Fugitive by Magic: a Baine Chronicles novel (The Baine Chronicles: Fenris's Story Book 1)

by Jasmine Walt

  Table of Contents

  Fenris

  Mina

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Fugitive by Magic

  Book One of The Baine Chronicles: Fenris’s Story

  Jasmine Walt

  Dynamo Press

  Copyright © 2017, Jasmine Walt. All rights reserved. Published by Dynamo Press.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to jasmine@jasminewalt.com

  Cover illustration by Judah Dobin

  Cover typography by Rebecca Frank

  Edited by Mary Burnett

  Electronic edition, 2017. If you want to be notified when Jasmine’s next novel is released and get access to exclusive contests, giveaways, and freebies, sign up for her mailing listhere. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Fenris

  2. Mina

  3. Fenris

  4. Mina

  5. Mina

  6. Fenris

  7. Mina

  8. Fenris

  9. Mina

  10. Fenris

  11. Mina

  12. Fenris

  13. Mina

  14. Mina

  15. Fenris

  16. Fenris

  17. Mina

  18. Mina

  19. Mina

  20. Fenris

  21. Mina

  Glossary

  About the Author

  1

  Fenris

  Home sweet home.

  Those were the first words, rife with sarcasm, that echoed through my head as I stood outside the farmhouse, hands in my tunic pockets. The sight was nearly enough to make me turn on my heels and leave for good. As I stared at the crooked chimneys, the peeling paint, and the rusty rainwater pipe, I wondered how I’d fallen so far.

  But then, what had I expected after buying this place sight unseen? At least the house was fairly big—family-sized, the advertisement had said—and though the proportions were not pleasing, I could live with them.

  Taking a deep breath, I did my best to ignore the unpleasant exterior and approached the door. The owner had painted it a very unfortunate shade of green. When I gripped the tarnished handle, I had to remind myself of the reasons that brought me to this dilapidated farmhouse.

  After nearly being arrested by Garrett Toring, who had come far too close to exposing my secret, I had used the cover of Solantha’s disastrous quake to flee. It had pained me to leave Sunaya and Iannis behind, especially knowing they would be spending many long, arduous months cleaning up the aftermath, but it had no longer been safe for me to remain in Solantha. I needed to be far from any mages intent on catching and executing me. And, as I’d just experienced, Abbsville was a tedious three-hour steambus ride away from the closest mages here in Watawis. I also needed to live away from other shifters, who would soon notice how unlike them I was and sniff out any magic I might use.

  When I’d first left Solantha, I’d thought I could simply disappear into another city and live out my days using a magical disguise. But just a few weeks ago, I had nearly been caught through my love of old manuscripts and magical scholarship and had been forced to leave the city I’d been hiding in. Abbsville, a tiny human town with a population of around eight hundred, was the perfect place for me to settle. This hamlet had no shifters or mages to out me, and there was not so much as a single bookshop or public library to tempt me into old habits.

  Besides, I thought as I went into the house, the mountain ranges and endless forests are quite lovely. This place was ideal in many ways for a shifter—I would be able to run free and hunt on full-moon nights. If I stayed away from the farms, there would be no issue.

  I’d attempted to be discreet with my arrival, but I must have been noticed because less than three hours later, a visitor arrived. As I sat at my kitchen table, sipping coffee and gloomily considering all the improvements I would have to make to this place, I heard a steamtractor approach. Its high-pitched whine ripped through the pleasant spring morning, drowning out the songs of twittering birds.

  Annoyed, I set my cup aside and pushed back the dusty curtain. The clumsy vehicle was still some five acres away from my doorstep.

  As the steamtractor lumbered down the unpaved road, I zeroed in on the young man driving it. He was big and muscular, dressed in a straw hat and suspenders—no more than twenty-three. There was an open expression of curiosity on his face, for which I couldn’t blame him. A stranger from out of state had just taken up residence in an all-human farming community. I was an anomaly, and I’d known when I’d bought the place I would be dealing with nosy neighbors.

  I only wished they’d given me at least one day to settle in before showing up.

  The young man killed the tractor’s engine with a last loud belch, and I relaxed as blessed silence filled the air once more. Well, not really silence. The sounds of nature rushed back in—the twittering birds, the rustling trees, the water trickling through the ancient plumbing. But these were easily tuned out—in the four years since I’d become a shifter, I’d learned to acclimate to my sharper senses, to “turn down the volume” so I would not be so easily distracted by every little noise.

  I made it to the front door just as my visitor knocked, and pulled it open. The sweet smell of ripe strawberries wafted from the basket looped over the man’s arm. Not what I had expected.

  “Good morning,” he said, looking quite taken aback—maybe he thought I hadn’t heard him approach? But no, it was more likely that he hadn’t expected a shifter to answer the door. With our distinctive eyes, we were immediately set apart from humans. The corner of my lips twitched, and I smoothed my expression into something polite but friendly.

