Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure, & Magic

by SM Reine

The sorrow in his voice made Spark swallow in sympathy.

  “Please, come back with us,” Jennet said, her voice nearly breaking. “Surely there’s some way.”

  “Jen.” Her dad moved to stand beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “We’ve been through this before. We have to let him go.”

  Thomas sighed, like an autumn wind bearing the last fallen leaf. “My love for you both remains, in all worlds. But I must depart. Farewell, Feyguard.”

  He lifted his hand, his form already fading until there was nothing but pale-barked trees where he’d been standing.

  For a moment, they all looked at one another. They’d won, though it didn’t quite feel like a victory.

  “You were supposed to get some rest,” Spark said to Roy. Still, she was glad he hadn’t listened. It had taken all of them to beat back the Dark Queen.

  “Did you see Puck as you all came in?” Aran asked.

  “No,” Tam said, glancing at him. “I take it you’re the one Spark came to rescue.”

  “Yeah.” Aran grimaced. “I owe you guys my thanks—and an apology. This was my fault.”

  Roy crossed his arms. “So, what’s stopping you from opening the gateway again? Or telling somebody else how to do it?”

  “A lot of things.” Aran looked at Spark, then away. “I don’t need to be convinced that the Dark Court entering our world means serious trouble. Also, I triple-encrypted the code. Nobody else could hack that.”

  “Are you certain?” Mr. Carter stepped forward, studying Aran.

  “Yeah.” Aran winced, fingers going to his stomach.

  “Zeg, I thought you healed him,” Spark said.

  “His injury was pretty bad. I poured all my healing power into him, and he barely pulled through.”

  Jennet set her hand on Spark’s arm. “You should get him back into the real world. I assume you’re simming together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we trust him?” Tam asked, glancing at Aran.

  Though he wanted to defend himself, Aran needed to hear Spark’s opinion. He tried not to twitch with impatience as she chewed her lower lip.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “He tried to save me by sacrificing himself.”

  Jennet and Tam shared a look, and then Jennet smiled.

  “That’s good enough for me,” she said.

  “Fine,” Tam said.

  Roy frowned, but it looked like he was done arguing.

  “All right, team,” Mr. Carter said. “Good job. I hope we don’t have to do it again soon.”

  “The gateway’s back to normal,” Tam said. “Which means we’re back to regular guard duty.”

  “Whatever that is.” Spark crossed her arms. “The Elder Fey are too cryptic.”

  “They have their own rules,” Jennet said. “Our job is to keep people from stumbling into the realm, or get them out again if they do.”

  “Like that always works.” Spark shot Aran a glance.

  “I’m a special case,” he said.

  “I’d say.” Roy’s voice was dry.

  “I’m late to work,” Mr. Carter said, tilting his wrist, then shaking his head as he realized his avatar didn’t have a watch.

  “Me too,” Zeg said. “Take care, everybody.”

  His character winked out, and Mr. Carter’s followed. Roy gave Spark a last, regret-filled look, and was gone. Tam hugged her, then shook Aran’s hand. Jennet did him one better, and gave hugs all around.

  Then it was just Spark and Aran in the faerie ring. He bent forward, one arm held tightly across his middle.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

  And then they had some serious talking to do.

  She lifted her finger in the command to log out, then held her breath. Please, don’t let us be trapped in the Dark Realm. Thankfully, the air about her swirled, motes of golden light whirling until she was dizzy.

  The clearing wavered and disappeared. The bright light faded, but still strobed oddly, and a high, screeching noise penetrated her gaming helmet.

  Spark ripped off her helmet, then doubled over, coughing. The hotel conference room was filled with smoke. The fire alarm blared, lights flashing. She glanced around, heartbeat racing. It was too smoky to see where the fire was coming from.

  “Aran!” she called.

  She could barely make out his form through the haze, still sprawled in his sim chair. Fear pounded inside her skull—had Zeg’s heals failed? She darted over and squeezed his shoulder.

  “Wake up!”

