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Eli worked for the Regional Witch Association and must have been in more than a few dangerous situations.
Difference is, Ashworth only knew about them after the fact. He didn’t have to face real-time fretting and worry.
I smiled and once again thanked the day he came into our lives. As found family went, you couldn’t get any better. Hell, I doubted my goddamn biological father was losing any sleep over my safety.
I take it you want me to read this Martin fellow? she continued.
Yes, but be wary. I have no idea whether he’s been spelled, is under the influence of drugs, or has been telepathically tampered with.
I’m not the one needing to be cautious, because I’m not physically there. Besides, if he was spelled, you’d feel the energy of it.
It’s more the prospect that he’s been given telepathic orders that worries me, especially given someone had already messed with Hazel’s mind.
Whoever did that isn’t capable of setting a trap strong enough to grab me. I’ll be perfectly fine.
That’s like me saying I’ll be careful.
Her laughter reverberated lightly through our connection. If it’s safe to touch him, do so. It definitely makes remotely reading him easier.
I stepped to the front of the chair and, after a brief hesitation, touched my fingers to either side of his temples.
It was at that precise moment he came to life.
With an almost inhuman roar, he thrust me away from him with enough force to steal my breath and knock me off my feet. I hit the floor hard, looked up, and saw him launch at me. I didn’t have time to get up, so I twisted and swept one leg around, hitting him just below the knee and knocking him sideways.
He didn’t fall.
He might look frail, but the bastard had the balance of a cat.
He lunged again. With little other option, I grabbed his hands, then rolled back and lifted my knees, using his momentum to fling him over my head and across the room. He crashed into a table and fell onto a chair with enough force to break one of the legs. As he hit the floor, I scrambled upright and unleashed a containment spell. Heard footsteps and spun, a second spell already swirling around my fingertips. Samuel slid to a halt and threw up a hand. “Don’t unleash.”
I took a deep breath and relaxed. “Sorry.”
“Understandable. You okay?”
“Yeah.” I let the second containment spell drift away and walked across to the old man. He was fighting my net physically rather than magically, but maybe he wasn’t awake enough yet to form any sort of counter spell.
Of course, the threads of wild magic woven through the spell might also have something to do with his reluctance to counter the spell. Any sane witch—gray or not—tended to be very cautious around wild magic.
Samuel stopped beside me, studying my captive and, no doubt, the magic that contained him. “Don’t suppose you’d care to explain why threads that look an awful lot like wild magic are running through your spell?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I could, but it’d take too much time right now.”
“Have they anything to do with the reevaluation tests your father ordered for you?”
“Yes, but the only thing he’ll discover is the fact that both my mother and my sister carry the same anomalous gene responsible for those threads.”
He glanced at me sharply. “I’ve never seen anything like this in your mother’s spell craft.”
“And you won’t. We believe it takes trauma to activate it.”
His expression said he suspected there was more to the story than that, as his next comment proved. “One day, when this mess is over and you’re back home safe and sound, I’ll visit, and you can tell me a story.”
“Unofficially and over cake?”
“Definitely.”
“Agreed then.”
