Sweet Water

by Lena North

  SWEET WATER

  LENA NORTH

  Copyright © 2017 by Lena North

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover design: Copyright © 2017 by FAB Publishing.

  Illustrations & Cover: Copyright © 2017 by Lena North

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

  Discover other titles by Lena North:

  Birds of a Feather series:

  Wilder

  The Dreughan series:

  Courage

  Reason

  Joy

  47 Sweet Street

  Sissa Raudulfsdatter:

  Runes of Fate

  My thanks

  As always, to my family.

  Prologue

  “You are cold as a fish, just like they said.”

  I’d been on plenty of godawful dates, and this one was no exception, but I still hadn't prepared for the verbal attack. I should have known it was coming when the conversation over dinner became increasingly stilted and awkward, so when the guy asked me to come with him to meet some of his friends, I should have made my excuses and left. He was a nice man, though, and I hadn’t felt like going home.

  One beer – and too many drinks to count for him – later I knew better. He’d introduced me to absolutely everyone, using my full name and speaking way too loudly, which meant they all knew who I was even before we walked into the small establishment. I’d still smiled and played nice with his geeky friends who all stared at me as if I was a goddess descended from heaven to honor their local hangout with my divine presence. I should have left then instead, but for masochistic reasons I couldn’t explain, I still didn’t. And then things went downhill, but to be honest, they usually did on such occasions, so I should have expected that too.

  The geeks slugged down rum and coke as if their lives depended on it and as the alcohol penetrated their systems all their awe vanished, and they started asking questions.

  God, how I hate it when random people start asking me questions.

  A young man that I vaguely recognized from one of my classes called out to me and I fully expected him to move on to the most common, but in my mind, also the most idiotic question of them all.

  “Is it true that you're a doctor as well as an engineer?”

  Yep. There it was. If the man wanted to know so badly, he could just do a quick search. I was all over the net, so it wasn’t exactly rocket science, was it?

  “I have a medical degree, but I’ve never practiced, so I don’t call myself a doctor,” I replied, and added, “I have also not finished my engineering degree.”

  And I wouldn’t because I’d dropped out of school, but they didn’t need to know that.

  “So, how high is your IQ, really?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t really care,” I said truthfully.

  I actually didn’t know because there was apparently not a chart available for someone like me. My results caused quite a stir in scientific circles, but luckily, I managed to convince everyone that they’d done something wrong and when they made me take the test again, I cheated. The fuss died down somewhat when they could label me a standard level genius, which was exactly what I’d aimed for. I’d been ten years old at the time.

  A girl kept tugging at the sleeve of my white shirt, and when I’d curbed my instinct to slap her hand, I turned with a small, controlled smile. My face hurt from the effort, but my stomach hurt even more. My damned date had pre-ordered our dinner, and since I could barely eat steamed fish these days, the grilled and spicy meat had not been good for me.

  “Is it true you started Uni when you were fifteen?” the girl breathed.

  “Sure,” I replied, untruthfully this time.

  I had started university in January the year I turned fifteen, but since my birthday was in December, I’d been more fourteen than anything else, although by then I’d already been the only adult in my family for several years.

  I loved my parents, in a way, but we were so different. If I hadn’t looked very much like my dad, and almost killed my mother when I was born, I would have assumed that I'd dropped down from outer space, right into the lap of my clueless parents.

  “Wow,” the girl breathed and swayed drunkenly. “Your parents must be so proud,” she exclaimed, but I just smiled noncommittally, and turned away to start making my way home.

  Mom and dad were proud, I knew that. Overhearing them talking about me just before my twelfth birthday had however made it perfectly clear that in many ways I was also a huge disappointment. Mom had pleaded with dad to let her homeschool me for a year so we could all go on a road trip. Dad had refused, vehemently, for once being firm and determined, telling her that they couldn't squander my gifts away. Mom had been livid, and they'd had a huge argument. My belly started out tingling with excitement at the prospect of getting away for a whole year, but it churned and roiled as they fought. I hated being the reason for all the angry words they threw at each other and Mom gave in eventually but ended the argument by snapping at him that she wished she’d had a stupid child that wouldn’t keep them stuck in a horrible city for years and years.

  My parents are what you might call free spirits. They are both happiest when they're moving around in their small caravan, going from fair to fair, selling ugly jewelry my mother makes and incredibly strange wood statues that my father carves. He likes to describe his creations as erotic, which is just plain weird because they look like blobs of wood with random scratches and nothing else. He isn’t very skilled, which might account for the lack of visible eroticism in what he does.

  It took me two years, but I managed to fast track through school and into university eventually. They left a week after I moved into my own apartment, and I smiled and waved happily when they rolled away, although I suspected that they weren't looking back.

  I pushed through the crowd, fielding questions that made it feel like running a gantlet, and when I reached my date, I murmured in his ear that I appreciated the lovely dinner but that I was heading home. He slung an arm around my shoulders and started walking me out of the bar, which I found a bit surprising until I saw the sly glances his friends tried to hide.