  She yanked up his blood-covered shirt, then sagged with relief. No gaping wounds, only a scar running across his ribs, a faint silver line against his dusky skin. He was still breathing.

  Quickly, she stripped off his helmet and gloves and pulled him out of the chair. He was heavy, and she didn’t get him down to the floor as gently as she would have liked. The air was better there, though smoke still scraped her lungs.

  Staying low, she dashed to the door and wrenched the handle. It didn’t budge. She tried again, throwing all her weight behind it. Panic pulsed, hot and frantic through her veins, keeping time with the blaring alarm.

  “Help!” she cried. “Let us out!”

  Spark pounded on the door, cursing the fact that there were no windows facing into the hall. But there were some on the other side of the room.

  Coughing, she scrambled toward the windows, then stopped when she heard Aran groan.

  “Spark? What’s going on?” His voice was groggy.

  She knelt beside him. “Fire, and we’re trapped. Trying the windows.”

  “Sec.”

  He sat up and stripped off his T-shirt, then ripped it in half. The cloth left streaks of blood on his hands. With a crooked smile, he handed her half his shirt, then tied the other section over his nose and mouth. Spark, trying not to be squeamish about the blood, did the same.

  The two of them scrambled across the room. When they reached the windows, Aran stood. Spark took a few copper-flavored breaths, feeling dizzy. The smoke was starting to get to her.

  He dropped back down, eyes bleak.

  “Jammed,” he said.

  “Break it?”

  There was a chair pushed into the corner by the window. Aran grabbed it by the legs and swung it hard against the glass. The chair bounced off, and he cursed.

  “Legs first,” she croaked.

  He pointed the chair legs at the window and rammed it, his body shielded by the seat. The glass shivered, but held. The alarm shrilled out its useless cry.

  “Damn reinforced glass.” Aran dropped the chair, coughing.

  “Get down here.” She beckoned him to the floor.

  Face taut, he went to his hands and knees.

  “Any other ideas?” he asked.

  Spark shook her head. She didn’t even have her messager on her—it was on the nightstand upstairs.

  “Hey.” She covered his hand with hers. “I’m sorry none of this worked out for us.”

  “Don’t give up yet.”

  “Lie down, anyway. Better air.”

  He dropped to his stomach, looking like a bandit with the blood-smeared cloth over half his face.

  They lay there quietly, and Spark concentrated on breathing.

  “There has to be another way out,” she said.

  Aran went up on his elbows. “We should check the whole room. I’ll go right.”

  She nodded, saving her breath, then began crawling over the scratchy brown carpet. Smoke stung her eyes, and she was starting to feel lightheaded, but they couldn’t give up.

  Halfway down the wall, she found the air vent. She didn’t have the breath to yell for Aran, so instead she kicked a table over. The clatter brought him running, though he was smart enough to stay doubled over.

  “Vent,” she gasped. They had nothing to pry it open with. Except…

  Leaving Aran at the vent, she scrambled over to her sim system and grabbed the helmet. VirtuMax wouldn’t like this, but it was a small
price to pay. She set the helmet by Aran.

  “Break,” she said.

  He understood right away, and gave the helmet a couple heavy stomps. They took turns yanking at the visor, until the plas-glass was loose on one side. Hands shaking, she tried to slip the edge behind the metal grill of the vent.

  “Let me,” Aran said. “Lie down.”

  She didn’t argue, just concentrated on not coughing while he worked on loosening the grill edge.

  A sharp whistle made her sit up. She glanced wildly around.

  “What?” Was she having an auditory hallucination.

  “Scoot back,” Aran said, taking her arm and pulling her away from the vent.

  The grill flew off. A moment later, Niteesh stuck his head out

  “Nit!”

  “Sparky! And random guy. Into the vent, quick.” Niteesh held out his hand.

  Spark took it and forced herself into the small space, grateful for Aran’s boost. She crawled up behind Niteesh, and he moved forward.

  The metal was cool under her hands, and the air was several degrees fresher. Still, they couldn’t just stay there. The smoke would fill the vents soon enough.

  “Aran?” she called, though it came out more like a croak.

