her. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of Draven, Jonas, Red, and Gus, she would likely be dead or bartering sex for food and lodging.
She shuddered.
No one had touched her in a romantic way since her last night with Wilder. He’d been tender, yet fierce, as if he couldn’t get enough. And she’d reciprocated, giving him her all as she drank in his passion.
The wagon drew to a halt, and her fear returned, doubling. Bart had one intention, and it wasn’t good.
Abbie redoubled her efforts to free herself, working the knots at her wrists with her teeth, but they held, much to her frustration. It stood to reason a shopkeeper would know how to tie his merchandise.
Her fingers brushed Draven’s bracelet.
Could she teleport if she removed it? In the past, she couldn’t, but she’d been frantic, blinded by panic. Examining it by feel, she searched for a clasp.
Nothing but smooth silver.
Her memory was of the sides coming together and fusing into a single band. But it was once hinged, which meant it could be opened again. What would it take? A calm mind? The trick seemed right up Draven’s alley, the wily fox.
She struggled to remember the day he clamped it on her arm.
“It’s for your protection, ma chère. Your well-being is your key. When your mind est guéri, I will know, and the lock, it will open.”
Her healed mind.
That’s it!
Somehow, she had to convince this chunk of metal she was well. The question was, how did one go about making an inanimate object understand?
“Please,” she whispered, lightly caressing metal. “My mind is whole.”
