Must Be Magic (Spellbound Book 4)

by Sydney Somers

Dante pushed to his feet. “I can’t just sit here.” He made it only halfway across the room before his cell phone rang, stopping him.

  “It’s Tate,” Alex said. “Tell her not to try anything.”

  Arching a brow, Dante glanced at him. “Since when can Tribunal members predict the future?”

  “Since the age of text messaging.” Alex held up his phone. “She texted me a couple minutes ago, said she was calling you.”

  Dante scowled, not impressed by Alex’s attempt to lighten the mood.

  Any other time, Alex might have been amused by a front-row seat to the Tall, Dark and Broody show, but he had other things on his mind.

  Like Dante did.

  The only thing Dante worried about, besides how he was going to give Reece Prescott a hard time, was his family. Darby in particular.

  To say he was overprotective, especially where Bryce Lancaster was concerned, was putting it mildly.

  Dante slipped out of the room, his voice fading as he closed the door behind himself.

  Alex felt Thomas staring at him.

  “So we just wait.”

  “That’s the gist of it.”

  “And if you do find them—”

  “When,” Danny Calder interrupted.

  “—how will we explain how we located them if the rescue team is looking in the wrong direction?”

  “Magic,” Alex offered, tongue in cheek. Although how was he supposed to find anyone if he had to keep stopping to play Twenty Questions?

  “You think to expose us?”

  Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “And if I do you’ll make me stand in the corner and recite ‘I will not do magic’, I get it.”

  “You’re a member of the Tribunal. You took a vow to protect our secrets—”

  “I know what I vowed better than anyone,” he snapped. He let out a slow breath. “You’re scared. I get it. So am I. Two of my friends are out there somewhere and they’re hurt.” There was no point sugarcoating it.

  Witches who took off their amulets fell off the grid. There was no way Bryce and Darby would have done that—not at the same time and not for this long—without telling someone. Meaning they were both in serious trouble.

  Thomas Lancaster gave him a somber look that might have passed for an apology. “What can I do?”

  Alex pushed his once more empty glass across the table and went back to concentrating on getting a lock on his friends.

  * * *

  Pillows don’t hug back.

  It was the first thought to drift through Darby’s mind. She forced her gritty eyes open to find Bryce sitting up. Gone was the comforting warmth of his arm across her waist.

  Moments ago she’d burrowed closer to his side, half-convinced he was the pillow she’d clutched hours after he’d walked away from her bungalow. Half-asleep, she’d argued with herself to go after him.

  And then he’d wrapped an arm around her, waking her.

  Now faced with the reality of lying on her side beneath…an inflatable raft?...with the wrecked plane snagged by her peripheral vision, she wished she could go back to sleep.

  “How’s your arm?” Seated with his back to her, Bryce stared out at the rain.

  Night had fallen, and with that realization, Darby shivered.

  She sat up, grateful the throbbing in her shoulder wasn’t the screaming pain it had been right before Bryce had popped it back in place. Her head was another matter. She gingerly explored the side of her head, finding a bandage covering the tender spot on her forehead.

  Her gaze fell on the pile near her feet. Bryce must have gone through their bags and pulled out anything that might be useful. She recognized her soap, razor, Tylenol, earrings and dental floss on top of the pile, along with a few bottles of water, something that might be a protein bar and a first aid kit he probably found in the plane. She vaguely remembered him using it earlier.

  They were lucky to be alive, she knew, but it would have been luckier if one of them had been a survivalist nut or one of those extremists on television, building bunkers and always carrying around a pack full of supplies for the coming apocalypse.

  “Zombies just might be easier,” she mumbled, but Bryce didn’t hear her.

  She scooted a little closer, and Bryce’s shoulders stiffened. What was that about?

  Glancing at the raft he’d leaned against a tree and secured with some kind of bindings, she asked, “I was out of it for a while, huh?”

  “A couple of hours. You drifted in and out.”

  A fuzzy memory of him trying to coax her to drink a few mouthfuls of water came rushing back to her. So did the remembrance of his fingers stroking her cheek and his hushed promise that they’d get through this.

  And now he was avoiding her. Wasn’t he? It couldn’t be a coincidence that when she’d moved closer for warmth, he’d rolled away or that he found the rain more interesting than looking at her.

  “How long until someone finds us, do you think?”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  The weighted silence grew between them. She adjusted her sling, biting on her lip to hold back the wince at the lingering discomfort.

  “Does it need stitches?” She nodded to the bandage wrapped around his thigh.

  Bryce shook his head.

  Darby took a quick mental evaluation of the situation. The plane was in pieces and rescue was doubtfully imminent. Although they’d survived, the pilot hadn’t and their meager supplies were better suited for cleaning up after a bender than surviving on an island.

  And Bryce was giving her the silent treatment.

  Awesome.

  Like it or not, they were all each other had. It was on the tip of her tongue to say as much when he cut her off.

  “You should get some more sleep. There’ll be work to do in the morning if you can handle it.”

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t ignoring her, but he still wasn’t looking at her. And the way he said handle it made it sound like she was either lazy or useless.