  “Here.” He tapped her ankle.

  She started crawling, following the waving beam of Niteesh’s flashlight and trying not to imagine the metal walls closing in on her.

  “Okay, slow down,” Niteesh said. “Tricky turn here. But we’re almost out.”

  The vent got darker as he slid around the corner. Spark crawled forward on her elbows. She could feel perspiration, damp on her forehead. The vent made a left turn and she tried to fold herself into its sharp angle. She wiggled a few more painful inches, then twisted. Dammit, she was not getting stuck in here!

  Her hips cleared the turn and she slithered through with a gasp. She had no idea how Aran was going to manage. Although he was lean, his shoulders were broad. She didn’t voice any doubt, though, just went forward to give him room to get through.

  “Hey!” She squinted and turned her face away as Niteesh shone the flashlight directly in her face.

  “Sorry.”

  He tilted it up, then gave her a grin. He’d managed to pretzel his wiry little body around to face her.

  “Nice rescue, huh?” he asked.

  “Ask me again once we’re out. Aran, you all right back there?”

  He grunted. The vent creaked with the sound of buckling metal, and he swore.

  “Aran?” She hated not being able to see what he was doing.

  “Yeah. Just… a sec.”

  She laid her head down, the vent cold against her cheek. Sweet air filled her lungs.

  “Nit—how’d you know to come find us?”

  “The Terabins were acting sorely suspicious this morning, so I followed them. They were collecting stuff—a big trashcan from out back of the hotel. Armfuls of towels. When I saw the can of gas, I knew it was bad.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Vonda?”

  “I did—but not soon enough. The twins had already set the fire and locked you in. Firefighters hadn’t come yet, so I figured it was up to me to get you out.”

  “Doesn’t the hotel have a door override?”

  He scowled. “The Terribles jammed it. C’mon, Spark, you know how simple most of the tech is in these places. Easy to hack.”

  Something about his words pinged her memory. She frowned, trying to chase it down, but the thought was gone.

  “Thanks for coming to get us.”

  “Oh, sure. Anyway, Vonda’s waiting at the end of this vent. If we can get there.” Niteesh pointed his flashlight back at Aran. “Coming?”

  “Okay.” Aran sounded exhausted.

  The metal screeched again, and he groaned in counterpoint. Then she heard him scramble up behind her, his breaths loud in the enclosed space.

  “Go,” he said, something ragged in his tone.

  Niteesh turned, nimble as a ferret, and led the way. Ahead of them, she could see a square of light, coming closer. Closer.

  Niteesh slid out, and then Spark wriggled free, falling into the waiting hands of the med techs.

  “One more,” Niteesh said. “Move back.”

  A moment later Aran tumbled onto the beige carpet of the hall. Spark sucked in her breath when she saw the fresh blood coating his naked back, then she bent over, coughing. Her lungs felt like they’d been scraped with sandpaper.

  The closest med tech whipped off Spark’s makeshift mask and stuck an oxygen supplier to her face.

  “Easy there,” the med said. “Slow, even breaths. There you go.”

  She wasn’t the type to faint, but the blurriness at the edges of her vision spread, until the whole scene looked like one of those old-fashioned paintings made of nothing but smears of color. Someplace warm and full of light, with plenty of air, and no blood. Sighing, she tipped forward into that dream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Spark rang the doorbell of the basic, middle-class house. Rain spattered the pavement and pattered softly on the porch roof. She glanced over her shoulder at the security guy behind her.

  “Burt, I asked you to wait at the car.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said, calm in the face of her irritation.

  She turned her attention back to the door, willing someone to answer. A moment later it opened, and a sweet-faced woman blinked at her.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked. Clearly she didn’t recognize who Spark was.

  “Mrs. Chowney?” When the woman nodded confirmation, Spark continued. “Is your son, Bix, at home?”

  Mrs. Chowney’s eyes widened slightly. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not at all, ma’am,” Burt said. “He’s the lucky winner of an at-home visit from Spark Jaxley. Part of last month’s gaming convention package.”

