Chapter 10
Wilder had no fucking idea where they were, but the Native American man made up to resemble figures only seen in movies or history books gave him the first clue.
Expressionless, the guy observed them exit the portal. Either he’d witnessed the same in the past, or the guy killed at poker. They had yet to discover which.
Castor ignored his presence as he leisurely surveyed the surrounding cliffs and the plains beyond.
“A bit dusty and barren for my tastes,” he deadpanned.
Wilder was torn between laughter and a roll of the eyes.
Without missing a beat, Castor asked their observer, “Do you speak English?”
Amusement flashed in the dark-haired man’s eyes.
“Parlez-vous—” Castor began.
“I speak English,” he said.
“Thank the Goddess. Other than French, my foreign-language skills are shit.”
Wilder snorted. “It’s uncanny how much you and Quentin are alike. Never serious.”
“Well, he is a chip off the old block, Thorne.” He gestured for the stranger to move closer. “Since you’ve not lost your tan or soiled yourself, I imagine you’ve already witnessed a Traveler pass through this portal. Can you tell me where she is?”
“Traveler’s child.”
With his heart pounding hard enough to crash through his chest wall, Wilder met the man halfway. “You’ve seen her? You’ve seen Abbie?”
“I do not know Abbie. But Mary lives near.”
“Mary. Right.” His disappointment was keen, causing the man’s face to blur. His lungs shut down, refusing to function as they were designed.
“It doesn’t mean she’s not here, son,” Castor reminded him as he joined them. “Only that he didn’t see her.”
“Traveler’s child was here. Climbed rock and fell.”
Had the man witnessed Abbie’s fall from the mountain? Hope once again gave Wilder life. “Who is the Traveler’s child? What does the rock climber look like?”
The man gestured to Castor.
“It’s her! It’s Abbie!” Excitement thrummed through him, and he had to hold himself back from kissing the stranger on the mouth. “Can you tell us where she is?”
“Perdition.”
Did he mean she was dead?
Wilder traded a concerned glance with Castor. “What the fuck?”
Brows drawn together in consternation, the Traveler considered the stranger. “What is Perdition? Hell?”
“Some call it that, but it is a town. Perdition Ridge,” the man replied. “Due east.”
“So she’s alive? This rock climber you call Mary?” Wilder asked.
Why go by Mary and not Abbie? It made no sense.
“Yes.” Sympathy clouded the man’s face. “But she is not whole. Not the same as before.”
Bile swept up from Wilder’s gut, burning his esophagus and throat as the urge to vomit rode him hard. If he spoke, he’d lose control and puke.
Luckily, Castor wasn’t similarly afflicted.
“What happened to her?” he demanded, no longer the jovial time-jumper and every bit the enraged father.
“Find the Guardian and the Thorne.”
“Guardian.” His tone was razor sharp. “Would his name happen to be Draven Masters?”
“Yes, this is he.”
Castor’s grin flashed his delight. “This is excellent news! Come, Thorne, let’s find Masters. He’ll help set things to rights.”
Things felt off, but Wilder couldn’t pinpoint quite what.
“Has this portal always been here?” He gestured to the rock wall, then swore upon seeing the solid stone. “Uh, Castor, our way home… It’s gone.”
“Abbie can create another, and if not her, we’ll petition Isis.”
The careless response was as annoying as the missing portal was concerning, but since it wasn’t his expertise, Wilder remained mute on the subject.
“She stepped through two years ago by the white man’s calendar,” the stranger said. “Like your door, hers closed behind her.”
Two years had to seem like a lifetime in a strange place.
“What is the date? As in the year?” Castor asked.
“1877.”
“Jesus,” Wilder muttered. They’d gone back almost a hundred and fifty years. What would that mean for Abbie, with her modern clothing and ways? “Do you know if she’s been back here or attempted to reopen it?”
“No. She has not returned. She is ill. Here.” The man tapped his temple. “They say crazy.”
What happens to people deemed insane in this century? Asylums?
The urge to scream was too overwhelming to deny, and Wilder stalked away to vent his pain, pacing off his agitation. After a while, the continuous murmur of voices caught his attention, and he rejoined the conversation.
“We would appreciate any help you can provide, Stands-in-Shadow,” Castor was saying, having learned the stranger’s name in the short span Wilder had taken to regroup.
“How far to Perdition Ridge?”
“Twelve miles. But with no horses, you will move like the Guardian and Thorne.”
