Chapter 4
Wilder’s heart took up residence in his throat as he stared at the pulsing blue wall centered on the rock.
“What the fuck is that?”
“A portal.” Castor’s tone was as grim as his expression. “Fuck, I hate portals.”
“They’re bad?”
“You watch movies, Thorne. Ever see where one led to anything good?”
The urge to laugh was weirdly strong, but Wilder suppressed it. In the short time he’d come to know Abbie’s father, he understood where her sarcastic humor and unstoppable drive originated.
“She’s alive, sir,” he told Castor. “I feel it.”
“I’m counting on your feeling.” Castor’s determined, ice-blue eyes settled on him.
Lifting a vial wrapped in a piece of paper, he tucked it into Wilder’s shirt pocket, then sealed the material with a finger across the open seam.
“I’ve concocted a foolproof spell to get you back here.
And no matter what happens on the other side of that door, you find her and get her out of there. Got it?”
“You’re not sounding too optimistic about your chances.” Wilder touched his bulky pocket.
“I’m a survivor, so don’t worry about me. But my goal is for you and my daughter to return here in one piece.”
“Sweet, because it’s my goal, too,” he assured the Traveler.
A wry smile curled Castor’s lips as he drew back his long, white-blond hair and tied it in a ponytail. “Be prepared for anything and utilize your magic if you have to.”
Wilder nodded, facing the pulsing portal with determination. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Abbie’s coming home.”
“Thanks to this gateway, you won’t need to be in spirit form. But keep hold of my hand until I tell you, Thorne. Traveling is an art form, and if you misstep in time, no one is going to save you.”
“Noted.”
Castor paused long enough to capture his attention.
“What is it?” Wilder asked.
“It’s been two years. We may not find what you’re hoping for. You need to be prepared for that possibility.”
His throat tightened, and his voice was gruff when he asked, “Do you believe she’s dead? Is that why you’re warning me?”
“No.” Castor looked pained. “I’m not sure why I am, truthfully. Maybe I’m preparing myself, too.”
“You have the blood-to-blood location spell handy?”
He tapped his temple and grinned. “I memorized it years ago to find Quentin when needed. It’ll work for Abbie when the time comes.”
“Good. Let’s go.” Wilder braced himself.
The Traveler’s grip was ironclad. If they got separated, it wouldn’t be because of him. Just as they were about to step through, the blue light flickered and dimmed, causing Castor to tug him back.
“Shit!”
“What? What’s going on?” he asked.
“It’s not stable. I need something to shore it up.”
“Like what?”
“Give me a damn minute to think,” Castor snapped.
Patience used to be a plentiful commodity in Wilder’s world. Yet in this moment, he had a harder time staying calm as Abbie’s father paced, stopped to study the portal, and then resumed his nervous activity. Finally, with fingers laced behind his head, he stared at the wavering opening.
The longer Castor contemplated the gateway to Abbie’s world, the more Wilder’s control gave way to his building anxiety.
“It’s fading. What do we do?” he asked.
Instead of answering, Castor whipped out his phone and thumbed through the screens, punching in text or numbers. For a heartbeat, it seemed like a Dr. Who scene, like maybe he was working out a scientific calculation. He spoiled the visual by putting his cell to his ear and speaking.
“I need Frankie and The Heart of Artemis. I’m sending the coordinates.
” He paused to listen, and his expression was pure frustration.
“Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.
You know that.” With a heavy exhale, he added, “Yes, I’m aware she’s only four years old, Quentin.
” He pinched his nose. “Nothing is required of her other than to activate the bloody orb.” He nodded as if his son could see him. “Yes. Thank you.”
Two minutes later, Quentin Buchanan and his young daughter, Francesca, appeared nearby.
Perched high in her dad’s arms, she cradled what looked to be a large pink-tinted marble to her chest. As they drew near, a colorful mist formed inside the glass, matching the portal’s and swirling wildly as if seeking an escape.
Castor was a man transformed, and he held his arms out to the girl like the proud grandparent he was. “Frankie, my darlin’!”
With a giggle, she rushed forward to be swept up into his loving embrace. “Peepaw Alex! I got the art-e-must for you!”
“Thank ya, love. You’ve done me a good turn, ya have,” he replied, falling into his native accent and laying it on thick. Wilder guessed it was for the child’s benefit because she laughed with delight.
