Upon the River Shore

by Leona Bentley

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Leona Bentley

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-823-5

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my love Casey, for standing beside me through every struggle, and keeping me sane all these long years.

  UPON THE RIVER SHORE

  Leona Bentley

  Copyright © 2018

  Prologue

  Fingertips traced the swelling of my cheek, taking no care to be gentle against my darkening flesh. His emotions drifted to me through the rough touch: possessiveness, lust, and an impatience to be off.

  “Remember to call, baby. Six o’clock every night.”

  His way to make sure I was where I should be, and not out without supervision.

  “I’ll remember,” I assured him. He was four years older than my twenty-five years, but the hard lines of his face looked to belong to someone who had lived a lot longer. That self-possession had been what drew me to him in the first place.

  “And I’ll be back in a week. Jordan and Fain will drop by and check on you.”

  They would, too, but not that night. They never dropped by the first night when Morgan left town. They were too lazy, too sure I’ve been broken into my place.

  Fingers slid beneath my chin, jerking my face up. Dark brown eyes stared into mine, the false warmth of his smile in contrast with the broiling emotions beneath it. His long-fingered hand squeezed, rose to pat my cheek, then withdrew, taking with it my awareness of his sickening underbelly.

  If he could feel how I felt, he’d know my nerve-tingling eagerness for him to pick up that suitcase and walk out that door.

  A few minutes more, I promised myself. Then he’d leave, and I could be free of him. I just had to make it out of the city limits before morning and my escape would be had.

  Forever.

  Chapter One

  Rocks seethed in complaint beneath my tires as I turned off cracked pavement onto a rocky driveway. Silver birch and old pine moved against the grey morning sky on a cool wind that carried the taste of spring.

  My new house. Finally.

  It was a lot smaller than the places where I had lived before. That was a change I was going to enjoy. My childhood home had been too large, too cold and lonely. Being there after my brother died had sent me running the first time. That initial flight had led me to Morgan and a nightmare as terrible as the one I’d lived before him.

  Setting my teeth and determined to ignore thoughts of him, at least for now, I centered myself instead on the present

  White pull-blinds obscured the interior of the small veranda, but around the side of the house I could see a sloped hill rolling down to a stretch of empty, overgrown garden before falling off to dip into a grey splash of river. It was as different from the old ranch land of my grandparents as it was the high-rise apartment Morgan kept. I needed that, too, a new home, a new life, and a place to figure out who I was.

  The peeling paint and stooping front step evidenced the house’s age, but all the work on Gramp’s home had been done by our three hands—mine, Geoff’s and Gramp’s own. I could do this, and maybe the work would keep me from dwelling on things I needed to forget.

  The surrounding homes were quaint but well-tended, separated from mine by large yards, just as my realtor had assured. I was desperate for peace, and this place should be good for that. I just needed time to settle and get my bearings. Loneliness was a familiar feeling for me. Living here, living out west—where I was wouldn’t change that. Driving across the country wasn’t about escaping that reality. It was about living. I was the last surviving member of my family, and I had made up my mind a month ago to refuse to just lie down and quit.

  Only a few more signatures and this would be mine.

  A short distance down the roughly paved road and the scattered houses gave way to another swath of trees, swallowing the view of the river in a sea of birch, pine, and who knew what else. I’d never seen so many trees as I had since crossing from west to east. Even after days of driving through tree-encroached roads and mountains, the sheer amount of greenery here was startling. It was beautiful in a rugged, untamed sort of way.

  My little backseat passenger crawled between the two front seats to walk over me and peek out the window. I reached down to rub between her brown ears, smiling as she propped herself up against the window and yowled to be set free—as if I had any intention of letting her roam, city girl that she was.

  “What do you say, Olive?” I asked her, trying to let my tension go and just enjoy the moment. I let her have her fill of looking, then plopped her down onto the passenger seat and hopped outside.

  Shivering in the crisp air, I wandered into the yard, looking over the fresh-cut ground and taking in everything. The cracked cement walkway leading to the veranda would need some work, and I’d have to check the boards of the front step soon before I ended up falling through them, but those were minor problems. The gentleman who had owned it before me had gardened, but I had no intention of taking up that hobby. The garden out back would be left just as it was, and it couldn’t finish growing over fast enough. Looking at its shape made me shiver, and had me pushing back memories I couldn’t bear to face.

  I could still hardly wrap my head around my standing here, on the opposite side of the country from where I had grown up, with a new home and no more Morgan. Three months ago, I’d made the terrifying decision to change my life. Morgan Langseth, my former lover of four years, had finally crossed the line, and I’d decided to leave. I’d let him vent his frustrations on me for years and had swallowed it all, Gramp’s warnings heavy on my mind where the pain could not reach. Being alone made you a target for the Faded, our shadowy overlords, and as the last of my family, I’d known that I was in more danger by leaving than I was by staying.