  Really? He thought he’d come home with me?

  While I shrugged into my black leather jacket, I explained patiently that he would in no way accompany me anywhere. Then I suggested kindly that he should go back inside, which made him immediately toss my cold fishiness in my face. I sighed, but he wasn’t finished.

  “You think you’re better than everyone else, Jinx,” he sneered. “I thought you'd at least be decent about spending time with a regular guy like me, so I went through the trouble of borrowing a car to pick you up and pre-ordered an expensive dinner, but you couldn’t even pretend you liked it, could you?”

  “I –”

  “A few hundred years ago you would have been burned,” he interrupted, and I stared at him.

  “What?”

  “Your eyes, Jinx. They’re like black holes, staring and judging all the time. Hard and cold, that’s what you are, just like your eyes. Witch eyes,” he slurred.

  He leaned forward as he spoke and a small drop of spit hit me on my cheek. His words were ugly, and I’d been frozen as he tossed them at me, but that dribble of saliva jerked me into motion.

  “Whatever,” I said calmly.

  Then I walked away.

  Some of his friends had joined us on the
sidewalk, and I heard them snicker, so I made sure that I had a small, condescending smile on my face. I could feel their stares following me as I ambled down the street, deliberately stopping to look at some of the shops, without actually seeing anything. My back was straight, and my head held high, but my stomach burned like fire so when I finally allowed myself to turn around a corner I had to stop and lean my back against the wall.

  “Don’t think about it,” I murmured to myself, repeatedly, almost as a mantra. “Think about something else. Think about how much compounded energy it would take to…”

  As I started to calculate how many generators it would take to catapult a tennis ball to the moon, the knot in my stomach loosened. My breaths came easier, and slowly I walked the short distance to the tiny one-bedroom apartment I’d lived in since I was fourteen.

  Out of habit and on legs that were shaking a little, I walked the three stairs instead of taking the elevator. I really hated exercising so I didn't, and countered this with walking or biking anywhere I went, which kept me in reasonable shape. Lately, I'd been losing too much weight, though, and my normally curvy body was fast approaching svelte. It didn't look good on me, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the dark circles under my eyes with foundation and cover stick, but fish or plain yogurt just didn't provide enough nutrition. I'd started experimenting with protein shakes, but the taste ranged from mostly shit to complete and utter shit so I settled for vitamin supplements and counted the days until I could get away.

  My door had four locks, and they were rather crappy, but I always locked all of them, hoping that the sheer number would keep potential intruders out. Inside, it was quiet, peaceful, and as I tossed my jacket on a chair by the door, I exhaled. Then I walked over to the kitchen counter to pop a few pills in my mouth, washing them down with cold water straight from the tap.

  “That went well, didn't it,” I murmured to myself as I got out of my shirt and dark jeans, picked my dark blue robe from its hook, and slid into it. The sweep of soft, fluffy fabric over my bare shoulders felt like what I thought a hand caressing me softly would feel like, and I knew it was a little pathetic, but that gentle brush always made me feel better.

  Then I folded the jeans neatly and put them in my closet, on the shelf beneath the long line of white shirts, most of them exactly the same as the one I'd just tossed in the hamper. I didn't have the time for shopping, and I didn't like it anyway, so when I had to, I went out and bought five new ones and then I was done. I couldn't say why I'd picked jeans to wear with my shirts because the way they usually cut into my hips wasn't at all comfortable. Maybe it was that they gave an air of casualness. These days they were hanging loose, and I'd had to start wearing belts to keep them up.

  I sighed as I sank down into my soft couch and leaned back to look at the night outside my big windows. Six months. Surely I would manage six more months.

  When my friend Wilder had asked if I could examine a crystal they'd found in the mountains just outside her gigantic ranch, Double H, I'd tried to say no, but she'd pleaded and cajoled until I'd had no choice. It was logical for me to do it since I knew about her father's secret group of vigilantes, their history and paranormal connections with various kinds of flying animals. Wilder and Mary were the only friends I had so when tears had started to run down Wilder's cheeks, I gave in and promised her that I'd spend six months on it. I didn't want to take on the job of figuring out what kind of energy swirled around the milky stone, though, and I know this surprised her.

  Maybe I should have told her my reasons, but I was too afraid that showing any kind of weakness would be the thing that finally broke me. The threads holding me together were too thin, too frail, and if one of them snapped, I wasn't sure I would ever manage to pick up the pieces.

  My name is Jiminella Nixée Sweetwater, but everyone calls me Jinx. I have two friends, a small condo, and no life. I'm a genius. A scholar and inventor, hardworking and loyal to my few close friends, and I have to get away. I lost myself a long time ago and to continue being who I am hurts too much, so I have to escape.

  I have to find me.

