Page 86 of Discovered Magic
“I’m fine, Wild Man. Promise.”
“I love you, Abbie. With all my fucking heart and soul. I don’t know if I ever told you that enough.”
“You did. I love you, too.” Another long pause. “Morcant is a creepy motherfucker.”
“A dangerous one, too,” he warned. “Keep your emotions in check around him. He feeds off strife.”
“So I’ve heard.”
There really wasn’t anything else he felt comfortable saying with others listening in, but severing the link was too much to bear.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, as if she needed to maintain their connection, too.
“I think our friends intend to make it up as they go along.”
“Sounds about right for Draven, I think. He prefers to live recklessly.”
Draven’s chuckle rang inside Wilder’s head. “I’m hurt, chère.”
“I don’t know how these guys do this telepathy thing. All the buzzing brain waves are driving me a little insane,” Wilder confessed.
“You get used to it,” Castor said. “Now, you two be quiet, so we can pay attention to the heist details.”
Although he hated to disconnect from Abbie, Wilder understood the wisdom of Castor’s advice. She was alive and well, with two fierce protectors by her side. Three, if he counted the Royal guy. It seemed wherever she went, she collected saviors as well as enemies. Thank the Goddess for her sense of balance. Because he had little doubt Isis was behind protecting her, despite what the Fates and Authority wanted.
“Damian and I have arrived in Globe,” he told their group. “He’s implanting a town-wide suggestion about a silver shipment, so no matter who Hasting’s gang asks, they’ll get a similar answer.”
“Excellent,” Castor replied. “We’ll do our part to get them there.”
Wilder left the alley and made his way to the local watering hole. Damian was in deep conversation with the bartender, and one could only assume it was over the lack of quality booze in the place. The man’s fussiness was almost comical, and Wilder could definitely see where Alastair had developed his taste for finer things.
He almost wished Al had come along on this trip, but he was certain the appearance of a man who could be Nate’s twin would be disconcerting at best. Threatening at worst.
He caught Damian’s eye in the mirror behind the bar, receiving a nod in return. With nothing left to do until Castor and crew arrived, Wilder found an empty table and positioned himself with his back to the wall.
When he was a child, he loved westerns. Books, movies, and television shows; it didn’t matter. He ate them up, longing to live in those troubled times. The lawless Wild West had appealed to his reckless nature. Yet, having visited the place and falling victim to the ruthless residents, the constant dirty atmosphere, and the relentlessly oppressive vibe, he could say, with all honesty, his infatuation with the past was gone.
Fantasy and real life were miles apart.
One of an endless parade of sex workers sauntered up to him.
“You look lonely, mister,” the girl said, hiking her skirts higher to display a creamy thigh. “I can keep you company for a time.”
She couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen at most, sporting a world-weary air of someone five times her age. Underneath the grimy clothing, her skin was clean and her ginger-colored corkscrew hair freshly washed. Freckles stood out on pale cheeks, and her large hazel eyes were dulled by a hard life.
The fact that a virtual child was forced to survive by turning tricks in a mining town full of grungy middle-aged and old men soured Wilder’s stomach. Hell, he was old enough to be the girl’s father, and the appeal of someone her age was nil. He battled an overwhelming desire to give her what was left of his gold, but if he showed his stash in this rough crowd, he was as good as dead.
“When did you last eat a decent meal?” he asked.
Caught off guard by his response, her expression became uncertain, and she looked as if she didn’t know what to do. She glanced around, then pasted on a come-hither smile before turning back to Wilder. “I could eat if that’s what you want, but I’m good for a quick tup, too.”
Keeping the grimace off his face was work. “I’m happy to buy you a meal, hon, but I’m not interested in anything else.”
“Your tool not workin’, mister? I can help. Swear.”
He wasn’t discussing his “tool” with a child, no matter how worldly, so he gestured to a chair. “Have a seat. I’ll order us some food.”
“I can sit with ya, sure, but it will cost you a dollar. You sure you don’t want to go upstairs?” she asked, apprehension causing her to dart another glance at the person Wilder suspected was her pimp.
