Riverland

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Wilde, Fran, 1979- author.

  Title: Riverland / by Fran Wilde.

  Description: New York, NY: Amulet Books, an imprint of Abrams, 2019. | Summary: When their parents fight, sisters Eleanor and Mike hide, whispering stories and hoping house magic will protect them, until the night a river carries them to a place of dreams and nightmares.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018030956 | ISBN 9781419733727 (hardcover with jacket)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Family problems—Fiction. | Sisters—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | Fantasy.

  Classification: LCC PZ.1.W5328 Riv 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  Text copyright © 2019 Fran Wilde

  Jacket illustrations copyright © 2019 Robert Frank Hunter

  Book design by Hana Anouk Nakamura

  Published in 2019 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

  Amulet Books® is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

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  For my sister.

  “Once upon a time . . .”

  “Why do you always start like that? Why not someday, or tomorrow?”

  “Because that’s how stories start, Mike. They’re already over when you tell them. They’re safer that way.”

  “Fine. But make this one scary.”

  “Okay. Once upon a time, two sisters weren’t very good. One sister was sent far away until they could both learn not to back talk or bring trouble, not to get mad or break things, not to cry.”

  “Didn’t anyone notice the sister was gone?”

  “No, because their parents replaced her with a better version. One who didn’t do bad things.”

  “That’s too scary, Eleanor. Does your head hurt?”

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “You always say that.”

  “If I say it, it’s real. Like a magic spell.”

  “The sister who was sent away—what happened?”

  “She made a magic spell that let her visit home whenever she wanted. But their father discovered that she kept coming back, because he’d been replaced too, by a troll, long ago, and trolls can smell kids really well. He made the girls’ mother, who was a witch—a mostly good one—magic the house to keep the disappeared sister out and the other sister safe. And to keep anyone else from noticing that a troll and a witch lived in a nice house and not under a bridge somewhere.”

  “You sure it doesn’t hurt?”

  “Nothing hurts. Are you going to listen or not?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “But the remaining sister knew that, when she followed the rules, sometimes her mother’s magic would ease and the other sister could come home. She would hide under the bed and wait until her sister appeared. And they’d stay in that safe place, where the troll and the witch couldn’t find them. They’d stay until morning whispering their own magic spells. Trying to get them to work.”

  “Eleanor, I don’t want anyone to go away.”

  “Poppa was just joking, Mike. I’m not going away.”

  “Can I say our spell now?”

  “Not yet. Shhhh.”

  . . .

  “They’re loud tonight.”

  “It’s the stress. He’ll be better soon. Momma said.”

  “Keep telling the story.”

  “The sisters stayed together for a long time in this way. But there was a price for these visits. If the one sister stayed past sunrise, she had to disappear for good, or they’d both disappear.”

  “I don’t like that story. Tell a better one. A better spell.”

  “You can try yours now, if you want.”

  “Now?”

  “Yup.”

  “Someday . . . our real parents will come for us.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  HOUSE MAGIC RULES

  Some days, my sister and I could sense trouble coming.

  Other days, like the weather, it caught us by surprise.

  Today, from up the hill where the school bus dropped us off, our house looked trouble-free. Safe.

  Momma had been busy.

  The blue clapboard box with its wooden shutters anchored our cul-de-sac like it had been on Riverland Road forever, which it pretty much had. Mike’s small purple bicycle leaned on my larger blue one in the shade of the garage. Our lawn, smooth all the way to the shoreline and carefully cleared of leaves, wrapped the house like arms with hands clasped at the pale concrete driveway.

  Everything seemed perfect.

  Better than perfect: The house didn’t look magicked at all.

  But today still felt like trouble. That’s why I wasn’t in a rush to go home.

  If I was lucky, Pendra would invite me over. Her house was closer to our bus stop.

  I formed the beginning of a wish—to be honest, it was more of a spell—in my mind. A spell that would turn Pendra toward her house, not mine. Two words: Please, Pen.

  But Pendra Sarti had other ideas. She was looking down the hill too.

  “We always go to my house,” she said like she’d read my mind. “We haven’t been to yours since summer. You always have some excuse. And you still have my book. We’ll get it and then we can sit on the dock and work on our science posters until the rain comes.”

  As the bus, empty now, rolled away from our development, Pendra adjusted her backpack and ignored my frown. She started down the hill.

  Spells never worked that well for me. Not even in the stories I told Mike, even if she did believe them.

  And it had been months since Pendra had come over. Poppa was trying to buy more of the land around us in order to grow the development he’d named Riverland, after the road we lived on. He was stressed out a lot. That shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. We had so many new rules.

  The dock, Pendra’s favorite place to sit, was just visible behind the house. The old wooden frame was mostly barnacles and cracking planks. Once, a dinghy had bobbed beside it. I’d seen pictures. But now, as river and wind whipped together into meringue-peaked waves, the dock swayed. The leaves on the trees near the house flipped over to their silver sides.

