Rivulet

by Magee, Jamie

  Rivulet

  By

  Jamie Magee

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to any real people or event is purely coincidental.

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2012 by Jamie Magee

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express consent of the publisher and author, except where permitted by law.

  For the dear friend that showed me how passionate fire signs could be, Chancey Shae Pickard.

  And to my baby brother, Joseph Brady, for teaching me to respect fire, for showing me how courageous fireman have to be. Your bravery is unprecedented.

  Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable.

  Bruce Lee

  Other Books by Jamie Magee

  All series mingle at some point creating a “web of hearts and souls”

  Insight (Book 1)

  Embody (Book 2)

  Image (Book 3)

  Image (Book 3)

  Vital (Book 4)

  Vindicate (Book 5)

  Enflame (Book 6)

  See (Book 1)

  Witness (Book 2)

  Synergy (Book 3)

  Redefined (Book 4)

  Where To Find Jamie Online:

  http://authorjamiemagee.blogspot.com

  Facebook

  Twitter

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  Excerpt “Switch” by Janelle Stalder

  Chapter One

  When death shadows your path, you only have one viable defense—adrenaline. All the rage, panic, and jealousy coursing through my veins vanished instantly. There was no room for such emotions. There was no choice between fight and flight—I’ve always been a fighter.

  The light was blinding, but that was nothing compared to the piercing sound of the train’s whistle that was bellowing through my body. I braced my arms on the dash, knowing there was nowhere to turn, no way to stop.

  Out of sheer instinct, Wilder turned the wheel sharply, which rapidly plowed us through the brush that surrounded the frozen lake. The ice carried the wheels of the car so far out onto the lake that turning back was not an option.

  Gavin’s truck, which was just behind us, had followed our path onto the ice. The only way to go was straight ahead toward the manor, but that was a foolish mistake.

  Seconds later, just before the hood of the car, I saw the darkness spider web across the pristine blue of the ice, and the frozen lake opened wide, swallowing us whole.

  The shock of the cold water never registered to me as I struggled to undo my seatbelt.

  Once I was free, I reached for Wilder, who was already loose. He leaned back in his seat and lunged his long legs at the windshield, trying to give us both a way out, but before he could break the glass Gavin’s truck landed on us with a sickening thud.

  The added weight caused us to sink faster than before, and now the icy water was seeping over our necks. Wilder was so cold that he couldn’t think—he couldn’t move. I swam over the seat and angled myself so I could kick out the back window. It took me three tries, but finally I forced it open.

  Wilder was gone, completely unconscious. I positioned my arm under his shoulders and pulled him with every ounce of my strength. He was almost too broad to fit through the window. The jagged glass scraped his arm—the pain from the gash shocked him awake. I heard him scream under the water as I thrust him forward then followed, finding air with the next beat of my heart.

  After a second of thought, I realized that when I swam by Gavin’s truck it was upside down; I knew they were either hurt or trapped because no one had broken through the surface of the frozen lake. I had to go back. I had to save them.

  “Indie, no!” Wilder screamed at me, but I didn’t bother to argue or even hesitate.

  I dove into the water, pushing through the blocks of ice. Wilder was behind me, swimming faster than I could.

  The dark color of crimson was escaping out through the windows of the overturned truck.

  Wilder started to kick out the passenger side window as I swam down to the crevasse where our car met theirs. The back window was buckled. It only took one kick to break my way through.

  Wilder had broken through and was pulling Cadence out; she was the one that was bleeding. Gavin was awake and struggling with Wilder to rescue her.

  I wrestled with Sophia’s seatbelt; just when I got it loose, the truck began to fall to the side, losing its balance on our car. I pushed Sophie out just before the car tumbled in the water, trapping Mason and me.

  The tumble knocked him out cold, but it also crumbled the windshield, giving us a faster escape than I could have hoped for. I took my scarf off and looped it under his arms, then I pulled, kicked and fought my way past the massive blocks of ice, wanting air – wanting survival, wanting death to leave me be tonight.

  It was as if the lake were demanding a sacrifice, payment for breaking the peace it had before we lost control and broke through her barriers.

  I climbed and climbed, pulling the weight of Mason with me, careful not to let the ice hurt him anymore. It felt like a century later, but I broke the surface and sucked in the freezing night air.

  My heart was pounding so hard that it was making me shake. I knew. I just knew I was too late, that somewhere in this battle with this lake I’d lost one, if not all, of my closest friends.

  Each time I pushed the weight of Mason onto the ice, more broke away. He wasn’t going to be able to handle this water much longer—there was no way. I pushed forward, knowing the bank wasn’t far, which meant the ice would be thicker, stronger.

  Behind me I could hear the thrashing of the water against the ice, the sound of death itself chasing me from this lake. Adrenaline was coursing through every inch of my body. It was my weapon at the moment, and my intent was to use it fiercely.

