Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Can you take me to the…” I stop myself from saying the name of the hotel. My father’s warning blares in my head. Leave no obvious path, Elysia. “Umm, the House of Blues please.”

  “Cha, but I don’t think it open, yet.” The bronze skinned cab driver opens the door to the back seat.

  “Oh, I’m meeting a friend.” I toss my duffel bag on the seat and slide in. The rain falls faster.

  He nods and rushes to the driver’s seat. Although it’ll cost more for a taxi than it did for the $11 bus ticket from Baton Rouge, this is the best decision. The House of Blues is several blocks and a street over from the meeting place; I’m proud I remembered to direct him there instead of where I actually need to go.

  As we pass a few streetlights, the rain subsides. I’m filled with relief. The streets take on a more familiar look. I try to remember when I was here last. Although New Orleans isn’t far from Baton Rouge, it seems worlds apart. Often, my coworkers would travel here to party for a weekend. They invited me a few times, but I always said no…too scarred from my previous memories of living here, I suppose.

  When I was eleven, Dad and I lived in a small one-bedroom apartment just north of New Orleans. He helped manage the apartment building to get a discount on our rent. The residents used the onsite laundry room because the units didn’t have a washer/dryer. The swingset was worn and often broken so I’d play hide-n-go-seek a lot with some of the other kids that lived there.

  The kids thought I was lucky I didn’t have to go to school with them, but I was always jealous seeing them get on the bus in the morning. That jealousy led to one of the worst events I’ve ever caused and it saddens me to think about it…1,836 deaths and billions of dollars in damage all because of my anger with my father over not allowing me to go to school with the other kids.

  Hurricane Katrina should have been called Hurricane Elysia.

  Years later, when I turned thirteen and my pubescent turbulence caused wildfires in California, my father sat me down and told me about my “gift”. It seemed like a curse to me, and still does. That’s when I started writing down all the statistics related to the disasters I caused wherever we lived. I’ve since memorized them…my journals always seemed to be left behind when we moved.

  “You’re here, Miss.” The cab stopped in front of the House of Blues Restaurant & Music Hall. The unlined two-way street looks desolate in the early hour.

  “Thank you.” I hand him a twenty dollar bill, which offers him a nice tip.

  “Ya sure ya meeting someone?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Okay, then. Have a good day, Miss.” He drives down the deserted street, leaving me to stare at the blue HELP lighted sign above a door. How appropriate.

  The hot air feels thicker than normal. Flipping the duffel bag on my shoulder, I go east hoping I’m headed in the right direction. I pass Dollz & Dames, looking in the windows at the shoes lined up, wishing I were here on a shopping trip. HELP EVER HURT NEVER…the rest of the saying above the door and windows of the House of Blues building. I have no idea what that means. I continue down the street, past the box office entrance.

  The candy store on the corner looks enticing, but I keep walking hoping to find the street I need. A woman jogs by as the next intersection comes into view. It’s the right street and my shoulders relax. Conti Street.

  The dirty one-way street is in need of a good paint job. Red and blue dumpsters line the west side with a few empty cars parked on it. As I pass a parking area between two tall buildings, my duffel bag becomes heavier. When I reach Conti and Chartres, I worry and wonder if I’m headed in the right direction. It feels like I’ve walked for hours. The area looks nicer now with restaurants lining the street and wider sidewalks.

  The street narrows. I try to imagine what it looks like in the evening with a swarm of people flooding the area. Watching the sidewalks, I’m sure I’ve stepped over more than a few puke stains in the last block…gross. Several hotels come into view; I become discouraged each time it’s not the one I need. I underestimated the distance, thinking it would be an easier march than this. A drizzle of water falls down my cheek.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  My pace quickens as I shift the duffel bag to my other shoulder. British, American, and French flags wave in the breeze on a second-story balcony. The hotel sign under three red awnings is a welcome sight. A man hoses down the sidewalks in front of some German restaurant across the street, and I want to jump for joy…I’ve made it to my destination.

