Unwanted

by Mari LaRoche

  Unwanted

  The Reckoning - Prequel

  Daphne Moore

  Mari LaRoche

  Vaughn Publishing

  Unrepentant © copyright 2021 Daphne Moore and Mari LaRoche

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover by: D. Fischer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Unrepentant - Chapter 1

  Authors Notes

  About the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Daphne Moore and Mari LaRoche

  Blank Page

  1

  Vivian turned toward home on the final stretch of her run, her hot, sweaty skin relieved by the January breeze coming off the Gulf. Oak branches rustled, drawing her attention upward.

  The Seven Sisters and Orion blazed in an unusually clear night sky; the starlight almost bright enough to cast shadows. Tonight, even Draco could be picked out with the naked eye. A night this clear on the Texas coast was rare, but even when Vivian couldn’t see the dragon-like constellation, she often glanced upward to that part of the sky.

  Her breath rasped in her throat. A run wasn’t a real run if she wasn’t panting. From her childhood to now, on the shady side of forty, she ran every day before dawn. The routine kept unwanted visions and thoughts at bay for the rest of the day, smoothing out those sharp edges she’d never been able to satisfactorily soften.

  The hallucinations were another reality she’d dealt with from childhood. Despite therapy and medications, they’d always been with her.

  She didn’t know why, but this stretch of the trail always brought unwelcome sights, and she forced herself to face them even if they weren’t real. Her skin chilled as gleaming eyes appeared in the shadows under the trees, heard the rushing, almost-words the leaves whispered. Her night vision and hearing had always been exceptionally good.

  Passing this place was one of a set of daily tests of will, each trial designed to prove to herself she was in control of her mind and her fears.

  Two figures came into focus in the shadows of the trees, and the pleasant absence of thought brought by exertion vanished. They had skin textured like bark, hair that hung in leafy strands, their faces too long and angular, chins and mouths more like muzzles. Huge, unblinking eyes met hers, and the hunger within them made her heart race even faster.

  Clearly visible in dappled starlight, the pair’s gaze tracked her as she increased her pace. Facing her fear didn’t mean she had to linger near its causes. The steady thrum of blood pounded in her ears, but not loud enough to drown out the footfalls behind her. She put everything she had into a final sprint toward her house. Nothing had ever followed her past her fence – on the rare occasions the hallucinations left the sheltering trees.

  Something brushed the back of her shirt and she pelted through the gate, sudden terror adding a desperate burst of speed. She didn’t slow until she reached her door, fumbling with her keys as she glanced over her shoulder. Both tree people stood there, along with another figure. He looked like a typical elf from a fantasy movie: a long blond braid, wiry build, with a faint aura of light around him… and scary as anything at four in the morning just outside her yard.

  Anubis stared past her, both paws up on the door as she opened it. Uncoordinated with fear, Vivian still managed to catch his harness and slam the door before he hurled himself forward. A fifteen-pound Spaniel cross, he thought he was the size of a wolfhound, and his fierce protectiveness would get him killed someday.

  He growled under her soothing hand. The cat glared out the window as well, but Bast was an equal opportunity cat. She’d glare at anyone.

  Vivian closed her eyes. The people outside would be gone when she opened them—just another short hallucination. Focusing on the mental image of them being gone helped. She’d been warned her medications couldn’t cure all of her symptoms, and she didn’t want to make an emergency appointment. Bast and Nuby were just reacting to her agitation. The idea that they weren’t really there and litany of reason slowed her heart.

  As she’d thought, no one stood outside her door when she peeked out the peephole after her breathing steadied.

  Just a hallucination.

  She’d take her shower now. Then tea and toast.

  She wrapped the comforting blanket of routine around her shoulders, letting the fear drain away with the water rushing over sweaty skin. She was in control even if she couldn’t always trust what she saw.

  Crossing the bridge to get to work on campus in Corpus Christi was the next test of her day. Vivian loved the ocean but leaving the land—even to cross a bridge—was one of the many things that frightened her. She’d crossed that bridge over and over for decades, to and from work, but every time, her heart raced until she got back on land. Remaining in the middle lane of three, keeping her eyes on the vehicles around her, she tried to ignore her acute awareness of the seawater surrounding her. The effort left her palms wet on the steering wheel.

  Each triumph over fear was another brick in the routine that anchored her life.

  She parked and headed for the library, noting the familiar sight and smell of the flowers as she strode down the wide concrete sidewalk. Through the doors, and the cool blast of air-conditioning, laden with the subtle smell of old paper, wrapped around her, easing what remained of the morning’s fears. It was an invisible hug to find everything as it should be.