  After the seventh attempt, I found ice that was strong enough to hold Mason. He groaned as I pushed him up, coughing out water.

  I was exhausted, but I had to go back. I had to get my camera. It was my proof, my only proof, and I wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

  Just as I went to dive into the freezing lake once more, a blinding light stopped me and my hell vanished instantly.

  “Indie, what the hell? Get down!” Cadence said in a harsh whisper.

  My eyes were wide with shock. I couldn’t understand where I was or what had just happened. I gripped the side of the wide beams above my bedroom. I’d climbed almost twenty feet in the air, and I had no idea how I had managed to do that. My room was a disaster; bookshelves were turned over and lamps were shattered on the floor.

  My heart was beating so fast that I couldn’t breathe. I could not understand how I was at death’s door one instant and perched up here the next. I tried to breathe, but no air would come. I kept seeing the ice, the water, the blood…that couldn’t have been a dream—could it? The last thing I needed was for my night terrors to re
turn.

  I glanced at the beam just beneath my hand to see ice growing. I clenched my teeth and thought of every word or image that resembled fire wanting to hide this dangerous curse.

  My wrist began to burn, then warmth eased through my hand, my arm, and my body. In my mind, I heard a familiar, deep whisper echo, ‘I’ve got you, Love. I’m never going to let you go.’ I clenched my wrist; the black scarf that was wrapped there, it was my magic, my defense, and most importantly at that moment it was my sanity. Tiny rivulets of water appeared where the ice once was, evaporating just as they emerged. I let out a sigh, knowing I’d talked myself down once again, which was a miracle in and of itself considering how insanely my heart was beating—how out of control my emotions were.

  Echoing footsteps made their way down the hall, and that did nothing but make my alarm grow. I could see my breath and feel the ice coming back. Focusing on the fire burning within the scarf, the warm sensation, was my only hope. One beat later, the fog of my breath vanished, along with ice on the beam holding me in the air.

  “Freaking A,” Cadence said under her breath as she rushed around picking up lamps and scattered books, trying to make the room look less violent.

  Mrs. Rasure opened our bedroom door one beat later. She pulled her black robe tightly closed; her blazing red hair marked by lines of silver reflected the anger in her cold, dark stare that found me peering down at her.

  “Genevieve Indiana Falcon, what on Earth are you doing up there?” she scolded.

  “I—um—I was. Cold,” I stammered, still not completely awake.

  Mrs. Rasure took in the room, along with Cadence’s obvious shock and fear. “So you chose to climb the walls?” Her tone was icy and quick, just like always.

  “Hot air rises,” I mumbled, letting my legs relax along the beam I was perched on.

  “I see,” she said distantly. “If you choose to carry on with your wild ways, do so in another wing; your grandmother needs her rest.”

  A glare was my instant response. Now I was wide-awake. This woman was evil. I was sure of it. I turned my body so my arms were holding the beam, then swung my legs to the edge of the bookcase and climbed down.

  My emotions of rage and declared vengeance caused ice to form on the wood as I climbed down. I focused on the scarf and felt the fire there once more. I let out a small breath to ensure that there was no fog there; finding nothing odd, I placed one hand over my wrist and turned sharply to face my one and only mortal enemy.

  “Mrs. Rasure, I have no wild ways, and I would appreciate it if you would leave my wing, my house, my life.” My tone was beyond polite, yet dripping sarcasm.

  She grinned indifferently as Cadence came to my side. “Tell me why after seven years you still choose to use my proper name. I’m your aunt, your family. Your well-being is my first priority.”

  Every curse word I knew was racing through my mind as I smiled graciously at the woman who had invaded my family so long ago.

  “That is how my mother introduced you to me. She never advised me to call you differently.”

  Mrs. Rasure tilted her head and let her eyes smile innocently. “Considering that she was not your real mother and that she has long since passed away, I will ask you once more to call me Aunt Celia.” She let her words settle, then crossed her arms. “I received a call from the attorney. He was somewhat surprised that you listed seventy-seven siblings and that each of them had written a letter on your behalf. He asked if there was any family that was not listed that he should expect correspondence from. Of course, I told him that he was lacking seven, but considering they had passed away, I advised him not to list them…that it might damage your delicate state of mind.”

  Cadence gripped my arm, trying to tell me to calm down, but I didn’t care to hear her warning.

  “Listen to me,” I said flatly. “You can throw every lawsuit you want at me, you can dig up any past you want—but let me be clear: this is my house, and you are not welcome. And if you intend to dig up my past I will gladly dig up yours.”

  She smirked as her dark eyes inched over me to the tattoo on my shoulder that had seven unique flowers across a vine, one to represent each of those that I’d lost, my parents and five of my sisters. Her gaze moved to my wrists, one layered with watches and handmade bracelets and the other where my scarf was. She could not stand my appearance and often let her disapproving gaze state as much. “Why on Earth would you think that I would have a past that would need to be researched?”

