Upon the River Shore

by Leona Bentley

  His earlier caution about the riverbed had me nervous, but it was shallow enough on our way to the bank that my fears were unfounded.

  “At least my house is close,” I muttered, but it was hard to be annoyed. Lane’s grin was back in full form, and dirty water dripped from his soaked hair into his face. I couldn’t look any better, but that just made it funnier. I laughed along with him as we hauled the deathtrap up the bank into Joe and Lillian’s back yard.

  “We can leave it here. Corey will bring my truck by later. He'll rub this in, fair warning.”

  It bugged me to just leave his boat sitting there, but then Joe and Lillian would hardly take it. “Are you sure?” I asked again. I hated doing it without asking their permission. I figured I could just call their hotel, make sure they didn’t mind.

  “It'll be fine.”

  I fussed until he gave in and we carried it up the steep bank, continuing on to leave it in my own backyard. “It stays here, though,” he pressed. I still didn’t like the idea of leaving it unsupervised, but then again if someone took the thing he couldn’t try to put me in it again. The trail leading into my neighbor’s yard had been muddy, and we were both even more splattered and filthy by the time we finally headed up the hill towards my house.

  As we drew near I felt a chill start at the base of my spine. All of the windows at my house were dark, and there was no way I’d left all of the lights off. I always turned at least a few of them on, without fail, each time I went out. I started walking faster, Lane’s longer legs easily keeping pace with mine. We’d been laughing only seconds ago, but I didn’t feel like laughing anymore, wanting instead to get closer and make sure my paranoia was unfounded.

  The screen was open, not enough to draw attention but just enough that I could see it. My heart shuddered in my chest, and I took off, racing through the door and past the mess thrown over the living-room, taking the stairs two at a time to find my girl.

  Olive was in the first place I looked, the back of my linen closet behind my extra quilts. Her big yellow eyes peered up at me when I pulled the door fully open. She yowled, ears tipping back. Whenever Morgan had taken one of his fits she’d always run for a closet.

  I knelt down and stroked her head, her back, taking her in and trying to keep my eyes from tearing up as I fought back my fear. She was safe. Whatever else had happened, my girl was still here.

  I’d always wanted a pet. It was the only thing I’d ever pushed Gramp for, and it was one of the few things he had ever refused me. Gram had hated cats, calling them devils’ creatures, and Gramp had refused my pleas even years after she was gone.

  Then, the day we’d found Gramp dead, I’d broken inside. Geoff had taken over managing our lives, and I just let him. I’d eaten when told to, showered when told to, and put my hands to any task he dragged me out to face. For two weeks I’d lived like that, the only exception being when I crept into my brother’s room at nights and slept in his old rocker.

  At the end of those two weeks, having had enough, Geoff had grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, yanking me away from a pile of sewing, and shoved me into our old pick-up. I didn’t ask where he was taking us, and he didn’t volunteer.

  At the end of the drive, we’d pulled into a little yellow house out in the country. That was where, five hours later and a few hundred dollars poorer, he’d placed a scrawny, weird-looking, yowling, slightly-distressed Siamese kitten into my hands.

  I’d loved her instantly.

  By the time we’d made it home, there was a softer contentment brimming in her purring little body, I had named her Olive in memory of Gramp’s favorite food, and Geoff had managed to shake me back awake in a way I’m not sure anything else could have. Losing her, now, after everything else? I wasn’t sure I could take it. She definitely didn’t deserve it.

  I left her there, wanting nothing more than to curl up in that corner with her and escape the reality out there. I could hear Lane cursing as he looked around the living room, righting things and sifting through the destruction.

  I walked down the steps, careful this time of the damp mess I had left on them, and joined him. He turned from Gram’s broken lamp to look at me, eyes wide and expression concerned. The china figurines were scattered bits of porcelain, little chipped faces and delicate bodies now shapeless shards. “Jeez, Brett, are you okay?”