  “Bryce,” she began, determined to be civil.

  “Not a good time, Darby.” Colder than she could remember, his voice cut right through her.

  Whatever they’d managed to find on St. Lucia, even if it had been temporary, was gone now.

  For some reason an apology rose to her lips, but she held on to it at the last moment.

  She had nothing to apologize for. She hadn’t crashed the plane—she was pretty sure they wouldn’t have survived at all if they hadn’t joined their magic—or gone looking for those men in the woods last night, or even initiated the truce that somehow had only made things worse between them.

  It was almost as though they were right back to pretending the other didn’t exist. She’d gotten awfully good at it over the years, but she was too cold, hungry, sore and worried to expend that kind of energy.

  “Should we just draw a line right down the middle of wherever we are now and save ourselves the trouble of pretending to get along?”

  Still nothing.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that he couldn’t be bothered to snap back. The pounding in her head had worsened and maybe lying back down would help. That and some Tylenol.

  Giving them both their space, she moved back to her spot and, after taking some of the pain reliever and a mouthful of water, lay down.

  Wrapping one arm around herself to ward off the cold, she closed her eyes. Falling asleep should have been harder, but she only lay there a few moments before exhaustion began to tug at her.

  And in the last few seconds before sleep took over, she remembered telling him about the baby.

  * * *

  Bryce was gone.

  Darby knew he wasn’t lying next to her even before she opened her gritty eyes to find the sun shining through the trees and right on her face.

  Squinting, she rolled away from the light, only to sit up at the flare of pain that bit into her shoulder.

  Pressure bounced back and forth between her temples, and her s
tomach twisted with a wave of nausea. Both subsided as she sat still, breathing through her nose for long moments. The latter also kept her pulse from spiking when she didn’t spot Bryce nearby.

  He’s fine.

  Careful of moving too quickly, she crawled out from beneath the raft and stood. Her ankle throbbed—she couldn’t remember what she’d done to that—but it didn’t stop her from walking across the sandy ground until she reached the beach.

  Any other time she might have marveled at the impressive sight of the sun glinting off the water, an ocean of diamonds sparkling across the blue-green depths that moved in a soft roll to lick the wet sand a few feet away. The dark tips of a reef broke the surface farther out, slowing the ocean swells that moved beyond it for as far as she could see.

  She’d enjoyed the impressive views from the beach on St. Lucia, but knowing she and Bryce were alone here made the sight more…intimidating.

  Movement had her turning toward it, and relief replaced the lingering nausea. Bryce rounded the point carrying something on his back. Not until he drew closer could she see how much he was limping. A sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead and lines of concentration bracketed his mouth.

  “You’re finally up.” He limped right past her.

  Finally? “Must be the jet lag,” she quipped dryly.

  He didn’t acknowledge the joke.

  “If you’re mad…” she began, knowing there were things they needed to talk about. Like the fact that he’d found out what felt like only moments after the crash that she’d been pregnant with their child and lost it.

  Both his brows shot up, which was pretty impressive since he was scowling at the same time. But instead of saying “If?”, he tossed his backpack aside. “What I am is busy.” He dumped out stuff that she guessed he’d scavenged from the beach.

  She nodded toward the pile. “Is that a bird skull?” It sat next to a piece of rope, along with some ripped material, a steel disc shaped like it couldn’t make up its mind whether it was a plate or a bowl, and a piece of rubber tubing that she plucked from the top.

  Bryce took it from her and moved it, along with everything else, to a pile next to the things he’d found in their luggage. “Yeah.”

  She ran a hand through her hair, found it matted with blood. Looking down at her clothes for the first time, she noticed that her simple white T-shirt now sported more rips and stains than a kid from a Tide commercial.

  Trailing after Bryce, she watched as he stopped beside a pile of brush he’d collected while she’d been taking her catnap. Telling herself it wasn’t worth getting annoyed over his comment about sleeping in, she paused next to him. “What can I do?”

  “We need more wood to make a signal fire on the beach.”

  Shielding her eyes, she glanced in the direction he pointed, noticed the pile he’d already begun. “Think we’ll need it?” Maybe Alex couldn’t teleport to them, but Tate had to be working on it and so was Bryce’s cousin, assuming he could be found.

  “We need all the help we can get.”

  “What about this one?” The smaller fire he was working on closer to their makeshift shelter seemed more important, especially if they needed it to cook whatever kind of food they could scrounge up.

  “I got it covered.”

  Oookaaay. “How’s your leg?”

  “Fine.”

  “Could we just talk for a second?” Without anyone acting like a douche bag? Namely him.

  For the first time since just after the crash, Bryce met her eyes. “We can talk once we’re even a quarter of the way prepared for this.” He went back to digging out a spot beneath the shelter of a tree.

  Dismissed, she gave up on trying to talk. She wandered along the beach and the edge of the jungle, halfway grateful that looking for wood gave her something to focus on aside from how thirsty she was. Her stomach rumbled moments later, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since the morning before.

  She thought about the protein bar back by the raft. It wouldn’t go very far between them. Sooner rather than later they’d have to find something else to eat.