  “My name is Marris Dolan—my family runs the farm next to this one, and we’ve been leasing the farmland from Ackleberry Farm for the past three years. Are you the new owner?”

  “I am. Jalen Fenris Shelton,” I said, holding out my hand for him to shake. He took it, his grip firm but nonthreatening, and I added, “I go by my middle name.”

  “Fenris, eh?” Marris smiled. “I knew a shifter by that name once. I must say, I didn’t quite believe it when I heard the rumors that a wolf shifter had taken over Ackleberry Farm. But we’re happy to have you—my ma sent me over with this as a housewarming gift. From our greenhouse.” He hefted the basket slung over his forearm, holding it out to me.

  “Thank you.” I took the gift, then stepped back. “I suspect you’re here to talk about the lease, so why don’t you come in?”

  Marris gave me a sheepish smile. “I’m sure you’d have preferred a day or two to settle in, but Ma insisted.”

  I waved him in. “It’s no trouble at all,” I said, closing the door behind him. I led him down the hall and into the living room, off to the left. It was spacious, mostly because almost all the furnishings had been taken by the previous owners. They had left a bed with a lumpy mattress in the guest room, an old set of pots and pans and cracked dishes in the kitchen, and a set of horrid floral couches and a scratched-up coffee table here in the living room. The holes in the walls suggested artwork had once hung here—holes I would eventually patch and p
erhaps cover with decorations of my own.

  The “fully furnished” promise in the ad had been more than a little misleading. But judging by the pieces they had left behind, the previous owners had done me a favor by taking away any other horrors.

  “I remember these couches,” Marris said with a grin, patting the cushion on the loveseat he sat on. “There’s a spring that would hit me in the rear every time I sat down here as a child.”

  I chuckled. “I became acquainted with that spring earlier today,” I admitted. I was about to sit down on the couch when I remembered my manners. “Would you like some water or coffee? I’d offer you food, but aside from these lovely strawberries, I’m afraid my pantry is terribly empty.”

  “I’d love some coffee,” he said, perking up. “I caught a whiff of whatever you brewed, and it smells downright divine. You bring that from the city or something?”

  “Yes, in another state.” I’d picked it up during my travels, but I was running low already. I hoped they had decent grounds at the general store, though I did not have high hopes, given Marris’s reaction. I retrieved my cup of coffee from the kitchen, refilled it, and poured a second one for him. After a moment’s thought, I washed some of the strawberries and fished out a bowl from the cupboard to put them in. It had some hairline cracks, but there was nothing better available.

  “Thank you,” Marris said as I set everything down on the small coffee table. He took his mug and blew on it, and I plucked a ripe strawberry from the bowl.

  “Mmm,” I said as the sweet, tart flavors burst in my mouth. When did I last have a freshly picked strawberry? “These are delicious.”

  Marris beamed. “My ma will be very pleased to hear that. Those strawberries are her pride and joy.”

  “Why didn’t your ma come with you?” I asked, frowning. “Or your pa, for that matter?”

  Marris’s expression sobered. “My pa died last winter, so I’m the man of the house now. Ma’s been anxious ever since, which is why she asked me to come talk to you about extending the lease right away. With your land, we are running twice the cattle we could on our own. But the farm took a bit of a hit over the winter, and we’ve only just managed to get things back up to speed.”

  Reading between the lines, I gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m not planning to raise the rent,” I told him. “What you’ve been paying is perfectly sufficient, and if you need an extension, we can discuss it.”

  “Oh, thank the Ur-God,” Marris said, letting out a sigh of relief. “Ma will be so happy to hear that. She’ll probably send over a dozen fresh-baked strawberry pies to thank you.”

  We laughed, then spent the next few minutes discussing the terms of the new lease. I had no interest in farming the entire acreage. Unless I were to hire several hands, I would have to make constant use of the agricultural spells I’d mastered so long ago. Setting aside the fact I was rusty, that would draw too much attention. I did inform Marris I would be taking back a few of the meadows so I could run some horses, however.

  “Do you know what horses might be locally available that would be suitable for a shifter?” I asked. “Most equines instinctively shy away from wolf shifters, so I will need to find some with steady temperaments.”

  “Mmm, that’s a tough one,” Marris said, cupping his triangular chin in his hand. He was clean-shaven, unlike me, and I reminded myself to trim back my beard—it had become quite overgrown during the last few months of travel. “We have a couple of foals that will be up for sale, but you need something trained and large enough for your weight.” He measured me as though trying to estimate it mentally. “Shifters tend to be heavier than they look, I understand.”

  “Yes, we are.” I wondered where he had picked up on that fact. It was due to the higher proportion of muscle to fat.