If they were magical—and with the term Guardian involved, there was a high chance they were—they probably teleported everywhere. Yet Wilder wanted to be clear.
“Move like them how?” he asked.
“Through space. Like all of your kind.”
“So you know other magical people?”
Stands-in-Shadow’s grin flashed. “Yes. I am the spirit Guide and Seer.”
Wilder exchanged a glance with Castor. They only knew of one Seer in their time. Were they more common here?
“You keep saying thorn. The Guardian, we know. What is the thorn?” Castor asked.
“Like him. Thorne.”
With another delighted grin, he slapped Wilder on the back. “Ah! More good news, Wilder, my boy. It seems you have a relative in this land that time forgot.”
“Sheriff Jonas Thorne. He is a good man and will help you,” Stands-in-Shadow replied.
“How do we teleport to a place we’ve never seen?
” Wilder asked. Moving from one spot to another without a general idea of what lay ahead could be deadly.
If they misjudged, they might end up half in and half out of a wall, their guts torn from their bodies.
Or a beam through the brain. Neither option was appealing.
It wasn’t as if they could rely on cell service, WiFi, or Google Maps to investigate a location beforehand.
“We put out feelers and tap into this gentleman’s mind.”
“What? How?” As a Thorne, Wilder was well versed in witchcraft, but without tanzanite and his cousin Alastair’s spell, sharing thoughts was virtually impossible.
“If Stands-in-Shadow isn’t opposed, he will pilot us through touch. You and I conjure the magic to teleport, using his image of the town. We only need to get to the outskirts.” Castor addressed the Native man. “Are you willing?”
“I cannot leave my ?íí?.”
“Is someone else here?” Wilder asked.
“Horse,” Stands-in-Shadow replied with a half smile.
“I can return you immediately. Your ?íí? will not suffer,” Castor assured him.
“I will not leave him. He is all I have anchoring me to this world.”
Anchoring him? What the hell did he mean? Mentally? Physically?
“My spirit drifts,” Stands-in-Shadow explained as if reading Wilder’s inner thoughts.
“How does a horse stop you from drifting?”
“You would call it love.” The man met his gaze. “It is how you found this place.”
Let him believe what he would. Wilder wouldn’t argue that he hadn’t controlled their time hop.
“Okay, what if I stay with your horse and you show Castor the town? He can return you here once he has the coordinates, then I’ll go with him to find Mary.”
When he received an affirmative nod, he looked at Castor. “I’m assuming you can tap into his mind without me?”
“It may be easier without your thoughts crowding ours.” Holding out a hand, Castor waited as the Native man considered it. “Trusting a stranger is difficult, but I mean you no harm. You have my word that I will bring you there and straight back, Stands-in-Shadow.”
His forthright nature did the trick, inspiring trust. But within five minutes, they realized their plan was a bust. Their powers didn’t work in this past world.
“How is it we don’t have our gifts here?” Wilder battled the tidal wave of panic threatening to wash over him. In the only other instance he had been without his abilities, tragedy struck.
“I’ve never gone beyond the boundaries of my natural life,” Castor replied. “Perhaps it has something to do with not existing yet?”
“Christ, we’re screwed.”
“What would your cousin Alastair say in the face of your pessimism, my dear Wilder?”
Although his pale eyes didn’t contain their standard amused light, Castor didn’t appear to be as deflated as him. Still, a hint of displeasure tugged his mouth down, so it wasn’t only Wilder’s bout of pessimism.
“He’d make some ridiculous quip about courage and the challenge being fun, I’m sure,” Wilder replied dryly.
“Exactly. Twelve miles isn’t a particularly long trek. I’ve suffered worse.”
“In the desert, during the middle of the day, with no water?”
“Are you trying to annoy me, son?”
“You will use my horse,” Stands-in-Shadow interrupted. “I will run beside you.”
“To save your horse the burden, I can run for part of the journey,” Castor stated. “I jog at least five miles every morning.”
Wilder didn’t volunteer for cross-country. He hadn’t done anything particularly athletic in two years and would likely die from his lack of fitness.
“Show-offs,” Wilder muttered. The sooner he got to Abbie, the better. “Let’s go.”
“Not now,” the Native man said. “We wait until the sun is lower in the sky. Even the Diné take care when the desert burns hottest.”
It went against the grain for Wilder to wait, but this was not a time or place he was familiar with, and he had to trust the Guide-Seer had their best interests at heart.
“Will you tell us what you know of Abbie, er, Mary?”