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

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Hypothetically speaking?” the man shrugged, “You’d probably be stopped at the gate, the front door, the elevator, or whatever else sort of security setup he’s got there. It’s just like I’m showing up at a house or an apartment here. The guy’s got money—lots of it!—and he’s not setting up each week’s digs cheaply. He’s in penthouses or mansions or, like, obscure, luxurious homes that one doesn’t just naturally walk up to. But—BUT!—there’s always some little catch, y’see? While it’s impossible to know where he’ll move to each week, there’s a theme that he sticks to.”

  Serafina raised her brow at that. “What sort of theme?” she asked.

  The man rolled his eyes. “Take a wild guess!”

  Gold.

  Of course.

  Serafina would have rolled her eyes again if it weren’t for the soreness there from all the eye-rolls she’d already invested since leaving Chinatown.

  She’d nearly laughed out loud when the man had told her that one of his first meeting places with Rumpel, before he’d had the pleasure of meeting him in any sort of home, had been in the locker room at a Gold’s Gym. That, however, had been only one of the weeks—and likely a test to be sure the man stayed true to their business agreement and wasn’t about to bring trouble his way (though she would have paid to see somebody try to take him on in a public locker room)—and she wasn’t about to swing by a sweat-and-grunt soaked place in the hopes of finding him there.

  Since then, the scenery had upgraded—Gold Avenue, Golden Resort, and a bunch of others along with, her personal favorite, some place simply called “hAUse”—and, with her informant’s insincere blessing of “good luck” she’d been given a list of all of them. She didn’t think that there was much chance that Rumpel would go cycling back through his old places, but she also wasn’t sure how long he’d have new, gold-themed properties waiting in the Chicago area without eventually having to do so.

  In either case, it was a step in the right direction. At least now she knew to be looking for something—she stifled another eye-roll—gold-related.

  And, at the bottom of the list, was an actual address for the club where the informant got each new, soon-to-be old address from. While she’d known for a while that the club would be the best source to find out his exact location, its own location had been a well-kept secret up until that moment. Looking down at the location once more and reading “Club De’Secret” aloud to herself, she finally allowed herself to laugh. It was almost as ridiculous as Rumpelstiltskin doing business out of a Gold’s Gym.

  May no one ever say that the evil son of a bitch doesn’t have a sense of humor, she thought.

  She was only distantly aware of the new passenger who plopped down beside her on her second train of the day. She registered them with a quick sidelong glance that offered no real sign of concern before reading through the handwritten list again.

  The train gave a slight lurch as it pulled away from another stop, and Serena reminded herself that the next stop was the one she needed to get back to her motel.

  “You should leave now, Sera.”

  It was said so faintly and so casually—I got a new pair of shoes; my left palm is sort of itchy; I’m afraid I’m busy on Thursday; you should leave now, Sera—that it was a long, silent moment before Serafina even realized that it was directed at her.

  Then, as this dawned upon her, she realized that there was so much more to it.

  It wasn’t Rumpel. Though he had a habit of wearing a different face it was impossible, like the young man before had said, to not recognize him all the same. No, he wasn’t Rumpel, but he was obviously working for him.

  Serafina didn’t bother to look up as she said, “So he knows I’m here. That was quick.” She smirked and tilted her head ever-so-slightly towards him, “Don’t suppose you could tell him to swing by and give me that message himself?”

  “I think we both know I don’t have to tell him anything to know you said it,” he smirked back from under his dark hooded sweater.

  “Then he’s listening to everything we say?” Serafina sneered.

  The smirk remained under the hood. “Just like Santa Claus.”

  “And if I refuse to leave?” she pressed.

  “Then you’ll leave in pieces,” the lackey said with a shrug. “One piece to every state and an extra one back to that camp of yours. Just so those gypsies get the idea of what happens when one of theirs tries a stunt like this.”

  “Wouldn’t be any of their business,” she muttered and looked away, hoping to hide the pain in her voice as she said, “I’m not one of them anymore. This is my life now.”

  “That’s as funny as it is sad,” he said. “But we’re not interested in your humor or your sob story.”

  “We?” she laughed. “How many pawns does he have in this?”

  The lackey kept his gaze fixed on her. “Then I’m to take from this that you can’t be convinced to leave on your own accord?”

  She raised her middle finger and smirked. “That answer your question?”

  The lackey jumped to his feet and yanked a small revolver out of the pocket of his hoodie. Around them, the other passengers gasped and worked to distance themselves from the two of them as he leveled the weapon in her direction.

  “Should have taken him up on his offer,” he said, thumbing back the hammer. “He was being more generous than he normally is.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank him when I see him,” she responded a moment before leaning back in the seat and slamming her feet into his sternum.