  No, not overly. I’d been starting to feel safe in this little haven, and now I didn’t know how to feel. Right that moment I wasn’t feeling much, just a yawning sense of exhaustion and a creeping chill seeping into my bones.

  “Brett?”

  I flinched when he grabbed my shoulder, then shook my head. It’s just Lane here with me, I reminded myself. He started to pull away, and I caught his hand, giving him a small shrug.

  “Sorry,” I told him. “I just don’t know…”

  That pretty much covered the list of things: how to feel, what to do, to think. I could run again. The thought flashed through my mind, but I discarded it. Lane and his brother would be safer without me here, and maybe it would keep me safe for a time, but my resources wouldn’t hold out forever. Olive and I would run out of money, or the car would break down, and the prospect of being alone again and on the streets would be enough to send me back to even Morgan.

  And Morgan. Could it be him? If so, how had he even found me? The only one who knew I was here was my old boss Jake Foster, and he was human.

  “You’re not staying here. We’ll go through what we can. Then I’m taking tomorrow off and we’ll go through the rest. Do you have any idea what this was about?”

  The thought of Lane helping was a comfort. I wasn’t sure how I would feel going through all of this mess alone.

  “Maybe some kids?” I answered.

  “We don’t get that here,” Lane argued, though he sounded unsure. “I’ve never heard of them breaking in somewhere like this. Hell, I don’t even remember hearing of anyone getting broken into here in the last ten years.”

  I shrugged, not really having anything to say. He sighed, leaving my side to go pick up some broken glass. I stood around uselessly, staring at the mess of stripped boxes and thrown property. Knowledge that I should be looking for anything missing warred with my desire to go upstairs, lie down, and just wait for my panic to pass.

  Lane must have picked up on how lost I felt, for after a few more minutes he gave up and dragged me out onto the veranda. Everything was fine out there, no signs of any malicious activity in the sunlit haven. I breathed in, listening to the chimes drifting from Lillian and Joe’s charm, so grateful it was somehow safe. I wanted to drag the soft, calming sound into me and cling to it until I felt like I could really breathe.

  Lane let me sit quietly for a bit before finally speaking up. “Come stay with me tonight,” he told me. “I’ll get Corey to come now and we’ll take it easy. I’ll come over with you tomorrow and help right everything.”

  I wanted to. God, did I want to. Lane was the only good thing I could cling to right now, but it wasn’t possible. “I can’t leave Olive.”

  “Of course not.” He rested his large hand on my shoulder, curling his fingers around the groove of my bone and squeezing gently. I lifted my hand to his, curling my fingers over his larger ones and pinning it there. The weight was a comfort, no matter how short a time I’d known him. “Go get her ready. Take as long as you need. I’ll call Corey and get him over here.”

  He meant that offer, too. There was no annoyance hidden under his surface, just honest concern and a hope-fueled impatience for my answer.

  I swallowed and nodded, giving in with more relief than I cared to admit. “Okay.”

  ****

  I bedded down on Lane’s couch using blankets he dug out of a closet. “I’m sorry they aren’t washed,” he told me for about the fifth time. When he started to take them to trade for the ones on his bed I surprised myself by laughing, my mood lightening for the first time since I’d walked up the hill and seen my house.

  “Giv
e me those horrible dusty things and get to bed,” I ordered. He gave a sheepish grin and finally let me make the couch up.

  Olive was hiding in a corner of the closet where he’d found the blankets. I hadn’t been able to leave her home, not if Morgan was around, but she was miserable here. I’d asked Lane if he minded leaving the closet door open and he hadn’t. He’d no sooner walked over to the couch than she’d rushed into it from her hiding space behind me and taken up residency.

  My girl loved closets.

  "Will you be all right out here on your own?"

  It was sweet of him, but I refused to be that fragile. Besides, even if I couldn't sleep there was no sense in both of us being exhausted the next day.

  “I'm fine,” I assured him. "Thanks for letting me stay here tonight. I'll feel better in the morning."

  He nodded, hovering. “Would you like more soup?”

