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“Then let’s try it.”
“Okay, I’ll lead. Take my hand.”
“Sure, where is it?” I ask, moving my own hand blindly through the air.
We brush one another but fail to connect. It takes a few minutes, or feels like it, for us to do this simple action. Not a good omen for trying to continue up this damnable tower. Dugald shuffles his feet forward and I do the same, hoping that maybe it will keep us from going over the edge.
“Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Should we not have found a step by now?”
He stops moving and I swallow, listening to the sound of my heart.
“Yeah.”
“Something has changed.”
We’ve kept our backs to the wall and none of the landings have been this big.
“How many steps did you take?” I ask, hoping the count in my head is wrong.
“At least ten,” he says.
“Was this landing bigger than the others before the lights went out?”
“No, it was not.”
“Damn it,” I curse. “What else can go wrong?”
I raise my free hand to what feels like the front of my face and try to will magical energy and create a light. The energy flows, responding easily, but when I try to form it into a light it’s leeched away before anything can happen. It’s as if the darkness is absorbing it faster than I can create it.
The faint whispers of Duncan being tortured echo around us. Tension in my shoulders is so tight I think my head might explode. The pain is making it hard to think and I need a plan. Any plan.
“Any ideas?” Dugald asks, once again as if he’s reading my mind.
“No,” I say. “You?”
“No. We can continue moving forward; it’s my only idea.”
“We know something is off,” I say, shaking my head as if he can see me. “That means the drop could be anywhere. We could walk right off the edge.”
“I felt you manipulating magic,” he says. “No luck?”
“No, it feels like the dark is a sponge, absorbing it as fast as I can move it.”
“We could try…” He trails off, but I know what he’s thinking.
He doesn’t want to suggest we join our magic together because of the side effects that come with that. Except right now, we’re out of options.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
His hand tightens on mine and then a moment later his magic rushes into me. I accept it, focusing it, pooling it with my own. I let the sensations rise, riding them like an expert surfer catching a wave. Power coalesces in my core, then I take control, directing all of it to my free hand. A spark illuminates for the briefest of moments. A flash.
“Good, Quinn, more,” Dugald encourages.
It’s taxing. Sweat pours down my face, covering my chest and back. I’m heaving air as I struggle to control the power and focus it. My hand glows, a tiny, or really a miniscule amount of light. Ridiculous in comparison to the power being spent to create it. I’d swear a match would do more to let us see. I continue pouring power in, willing it to be brighter.