  The sun beat down on her, sweat drenching her back by the time she painstakingly gathered a good size pile of wood with her good arm and walked toward their camp. A light breeze stirred the air but wasn’t enough to cool her skin.

  Bryce was bent over a small pile of brush, blowing gently. When it didn’t so much as smolder, she watched in silence as he used a shoelace and a stick to try coaxing a flame from the small piece of bark.

  Sitting opposite him, she took a sip of water from the bottle next to him and tried her best to pretend they both weren’t hungry, injured and stranded. She nodded toward his setup. “Man vs. Wild?”

  “Thomas Lancaster vs. Magic.”

  At least he was talking to her. “I get your family’s take on magic use, but I think you might want to forgo the old-school approach this time.”

  He studied the bits of dried grass he’d nestled around the bark. Looking for signs of smoke? “I guess I’m just a naturalist.”

  “Do you find using magic that awful?” She’d never been able to fully wrap her mind around the Lancaster stance of avoiding magic. Seeing as Bryce hadn’t worn his amulet in order to keep his real identity a secret when they’d been involved years ago, it hadn’t come between them then.

  Since then, he’d made his opinion painfully clear at every opportunity.

  “I think it’s a mistake to depend on it.”

  She cocked her head. “Like we did when the plane was going down?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Gesturing to the fire, she argued, “At least let me try if you’re so determined to remain untainted.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to be this stubborn the entire time we’re stuck here?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he shot back.

  “I think our circumstances…” She trailed off. “What’s that smell?” She glanced around, then finally tipped her head back. The scorched leaves hanging over the top of them gave him away. “Naturalist, huh?”

  “Exhibit A in support of not depending on magic.”

  “Your leg is probably worse than my shoulder.” Making her far more likely to channel her magic without it backfiring.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Bryce,” she began.

  “I don’t want your help. I don’t want to talk to you. I can barely look at you right now.”

  His words sliced deep, but the hurt was quickly tempered by a decade-old anger that surged through her like they’d slipped back in time.

  Son of a bitch. “You can’t look at me?”

  He tossed aside his fire starter. “You should have told me about the baby.”

  “I tried—”

  “Not hard enough.”

  “You have no idea what I did, or what I went through.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  Rising to her feet, she stared down at him. “If you’re going to assume the worst about me, then you’re no better than your father.”

  “Why are you so determined to drag my father into everything that goes wrong with you and your family?”

  Was he fucking serious? What the hell had he been smoking while she was passed out? “Drag him into everything? Your father inserts himself into every situation like he’s the judge and jury, even when it’s none of his business.”

  Bryce frowned. “What wasn’t any of his business?”

  “Forget it. You don’t want to talk to me, remember?” She pivoted and strode away with no destination in mind other than somewhere far away from Bryce.

  He called out, but she kept going, deliberately picking up her pace, knowing it would make it harder for him to follow her. One good thing about being so angry was how much easier it was to forget how hungry, thirsty and scared she was.

  Past the cove and around the next point, she saw the grassy knoll rising above the trees. The view from up there might give her a better idea of their lo
cation. Maybe they weren’t as far from help as they thought, or she could spot a fresh-water source.

  She glanced back the way she’d come, then ahead. How long would it take her to reach the top? An hour? Long enough for Bryce to stop being an ass?

  At the very least it would give them both time to cool off. As much as she couldn’t blame Bryce for having questions or for being hurt or even angry that he hadn’t known about her pregnancy and miscarriage, she couldn’t stand there while he just assumed the worst.

  Like his father had.

  Why did everything keep coming back to Thomas Lancaster? Even when he wasn’t around he managed to create a rift between her and Bryce.

  By the time she was halfway there she’d managed to remind herself that Bryce wasn’t a carbon copy of his father and would eventually listen to the whole story. He was still too much of a lawyer to not weigh all sides of the story, whether he was upset or not.

  She certainly wasn’t up for discussing it, though, until she knew he could talk without snapping at her.

  Leaving the beach, she wove through the trees to the base of the incline, uncertainty creeping through her. Maybe she should have waited for Bryce.

  Like he’d waited for her when he went scavenging while she’d slept?

  Touching her amulet out of habit, she wiggled her shoulder, and swore under her breath at the pain. But it was tolerable. She could handle this. She didn’t sit on her ass when it came to running Calder Investigations, so she damn well wasn’t going to sit on her ass and let Bryce figure everything out for the both of them.

  Careful of the slick mud that darkened the ground in thick patches, she forged a path through damp grass and around rocks that bordered on boulder size.

  A muffle of sound reached her a short time later, and she paused to glance behind her. Trees obscured her view of the bottom of the hill, but when no more sounds came, she continued her upward trek.

  The first half of the steady climb wasn’t a problem, but all the aches from the crash, including her lingering headache, worsened until she was almost limping as she neared the top.

  Increasingly aware she risked passing out again, she sank to her knees moments later. The ocean lay spread out before her, stretching on for hundreds of miles, each one representing the enormous gap separating her from her family.