  He'd put on a can of tomato soup as soon as we'd walked in, and I'd had to eat over half of it under his watchful eyes. Again, sweet, but the last thing I'd wanted was to eat.

  “I'm good, thanks.” I threw him my best fake smile. “I'm more tired than anything else.”

  He nodded and hesitated, clearly feeling awkward, before leaning over and kissing me. It was deeper than our last, but lacked the heat we'd shared that night on the couch. It was more for comfort, and I leaned into him, cupping the back of his neck and stroking the fine hair at the nape.

  While I had no idea why he was still there, it'd be a lie if I said I wasn't grateful for his solid presence.

  “Good night, Brett,” he told me when we broke apart.

  “Good night,” I answered, brushing our lips together once more.

  I wanted to pull him back down and keep him there with me. Even with the mess of fear and concern simmering under his skin, his energy was a comfort I was growing addicted to. I’d never known anyone so sweet, and I wanted to curl myself up in his presence until I could forget that the rest of the world existed.

  I let him go, missing him when the connection between our skin fell away.

  ****

  I spent the night tossing, my mind worrying over whether or not it had been Morgan. There was no way he could know where I was, and break-ins couldn't be that uncommon even if Lane thought so, but the fear wouldn't fade. Tomorrow I had to see if anything was missing, or if there were any clues left behind.

  Chapter Nine

  Lane took the morning off work to help me sift through the mess in my house, and no amount of badgering would chase him off. At least it took a lot less time to put things back together.

  Olive, relieved to be home, had darted out of her carrier and up the stairs without a single look at her food bowls. That suited me fine, since I intended to scrub them both down before giving her anything in either. If it had been Morgan’s doing, a thought I refused to let myself believe but couldn’t quite shake, then I didn’t put anything past him.

  “Anything missing?” Lane asked for about the third time since we’d started an hour before.

  My answer remained the same. “Nothing.”

  I'd have preferred something to have been taken. If my television or laptop were stolen then it'd be easier to chalk it up to a regular break-in, but with nothing obviously missing it was harder to do. While Gramp’s dishes had somehow survived the storm, Gram’s lamps were both shattered beyond repair, as were her figurines. The bits of glass we’d finished gathering that morning were so small that I worried for Olive’s paws. Lane sent some wind hissing over the floorboards for me, little breezes that uprooted dust and glass alike to gather in a small pile. He didn’t ask why I couldn’t do it myself. I thanked him, hoping he’d chalk it all up to nerves.

  “I’ll get Ma’s vacuum and run it over the room later,” he offered. “It’ll pick up anything I might have missed.”

  Everything had been taken out of the boxes and thrown, and the boxes themselves destroyed. It was all a huge mess, although very little was actually broken other than the lamps and some old ornaments.

  "Let's go get some lunch," Lane finally sighed after a few hours had gone by. He stood back and looked over the room. It should've looked at least close to how it had before, since all the glass was missing and everything I owned was, while no longer in boxes, piled up to the side. Nothing looked the same anymore.

  "Carole's?" I asked.

  "Got it in one,” he grinned, trying hard to look upbeat. “You need comfort food, and Carole makes excellent comfort food.”

  We took Lane’s truck, driving in a rare silence. Lane hadn’t seemed to know what to say to me since the break-in, though he kept trying. I appreciated both his effort and his periodic silences.

  As soon as we entered the rustic restaurant Carole was in front of us, leading the way to the table we usually took.

  “Corey told me,” she said as greeting. What, exactly, she’d been told didn’t need saying. “I’m really sorry about what happened.” She looked uncomfortable, more so than a break-in should warrant, and I was instantly on guard. “I know you’re already having a hard time, but I thought you should know … your old boss passed away.”

  Blood rushed into my ears, and I thought for a moment I’d topple. Lane grabbed me, gave me a shake and crushed me against his chest. It hurt, actually—he was built like a brick shithouse, as Gramp always used to say. The thought made me want to laugh, that or sob.

  God, could things not get worse? Carole hissed something at Lane, and he relaxed his hold, letting me breathe again.