  “You’re a gold-digger. We both know that,” I seethed.

  “It breaks your uncle’s heart when you say such things…” She stepped forward and slowly circled Cadence and me. As she passed by my ear, she whispered, “A gold-digger is the least of my crimes.”

  My emotions went wild, and my breath became a fog once more. I gripped my wrist, feeling the burn come back to me, feeling the courage to push my justifiable emotions deep down inside of my soul.

  After she circled Cadence, she stopped in front of us and glanced at my wrist. “If you want to be an heiress, act like one. Lose your rags, your wild friends, that little coffee bar you love so much, and go to school for a real degree. Otherwise, leave my house and return when you understand what ‘class’ means. When you become the daughter your mother thought you could be.”

  She turned to walk toward the doorway. At the threshold, she stopped and looked back. “Stop acting like the trash she found in her garden.” And with that, she smirked and left the room.

  I stood frozen with rage. Cadence rushed to the thick oak door that led to our room and shut it. She grazed her hands through her long strawberry blonde hair, then let her head fall. “The night terrors are back,” she said in a hushed whisper.

  I had more than a few odd flaws, and not being able to lie clearly was one of them. My silence has always been my lie. If I didn’t answer a direct question that meant that the truth was more than I could say or admit.

  I didn’t want to admit that on the inside I was damaged, that I could never dream when I was asleep, that the only real dreams I have ever had were the terror I just had…and the one I had just before I lost my family.

  When I didn’t respond, she turned and wrapped her arms around her petite body. Her faint freckles along her high cheekbones were made apparent by the blush that surfaces when she’s angry. “What else is back? Are the illusions back?”

  “She’s not an illusion,” I said under my breath, knowing she was talking about my friend Skylynn, the one who’d given me this scarf, the one that had brought me back from the brink of insanity so long ago. “And she never left. I just stopped talking about her.”

  I turned to walk to the edge of my bed that was centered before a massive window. I collapsed on the edge and held my head in my hands. A beat later I reached for the small pillow on the bed, the one embroidered with a flaming ‘F’; when I touched it, if I let my mind carry me away, my mother would appear. I would see her holding this pillow as she sat at the end of my bed and listen to me tell her about my day. She would smile warmly, eagerly, as I told her every secret I knew. This was a memory. A memory locked within that pillow, one that I could call forth at any time.

  That was one of my other odd flaws. I never dreamed when I was asleep, but when I was awake, if I touched something that belonged to me, belonged to someone I loved, these vivid images would appear around me; ghostly images carrying an echo of a lost past. A past that was rich within the manor I was raised in, a past that I dare say I was madly in love with.

  I have been told by more specialists than I could remember that I never really reached or stayed in a dreaming state at night, so my mind produced these memories, these images, as a way of locking my memories in place.

  I would have believed them if it weren’t for the fact that when I touched really old items, items that this manor was filled with, I saw images from a past that I could not have possibly been old enough to witness. I have personally watched the most epic love affair of all t
ime within these walls. A love affair that I could feel in nearly every room. The images of the past were so vivid that at times I spent more time staring into the past, to a love that could never happen again, rather than living my own life. I was obsessed with this manor. Obsessed with each memory locked away within it.

  A few beats later, I felt Cadence sit down next to me. “Freaking fantastic,” she uttered under her breath.

  Cadence was the last foster child my parents had the privilege of taking in and later adopting. My parents, by all means, were philanthropists. They both came from old money, money that would take centuries to spend. A year after they were married, they opened their home and became foster parents. At all times, there were no fewer than seven children in their massive home. I guess you would call them children; most them were fourteen or older, kids that just needed one break, one chance at a real life. Each of them left my parent’s nest with infinite love in their hearts, a solid education, and the means to change the world—or even create one of their own. Before my parents died, they had changed eighty-four lives…they had changed the world and had planned to save so many more.

  I was the only one they adopted at birth, and that was by fate itself. On a cold winter night almost twenty-one years ago, my mother woke from a dead sleep. She thought she heard screaming. She rushed outside in the snow thinking that one of her children was hurt somewhere on the grounds.

  In the snow, she found my birth mother, she found me, minutes old...the second my mother cradled me in her arms, tucking me in her coat, my birth mother breathed her last breath. She died without ID, without any evidence of who she was or even how she had made it on the grounds of this manor. It was as if she appeared only to give me life.

  When I was fourteen, they adopted Cadence. She never had a chance to get to know them the way I did; they died three months later. Cadence was safe with us, though; my parents had the foresight to assign my grandmother as the primary guardian over the two of us. My uncle Jamison was the secondary, with which I had no issue. My only issue was that he married a gold-digger, and right after he did I lost my family. I’ll never forget the look on Mrs. Rasure’s face when the police escorted me in the manor, telling her that I’d survived, that I wasn’t on that boat. I saw right through her fake grief. That day, our war officially began. That was the last day I had a night terror.