Chapter 6
In her fatigue, Abbie missed the next foothold, sending loose gravel skittering down onto Eustace’s unsuspecting head. His startled shout echoed off the surrounding canyon walls and confirmed what she feared. They’d been spotted.
Panic-fueled, she climbed faster, only pausing to swipe her sweaty palm on her pant leg.
A gunshot cracked, and the bullet pinged right above her head.
Her scream was involuntary.
“Move,” her companion snapped, all pretense of stealth gone.
She wasn’t optimistic enough to believe she’d survive, but she was certainly stubborn enough to try like hell. Renewing her efforts, she scrambled up and to the left, intending to make herself less of a target. An approving nod from her savior told her the action was wise.
Another shot. Another ping.
Fire lanced through her right bicep with such suddenness, and she swore.
She risked a glance. The sight of torn flesh and rapidly spreading blood turned her stomach.
Burying her horror along with her gag reflex, she soldiered on.
Movement meant survival, though she wasn’t sure how much more she had left in the tank.
A second bullet struck her savior’s back. He grunted, staggered, and barely managed to keep his footing.
If they continued, she risked his life, and that, she wouldn’t do.
“Wait!” she shouted at Eustace, voice cracking. “Just wait. Please! I’m coming down!”
She looked up into the warrior’s sorrowful eyes. He’d view it as a failure, but she needed to assure him none of this was his fault.
“Thank you for trying, but you need to save yourself.”
“Don’t—”
The next shot caught her shoulder and threw her off balance. Her world tilted, and she lost her grip.
The raw scream pulled from her throat was chillingly familiar, an echo of her first tumble off the mountain. The Native man’s cry carried the same anguish Wilder’s had as she plummeted toward certain death.
“Wilder,” she gasped, for no other reason than she wanted her last thoughts to be of him.
The jarring impact onto a jutting boulder halted Abbie’s free fall.
Her bones snapped on contact, the sound sickening and final.
Agony stole her breath as she sprawled facedown on the boiling-hot rock, paralyzed.
Her cheek burned like a motherfucker, as if someone flayed it open with a fillet knife.
She didn’t possess the strength to move her arm, and she was too dazed to tally her numerous injuries.
A line of red caught her attention. Blood flowed from her head across the craggy, sun-washed surface and spilled over the edge in the faintest of waterfalls.
Cold. She was so unbearably cold. And wasn’t it odd on such a scorching day?
She shivered once, then again as she blinked to lessen the glare of the overbright sunlight.
As her life force grew weaker, she closed her eyes against the salty burn of tears.
Never once could she have imagined dying this way.
Alone in a brutal, untamed land, with no one to mourn her passing in whatever timeline she’d been transported to.
Goddess, let her wake from this, and it have all been a nightmare!
A man’s fetid breath against her cheek made her want to recoil, but she couldn’t move. Her nose twitched, curling at the offensive stench.
“Breath mint,” she croaked.
“Ya brought this on yerself, woman. Me and—”
The wind carried away the rest of his words. Or perhaps it was her soul drifting. Didn’t matter. He was of little concern anymore.
Jonas and Draven materialized at the exact moment the woman fell. That son of a bitch Eustace Larkham was already bending over her, intent on more harm.
“Can you freeze time?” Draven asked, not bothering to lower his voice. They were cloaked from sight and sound thanks to an age-old spell.
He could, but then, so could Draven if he weren’t a stubborn jackass who refused to use his upgraded powers if he didn’t have to. The thick-headed fool had a death wish, and one day soon, Jonas intended to discover why.
“Yes, but how the hell do we explain popping from here to there when time snaps back?” he asked.
Draven shrugged. “We kill them, non? Make it look like an accident.”
Jonas shot him an irritated glance. “I’m the blasted sheriff, Masters.”
“And still, you ride with the likes of me, cher,” Draven said with a sly grin. “You cannot tell me those renegades aren’t on the wanted posters papering your walls.”
They were. But Jonas despised using magic on mortals unless absolutely necessary.
It always raised questions if anyone looked too closely.
He’d prefer to use human methods to capture and punish the unsavory elements.
But damned if he hadn’t run out of time.
Eustace was gearing up to hurt the woman further.
Thoroughly frustrated by his friend and left with no choice, Jonas lifted his hands, curling them into fists.
“Praemorare!”
Though only he and Draven were able to hear, the word still cracked through the air, older than the canyon crags and heavier than gravity’s pull. The current stilled, and previously billowing dust hung in place like frozen motes of copper.
Eustace was caught mid-kick, his face twisted into a hateful mask, arms suspended beside his head like a puppet on strings suddenly stilled. The rifle in his grip added depth to the scene, making the threat of death very real.
“I should kill that blasted trio,” Jonas muttered.
The only reason he hadn’t was because, until that moment, he’d been unable to associate them with anything but cattle rustling.
And he wouldn’t fault people trying to fill their bellies.
What was a missing cow or two compared to starvation?
Unfortunately, it was becoming clear they were more than mere rustlers and had a deadlier mischief in mind.
With another wave of his hands, Jonas created enough airflow to lift himself, and he stepped onto the rock ledge.
“Stay cloaked, Masters,” he called. “I’ll bring her down after I deal with Larkham.”
Time rebounded with a snap, but he was prepared. Drawing on his elemental magic of air, he pushed outward. The force threw Eustace off balance and tumbling to the ground thirty-five feet below. Based on the awkward angle of his neck, the blackhearted villain wouldn’t be harming anyone else.
“What do we do now, Pa?” Gus Green cried.
“What the hell do ya think, ya demmed fool?” Harlan gave the reins a vicious tug, whirling his mount and digging his spurs into the poor creature’s sides. The horse gave a screeching whinny before galloping east toward town.