  She walked past the rows of computers set up for students in the large open space. The nearby checkout desk was manned by two student workers standing and ignoring each other. Amused by their studied poses, she continued to the small offices hidden at the back of the building. The normalcy continued, calming her the farther into the library she walked.

  Vivian settled at her station. She was teaching a seminar today rather than manning the reference desk, so she’d check to make sure nothing had changed before she went to the meeting room. She turned the computer on, pulling a stuffed fish from her desk drawer to play with as she waited. She held the orange and pink toy in her lap. A trick of the light dulled its embroidered black eyes as she flicked its fins with a finger. Playing with the toy soothed her, and the silly colors made her feel as happy now as when her father had given it to her when she moved out to go to college.

  Old springs creaked as she leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling tiles. Her office space hadn’t changed much in the twenty years she’d had it. She might have moved to other rooms, but the on
ly real difference would have been the presence or absence of a window.

  A chime announced the arrival of an email and she glanced at the sender and winced. Checking her messages before her talk to the freshmen had been a bad idea after all.

  Lydia in HR could give a bulldog lessons in persistence. The woman took other people’s excess vacation hours as a personal offense. Vivian took being forced to take time off in the same light. Whenever she was gone for any amount of time, her coworkers moved things, borrowed her pens…and sometimes they let student workers loose in the reference area unsupervised.

  The last time, to her great annoyance, someone had misplaced a copy of the Arne-Thompson Index, a favorite book of hers. Having the Arne-Thompson Index handy made for fascinating reading on slow days. She had studied folktales, from Sumerian to modern Texas stories, as a hobby for years.

  It had taken Vivian days to find it again and replace it at the desk. She’d thought about chaining certain books there, as well as her pens, but when she raised the point, only half-jokingly, at the most recent staff meeting, she’d been told it gave an unfriendly vibe.

  The upshot of that comment was that HR intervened and strongly suggested she take two weeks off to burn her excess time. As they put it: a good work/life balance was essential. For her two weeks in the timeout box, she had arranged to go camping over the weekend before she took the vacation. When she mentioned her plans, Vivian could almost hear the sighs of relief.

  She replaced the fish in his drawer, gathered her bag, and strode into the atrium of the library, heading for the classroom. Today’s tasks involved a seminar on research techniques, talking to incoming freshmen on ways to find what they needed in their academic careers.

  The lecture hall was only a five-minute walk, and she was a minute early, able to watch the students wandering in and taking their seats. Not much conversation between them; most focused on their phones. She watched them sidelong as she logged in to the network where the presentation was stored. A few showed signs of life. She hoped she'd be able to share her love of research—that hunt for the gems of knowledge hidden by the years and tracked through footnotes and references.

  One of the students met Vivian’s gaze. The lights called red out of his blond hair and his skin, showing a deep golden tan, an unusual combination. He caught her eye and smiled brilliantly. She knew she’d never met him before, but an odd sense of déjà vu ran through her in that moment. An even stranger sense of attraction followed on its heels.

  An odd and discomforting reaction, given he was young enough to be her son, she didn’t know him in the least, and she’d never been attracted to anyone sexually on first meeting in her life. She turned her gaze away and ignored him.

  Flustered, she started the presentation, sinking into the familiar once again. With the ease of practice, each word rehearsed a hundred times, she walked them through the basics of the library system.

  After the freshmen filed out of the room, she took a moment to stretch. Her hips twinged as she did so; her body got irritable without regular movement.

  Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. The Olive Branch.

  She smiled. Today was her weekly lunch with Amir Jahangir. She didn’t make many friends, but they’d known each other for years, from the day a decade ago when he’d walked up to her desk just before closing on a Friday night and shyly asked for help finding primary sources on the Sassanian empire. They’d ended up at an all-night diner after the library closed, talking until dawn.

  He came up to Corpus Christi to drop off pieces for the Good Auspices gallery of modern art to show once a month. They met for lunch off-campus each time, and she drove to Port Aransas for lunch on weekends she wasn’t collecting rocks. They took turns selecting places to eat and spent the afternoon talking about everything.

  His friendship after her marriage ended had been a lifeline. What had grown between the two of them gave her something she’d thought she’d never have. He meant as much to her as the routine of the library, if in a less predictable way.

  Nowadays, they met and she recorded him retelling stories of his youth. She planned on taking classes in folklore so she could use them for research.

  She looked up the location as she walked toward the door.

  “Viv!” Annie Schmidt, another librarian, hailed her.

