Discovered Magic Excerpt

Wilder Thorne woke in a cold sweat, his body both burning and freezing.

She was there again.

Calling him from somewhere out of reach, even for a man with magic.

Abbie.

Goddess, he missed her. The feel of her skin against his, the smell of her minty shampoo, her constant teasing and laughter. She’d brought light and life into his world. Without her, he was a dried-up husk. Two years gone, and he was very well aware he needed to call a meeting with his inner demons to establish boundaries. But getting his shit together wasn’t easy. He dreamed of her nightly. Sometimes with crystal clarity, begging him to find her. At other times, she came to him faceless and silent, a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

That fucking mountain.

He wished he’d never agreed to climb it. Wished they hadn’t been anywhere near the thing when the Thornes’ enemies cast their spell, stripping him of his power. Wilder had failed her. There was no sugarcoating it.

He lay still, eyes sightlessly on the ceiling, with the fan’s hum the only sound. A haunted man with little hope left. His mind circled back to his relentless dreams and the feeling that Abbie was waiting for him, suspended between worlds. Alone.

And the hell of it was, he couldn’t be sure those dreams were truly dreams anymore. They felt like memories or, if he was being fanciful, premonitions. Maybe he’d cracked and finally crossed the line between grief and delusion. It gnawed at him that his brother Laszlo had never encountered her spirit on the earthly plane. Did that mean she’d crossed over to the Otherworld? And if so, should Wilder appeal to his cousin Alastair in hopes the Goddess could confirm his suspicion? What other explanation was there? Time travel? Yes, that type of magic existed for a rare few, but Abbie was mortal, with no abilities to speak of.

The glowing digits on his phone told him it was early morning. He’d assumed it was just past midnight, given how little he’d slept. Lately, time blended, one giant melting pot of fucking blah.

Enough!

He needed the truth. Today.

Wilder showered and dressed, giving the clothes a quick sniff to be sure they were clean. Then, he looked around his bedroom in disgust. He’d been a neat freak once upon a time. But now, well, he couldn’t exactly blame anyone for staging an intervention, could he?

Closing his eyes, he visualized how the room had once been: spotless, organized, and spring-fresh. A snap of his fingers brought it all back. When he opened his eyes, it was like stepping into a memory, and it almost made him smile. It felt good to move in the right direction.

Next would be Ebba. If anyone could sniff out a magical anomaly, it was Ebba James. He needed her help.

Five minutes later, Wilder paced outside the apartment building, stopping now and again to glance upward toward her apartment. She was his sister’s best friend and brother’s now steady girlfriend. If Wilder were anything but obsessed with his own problems, he’d take the time to appreciate that Ebba and Laszlo finally got themselves sorted after years spent dancing around each other. But there’d be cause for celebration if he could find Abbie.

He shuddered, recalling the day she’d slipped from the rock face.

“On belay?” Abbie called, clipping to the anchor. Her voice was stable despite the biting wind trying to whisk the sound away.

“Belay on,” Wilder answered, double-checking his gri-gri and footing on the ledge. “You’re good.”

She flashed him a grin, fearless and radiant, before pushing upward. Once she started, her natural rhythm kicked in, and she flowed up the granite as if part of it. Her movements were clean and confident, those of a pro. The crampons bit into the ice-dusted rock while her chalked fingers sought the next hold, finding it with remarkable precision. She was poetry in motion, even on a class-five nightmare.

They were two pitches from the summit when it all went to hell.

The sky darkened, and clouds rolled in fast.

“Abbie?” he hollered, giving the slightest of chin gestures.

Although she noted the threat, she shook her head, not wanting to turn back.

He’d let her convince him, and deep inside, where his arrogance resided, he hadn’t believed anything could go wrong. But even a warlock with his power could become complacent, assuming they could handle any situation as it arose.

A low rumble cracked through the air.

Without missing a beat, Abbie reached for the narrow crack and slid a cam into place, tugging to test the hold. She gave a slight nod as if assuring herself it was secure.

Then, everything changed.

A pulse rippled through the air, and it felt like the mountain exhaled. Wilder knew the instant his magic abandoned him, and the sensation was like ice water gushing straight into his chest. His heart sank into his stomach, and a chill embraced him, refusing to let go. The cold was nothing he’d ever experienced on the mountain. In the past, he’d kept Abbie and himself warm in hostile conditions by heating their cells.

The weather shouldn’t be so fucking frigid!

Something was wrong, and the urge to teleport the hell out of there was intense.

“Abbie, wait!” he shouted, but her next placement missed. The rock she’d weighted broke loose, clattering down like warning shots. Her scream ripped through him as her body pitched backward, and the cam she’d just set yanked free.

Wilder locked the rope and braced to catch her weight, only to feel nothing. The rope went slack. He lunged, fumbling for her line, heart in his throat. But she was gone. Simply vanished. No resistance. No impact. Hell, not even a final cry.

Just silence.

The kind that echoes for years.

“Abbie!” he screamed. Scrambling forward, he scanned the wall below, along with the ledge and slope.

He stared, hollowed out and disbelieving.

Two years later, and he still couldn’t believe it.

Wilder glanced up at the window where light glowed behind half-drawn curtains. His stomach was twisted in knots, and his hands were shaking. Asking Ebba to shift and search was a desperate move. The last one he had.

* * *

The door swung open, and an older, very male version of Abbie faced him. Caught off guard, Wilder stared, mute. It didn’t stop the man from introducing himself or ushering Wilder into the foyer.

Alexander Castor, the Traveler, in the flesh. The man was a living legend, and coincidentally, best friends with another formidable warlock, Alastair Thorne, Wilder’s cousin.

Laszlo entered with a smiling Ebba in his arms.

“Wilder?”