“One more thing to hold the bastard accountable for when we get back,” Jonas muttered as he knelt to check for the woman’s pulse.
Gus was slower to react, splitting his concern between Eustace and the pale blonde. Opposite his sire, it seemed the boy had a conscience. Swinging out of the saddle, he began the arduous climb.
“Fuck.” Jonas ran through the catalog of spells he knew, hoping to recall one to dissuade the youth.
Other than as a witty companion with a fast fist and faster gun, Draven was little use to him.
Having shunned his latest gifts, he was on borrowed time with the Witches’ Council for refusing to bend to the Goddess’s and Fates’ will and accept his new job as Guardian.
Jonas had been picking up the slack to keep the stubborn bastard from a showdown he couldn’t win.
Movement behind him caused Jonas to round on the potential threat, gun palmed in his left hand and his right prepared to blast whoever or whatever to perdition.
“Shadow,” he murmured before becoming disconcerted that the man could see him despite the cloaking magic.
Stands-in-Shadow gingerly picked his way toward Jonas, keeping his attention on Gus’s progress. The fact he’d ventured out of the darkened cliff crevice suggested he didn’t believe the young man was a viable threat.
“You can see me, yes?” Jonas asked.
The Apache man nodded. “Traveler’s child,” he said in a low voice, indicating the injured woman. “Came through the rocks.”
Damnation.
They could only hope no one would follow her.
The last thing Jonas needed was a group of witches turning Perdition Ridge upside down.
Despite their town being a hellhole, the residents weren’t mentally equipped to handle any level of supernatural chaos.
Only the Witches’ Council had a snowball’s chance in Hades of keeping the magical community in line.
Well, them and the Aether, Damian Dethridge.
Jonas considered summoning him and dumping his latest headache in Damian’s lap.
Though Stands-in-Shadow didn’t display any outward signs of suffering, he moved with a caution unnatural for him, and the skin around his eyes was pinched.
“How badly are you injured, Shadow?” he asked his old friend. “Be honest.”
“Bullet to the back from Crooked Neck.” Stands-in-Shadow didn’t bother to glance at Eustace’s broken body.
“Lodged?”
“Yes.”
Double damn!
“Okay.” Jonas rose and whistled to Draven. “Larkham shot Shadow. Get your ass up here and get the bullet out while I heal the woman.”
“What about the runt?” Draven asked as he materialized beside him. “He’s gaining ground, cher.”
“Yeah, I know. I can’t seem to recall any spells to deter him.” Squinting one eye, he studied his friend. “But you can.”
“Mon dieu! Kindly fuck yourself in the face if you believe I’ll play with Guardian magie.”
Leading Stands-in-Shadow back toward the wider part of the shelf, Draven removed his duster and rolled up his sleeves. “This will hurt like the very devil, Shadow. You are ready?”
The Apache withdrew a strip of leather from a pouch attached to the cord slung across his chest and slipped it between his teeth. Without hesitation, he sat, presenting his back, and rested his palms on his knees. With a grim nod, he indicated Draven should proceed. His trust alone was courageous.
Jonas ignored the surgery to concentrate on the woman’s predicament. First, he needed to detour Gus. After stepping outside the cloak and silently adjusting the spell to encompass Draven and Stands-in-Shadow, Jonas kicked gravel over the rock ledge.
“Lady? Lady, are ya alright up there?” Gus called.
“No, she’s not, Green,” Jonas replied, bracing himself to see below. “That good-for-nothing Eustace Larkham caused her to fall, and she’s badly injured.”
“Sheriff?” Gus’s voice squeaked in fear.
“Yes. It’s Sheriff Thorne. I was chasing rustlers through the canyon when I heard the shots.” He paused for a beat to let his plausible lie sink in. “You wouldn’t know anything about those rustlers or the gunfire, would you, son?”
“Uh… well… no, sir.” The unmistakable panic returned the boy’s voice to prepubescent.
“I see.” And he did. Having dealt with the underbelly of society, Jonas saw a heck of a lot. No words needed. “Gus, climb back down and ride away. For your own safety, mind. I don’t want those murderous rustlers to stumble upon you, son.”
“But the lady… how will you get her down?”
Lord love the kid for the tender spot Harlan hadn’t yet beaten out of him.
“Don’t worry your head none. I’ve already rigged a sling from my rope,” Jonas lied. “Go on, now. Get. I don’t want to worry about your neck in a gunfight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sounds associated with Gus’s scrambling down reached Jonas. The following silence indicated the young man was rethinking leaving.
“Sheriff?”
Jonas sighed and shot a Goddess-help-me glance skyward. “What is it, Gus?”
“Should I have Doc come out here?”
“No. It’ll take too long, and I don’t want Doc to run afoul of those bandits. I’ve some medical training. It comes with the job.”
“Alright.”
A rare protective feeling washed over him, and he leaned over to meet Gus’s worried brown eyes. “Stay clear of Harlan. He’ll be your death, son.”
“He’s my Pa.”
“Don’t mean you have to follow him to the noose.”
The young man paled.
“If you need a job, come see me tomorrow afternoon. I’ll find work for you. Maybe we can get you out from under his boot.”
The offer extended, Jonas returned to examine the Traveler’s child, wondering who and what the hell she actually was.
As one of the Six—the original families blessed with magic—he’d learned early on that only a select few could manipulate time to their will, as he had.
But he’d never met anyone able to travel through time and space.
Yes, he’d heard tales of one legendary man’s ability, but no one knew the guy’s name or from whence he came.
Perhaps the Traveler would come looking for his daughter one day soon.