  It hadn’t seemed like such a problem at first, really. I’d had an older brother, and we’d spent most of our childhood shoving and punching each other. Since Geoff was a few years older than I was, I’d always gotten the worse end of the deal, but that hadn’t stopped my trying. When Morgan first hit me I’d been startled, hurt, but no warning bells had gone off.

  I’d gone over for supper. When I told him I didn’t want to spend the night, since I had an early shift, he’d said I was pushing him away. We devolved into shouting, and then he’d bruised my jaw.

  I’d been furious, jerking away when he reached for my arm and telling him to back off. I’d left. The next day he had called, all apologies. Hating and dreading being alone again, I had taken him at his word. For a while after that it was just words—couldn’t I remember what he liked; why did I need so much personal time; and why was I so selfish. He pushed for more and more, taking over more of my life than I realized. I hadn’t realized how bad things were getting, not really. It sounds ridiculous but is true. It wasn’t until we were living together for a few months that I understood my mistake. By then, when he hit I just swallowed it, and felt more guilty than anything else.

  Then, three months ago, Morgan had taken a kick at Olive. While I’d never acted on his treatment of me, not after that first time, I wouldn’t let her suffer for my weakness. She was so tiny, a littl
e gift from my deceased brother, and I loved her too much to let Morgan destroy her.

  Instead, I’d quietly packed some of the furniture in Gramp’s old place, bought this one as quickly as law—human and mage alike—would allow, and now my life out west was a memory I could work at forgetting. Hiding my actions from Morgan had been the easy part. He’d always been lost in himself, and the very idea that I could leave him wouldn’t have ever crossed his mind. Finding movers, leaving my job, and making myself take that first terrifying step? That had been much harder.

  It was the thought of leaving that had terrified me for years, keeping me with him even after I knew it would someday mean my death. Now, though, standing here and staring at the work I was facing, I just felt relief. I knew he would know I was gone by now, but I had orchestrated everything perfectly. Only my boss had known my plan, and since he was a human he was out of Morgan’s reach.

  Taking one last long look at my new house, I climbed back into my car, checked the map to make sure I knew where to go, and headed on for town.

  It was a short distance, five minutes at most, to the inn where I’d be spending the night. It was called Farthing Lodge, and to get there I had to drive into the center of the little town of Landings. My first view of the town left me with a mixed impression. I forced myself to try to only see the good.

  It was quaint, like everything else I was seeing around the area, with old store-fronts and other old-fashioned homes and buildings lining the main road. I was pretty sure I passed half a dozen tiny wooden churches once I hit the town limits, and if it wasn’t for the scattering of more modern buildings, like the grocery store and other little odds and ends, I would have been sure I’d driven back in time. People looked up as I drove by, some raising their hands and others just staring.

  Would hiding, something I’d been raised to do, be more difficult here than I expected? The town was smaller than I’d realized, but small was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? I could build a nice, quiet home here, and there was enough money in my account to keep us fed and comfortable for several years. That should be plenty of time to find work and get my feet under me.

  When I found the inn, I hopped out and shoved Olive into her carrier before she had the chance to realize what was happening. She scrambled around inside, pacing the length and upsetting the balance as she screamed outrage. It was a struggle to keep both her and my knapsack balanced.

  “Troubles?” a laughing voice called.

  I started, twisted, and found a tall, blond man grinning a few steps away. As I gawked, trying to gasp back my galloping heart and wrangle up a few words in response, he chuckled, raised a hand, and turned back to the two almost-as-tall men next to him. They looked happy, comfortable in their skin and in each other’s. I watched them walk down the road as my shaking hands relaxed and my breath steadied, words unuttered.

  Just nerves. Foolish. That was exactly the first impression I wanted to make around here. Exhaustion from my all-night drive, maybe. Too late now. The sooner I could rest, the better. I had been on the road for days, and that would render anyone easy to startle.

  The older couple who ran the place met me with an open door, not waiting for me to knock but throwing the door wide before I made it all the way to the steps. The woman noticed my bruised eye, and I could see her startle though she tried to cover it up with a smile. I couldn’t blame her surprise—even five days later the swelling was noticeable, the bruising taking its time to fade.

  “Come on in!”

  She was adorable, with a pudgy face and a graying pixie-cut. Her husband, more reserved, was wiry and looked like the rancher stereotype, complete with mustache. He offered me his hand. “Joe Briggs,” he told me, voice warm and hand firm. “This is my wife, Lillian.”

  “Brett Garder,” I smiled, shaking first his hand and then hers. “I believe I spoke to you on the phone.” They were warm, good people. My brief contact with their hands granted me a glimpse of pleasant and welcoming emotions. She was brimming with excitement, while her husband felt mostly amused and slightly curious. I envied them their contentment. It was rare, in my experience.