  Short, rounded, she looked like a sweet grandmother and was as yielding as a ball of iron. She had an insatiable curiosity and gossiped constantly. It was too late to escape, so Viv paused for her to catch up.

  “You’re out for the next two weeks?”

  “Yes, Going camping.” Through years, Viv had learned giving a little news was less painful than being pinned in conversation while Annie pried for information.

  “Could you send some pictures? I’m putting together an off-duty collage to help with relaxation, and we could use some pictures of green space.”

  “Sure.” Viv smiled.

  With an air of mission accomplished, Annie headed back to the reference desk.

  Viv headed out, inhaling as she stepped into the afternoon light. Crowded green space surrounded the building, and the sun was a welcome heat on her skin. She breathed in the scents of the day; car exhaust, flowers, sweat. They grounded her as she got in her car.

  2

  When she entered the restaurant, the smells of lamb and spices wrapped around her. She floated to the booth where Amir waited then settled into the cushion with a happy sigh. She loved lamb.

  Amir’s dark eyes laughed at her. “Hey, Viv. You approve?”

  “Can’t be sure until I get a taste,” she said with a smile.

  “You look tired.” He could always tell when she’d had a bad morning.

  She had no idea how. No one else seemed to see through her masks.

  She shifted in her seat, trying to keep matters light. “I got chased again this morning.”

  The laughter shifted to concern, and Amir brushed his fingers on the back of her hand, light as a hummingbird’s wing. “You’ve been seeing strange things more and more.”

  “Yeah.” Viv’s shoulders slumped for a moment in defeat. Then she summoned up a smile. “What can you do? Just go on.”

  “Have you ever thought that you really might be seeing things others don’t?” His tentative tone of voice made Viv want to squirm. Amir, though normally a sensible man, believed in magic, and he’d asked her that before.

  She snorted. “Not since I was a kid. I hallucinate sometimes. It doesn’t make me special.”

  “By that argument, any number of famous visions dissipate in a puff of smoke.” Easy humor returned to his tone.

  It pulled a smile out of her as the server approached. “Realism, it’s the wave of the future. Did you order?”

  He nodded. She consulted the menu for the prices. Amir always ordered the same thing if it was available, souvlaki with rice.

  Worry floated away as the pile of meat, rice, and pita was brought to the table.

  Amir’s dark good looks attracted attention whenever they went out. She had long ago stopped really looking at him. He was fit, still well-built. About ten years younger than she, though that had never really meant much, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders when loose, the weight defeating the curl it had when short. Combined with an attractive face and warm brown eyes, he was a striking sight.

  She cherished his company; he was a reserved man.

  “How did the collecting go last weekend?” From his mischievous tone, Amir knew just how wet and chilly it had gotten at the site.

  For her, mineral collecting often meant camping out. The thrill of finding just the right piece canceled out all the inconvenience.

  “It was hard getting the camp stove lit with everything soaked. That downpour came out of nowhere, and I was covered in mud. Got a really nice blue topaz and some smoky quartz, though.”

  “Worth the wet?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Are you up for another session of stories?” she aske
d. “The others have been so well received. I want to get a couple more before classes start.”

  The stories in question were ones his parents had told him of their native Pakistan. She’d been recording them, translated on the fly into English for the most part, but some he’d told her in the original language as well.

  “Of course. Next weekend, perhaps?” Amir sipped his tea.

  Her eyes flicked to the door as the bell jingled. Several young people came in, one of them the redhead from the seminar she’d taught. She glanced away from the creature that followed him, short with wide shoulders and a thick muscular body. Dark hair that resembled fur covered its head, the eyes narrow and deep-set, with a thick chin and a thin-lipped, wide mouth.

  Not real. Never real. Vivian forced her gaze to wander back to the young people. The redhead seemed to feel the scrutiny, turning to look, and she saw his brows shoot up as he caught sight of Amir.

  He made his way to their booth with his companion, a slender, dark-skinned woman wearing a leather jacket too heavy for the warm weather. “Uncle Amir? I thought you were shut up painting in Port Aransas!”

  Viv fought to keep her expression neutral as an unpleasant odor hit her nose. She’d never smelled anything like it and had no idea where it might be coming from.

  Amir smiled, though Vivian noticed the expression didn’t make it to his eyes. “Donal. It’s been a while.”

  “Do you mind if we join you?” The young man flashed Vivian a hopeful glance. “I’m Donal O’Brian, this guy’s”—he pointed his thumb at Amir—“nephew.” He turned to his companion. “Nia, this is my uncle. It’s been forever since we’ve had a chance to talk.”