  A club-type restaurant and bistro lines the south side, opening into a courtyard. My stomach growls; the Creole food smells enticing.

  The hotel entrance is on the north side of the walkway between the two buildings. The open right door leads into a fancy sitting area with a marble coffee table and high diamondback chairs in front of a black leather couch. A lit, curved chandelier overhead reminds me of an elaborate display of Christmas fairy lights.

  A plump, smiling Creole woman stands behind the creamy counter, and a large display of postcards and brochures sit under the windows nearby.

  “What can I do ya for?” She yawns and scratches her nose.

  I place my duffel bag under the counter. “I’d like to check in, please.” I reach into my purse and pull out my wallet. “Lili Williams.” Dad always said I looked like a Lili. It’s an emergency name we haven’t had to use in any city we’ve lived in.

  “Check-in isn’t till four, but let me see what we have.” The stout lady sighs and clicks the computer keys. “One night?”

  I tilt my head down, trying to decide if that’s enough. I honestly don’t have much money for too many nights. The tips from last night are shoved deep in my jean pocket.

  “We have the Deluxe Two Queens room available for you.” She looks up to me through her fake eyelashes.

  “That’s fine.”

  “You’re lucky I’m here now…it was a crazy party night and we usually end at 5:30. It’s been slow lately, though.” She clicks away on her keyboard. “It’s $129 per night plus tax.”

  I hand her my ID and cash. She swipes the keycard for me and provides a paper holder for it with the room number written on it.

  “Check-out’s 11AM. Have a good day now, ya hear.”

  She forces a smile. I pick up my duffel bag and head to the dark glass elevator. The doors open to a mirrored box outlined with gold trim and rails. An advertisement for the club hangs on the left of the doors.

  Sconces line the third-floor hallway and the raggedy, flowered carpet looks as if it hasn’t been replaced in decades. The doors are freshly painted in the cream-themed color with florid designs over them. My room is next to the exit sign.

  The squashed room holds two beds, an armoire, and a desk. It doesn’t have a balcony, of course, but the view of the courtyard is cozy to look at. I throw my purse and the duffel bag on the bed. My nervousness kept me from opening the duffel bag on the bus, but it’s time to see what Dad packed.

  I pull out several tops and jeans. An envelope falls onto the covers. I can barely control my shaking hands to open it. My chest constricts; raindrops hit the window. I take a deep breath as I slide out the folded piece of paper.

  Dear Elysia,

  Seeing you blossom in Baton Rouge this past year made my heart happy. You made friends and smiled more than I’ve ever seen. It pains me to think you’ve not been afforded the same opportunities that others get. You’ve not been able to go to college under your real name, yet I’m so proud of you for taking the courses you enjoy most just to learn. You would’ve been a skilled ecologist if given the chance.

  I blame myself for the things you’ve not been able to do, and you’ve never blamed me for it or questioned me or my guidance. When the feeling to flee surfaced a few days ago, I ignored it. I was praying it was false and would pass, as we’ve been here longer than any other place. I cried. I cried for you, mostly. Another place to settle, more friends to leave, a new job to find – this isn’t the li
fe I’d want for my worst enemy, let alone for you – the only one I love on this planet.

  I’m tired Elysia. I’m tired of running and moving. I’m sorry I ignored the call so long this time. I may have compromised us…I may have compromised you and I apologize for that, but I need to end this. We can’t keep running forever. I’m hoping to stop them from chasing us. If I succeed, I’ll see you soon. If I fail…I won’t fail.

  Love you,

  Dad

  The rain pelts the windows, as tears fall down my face. The rain continues…for three days. My sadness shows in the constant patter of the water on the stones below and the ominous clouds in the sky; and then an unexpected anxiousness boils in my stomach as I hear the knocks at the door.

  Chapter 3

  Knots form in my stomach as I near the door, wondering if the person knocking wants to kill me or hug me. The conversation Dad and I had when I was thirteen replays in my head.

