He scrabbled over its rough surface, trying to find something, anything, that would help. Maybe the wall was an illusion. Yes. That was it. Castelain was using magic to hide Emma. Except it felt real. When he cut the fleshy heel of his hand against a sharp edge, the blood welling to the surface of his skin was real. The smears the blood left behind on the wall were real, too.
“Emma! Emma!” He pounded against the wall, unmindful of the pain shooting up his arm. “Emma, can you hear me?” Or feel me?He moved up and down the wall, kicking at the bottom. “Emma? Please.”
Grit rubbed into the open cuts on his hands. When the skin became raw from his pounding, he looked around for the collar he’d discarded at the start. It rested, forgotten, on the floor several feet away, and he snatched it up, winding it around and around his right hand. The leather would protect him. It might get scratched and scuffed, but he had to keep trying.