Prologue
Everly
PAST
Be brave. For sixty seconds. Twenty breaths. I could do anything for twenty ins and outs. The springs on my mattress squeaked as I swung my legs over the side of my bed. I froze. And listened.
There were lots of things I hated about growing up here. But there were things I loved, too. Things I was grateful for. Like how attuned I was to every whisper. I’d know in an instant if a sound didn’t belong.
I waited. Heard the screen door rattle in the wind. The call of an owl. Even the hum of our refrigerator in the kitchen. I didn’t hear my brother or dad. Mom had been gone for days, helping a baby come into the world. But I wished for her now. She was the only one who had a chance of stopping the craziness. But she wasn’t here, and I wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring.
I pushed to my feet, praying my mattress would stay quiet and not give me away. The springs didn’t betray me again. I moved to my closet, careful to avoid any floorboards that creaked. Pulling a pair of worn jeans from a shelf, I slipped them on. I tugged the nightgown over my head and reached for a t-shirt.
The breeze picked up through my open window. It had been unbearably hot today but just a few hours into the night and a chill had settled. I grabbed a flannel just in case. Slipping on socks, I picked up my boots. I knew better than to put hard soles on this floor.
My dad had taught me how to move without a sound to avoid any kind of predator. And tonight, I was thankful for each and every lesson—even the ones where I’d had to roll in mud to disguise myself.
I reached for the doorknob, but my hand stilled on the metal. I could just go back to bed. Forget my attempt at being brave and wait for Mom to come home. To bring my dad down from his paranoid state where everyone was the enemy and we were at risk from it all—the government, neighbors, even my teachers.
I’d watched as our lives got smaller and smaller, with fewer and fewer people to trust. I didn’t remember a lot of the normal. But I remembered some. The second grade and Miss Christie before Dad had pulled Ian and me out of school. Visiting Mom’s family in Portland before he’d decided they were heathens. The town fair before he became convinced that it was evil.
I closed my eyes and turned the knob. Stepping out into the hall, I listened again. Nothing out of place. I created a dance to avoid every problematic board in my path, sometimes tiptoeing, other times stretching my legs to the point I worried I’d tip over.
Finally, I reached the front door. Our old dog, Bruiser, raised his head, but I held a single finger to my lips, begging for silence. Feeding him table scraps must’ve paid off because he lay back down and let out a soft snore.
I eased open the door and stepped through to the first true rebellion I’d ever embarked on. One that might make me like my older sister—an outcast. I closed the door behind me with a soft snick, but it was deafening to my ears, echoing off the mountain itself. I let the screen door fall closed, too, only a small rattle in my wake.
I hopped over the porch steps entirely, knowing each and every one would give me away. I landed with an oomph but held in my cry of pain. Slipping on my boots, I glanced at the shed in the distance. The motion lights on its exterior meant I didn’t dare try for it. So, I started for the barn instead.
One of the doors was open a hair to let some of the night air in, and I pulled it a bit more, just wide enough so Storm and I had a path. As I moved down the aisle, our few horses nickered or lifted their heads to see who was about. I paused at the tack room, picked up a bridle, and then continued until I reached Storm’s stall.
She must have scented me coming because her head was already over the stall door. I gave her nose a rub and then urged her back. “Gotta let me in.” She did as I asked, and I left the door open, knowing she wasn’t going anywhere…not without me.
I eased the bridle over her head, and she accepted the bit without complaint. “What do you say we go for a ride?” She seemed to nod her head in agreement. It would’ve been so much simpler if we were just taking off for one of our afternoon adventures, exploring the mountains.
I led her out of the stall and towards the exit. We made our way out, and I hoisted myself onto the fence so I could climb onto her back. She stayed steady as I threw a leg over and adjusted my grip on the reins. “Nice and easy.”
I guided her down the path that stayed far away from the house. One that led to the mountain switchbacks. I glanced up at the sky, thanking the heavens for a nearly full moon. I just prayed my sense of direction was as good as I thought.
I’d never ridden all the way to town before. It was at least fifteen miles, and several paths ebbed and flowed. But I knew where I was headed. I’d memorized these mountains every day of my life. They were both a refuge and a prison. Solace and tormentor.