  “The Hunters want to destroy what we are,” Dad explained.

  “What are we?” I asked

  “We’re Roma and our abilities scare people. It’s a cruel world, Elysia. People fear what they do not understand.”

  He kissed me on the cheek and hushed any further questions I wanted to ask. Dad was a man of few words and didn’t waste time with what he referred to as “nonsense talk”.

  The impatient knocker pounds harder. “Delivery!” a loud female voice booms. My heart skips a beat…I didn’t order anything.

  Creeping toward the door, I peer through the peephole and see the lady from the front desk. I can’t see if she’s holding anything, but surely, after being here three days, she’s not one of the Hunters, otherwise I’d be dead by now.

  As I reach for the doorknob, an envelope slides under the door tapping my foot. Heavy footfalls echo down the hallway. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The envelope has only my room number on it. I pick up the bulky, heavy cream envelope and wonder how it even fit under the door.

  The phone rings and I literally jump back against the wall. To say I’m on edge is an understatement. Crazy thoughts roam my head…what if the Hunters caught Dad and they are using him to find me? What if Dad is trying to warn me to leave and I’m ignoring his call? What if the Hunters are checking to see if I’m in the room so they can barge in and grab me or maybe waiting for me to leave?

  “Stop this!” I sit on the unmade bed, rip the letter open, and let the phone go to the message center or front desk…whatever they have here. A few hundred dollar bills and several twenties fall onto the floor. Inside the envelope is a notecard with a name and address on it, along with a scribbled message.

  Simza Kepi ~ Cassadaga, Florida…

  Make sure no one learns of your ability…no one!

  Kepi happens to be my middle name. That’s strange. It was my mother’s last name too…I’m sure of it. Is this a relative I didn’t know about? Is Dad directing me to go find this person?

  The phone rings again.

  “Hello?”

  “Get out of there now. They’re coming for you.” A deep female voice says. Then a click…she’s gone.

  “Oh, hell no!” I slam the phone down, grab the few things I have and throw them into the duffel bag in under a minute flat, and leave the hotel room…the place I was hoping to meet Dad. I’ve already stayed two days longer than I should have. Fear takes over ever cell in my body when I realize I may never see him again.

  Bolting out the door, I hear the elevator ding down the hall. A woman steps out wearing a black leather pantsuit. Her jet black hair hangs straight to her shoulders and her arched eyebrows hide under short bangs. Her gaze finds me when she looks down the hall in my direction. We both pause staring at each other. She scrunches her face.

  A twinge in my gut tells me she’s looking for me and she’s a Hunter…I feel it and it annoys me I don’t know how I know…I just do. Her eyes narrow and recognition seeps into her face, causing her hardened countenance to ease.

  She points to me. “The Girl!”

  Anger boils to the surface of my skin.

  My senses sharpen as she reaches for something behind her. That’s my cue to race across the hall, through the stairway door and down as fast as I can. Heavy footfalls sprint down the carpet and the second-story door thunders open as I reach the door on the first floor.

  “Shit!” Her curse echoes in the stairwell right before I open the first-floor door. I didn’t see her companion, but I’m sure there are only two of them.

  I bust through the door with no regard for what or who may be on the other side and race through the courtyard toward the crowded street. The duffel bag quickly becomes heavy on my tense shoulder. A car horn blares at me as I dash in front of them. People’s heads turn my way as I reach the other side of the street. I slow my pace and peer over my shoulder to see the dark-haired woman leaving the hotel courtyard. She spots me and I pick up my pace.

  Turning the first corner I come to, I see the woman’s male companion moving in the opposite direction. Both of them are on my trail, fast and ready to take me down. They want to block me between them, so I run again across a busy street, between two cars and move back onto Conti Street.

  The lunchtime crowds push me into the swell of the street. I maneuver around them. Looking back, I see the woman talking into her phone as she gains on me. I pick up my pace. The further down the street I get, the less crowded it becomes. I cross over Conti again to get closer to the construction side of things. Maybe I can cut through the buildings and get further away from her.