  My grandparents had almost never felt content when my skin brushed theirs. I was one of the unwanted shadows that rarely cropped up in old family lines. Inverted. That was part of the reason Gramp had always insisted that I be careful around others. I couldn’t channel magic like my brother and the rest of our family, but instead had the energies locked within my own skin. The little I could channel out was only through physical touch, and only to other living creatures. My ability was limited to assisting with healing, and as an added “gift”, I could feel people’s emotions upon physical contact.

  Those curses made me a liability, as our society was built on secrecy. How many, after all, can turn a blind eye when a child is hurt and needs help, even a non-magical one? Or when there is an accident, and you could help maintain a life until paramedics arrived? Those like me were watched closely, and it was better to not be recognized by the Faded, those shadowy figures who governed our society.

  I had been lucky all these years, no matter what else. Gramp had sheltered me, making sure they didn’t know what I was. He fed my brother Geoff and me line after line about being alone in the world, and only trusting to our small little family. Even Morgan, twisted as he had turned out to be, had preferred others not to know what a thing he had happened on when he found me.

  Strength was the only safety in our world, and strength could only truly be found in numbers. Only those on the council, the Faded, had a measure of protection. Even then, they could be justified murders if it was in a challenge. Any could be challenged. Death meant weak. Weak meant you would take whatever they chose to do—kill, torture—because they were better. Stronger.

  The government itself consisted of the strongest among our people, whether by skill or wits. Throwbacks heavily populated their numbers, but not ones like me. I was fully inverted, which meant I was weak. Where other throwbacks had strengths that our people respected and feared, all I offered my family was a curse.

  Geoff had been normal, lucky him. Being a mage wasn’t like television, with chants and blood and ritual. Not usually, at least. It could be explosions, and balls of fire or gusts of wind. It could also be whisper-soft breezes against drying clothes hung in the sun, or a warm sense of peace impressed into welcoming charms.

  It was, at its base, energy. That was how Gramp had always explained it. Mages, regular ones, could reach outside themselves to manipulate non-living energies. Inverted ones, like me? Our energies turned inward. Those of my particular strain, healers, could only connect to living energies. It took physical touch to make the connection, but then that was it.

  Others, partially inverted, were born able to reach both inward and outward. They couldn’t access healing energies the way I could, but the abilities they did have made them far better off.

  Lillian and Joe broke me from my musing and ushered me inside. A second warm rush of pleasant ease washed over me from the welcome charms worked into the small lobby. Those without magic would attribute it to the hominess of the setting, which wouldn’t be completely misplaced, as the rustic wooden planking of the walls and the serene paintings of the river and solitary fishermen suggested a content and restful atmosphere. Lillian and Joe’s own sunny smiles completed that picture. Just looking at them took some of the weight off me. I knew what I looked like, short, bony, too-long black curls and a slow-to-fade bruise darkening the side of my face. They didn’t have to be so welcoming, and that they were made something in my chest relax.

  “Thanks for letting me keep Olive here tonight.”

  “No problem, son,” Joe answered. “We’ve the only hotel here, and it wouldn’t be right to make you sleep thirty minutes away when you’re going to be our neighbor.”

  I hadn’t known that and told them as much. Lillian laughed. “Kay probably worried it’d scare you away,” she joked, slapping her husband’s arm playfully. Joe bore it with a
rolling of his eyes and a snort. I wondered what else Kay might have told them about me, but figured it better not to ask. Privacy was important in our world, and she had been nothing but professional and helpful.

  “Scared you might scare him, maybe,” he rejoined. While we spoke, he kept looking down at Olive’s carrier, bemused. When I set her down by the front desk he knelt to peek through the metal slats. “Siamese, just as you say,” he muttered. “Ain’t he—she?—something.”

  “She,” I smiled. “Olive.”

  “Well, we’ll be happy to have the two of you here.” He poked a finger between the slats, and, amazingly, my girl rubbed her cheek against it. She had still been hiding from Morgan in our apartment out west, and we’d been living together almost five years.

  It turned out that I was the only one staying there. I hoped it would stay that way. Joe and Lillian’s interest in being neighborly might switch to annoyance once customers started complaining about how noisy my girl was. Seriously, she was the noisiest cat I’d ever met. Morgan had raged about that the first night he had spent in my apartment. I wish I’d looked deeper before moving in with him. I’d been too desperately alone, willing to grab to anyone to escape my yawning, terrible loneliness and terror.

  The room that they led me to was small but neat, with a mini-fridge and a large, six-cup coffee perk. The sight of the bed was welcome after so long driving. I’d pulled an all-nighter in order to cut the drive short another day, and I felt it. Still, no time for the bed just yet.

  I brought in Olive’s litter-box and food bowls from the floor of the car and refilled both before releasing her from the carrier. I then used my phone to let my realtor know I’d arrived.