Tonight, they were on my side. Each trail’s crossroads seemed to give me the next logical step until switchbacks turned to wide, worn paths, the dirt packed by hikers and riders. Soon, I reached the road into town. I stayed just off it, my heart hammering against my ribs as the forests turned to neighborhoods.
I adjusted my grip on the reins, seeking out a peek at the lake on the outskirts of town. The moon made the water almost glitter. “Just a few more minutes,” I whispered to myself. I coul
d be brave for a little longer.
I moved Storm onto the blacktop, her hooves echoing against the buildings along Aspen Street. Every store was dark with limited streetlights so residents and visitors alike could see the stars. Normally, I loved seeing them, too, but tonight I fought a shiver. Wolf Gap felt like a ghost town.
I slowed Storm as we approached the street I knew held my next battle for bravery. I wondered if I was already past the point of no return or if I could guide Storm back up the mountain and go home. I turned her onto Spruce.
The light from a building poured out into the night. It wasn’t harsh, more like a soft beacon, guiding me home. Only if I walked inside, I had a feeling I’d never see home again.
I halted Storm in front of that soft light and slid off her back. My hands trembled as I tied her reins to a lamppost. Patting her neck, I nuzzled in close. “I’m doing the right thing. Right?” She pushed into me as if to agree. “I’ll see if we can get you some water.”
I didn’t want to step away from Storm’s warmth and comfort. I wanted to stay there forever and ignore the rest of the world. Instead, I took a giant step back and turned. “Twenty more breaths.” It would all be over in just twenty more breaths.
I felt the harshness of each concrete step through my boots. I paused as I reached the glass doors, glancing to my left, seeing a bulletin board with all sorts of notices. Missing pets. Town functions. An event at the library. But one piece of paper made my chest tighten.
I reached out and plucked it from the board. My empty hand reached for the door, but when I pulled, I found it locked. A young man behind a desk looked up at the rattle of metal and glass. His eyes widened for a moment, and then he must’ve pushed a button because the door made a sound.
I pulled again, and it opened with ease. The soles of my boots echoed on the linoleum floor. Just a few more breaths.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
I laid the paper on his desk, the photo on it staring up at us, the stark letters—Missing—a glaring accusation. The face on it was only a little younger than mine, but it was smiling and carefree. It had been a long time since I’d been that. It was too exhausting trying to read Dad’s moods or being on alert for one of his drills that could happen at any time.
I touched a finger to the side of the photo, not wanting to get dirt on the girl’s face. “I know where she is.”
The man’s mouth opened and closed. “Where?”
“At my house. In the shed with the green roof.”
His eyes narrowed on me. “How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
His gaze traveled over my shoulder, out the glass doors. “Did you come here alone? This isn’t something to joke about. Is that a horse?”
A side door opened. “What’s all the fuss out here, Nick?”
A man with tanned skin and salt-and-pepper hair appeared, and his gaze immediately moved to me. “Now, who’s this?”
Nick scowled. “She says she knows where Shiloh Easton is. Probably a prank. You know how these kids are.”
The older man came towards me and crouched. “What’s your name, little one?”
“Everly. Everly Kemper.” I did my best to keep my voice from shaking.
The man shared a look with Nick. “You live up on the mountain?”
I nodded. “The girl. She’s there. My dad…he said he had to save her from the evil and that she would be in our family now. But she doesn’t want to be there. She wants to go home. And Mom’s gone. She had to go midwifing, and no one can talk Dad down when he’s like this. But it’s been five days, and the girl…she won’t eat or drink. And Dad keeps getting madder. I didn’t know what to do.”
All the words tumbled out of me. It wasn’t anything like I’d practiced on my long ride into town. I fisted my hands, my nails biting into my palms, to keep from letting everything else fly.
The man’s jaw looked as if it were carved out of granite, but he patted me on the shoulder. “Everything’s going to be just fine. I’m Sheriff Hearst. I’ll figure everything out.” He turned to Nick. “Let’s call in our team. As fast as they can get here.”
Nick jumped on the phone, and Sheriff Hearst guided me towards the side door, but I halted halfway there, looking towards the doors. “Storm, my horse. She needs some water.”
“Did you ride all the way here?”