  Chapter One

  You played me

  “Yo, big-brains!” a loud voice called from the door to the lab we’d set up temporarily in one of the outhouses at Double H, Wilder’s large ranch in the foothills.

  I turned to glare at Mickey, but it was mostly fake, and he knew it. When I became friends with Wilder, Mickey came as a part of the package since they’d grown up together, with Mickey’s parents managing the ranch for Wilder’s grandfather. I wouldn’t say that we were close, but we were friendly enough, and I liked him. He was a good man and fiercely protective of his friend, which I found sweet and hilarious in equal measures. I don’t think I’d ever met anyone in less need of protection than Wilder, something that the men in her life seemed completely oblivious to.

  Wilder’s boyfriend, Mac, showed up just behind Mickey and this was a man I really liked, so my face split into a huge grin. He was drop dead gorgeous and knew it, but he didn’t let it get to his head. He was also kind, funny and an expert marksman, but never let that get to his head either. What I liked the most was that he never treated me differently from how he was with everyone else, and that was a rarity for me.

  “Jinx,” Mac murmured. “How are things in the searching for energy business?”

  I chuckled and replied, “Good, thanks for asking. How are things in the arm up a cow’s butt business these days?”

  Mac was among other things the vet at Double H, and I usually tried to come up with new variants to greet him with, and this one made both him and Mickey laugh.

  “Good. No butt probing for weeks now, so I could even agree to excellent,” Mac replied.

  “I’m sure Wilder appreciates knowing where your hands haven’t been, since you cook for her on a regular basis,” I smirked.

  “Jesus,” Mickey snorted. “He washes them. Believe me, I’ve made sure he does.”

  I grinned at him and turned off my instruments, getting ready to close down operations for the day.

  “I’m out of here. Anything in particular you wanted?”

  “Dinner!” Wilder called out from the door.

  Crap. My stomach had been better for a while, and I really thought the new combination of medicines I prescribed for myself was working, but if Wilder had cooked, anything could happen, even to someone who's stomach was healthy. I’d have to come up with an excuse and leave.

  “Don’t look like that,” Mac murmured. “It’ll only piss her off. Also, I did some of it and Mickey’s mom the rest, so it’ll be good. Olly requested chicken noodle soup, so that’s what we did, although he had to go a few rounds with Wilder to get her to agree.”

  Olly was another man from the group working with Wilder’s dad, Hawker, and he managed Double H together with Mickey’s father. He was a few years older than me, and his shaved head, enormous muscles, and a multitude of tattoos made him look quite scary. He was also a lethal fighter and even Wilder with her considerable skills lost against him most of the time. Contrary to his looks, he was gentle with the livestock and quiet around most people. I hadn’t heard him utter more than a few words, ever.

  “Okay,” I said, silently thankful for Olly’s sudden hankering for chicken and noodles, although I guessed it had been more about jumping on the opportunity to take Wilder down a few notches. Regardless, I’d be able to eat with the others without suffering for it later.

  Dinner was pleasant and happy, as it usually was when we got together at the ranch. Mary was there too, and I felt comfortable around the men and Mickey’s parents, so even though I made sure to keep myself in the background, I also relaxed more with them than with any other crowd.

  Things had changed when Wilder brought her father and the men around him into her life, and it had been better for her. In a way, it was better for all of us, because the asshat that we’d all thought was her father had been horrible, and so had her mother.

&nb
sp; It was slightly harder for me, though. When I first met Wilder’s dad and his men, I’d gone too far in my wish to impress them with my brilliance, and they’d shot me down for it, quickly and harshly. I still cringed when I thought about the scolding Hawker and his second in command, Miller, had given me. I pretended that I didn’t care, even joked about it, and they had meant to give me kind advice, but they’d also said that everyone thought I was overbearing, arrogant and talked too much. Their words still burned in my ears and I tried my best to stay away from Double H when either of them was there. Secretly, I thought that Hawker was beyond scary and the confidence and cool self-assurance that I admired so in Wilder always felt more menacing coming from her father.

  They got what they wanted out of it, though. I didn’t take up so much space anymore, and I made very sure I communicated clearly that I was indeed listening to everyone’s opinion. It wasn’t so hard, really. I talked only when asked about something and else remained silent, even if I sometimes had to bite the inside of my cheek because of the sheer incorrectness in what was being discussed.

  “I’m cleaning up Willy’s desk,” Wilder said, and since Willy was her dead grandfather, it was a surprise to us all when she giggled. “Did Willy have a girlfriend, you think?” she asked.

  Her question was met with a stunned silence because the man had been adorable, but also old and not exactly boyfriend material.

  “I found a note, right up front in the top drawer,” Wilder continued. “There was a poem on it, and it was sweet… but kind of sappy.”

  “Really?” Mickey muttered. “Willy wasn’t exactly a sappy guy, what did it say?”

  “For my love - roses are red, violets are blue, we’re two beautiful paintings, and I’m waiting for you.”

  Another stunned silence followed her surprising words, and then we all laughed.