Captivating Magic (The Thorne Witches #14)

Chapter 22

22

T he trip to the past took no longer than an average teleport. According to Castor, they’d arrived three hours earlier than Ebba’s accident. Laszlo desperately wished he could call and tell her to stay home, but fate didn’t work that way. Something else would cause her death if it was meant to happen.

But was it destined? If so, shouldn’t Death’s Reapers have been there to collect the souls? Clutch said one of them failed to do their job, and he was assigned the position. Why had an experienced Reaper failed? Castor’s interference?

Together, they walked the path from the clearing where they’d landed to Alastair’s home. The woods were dense, and mystical energy flowed throughout the forest, cresting over everything from the ground to the tops of the trees.

“Can you see the magic?” he asked Castor, and surprisingly, he didn’t need to elaborate.

“Only as I’m traveling through time. Not once I arrive. Everything returns to normal, and the colors fade.” Castor paused and cocked his head. “I’m assuming you can in this form.”

“Yes. It’s wondrous and humbling to know we are but a spec in this vast world.” He struggled to explain. “My abilities allow me to see the supernatural, and I know magic exists in every living thing. But I’ve never actually viewed it outside a spell or conjuring.” Pointing, he said, “Take that mushroom for example. The fuchsia color is pulsing and absolutely exquisite.”

“Sounds like you’re tripping balls,” Castor replied dryly.

“It does, but I’m not.”

“I know. I’ve witnessed it all in Traveler form.”

“So then you get it.”

Castor nodded. “I do. We don’t have time to stop and smell the roses, though. The longer we’re in this timeline, the greater the chance of fucking things up.”

“Got it.”

“For what it’s worth, Thorne, I’m sorry about your girl and for my part in binding her.”

“If you hadn’t, she’d have died. I’d have gone my entire life without realizing she was my soulmate.” He smiled his thanks. “I’m not sorry you helped her, Castor. I’m grateful.”

As they exited the woods, Lo saw two figures on the terrace. “That’s you and Al.”

“Yep. In about ten seconds, present me will drop like a stone. Alastair’s defenses will go up, and he’ll become untrusting of our motives. Remain calm and radiate honest energy.”

“I’m well aware of how his empathic abilities work.”

“Right. I forgot for a second.” With a heavy sigh, he said, “Showtime.”

On cue, his present-day counterpart’s head listed to one side, and the hand holding a coffee mug dropped to his side, spilling black liquid on the stone.

Alastair reacted as predicted. Throwing up one hand, he created a barrier between them, guarding against the enemy he couldn’t see. Next, he checked Castor’s still form, first pulse, then his pupils, before sniffing what remained of the cup’s contents. He nodded as if assuring himself his friend wasn’t poisoned before scanning the horizon.

His gaze fixed on them, and he gestured them forward.

Alastair frowned. “Laszlo?”

“Hello, Al.” Lo grinned weakly. “We’re from the future.”

Dismissing him, Alastair focused on Castor. “Start explaining, Alex. Why is my cousin a fucking ghost?”

Both Castor and Lo clenched their fists, hoping to stem the plague of locust the vehement curse would bring.

A half smile curled Alastair’s mouth. The wariness fell away, and acceptance shone in his sapphire eyes. “You’re the real deal if you know that about me.”

“I’ve traveled enough times to make this seem normal,” Castor replied with an answering grin. He gestured to Lo with a nod of his blond head. “He’s not dead if that’s what you’re worried about. Dethridge separated his soul from his body, allowing him to hitch a ride with me.”

“Why would you both need to be here? One warning from you wouldn’t suffice?”

“I—”

“You need to call my present self, Al,” Lo cut in. They had to act quickly or all was for naught. “Get him here ASAP.”

The standard ease with which Alastair carried himself disappeared as he tensed, and his expression tightened. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He peppered them with the occasional question as they relayed the coming events. When they were finished, he drew his phone from his pocket and shot off a text.

“To me?” Lo asked, nodding to the device.

“Yes, but I doubt you’ll get it in time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re off with Heath in the Grand Caymans, celebrating your freedom, son.”

“Jesus!” He recalled the cell coverage was spotty in that location. “I need to teleport there right away.”

“Not sure that’s possible in your current state.”

A clawing sense of panic ripped through his chest. “How long can we remain, Castor?”