  “I should go.” My voice came out high and shaky. Carole was rubbing my back soothingly, murmuring concern. I shuddered beneath her hand, now sure I had to know who had broken into my house.

  Lane made our farewells and led me to his truck. As soon as I climbed into the monster I buried my head in my arms, leaning against the dash and swallowing the waves of sorrow and guilt. It must have been Morgan, but how could he dare? Did he finally snap? Why had the council not done something to stop him?

  “What can I do?”

  Lane. God, how would I keep him safe in all of this? If Morgan was mad enough to kill someone without magic, what would he do to Lane? If Morgan was here, and who else could it possibly be, then he must already know. What must he even want? I pictured Morgan in the throes of one of his fits, the madness that burned in his eyes and the manic movements he made in act and word. He would kill Lane. Probably me, too.

  “I need to go home.”

  If Lane’s hovering before had been bad, now it was far worse. He still wasn’t asking any questions, which had to be eating him up. Instead he fed Olive, found us crap television to watch, and held me when I finally broke down. He just rubbed my back and hugged me against him, murmuring nonsense into my hair between snarky comments about the silly things the actors were doing on the screen.

  The afternoon wore on, and he finally had to return to work. Despite his best efforts I stayed at the house when he left, though I promised to let him stay the night, which he took as at least some victory.

  I called Carole as soon as he left, schooling myself to sound normal as I waited for her to pick up. "Carole’s," she greeted. I was lucky to have gotten her and not one of the others.

  "I'm sorry to bother you at work," I blurted.

  She was silent for a moment, then, "Brett?"

  "Yeah."

  "How are you?"

  “I'm okay. Thank you, really. I'm sorry to ask, but did anyone mention how Jeff died?”

  She was quiet a second. “No, sweetie,” she told me. “Sorry. They just said he'd passed.”

  I thanked her and told her I'd see her soon.

  “Rest up,” she told me, “and feel better.”

  After the call I sat staring at my cell for a solid hour before finally picking it up off my lap again and texting Denise, my old coworker. I knew her number by heart, as she’d been the one I’d called for shift trades whenever Morgan had left me particularly sore.

  I'd made a clean break when I lef
t my job, changing my number and only telling my boss where I was going. While he wasn't a mage, he'd had suspicions about my relationship and had been more than happy to keep my secret. I wondered now if I'd given him a final reason to regret knowing.

  She wouldn't know this number so I started with my name, then asked if she knew what had happened to Jake.

  My phone rang about five seconds later.

  "Oh-my-God, Brett, where the hell are you?" She shrieked in my ear, louder than I'd ever heard her speak. "Your number—online says that area code is on the other side of the country!"

  I flinched, wishing I'd thought this through a bit more. I'd been so focused on my question I hadn't considered her own likely ones.

  "I had to leave," I told her. "It was pretty sudden. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye."

  "Brett, you vanished and then Jake was killed… We thought you were, too! That they just didn't have a body!"

  The little warmth left in me seeped out. "Killed," I echoed, my suspicions turning into chilling truth. "How?"

  I heard a door shut on the other end of the line and Denise lowered her voice. "It was a mage, had to be," she whispered into the receiver. "He was torn apart. God, Brett, the energy alone left rents in the cement around him." She let out a hiss of breath between her teeth. "A human, killed by a mage. An Invert. Everyone is in an uproar. The police called it a sick homicide, and the mages are all up in arms. They have got to be working it. We’ve been running the place still, but we’re going to have to close. The old clients have all boycotted it."

  I sat silently, having no idea what to say. Denise filled it in. "It makes no sense. He was sweet, had a good family. Who would be gutsy enough to slaughter a human, and why our boss? We thought—” She broke off with a strange noise, and I tensed.

  "Thought what?" I asked uneasily.

  "I shouldn't…" she sighed, huffed. "I'm sorry. We thought it was one of those guys who were always checking in on you. We figured maybe Jake got between them and the both of you ended up killed."