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He stops when he sees my smile. His eyes widen and he reaches for me, but I sidestep before he closes his grasp. My stomach drops and bile races up my throat and I’m back where I was. I spin around, ready for any threat, but I’m alone.
“Rob,” I yell.
The soft light of dawn illuminates the area. The mists are retreating, wispy remnants like the tattered edges of a well-worn blanket are all that remain. Rob and the hunters that had us cornered are gone.
ChapterTwelve
The risingsun’s rays are warm on my skin as my heart hammers. I stepped from one fight expecting to drop into another. I lower my raised fists and unclench my hands as my heart slows. Looking in every direction drives home not only that I’m alone, but I’m lost and royally screwed.
Where did they go? Has Rob been captured? Killed?
A spasm clenches my guts into a hard knot making it difficult to catch my breath. Oh, Rob. How do I get back to where I was? I don’t know which direction to go to return to the clan or to find the ones we were seeking. Without him, I’m lost. I pace the length of the cliff wall and back. It’s hard to focus.
“You were moving too fast.”
The fight with Dugald pushes its way into the front of my thoughts. What did they do? They did something. Somehow they limited my magic, but how? I don’t have time for the Fae’s stupid games. Duncan is what matters. Focus, Quinn.
What would Duncan do? Or Rob? I close my eyes and try to imagine what they would do but I’ve got nothing, and the fight with Dugald is still foremost in my thoughts, pushing its way in like an unwelcome visitor.
“What did you do, Dugald?” I mutter.
Magic slowly trickles in, the burst that allowed me to travel back here feels restricted, again. Barely enough to do some small healing unless I let it pool first. Was it the Druid? It must have been. He’s the one who wanted me to slow down. To control me.
If I see him again, I’ll confront him then. Until I do, I need Rob. Damn it.
Rob. What would Rob do?
My dad loved Westerns. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger, I can’t count how many hours of those old, mostly boring, black-and-white shows we’d watch together. A lump swells in my throat and regret colors the memories. I should have enjoyed that time more. If I only knew then what I do now.
Pushing aside regrets, I remember they’d always have someone who could track. I remember Tonto kneeling on the ground, looking at what looked to me like nothing then telling the Lone Ranger that they went that way, Kemosabe.
Tracking. Right. Okay, I can do this, right? A television star can do it, surely I can? There’s no stopping my snort at my own ridiculousness but it’s not like I have a lot of bright ideas. Hitching up my skirts I take a careful look around the area, trying to really see what is there while mostly hoping something will jump out at me.
The mists have retreated before the sun making it easier to see the area. The grass is trampled. A splotch of red catches my attention so I move over and kneel next to it. It’s blood, glistening as it catches the light.
Unsure why but acting on some instinct I hold my hand over the stain on the ground. My hand tingles as magic circulates through. I close my eyes and breathe. Isee,in my mind at least, Rob charging the men.
They clash. Steel rings on steel, someone fires a pistol as Rob crashes into one of the hunters, knocking him back from the line of men. Rob is a wild man. Fighting with feral ferocity. He wounds the first man, who screams and rushes away.
The others try to attack Rob but he’s insane. Swinging his huge claymore in one hand with a pistol in his other. He fires the pistol. Another of his attackers is hit in the shoulder, spinning sideways with the force of the impact.
The remaining three back away and Rob taunts them. He feints towards the left, then at the last possible instant changes his direction and crashes into the one on the right who was bringing his rifle to bear.
Rob and the hunter crash to the ground entangled. The rest gather in a group, retreating as their companion screams for help. Rob grapples, punches, and even bites the man below him. He takes his own wounds but delivers more than he takes.
The man below him manages to slip free. He scrambles backwards in a crab crawl. When Rob half-rises and lunges towards him the hunter drops and rolls out of the way. Rob screams, and as he stands the mists cling to him like a flowing white cloak. He throws his arms wide. His hands are empty, having lost both sword and gun, but the hunters are terrified. He doesn’t need any more weapon than the glare of his eyes.
The hunters turn and run. Rob howls, runs a few feet after them, then stops. The vision ends with him limping off.
I open my eyes, knowing now which direction he left. I stand up and follow. I can’t directly attribute it to magic alone, but then I’ve also never tracked anything in my life. Maybe a combination of watching movies and shows with my dad and a touch of magic allows me to follow Rob. Or maybe I’m fooling myself and I’ll never catch up to him.
What I know for sure is that moving is better than standing still. When I stop for a moment’s rest dark thoughts fill my head. I don’t know how much time I have to save Duncan and I can’t fail. If anything happens to him…
No. I stop that thought train before it runs away. I’ve been there, too many times already. Imagining what tortures he’s enduring or his dead body accomplishes nothing. I will save him. There is no other option.
The sun is high in the sky when I hear a muttered curse. Panic hits and I drop into a crouch, frozen in place, straining my senses for any clue as to who it might be. The wind whistles through the trees, shaking the leaves and causing the dappled light to create dancing shadows. Some of those shadows are deeper, darker, and I sense the darkness peeking into this reality with unbridled hunger.
“Thrice-cursed lass.”