“Another minute at most,” he replied grimly.

“We came too soon.” Disbelief that he wouldn’t be here to save Ebba rocked him. “Can you leave me and come back for me?”

“I could try, but there’s no guarantee it would work.” Castor looked as devastated as Lo felt. “Christ, this is a mess.”

“Why not simply call her and tell her to stay home?” Alastair asked.

“According to Sabrina Dethridge, this has to play out this way. Ebba has to hit that tree, and I have to be there to persuade Isis and Death to let her live.” Lo shook his head. “But how?”

“Then you’ll remain and hope we can catapult you back to your timeline afterward.” Alastair tugged each of his cuffs down. “If Isis is feeling generous, she might do it.”

“She hasn’t been generous regarding this mess so far,” Lo said, fighting the feeling of hopelessness trying to smother him.

“Don’t lose faith, Laszlo. We’ll save your friend.”

“I love her, Al. She’s the one.” His nerve endings were raw, and he belatedly recalled Damian saying spirits shouldn’t feel as deeply as Ebba was. But Lo did. Maybe their love was the kind to strengthen those emotions even after death.

“We have to go back, Thorne,” Castor said, urgency in his tone. “Delaying is dangerous.”

“Go without me.”

The two friends shared a speaking glance, and their silent conversation was one Lo wasn’t privy to. Nor did he care to be. He wasn’t leaving without saving Ebba, and if he couldn’t, he didn’t care if his soul found his body again or not. Life would be meaningless without her. Recalling his brother’s ongoing pain, Laszlo vowed not to continue on that way. It was all or nothing.

“I recognize the stubborn look,” Alastair said. “You should return, Alex. I’ll take care of him.”

With a frustrated glare, Castor nodded and turned on his heel to jog back the way they’d come.

“Thank you, Al.”

“Don’t thank me yet, son. We haven’t saved your Ebba.”

The following two hours dragged, with no word from Lo’s present self.

“Did you try Heath?” he asked Alastair.

“I did.”

“What about sending someone to the island to find me? Ryker?” Lo suggested Alastair’s brother-in-law and best friend. Ryker Gillespie had been trained as a master spy by the Witches’ Council. If anyone could locate a target, it was him.

“Already on it. I contacted him after Alex returned.”

“Why hasn’t Castor’s present self woken? Is that normal?”

“It’s odd, that’s for sure,” Alastair agreed with a check of his watch. “I’ll give him another ten minutes of beauty rest, but he’ll?—”

“What the actual fuck!” Castor shouted, surging up from the lawn chair they’d laid him on.

“Ah, right on time and surly as ever upon waking.” Alastair shot Lo an amused smile. To Castor, he said. “Your future self paid us a visit.”

“Fucking hell! What now? What was so damned important that I had to break cosmic rules to fuck with a timeline?”

“The accident scheduled to happen in fifty minutes.”

“What accident?” Castor growled, dropping his legs on either side of the recliner and leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands. “The hangover from that shit is off the charts,” he muttered, tapping the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Stop doing that.”

“Weird. Does his future self ever listen?” Lo asked in a quiet voice.

Alastair chuckled. “Alex never listens to anyone but Damian, and that’s selective.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Castor asked, still testy but curious.

“Laszlo Thorne. Cousin to Al and brother to Liz.”

He grunted as he rubbed his temples. “Why are you translucent?”

“It was the only way I could hitch a ride with you to the past, or what’s considered your present.”

“Got it.” He sighed heavily and met Lo’s watchful gaze. “Out with it. What am I preventing?”

“It’s what you’re not preventing.” Alastair held out a hand to help him up. “You need to get to the bend in the road?—”

Lightning zigzagged across the evening sky, and thunder shook the earth.

“No rain in the forecast, Al. What do you make of it?” Castor asked with a sharp glance around.

“Magical. Goddess, if I’m not mistaken.”

The next streak of light was vertical, splitting the veil between worlds. Isis stepped through the gap and looked none too happy. But her pique might’ve been because of the woman trailing in her wake. Death sauntered forward, and although her black hood hid most of her face, Lo had the sense her expression was smug.

“Laszlo Thorne,” Death purred his name. “You’ve been a bad boy.”

“Not yet,” he quipped, stealing a snarky comeback from Castor’s bag.

She hissed her displeasure.