  My heartrate quickens and shadows appear under my feet as dark clouds begin to move in.

  Pockets of the lunch goers block the woman on the other side of the street. I round a dumpster and find a break between two buildings to enter. It’s an empty parking lot, blocked off for construction of the building that’s lining the next street over. The workers are not on site, luckily. I cross over a dirt pile and get behind a large cement post.

  The open building seems to be the beginning of a parking structure and doesn’t provide much cover between the buildings on either side. I take too long to decide if I should continue forward and try to make it to one of the buildings for better cover. I hear someone traipsing through the dirt around the dumpster.

  “I’m sure she went through the buildings. Hurry around, damn it! We can’t lose her again.” The snarky, out-of-breath voice sounds irritated. I can tell she’s not a track star if she’s losing her breath on this short jaunt. This gives me an edge. I’m sure I can outrun her if need be, but she’s too close right now, and by the way she reached behind her short coat earlier in the hall, there’s a good chance she has a gun.

  A few more steps and she’ll see my hiding place.

  My mind races with possible escape tactics. If I move slowly around the exterior of the beam, maybe she will bypass me without notice. She’s too close now.

  Blood rushes to my cheeks and rage builds within me.

  She passes the beam. I drop my duffel bag. She whirls around and reaches for the clip attached to the back of her dark jeans that holds her gun. The top of my foot slams into her hand. Shock replaces recognition on her face. It’s much different kicking a person rather than breaking a stiff board, but I didn’t hesitate. All of the martial arts training and kickboxing Dad insisted on was worth it. She falls face first into the gray dirt; the gravel scrapes her cheeks and blood trickles down the right side of her face.

  “Mother—” she cuts off the curse word that is about to erupt from her pissed-off mouth as I yank the gun out of the belt before she has a chance to turn over.

  Thunder breaks through the stormy clouds, mirroring my rage as it seeps through my skin.

  She holds her hands up, palms open. “Now, we only wanted to have a little chat with you.” She doesn’t hide the fury in her squinty, copper eyes.

  “Your chat requires holding me at gunpoint?” I narrow my eyes to match hers, and hold up the gun in my left hand, allowing it
to dangle on my finger by the trigger. I’ve never fired a gun and I don’t like the feel of it in my hand now. I want to throw it as far away as possible, but I can’t allow her to see my nervousness.

  “Merely a precaution.” She squats and stands.

  Cars pass on the other side of the unfinished cement structure. I remember her partner is nearby. I can take her out, but I’m not sure how I’d fair against the duo.

  “A precaution you take with everyone you want to meet or simply those you fear?” I smirk.

  Her mouth twists and her jaw tightens. Her face turns crimson. It’s obvious I hit a nerve.

  “If you think I fear you, you’d be sadly mistaken.” She grins and folds her arms.

  The thunder roars above. “Where’s my father?”

  Breaking our eye contact, she looks at the fuming clouds that matches my seething brain.

  “I don’t know.” She glances toward the street. “But, maybe if you come with us, you’ll see him again soon.”

  The Hunters want us dead. Dad’s words echo in my head.

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s the wisest choice for me.” My lips press. I drop the gun. Her gaze follows it to the ground as my right hook swings into her cheek knocking her out on the dirt floor.

  The sting from the punch pulses in my fist, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins pushes me to move. I grab my duffel bag and double back to Conti Street and into the crowd as the rain begins to fall.

  It’s time to pay this Simza Kepi a visit to find out who called to warn me about the Hunters. Someone other than Dad is keeping me alive and there’s a good chance they can help me find him.

  Chapter 4

  It’s strange I’m headed into the one place Dad said we should never live again…the peninsula of Florida.

  In 2004 we lived in Panama City Beach. Dad worked as a handyman for vacation rental properties. He’d often take me to work with him and I’d play at the white, sandy beach on the Gulf.