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“Monty’s going to think we don’t trust him.”
“Monty doesn’t have to know about it.”
“I feel the need to point out that, whether I like it or not, Monty is the reservation witch, and should be included in any investigation involving magic and the supernatural.”
“Words I bet you never thought you’d utter.”
“That is a fact.” He brushed a few stray strands of hair out of my eyes, his fingertips warm against my skin. “But I’d rather be safe than sorry—you’re bone weary, Liz. I can see and smell it. You will end up in hospital again if you’re not careful.”
I rose on my toes and said, my lips so close to his that I could almost taste them, “Then you’d better ensure I’m kept warm and well fed, hadn’t you?”
Someone cleared their throat. Loudly. “Folks, there’s a time and a place for that sort of muck.”
I laughed, dropped a quick kiss on Aiden’s lips, and then glanced at Monty. “I take it the protection circle is constructed?”
“Yes, and given the ad hoc nature of the spell around the ember and the fact neither of us know how long it’ll last, I think we’d better get a move on.”
Aiden released me. “You’ll let us know if this works or not?”
“Ranger, if this works, I’ll be as surprised as hell, but yes.”
“The lack of belief.” I clapped a hand to my chest. “It hurts.”
Monty didn’t reply. He just rolled his eyes, then spun on his heel and walked away.
I followed. He’d constructed his circle at the base of the slope, on a flat bit of ground. His spell stones gleamed in the cold light of the moon, and the threads of his magic swirled lazily above them, ready to be activated. I stepped over them, then carefully sat down.
Monty sat opposite then shuffled closer. Energy stirred and meshed where our knees met, and it was oddly comforting—but also rather alarming—that the pulse of mine was in no way inferior to his.
He raised the protection circle around us and then gave me the small glass bottle containing the ember.
“I think it’s better if we keep your spell completely active, and just attempt to weave the tracking rider through it,” he said. “That way, the core remains intact and will hopefully continue to keep the ember viable.”
I nodded and tried to quell the rising tide of tension. Though what I was so nervous about, I couldn’t say.
“Ready?” he added.
I nodded again.
“Right. Unpick the outer layers of your spell, and then I’ll guide you through the rest of it.”
“And if, for any reason, my magic isn’t up to the task?”
“I’ll risk stepping in. But you’ll be fine, Liz.”
I gave him a quick, tense smile, and then centered my energy and glanced down at the small bottle. After a moment’s hesitation, I carefully picked up the first thread of magic and disengaged it, then repeated the process until the bottle was uncorked and the tangled mass of filaments that surrounded and protected the ember once again floated free.
“Good,” Monty said, his voice so soft it could have been coming from a great distance. “Now we get into the real work.”
He carefully guided me through the process, teaching me how to weave the threads of the tracking spell through the sphere’s filaments and then how to connect it to the core protection spell and the ember itself without in any way disturbing either. It required utter precision, and it left me physically and mentally drained. By the time I guided the sphere back into the bottle and spelled it closed, sweat was dribbling down my face. But the ember remained active, and was also now connected to a tiny filament of silver.
Monty carefully plucked the bottle from my hands. “It worked. It goddamn worked.”
I scrubbed a hand across my eyes, smearing sweat. “You sound awfully surprised.”
His gaze jumped to mine. “That’s because I didn't actually think it would.”
I would have laughed if I’d had more energy. “Not the impression I received at all.”