He cast a glance at Quentin, who appeared to be caught between disbelief and amusement. “Peepaw? Tell me she’s got an equally creative name for my cousin Alastair.”
The other guy’s evil grin brought a matching one to Wilder’s lips.
“Papa said I have a new aunt,” Frankie said.
Father and son shared a look filled with silent communication.
And it struck Wilder how much Abbie would love knowing she had a brother and niece.
She’d always longed for family to spoil, and it hurt his heart they’d never gotten around to creating their own.
If they got a second chance and she was willing, he would give her as many children as she wanted.
“Aye, that you do, love. And she’s who we’re hoping to find with that nifty globe of yours,” Castor said.
“Is she pretty like me?”
“No one is as lovely as you are, to be sure,” he assured her.
An adoring smile transformed Castor’s visage, taking it from handsome to stunning, and Wilder’s heart ached at the sight. Abbie used to smile at him the same exact way, and her loving gesture always stole his breath away.
“Will you tell me what I need to do to help her?” Frankie asked, full of hope and utterly positive she was required to save the day as only a child can be.
“We need you to hold the portal open long enough for us to enter. Afterward, you can go home and tell your mam about your adventure with your old grandda, yeah?”
“You’re not old, PeePaw Alex,” she assured him with a pat on the cheek. And to many, he appeared no older than thirty-five or forty tops.
“I’ll take your word for it, me darlin’. Though PeePaw makes me sound like I soil me britches, it does.”
She giggled.
Castor shifted her to his hip and pointed to the flickering opening. “Ready, love?”
“Yep.”
“That’s my girl,” he said approvingly as he set her down. “Okay, approach the portal, but don’t touch it with your hand, only the globe.”
She did as instructed, with her father and Castor on either side to pull her back if needed.
“Clear your mind and, when you’ve focused only on the gateway, take hold of my hand,” he said.
Her childlike enthusiasm shone brightly on her face as she stared at the magical tool, wide-eyed and solemn. With a resolute nod, she gripped his fingers as Castor and Quentin chanted the spell.
“Heart of Artemis, bright and true,
Lend me your strength to let us through.
Secure the thread through time and space,
Then hold the gate for this Traveler’s grace.”
Lightning shot from the center of the orb, arching up and around the opening. The blue light grew blinding, then remained steady, as it had been when they’d first discovered it.
“Ah, you’re a natural, me darlin’ girl,” Castor exclaimed with a wide grin and a dramatically loud smacking kiss to her forehead. “A chip off the ol’ block, ya are!”
She laughed in pure joy and hugged her pink globe to her.
Wilder shook Quentin’s hand before kneeling in front of her and bowing his head like a knight promising fealty to a queen.
“You have my eternal thanks, Miss Frankie. I’ll be your champion in life, should you ever need me.”
Her eyes glowed with happiness. “Will you save her?”
“You can be sure of it,” he promised.
“Okay. Hurry,” she urged. “I’ll wait for you.”
“It could be a long time, Frankie, my love,” Quentin said, picking her up to sit on his shoulders. “We’ll scry from home, and the second they return, we’ll come back so you can meet Abbie.”
“But, Papa!”
“Do you want to be the one to tell your mother you’re camping here for the duration?”
With a grimace, she shook her dark head. “Mama only lets you get away with mudder,” she complained.
They all laughed, understanding the reference regardless of her mispronunciation.
“We should go,” Wilder eventually said.
“Yes.” Quentin locked gazes with his father. “Be careful. And if you need help, etch a C into the rock face next to the portal.”
“If I need you to retrieve me, we’re well past trouble, son.”
“You aren’t as young as you once were. Your feeble-mindedness can be a hindrance,” Quentin retorted.
With a laugh, Castor gripped Wilder’s hand. “You’re just jealous I’m going on an adventure with my future son-in-law and not you.”
“Keep telling yourself that, old man.”
Giving a short tug, the Traveler urged Wilder toward the portal. Leaning in, he said, “Wait for me to get the last word before you step through. I can’t have that young—dammit! He anticipated my comeback.”
And sure enough, when Wilder glanced over his shoulder, Quentin and Frankie were nowhere to be seen.
“You’re crazy, aren’t you?” he asked. “I’m about to step into a wormhole with a madman.”
“Perhaps a little batty, but all the best people are. Tighten your belt and gird your loins, Thorne. It’s going to be a helluva roller-coaster ride.”