  “Not many people breed horses anymore, what with steam machines taking on so much of the hard work,” he observed. “Prices are down, so you probably can get a bargain when you find something suitable. I’ll keep an ear out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “By the way,” Marris said, “I didn’t mean to give you the impression that you aren’t welcome here when I was surprised to see you were a shifter. I had a shifter friend—actually, I made quite a few shifter friends while I was away. I only returned to the farm last summer, just in time to see my pa before he passed. A few of the locals might take a bit to get accustomed to you, but I can guarantee you, Mr. Shelton, that my particular group of friends and I harbor no prejudice against shifters. In fact, I’d like to invite you to come down to the local pub this Tuesday for our weekly game of cards.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” I said, masking my surprise. My first instinct was to refuse, but doing so would only create the impression I was a mysterious recluse. Besides, this card game would be a good opportunity to spread my fictitious backstory around and cement my new persona throughout the community. “I would very much like that.”

  “Great! Looking forward to it.” Marris grinned, then checked his watch. “I suppose I ought to get going,” he said, setting down his empty cup. “I can tell you’ve still got a lot to do around here. Is Mrs. Shelton coming with the rest of your belongings?”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid there is no Mrs. Shelton, and all the belongings I have are already within the house.” I gave him a wry smile. “I sold everything when I decided to move out here, so I will have to buy new furnishings and supplies.”

  “I see,” Marris said slowly. He looked around with a frown, taking in the sparse, shabby furnishings and dingy walls. “Why don’t you let me take you into town to pick up some provisions then?”

  “Oh, there’s no need to trouble yourself—” I began.

  “You don’t have a vehicle or horses yet, and it’s a long walk, especially when you’ve got to carry supplies back,” Marris said. “Luckily, they do deliveries. I understand not wanting to impose, Mr. Shelton, but it’s no trouble at all, and you can’t live off strawberries and coffee forever.”

  “Very well,” I said, giving in. I had been planning to hunt for game in wolf form, but explaining that to Marris would only underscore how different I was from the rest of the community. “If it really isn’t too much trouble, I’d be happy to get a ride into town.”

  I regretted my decision as soon as I stepped onto the porch. Of course we’re taking the steamtractor, I thought as I followed Marris down the stairs to where the rusty monstrosity was parked. The man had used it to drive here, hadn’t he?

  Hiding my reluctance, I climbed into the cab with Marris and did my best not to react when the engine let out a huge belch of black steam. “Sorry about that,” Marris shouted over the shrill whistling as he turned the tractor up the road. “Bessie’s going on eighteen years. We’d replace her, but we don’t have the money just now.”

  “Bessie?” I asked, and Marris laughed.

  “Yeah. My younger sister Dana named her when she was four years old, and the name just stuck. We’re odd like that,” he said, grinning.

  I smiled. Marris’s youthful, cheery nature was a refreshing change from the solitary months I’d spent drifting from place to place and keeping a low profile. Leaving my comfortable existence in Solantha behind had been as difficult as it had been to abandon Nebara and my position as that state’s Chief Mage. No, even more so. It had been awful to let my parents think I was dead, and terrifying to start life over as a shifter, but a large part of me had been relieved to let go of my political career. Once awakened to the ugly truth, I could no longer go on with my nose buried in my ancient manuscripts as I strove to ignore the suffering and injustice around me.

  Leaving Solantha, on the other hand, had been a true sacrifice. I had just found my footing, and had created a family of sorts with Sunaya, Iannis, and our friends. Sunaya had been part-daughter, part-sister to me, and I missed her snarky witticisms and no-holds-barred attitude toward life. She didn’t know it, but our friendship had helped me settle into my skin as a shifter. Without Sunaya an
d her cousin Rylan, both jaguar shifters, I would not have been nearly as confident about embracing my nature. I likely would have disguised myself as a human hermit instead.

  That might have been a better choice than what you are doing now, I told myself as the tractor rumbled onto the main road leading into town. The scent of cow manure stung my nose as we passed grassy fields full of ruminating bovines and heavily fertilized farmland. The new identity I’d created for myself would not stop the townsfolk from speculating about me, and they would pick over every small detail. There was only so much to talk about in a town of less than a thousand people.

  The tractor pulled up to the general store, a long, rectangular building with dark wooden slats for siding and sliding doors in the front. Several horses were tied up to posts on the far side of the building. Their tails swished in agitation as the steamtractor approached, belching steam with abandon. I expected the horses to stamp their hooves or snort nervously, but aside from the flicking tails and ears, they did not react. They must be used to the sound, since most farmers used steamtractors nowadays.

  “Good morning,” a pretty redhead with corkscrew curls sang as we walked in. She was wearing a blue and white dress that clung to her buxom figure, and Marris’s eyes roved over her. I heard his heart rate turn up a notch. Her nod to him was casually friendly, but when her gaze met mine, it lit up with entirely too much interest. “Who is your new friend, Marris?”

  “This is Mr. Shelton,” Marris said as we came up to the counter. “He’s the new owner of Ackleberry Farm. Mr. Shelton, this is Barrla Kelling, the store owner’s daughter. She’s also the biggest gossip in town, so careful what you say around her.” He grinned.