Lo met Isis’s amused gaze and almost lost control of his jaw when she winked.

“You’ve come to circumvent the demise of Ebba James and Spencer Barlowe,” Death accused. “Deny it if you will.”

“I am denying it.” He met the deities in the middle of the lawn. “I’m here to stop the Traveler from binding Ebba’s soul to earth after the accident.”

“I do that?” Castor sounded impressed. “Who knew I had such a cool superpower?”

“I did,” Isis replied with a warm smile. “Your execution needs work, though.”

He laughed.

Death waved them off and stepped closer to Lo. “I don’t believe you. You’ve repeatedly claimed you won’t turn over the renegade soul to me, failing in your job as a Reaper’s assistant.”

“So fire me.” He shrugged. Up close, he saw beneath the hood, and she didn’t look thrilled. “Or write me up for insubordination if you must. But I’m telling the truth.”

Suspicion clouded her visage as she studied him. After a long moment, she shrugged. “You’ll be unable to do anything about it anyway. The incident is too far away for you to get there in time.”

His stomach relocated to his big toe, but he stood his ground. “But you can do something about it. You can let her live. Please . In all these years, I’ve never asked you for anything.”

“I don’t make the rules, Laszlo.” She disappeared.

“Who does?” he demanded, spinning to face Isis. “Who makes them? You?”

“Did your familiar find you, beloved?”

“No, but I was so concerned about Ebba, I forgot that part.”

“Hmm. Come with me.” She held up a hand to prevent Alastair and Castor from following. “You two are—what’s the sports term you men like so much?— benched for this game.”

Touching Laszlo’s arm, she transported him to the scene.

Death, along with Clutch, were moving toward the crumpled vehicle when the air stilled around them.

“I despise being benched,” Castor said as he stepped from behind the tree trunk and summed up the scene. Circling the vehicle, he ripped open the driver’s door. His curse was savage when he viewed the inhabitants. With a troubled look at Laszlo, he said, “I heard what you said to them, boyo, but I can’t leave her to suffer.”

When Lo would’ve run to him, the Goddess halted his motion. “Wait,” she said in a low voice. “Let him go.”

Castor positioned his arms like he was drawing a bow back for release. The steering column eased out of Ebba’s chest with each inch of space he created in the air.

If he were in physical form, Laszlo would’ve puked up his guts. To see her laid open, ribs piercing her lungs, and heart halfway shredded was brutal. He was so focused on the carnage that he almost missed her appearance beside him. How many times had he urged her to get rid of that stupid ’94 Wrangler, arguing with her that it was dangerous without today’s standard safety measures or even a single fucking airbag? But she loved that old relic from her dad. She’d once said it was the first vehicle she’d learned to drive.

“Wow.” She whistled softly. “That’s a mess.”

“Ebba!”

“I guess I don’t need to ask what’s happening here.” Her expression was sad as she observed Castor lift her body from the driver’s seat and lay her on the ground.

Time rebounded.

“No!” The anguished cry had originated from the slope above them. “No!”

Laszlo’s present self had arrived.

His physical body stumbled as he ran down the hill at breakneck speed.

“Why isn’t my physical self teleporting?” Lo asked Isis.

“Death filed for a temporary restraining order of sorts,” she murmured beside him. “She was determined to gather her souls when she brought the Reaper through time with her.”

“She’s a Traveler, too?”

“Of sorts due to her status, but not born to it like Alexander,” Isis replied. “Wait here.”

As she sauntered toward Castor, her filmy dress caught around her legs from the tropical-storm-force winds building around them.

“Pull it back, Laszlo Thorne,” she called over her shoulder.

He hadn’t realized his was the magic stirring within Death’s dome—or rather his physical self’s. But they weren’t linked, and he couldn’t convey her wishes.

“He can’t hear?—”

“He can,” she replied, and the winds died down with her answer, although his counterpart never took his eyes off Ebba.

“Alexander,” Isis said.

The Traveler held his hands over Ebba’s body, pushing a green healing light into her chest cavity.

“Alexander.”

He looked up but didn’t pause his actions.

Isis touched his shoulder. “If you continue, you’ll bind her to this plane, and we’ll be back where we started.”

“I can’t let her die.”

“Place this around her neck and step away.” An amulet dangled from the fingers she extended toward him. “It will prevent her condition from worsening.”