His brother’s confusion wasn’t surprising. Wilder hadn’t sought anyone out since Abbie fell. He’d kept to himself, avoiding conversation and comfort, feeling disinclined for the first and undeserving of the second. But here he stood, in the doorway with his proverbial hat in hand, prepared to apologize if need be. Anxiety was eating him up, but not because of his brother’s expected reception. Hell, he had no fear where family was concerned; they were all tight. It was the Thorne way.

No, mainly his apprehension stemmed from the worry that time was running out on finding Abbie, if she could indeed be found.

“What is it?” Ebba asked, her concern written all over her face.

There was no need for her to ask if he was okay; she’d probably already guessed he wasn’t.

“I have a favor to ask you, Ebba,” he said, trying not to choke on the words. “You can say no, but I hope you’ll consider it.”

“Of course.” She gave Laszlo a pat, asking silently to be let down. When he did, she crossed to Wilder and hugged him.

The gesture was unexpected, and he didn’t realize how much he’d needed it. If he held on a little too tightly, for a little too long, she was kind enough not to complain.

“You may want to wait until I explain before saying yes,” he said in a quiet warning.

She waved him to the kitchen like it wasn’t a big deal. “You can tell me over breakfast. Do you still take your coffee black?”

Castor set a mug and a platter of bacon in front of him. “If you want anything else, you’ll have to conjure it yourself.”

“I’m good. Thanks.” But he wasn’t, and it had nothing to do with food.

“If this is family business, I can leave you to it,” Castor said.

“Actually, I’d like you to stay, Mr. Castor,” Wilder replied. “I’m beginning to suspect something else was off about the day our magic went on the blink and could use another perspective.”

Once they were settled, he detailed the climb, the emptiness where his abilities should’ve resided, and his abject failure to catch Abbie when she needed him the most. He did his damnedest to hold it together, but when he reached the moment she’d slipped, he dropped his face into his hands.

No one rushed him, needing to fill the quiet.

“With no magic, I couldn’t save her,” he finally said. “And as Lo knows, we never found her body.” He looked at Ebba, voice raw. “It’s been a long time, and it could be a fool’s errand, but will you search in your wolf form?”

“She’s not a fucking rescue dog,” Laszlo snapped.

Laszlo’s anger was justified. Hell, Wilder would feel the same if the situation were reversed, but his last bit of hope was hourglass sand slipping through his fingers.

“I’ll do it,” Ebba said, placing a calming hand on his brother’s wrist.

Wilder’s heart quickened, causing a pounding in his ears. Uncertain what he would’ve said, probably a weepy thank you, he was nevertheless cut off by his brother’s indignation.

“No way,” Laszlo argued. “You have zero climbing experience. How will your wolf manage those mountain passes alone? It’s stupid to try.”

“I’ll be with her,” Wilder blurted, somewhat desperately. “I’ll rig up slings and extra safety measures. We’ll go when the weather conditions are perfect.”

“You’re risking her life! Wasn’t Abbie’s death enough to tell you that fucking mountain is too dangerous?”

Wilder flinched. The words stripped him bare. It wasn’t as if he needed the fucking reminder. He lived it every damn day. His gaze dropped to the table, and the weight in his chest felt heavier than granite.

Laszlo was right, so Wilder couldn’t argue the point. And he sure as shit couldn’t defend himself.

Ebba was on her feet a second later. “Get out!”

Wilder was halfway out of his chair when he realized she wasn’t yelling at him. All her focus was on Laszlo, and his disbelief was priceless. Had the situation been less dire, Wilder might’ve laughed.

“What?” Laszlo’s brows were at his hairline.

“How fucking insensitive can you be?” She shoved him. “I said, go! You can come back when you apologize to Wilder for being a dick.”

“Jaysus, I think I love you, Ebba James,” Castor said, grinning appreciatively. “Fierce and beautiful, what an intoxicating combinat—” He caught sight of her death glare. “I’m shutting up now.”

When the man mimed locking his lips and tossing the key, Wilder fought a second laugh. It was such an Abbie move. But he curbed the impulse and prepared to step in to defuse the fight no one wanted.

Laszlo, once riled, was hard to calm.

“You’re being ridic—” he began.

Wilder kicked him under the table.

“Don’t say it,” he warned. “Trust me, man. You don’t want to go there.”

“No. By all means, Laszlo, say what’s on your mind,” Ebba said, crossing her arms.

Both Castor and Wilder frantically shook their heads, trying to signal him to abort with a slicing motion across their throats, but Laszlo forged on like the stubborn fucker he was.

“You want me to tell you I think you’re being ridiculous?” he demanded. “Fine. I do.”

“Because I refuse to allow disrespect in my home? Or because I intend to help your brother?” she challenged.

“The second one.” Laszlo’s voice grew softer. “I love you, Ebba. I don’t want to see you risk your life on an unstable mountain. We’ve searched.” He turned to Wilder. Waiting.

But Wilder stayed quiet, unprepared to give up on Abbie.

Laszlo’s eyes reflected his disappointment. “Come on, man. Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here. Tell her. We searched and searched. We scryed. When our magic was restored, Liz and I went up there with you and did everything we could to clear the peaks and weather just to get a better view.” Laszlo placed a hand on Wilder’s shoulder. “Tell her there was no trace. We found a few deceased climbers, but none were Abbie.”

Shutting his burning eyes, Wilder nodded, acknowledging the truth.

“Ebba, Sweet, I’d never forbid you to do what you think is best,” Laszlo said. “Hell, you’d castrate me if I tried. But the risk is great for no chance at a reward.”

Wilder should’ve let his brother have the win, but he couldn’t. Lifting his gaze from his coffee mug, he cleared his throat and said the one thing he knew they couldn’t ignore.

“I dreamed she spoke to me through Ebba.”

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