Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) by Nicolette Jinks Page B

being roughly held by two father figures.
     
    The young woman saw herself and shrieked, “Don't do it! Don't do it!”
     
    I grabbed Mordon's hand, squeezed it tight, and said, “Give me all the energy you've got.”
     
    He clasped a fist into my hair and kissed me hard. His magic flowed into me, replenishing what I'd lost by futilely thrashing it against a residual wind. More power filled my veins, my muscles, making my hair stand on end.
     
    Then the air compressed about my chest, knocking the breath out of me. Mordon's gasp broke through my pain. I focused, driving my magic straight down, into the Grand Master's protective circle. He hadn't been alone in making it. All the village elders had contributed, tossing their strength into the pot, and many years of natural power had fed into the circle, strengthening it for its nightly battering.
     
    I heard their voices in my ears. I clutched onto them, listening to them harder and harder until I heard them in normal tones. When I opened my eyes, I saw the thirteen of them standing in a circle around this pavilion, in the process of making the circle.
     
    I plunged into the process, yelling the words in my mind over and over, until I blended with the spell-casting. My magic and Mordon's swirled into the present-day spell, infecting it with his strength. My eyes were darkening and my lungs burned. The residual young woman was back in a boat, rowing it fiercely. She was about to reach the circle, and she'd find it still closed.
     
    I commanded them to let her go.
     
    The elder ghosts turned to me, blinking, scowling, some surprised.
     
    Let her go.
     
    The mother figure objected, and the others listened.
     
    “Then break apart.”
     
    They stared at me in confusion, then my command spread through the spell, disintegrating it. The wind and rain broke through the inner protection surrounding the pavilion and the ghosts swooped down.
     
    The pavilion plunged into free fall. My stomach soared upwards, I grasped for Mordon's hands. And the young woman put her hand against the outermost sphere. Pain flooded my senses, my stomach was in my mouth, and all I wanted to do was scream as we dove down through nothing, knowing that the inky blackness of a watery death awaited.
     

     

     
    My knees clattered against the dock, jarring me to a stop. Mordon grunted as he hit the wood planks beside me. Pain and adrenaline flooded my senses.
     
    I gasped, choking on air, blinking tears from my eyes.
     
    It was bright. Midday. Lyall stood on the dock, his boat tied to it. There was no sign of ghosts, no storm, and no uncontrollable wind. My ears rang with the complete silence.
     
    Everything was as it had been when we'd landed here yesterday. My heart still pounded through my veins and my body was still recovering from the terror of falling through nothing. My mind was still thrumming with the echo of the protective ward, and my skin was wet with sweat. A breeze chilled me and stiffened the hair on my arms. One glance at Mordon confirmed it: he was every bit as astounded as I was.
     
    The water was calm. Lyall looked on at us with suppressed amusement, as if he had seen his friend stumble and found it funny.
     
    I sagged onto the dock, laying flat on my back and just breathing. The water tapped against the posts of the dock, and I heard the flap of a duck as she beat her wings against the surface of the water. After this was the soft calls of her ducklings. The wood under my shirt felt scratchy and uncomfortable, but I wasn't ready yet to come to terms with what had happened. Mordon moved.
     
    Mordon climbed to his feet, brow wrinkled in confusion. I gathered my legs under my body, gaping in awe at my surroundings, trying to get my bearings.
     
    “Need help?” Lyall asked, offering his hand.
     
    When I didn't take Lyall's hand, he took out his pipe, filled it, and started to smoke. He said in a tourist-guide sort of way, “Part of my job is to look after the old monuments.