  “Storm’s going to be here too fast,” I said hopefully, catching up to her as we neared her house. If it rained, Pendra and I couldn’t sit outside. “We’d better wait. Your house instead.”

  But Pendra shook her head. “Yours.” Her elbow poked me in the side, nudging me down the hill. “Mine’s always a mess. Yours? Your mom waves a hand and cookies appear. My brothers are home and loud. Mike’s not there to bother us.”

  I bristled about Mike. “Bothering is what little kids do. I don’t mind it.”

  “You minded it this morning on the bus. You got so angry.”

  That was low. Mike’s big mouth was why Pendra was insisting on going down the hill now.

  “She was just kidding about the house.” From where I stood, the beginnings of the late fall sunset hit a second-floor window and reflected off the blue fishing float—what the locals called a witch ball—hanging on the landing.

  Everything in its place.

  “Besides, no one’s home.” Momma had taken Mike to buy shoes after school. And a house rule was no surprise guests, especially if Momma wasn’t home. I reached for excuses. “Poppa’s working hard on the permits for the Lawton Farm.”

  Definitely no cookies to be had at the wave of a hand today.

  “El, no one’s at my house either. What’s the difference?” Pendra was impossible to refuse when she wanted something. And what she wanted right now was to brainstorm science projects at my house. Preferably with cookies. Where she could look for magic. “Mike said . . .”

  I knew what Mike had said.

  She’d blurted to her friend Kalliope on the bus that morning: Momma’s doing house magic and I get to help her.

  I’d kicked the back of the seat and she’d gone quiet. Kalliope had shrugged it away with an I bet you don’t and Mike hadn’t replied.

  All better.

  But Pendra had heard. And she was as interested in magic as anyone.

  The difference, magic or no, I wanted to say now, is that your house is easy. Mine is hard.

  There were rules for my house Pendra didn’t understand. Only my sister, Mary (everyone called her Mike, except Poppa), and I knew them all. Bringing Pendra home would break a rule, and rules helped the magic go.

  At least, that’s how I explained it to Mike when she was upset. No rules, no magic. No magic, everything would break and stay broken. And in our house, broken things disappeared.

  I crossed my arms over my fleece jacket and cupped my elbows in my hands so the fuzz warmed my palms. I rocked a little on my heels, and the road grit ground beneath the thin rubber soles o
f my sneakers.

  “We can’t have surprise guests,” I said. It was a big rule, based on how many times Momma had said it to both Mike and me. “And the difference is your house is noisy and happy even when no one’s home. Mine’s all creaks and groans,” I finally argued. I wasn’t lying. Our house was especially loud when the magic wasn’t working.

  I wished Mike were here. Pendra and I would go to her house then, at least until dinner. Problem solved.

  Or else Pendra would try to drag more magic stories out of Mike. Problem not solved.

  But Mike wasn’t here and the temperature was falling fast. Gray clouds gained a greenish tint over the rough water. The smell of a dead fish carried almost all the way up the hill.

  Two gulls cut tight circles over the beach but kept getting blown off course.

  And Pendra kept walking away from her house and the bus stop. Her feet aimed past the three houses on the hill, down to the end of the street, to my house.

  I wasn’t one bit surprised my spell didn’t work. They rarely did for me. And rain wasn’t enough to put Pendra off.

  I tried stubborn next. Stopped where I was and raised an eyebrow. Tilted my chin, leaning back toward Pendra’s house. I tried to pull my friend that way, like the fishermen we sometimes watched work the river. I cranked a bright smile. “Come on, Pen, your house is closer. We can work on algorithms once we figure out the science project.”

  I didn’t want to fight. Not with Pendra. Not with anyone.

  The Sartis had moved three houses up from us that summer, into my friend Aja’s old house. It hadn’t taken long for Pendra’s dad and mine to get in an argument and for Pendra and me to become friends.

  Pendra said what she wanted. She did things and didn’t worry about the consequences. Like now.

  Her mouth curved, a half-smile. Her brown eyes crinkled at the corners. She turned again and continued walking down the hill, past the next house, toward mine. Her sneakers flashed silver in the afternoon light.

  My feet wouldn’t move.

  “El, come on. I want The Hobbit back for the weekend. You’ve had it too long, and if you can’t take care of my books, we simply can’t be friends.” She was kidding. The laugh at the end said she was.

  Still, I grumbled. “If you like paper better than people, maybe we can’t be friends either.”

  She slowed but didn’t stop. Overhead, heavy clouds pressed the sun into stormlight and made her cheeks glow.

  “We have the sleepover at my house this weekend and the science fair. Let’s not fight. Come on,” Pendra said, without turning around to see if I was following. Her dark hair swung side to side as she picked up speed. “We’ll sit on the dock and decide our topic once and for all. What’s stopping us?”

  I pressed my lips together. Nothing was stopping us. Everything was.

  Four months ago, when I’d hesitated over a pile of books at the library, Pendra had stepped up beside me at the desk. The librarian had squinted at her. Said to me, “You still have two out. Can’t have these yet.” And I’d felt my face heat up.