  “Oh!” She looked more closely at Spark. “You’re the girl who plays those sim games. Please, come in, sit down.”

  Mrs. Chowney settled them in a beige living room with a surprisingly colorful carpet, then hurried off to fetch her son.

  A minute later he hurried into the room, as gangly as Spark recalled from her glimpse of him at the VirtuMax party.

  “No way!” He halted, staring at Spark. “I thought somebody was playing a joke on me. Are you really Spark Jaxley? Your hair’s a lot shorter.”

  “It’s a new look.” She stood. “Sorry to bother you like this, but I’m trying to find someone. Your friend, Aran.”

  Burt had his home address, but when he’d called, Aran’s family said he’d officially moved out two weeks earlier.

  After their multiple ordeals, Spark had woken up in the hospital. Not alone—her mom and dad had been flown in, special delivery, but Aran had disappeared. No messager number, no note of farewell. Just out of her life like nothing had ever happened.

  Except that too much had, and she refused to let him run away from any it. At least, not without saying goodbye to her in person.

  She had more than one reason to track him down, too. Not the least of which was the fact she owed him her life. And vice versa.

  Bix’s expression went wary and he slowly took a seat on one of the overstuffed chairs.

  “What about Aran?”

  Burt cleared his throat. “It’s nice of you to protect your friend, but we’re not here to cause trouble.”

  “Burt, be quiet.” Spark frowned at him. His tough security-guy manner was far from reassuring. “Bix, I met Aran at SimCon, and I’d like to get back in touch.”

  “Oh, damn.” Bix slapped himself on the forehead. “It really was you at that party. I’m such an idiot.”

  “No worries. But… is he all right? Do you know where I can find him?”

  Bix glanced at the doorway, then leaned forward. “He crashes in our old garage—but right now he’s working.”

  “Working?” Burt’s voice was laced with disbelief.

  “Yeah, he’s on night shift at the l
ocal Fry King. I think he’s done at five in the morning, or something tweaked like that. Before the sun comes up, anyway.”

  Sunrise. Spark smiled.

  “I know exactly where to find him,” she said. “Thank you, Bix.”

  “No problem. Wait—before you go, could I get a picture with you?”

  “Sure.”

  She let Bix droop one of his long arms around her, and smiled on cue when he pulled out his messager and snapped a selfie of them. He looked at it and pumped his fist.

  “Sweet! And, uh, come by again, anytime.”

  “Thanks.”

  At the doorstep, Burt shook his hand, and when they got to the curb she waved, trying not to laugh at the moony expression on Bix’s face. Another one down. Why was it the one guy she wanted to spend time with kept running away from her?

  Aran scrambled down the path, letting the fresh sea wind blow the smell of fry grease off his clothes. At least his night-shift hours allowed him to come watch the sunrise most mornings, on his way back to the Chowneys’ garage. Spring was finally coming, the air losing its bite, the green edges of new leaves showing.

  The sky was already getting lighter over the water, a line of white on the horizon preceding the sunrise. He never wanted to take the sun rising for granted ever again.

  Beach stones shifting under his feet, he was halfway to his usual log when he halted. Someone else perched there, huddled in a thick coat and looking out at the ocean.

  For a moment he thought about turning around, leaving the beach to whoever had claimed it first. The figure shifted, and he caught his breath at the familiar curve of her cheek. His pulse gave a huge thump, then settled into a faster rhythm.

  For almost a month he’d tried to convince himself it was for the best that he never see Spark Jaxley again. Clearly his heart didn’t agree. He kept walking.

  “Hi,” he said when he got to the bleached log.

  He didn’t ask how she’d found his secret cove. The head of her security team was a pro.

  Spark tilted her head and looked at him. “For a second there, I thought you were going to run away again.”

  “Hey.” The truth of her words stung. “I had some things to do.”

  After the med techs had treated his scraped back and his smoke inhalation, he’d talked them out of admitting him to the hospital. He’d waited around long enough to make sure Spark was okay, and then ridden Bix’s bike back to the city. The distance had seemed twice as far, every mile spooling out, cold and empty.