  “I forgot,” I finally said. I hadn’t, but it was a good spell. One that worked, usually.

  Pendra had elbowed me. “You’re our neighbor, right? Eleanor Prine?”

  I’d nodded, and she’d added my books to her own pile. “All of these, please.” She’d deployed an enormous smile. One I learned later almost no adult could resist.

  The librarian shrugged. “They’re your fines if she doesn’t bring them back.”

  Pendra nodded solemnly but cut a glance at me and winked. Saved.

  I was so jealous someone could just do that. I kept myself from staring by grabbing my books and wrapping them in my jacket.

  “My dad can give you a ride home too. It’s raining,” Pendra said.

  A second save. I couldn’t let her do it. Too embarrassing. “Thanks, but I like to walk.”

  If I drove with them, we stood a good chance of passing my dad on the road. I’d made him mad. He’d left me to walk back from the library on my own. In the rain. A lesson. If I didn’t take the lesson, there might be other consequences.

  I squeezed out the heavy library door and down the road, starting the long walk back on the overpass sidewalk. By then it was pouring. Halfway there, as cars roared along the highway below, the Sartis’ car squeaked to a halt and the door opened.

  “No discussion, Eleanor!” Mr. Sarti had called.

  “Can’t let my books get wet,” Pendra added.

  I wiped the rain off my face with the back of my hand.

  She’d passed me a towel, whispering, “Sorry it smells like the dogs.” And then she started telling a story about riding the metro from their old apartment into the city as I tried to sit as close to the edge of the seat as possible so I wouldn’t get everything wet. I’d nearly laughed myself dry when she’d said everyone should take boats around Baltimore. She’d never seen Poppa try to handle a boat.

  By the time we got back to the growing development that surrounded my house, we were friends.

  Pendra and I, and sometimes Mike, spent a lot of time together that summer. Our dads still growled at each other, but they let us alone. There wasn’t anyone else my age in the development, not since Aja’s family had moved to the other side of the highway.

  We’d taken advanced swim lessons together—Pendra’s mom had insisted. We’d gone to the library. Sweated out the slow summer days on my dock, Mrs. Sarti insisting that Pendra put on sunscreen every time Mike and I did, which Pendra thought was ridiculous. “I don’t need it nearly as much as you do,” she’d laughed.

  That had lasted until school began. Until the house started needing a lot more magicking again. Then I’d found more excuses to spend time at Pendra’s. Sometimes with Mike along. And now Mike had let our secret slip and wasn’t here to help me fix it.

  What’s stopping you?

  I couldn’t answer that. My heart started spider-crawling up my throat, tickling at the sides until I had to cough. Pendra didn’t slow. Didn’t turn around.

  She was almost halfway down the hill.

  There was one thing that might at least stall her. Pendra loved magic stories as much as I did. If I told her Mike had been right and there was house magic, she might listen, at least long enough for Momma to get home.

  But I couldn’t.

  That was the most important rule. No talking to anyone about house magic.

  If we talked too much, then house magic would absolutely stop working.

  And if the magic stopped working, Mike or I might disappear.

  I ran down the hill after my friend.

  Just before the hill started to level out, I caught up to Pendra. Our sneakers mashed the gravel side by side. A splot of rain hit my nose. “Not for long, okay? And I have to go in first. We can’t bother my dad if he’s there.”

  “You just said no one was home.” Pendra switched her orange-and-pink backpack to the other shoulder. She kept walking.

  “I forgot. It will probably be okay.” My own backpack felt heavier the closer I got to the bottom of the hill. Say okay, Pendra. Please.

  More terrible spells. Why couldn’t I just say no?

  Because Pendra might just leave and maybe find other friends.

  And then . . .

  Well, everyone left. Right? Aja had moved across the highway, and I didn’t care—much. But I didn’t want Pendra to go, too.

  When I fished my key from the inner jacket pocket, the cold metal and the blue plastic ring around the rim against my finger felt solid. Nearly unbreakable. “Just give me a minute.” I passed her quickly so she didn’t have a second to reconsider or press me about going into the house with me.

  Because no matter how safe it looked from the outside, I didn’t know if the inside had been magicked yet.

  That morning, when Mike and I left to catch the bus, a pile of torn-up photographs littered the living room, trailing all the way to the fireplace. Three broken frames lay in the foyer, plus the mirror, next to what was left of the white vase. As the front door closed, we’d overheard Momma phoning the cleaning lady, asking her to come another day.

  The house had been full of trouble then, but Momma was going to work until it was better.

  “Big house magic can’t be done by the usual people, right Eleanor?” Mike had whispered knowingly on our way out the door.

  “Right. And we have to help too. Don’t notice anything’s different when we get back. Don’t say anything to Momma.” Mike and I had our own house magic. Lesser spells but still important. “Don’t break any more rules.” That’s what I’d told her on the way up the hill.