  The air burst from his lungs.

  The gun fell from his hand.

  Lunging from the seat, Serafina caught the weapon around its barrel and rolled to her feet, catching sight of the lackey as he moved to face her again. Knowing she didn’t have the time to retrieve her sais from her bag, which still rested beside where she’d been sitting, and not wanting to enchant the entire train’s worth of witnesses, she opted to keep things non-lethal as she brought the black grip of the stolen revolver down on the back of his head.

  As his eyes rolled back in his head and his legs folded beneath him, she heard a whisper that was not his own bleed past his unconscious lips:

  “Welcome to my city, dear.”

  She froze, watching as the lackey slumped to the floor of the train. A chorus of onlookers cheered her on, certain they’d just watched a would-be mugging go south as a trained woman asserted herself against an assailant. A symbol of changing time. If only they knew half of it. Stepping away, she popped open the cylinder to the weapon and emptied each chamber before dropping it onto the unconscious man’s back. Palming the bullets, she willed them to disappear and once again found herself wondering where they’d go.

  Welcome to my city, dear.

  God, she HATED him!

  Hated him and his magic.

  “That was AMAZING!” a too cheery voice chirped from behind.

  Turning, Serafina saw a shorter female, maybe a few years younger than her, clapping as she approached. Serafina didn’t mind the praise or the applause, she was getting plenty of that from everybody else; but everybody else was keen on keeping their distance. Whether or not she’d disarmed a lunatic, she had just disarmed a lunatic. It wasn’t something that was just done casually, and, Serafina thought, it was the sort of thing that aroused just as much caution as it did excitement. After all, what sort of person could do something like that who didn’t have something worth being cautious for, right? But this woman wasn’t being cautious.

  Then Serafina noticed the “CHICAGO POLICE” shirt she was wearing.

  She frowned, unsure if she was about to be arrested or asked to be recruited.

  She wouldn’t have it either way.

  The woman, noticing her looking at the shirt, offered a shrug. “Oh this? Don’t worry about that. I’m not on duty. Haven’t been for a year, actually. I was just invited to a little get-together they hold once a year. Only reason I hold onto this thing, to be honest.”

&
nbsp; “So why’d you stop if you’re still going to their parties” Serafina asked, unsure why she even cared.

  “Wasn’t my choice,” the woman said, shrugging. “Got cancer. In remission now, but doctors said that stress might wake it up or whatever… so, yeah, that’s that for that, I guess.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” she offered, sincere. “Cancer’s a bitch. Bet you were a good officer before all that.”

  “Detective, actually,” she corrected. “Top in my class, stacking up promotions like they were Jenga pieces, but…” she shrugged, “Like you said: cancer’s a bitch.” She ran a hand through her short pixie-cut blonde hair and the sadness in her hazel eyes disappeared almost instantly. “Probably a dumb question, but you know that guy?”

  Serafina shook her head. “Not personally. Guess he’s close with an enemy.”

  “You got a lot of enemies,” the woman asked outright.

  “It would seem so,” Serafina answered, looking up and crossing her arms. “Why? I in trouble now?”

  “Not with me,” the woman said before nodding back down at the lackey. “Though I figure if a guy’s got friends willing to pull a gun on somebody on his behalf then, you being the one they’re pulling guns on, it’s safe to say you’re in some kinda trouble.”

  “I guess so. But I’m not about to be dragged off by your old friends, am I?” Serafina asked, pointing to the woman’s shirt.

  The woman glanced down and smirked, shaking her head. “No. I figure they’ll have plenty of playtime ahead of them with this one,” she nudged the man with the toe of her right foot.

  Serafina nodded and said, “Then we’re done here?”

  “Here? Sure,” the woman grinned, “Though I wouldn’t mind tagging along.”

  “Huh?” Serafina caught herself staring, bewildered.

  The woman only nodded. “Yeah. I wanna help you.”

  Serafina raised an eyebrow, “What about what your doctor said about not being in stressful situations?”

  The woman frowned and sighed, “Stress-free is boring. I’m not living this way for my sake. The force won’t let me back on. They throw some money my way and offer up praise and medals and such, but it’s not… look, I need to feel useful again. And this”—she looked down at the man—“looks like something I can be useful in. So I figure you could use some help. Well, I mean, not with him—you seem to have him pretty well managed—” she gave another nudge with her foot, “but I doubt this is going to stop with him, is it?”

  Serafina paused at that. She was right. Things weren’t about to stop there, and they’d more than likely only get rougher. A second set of hands and a mind that not only knew the city but was actually a decorated detective certainly couldn’t hurt. And maybe she could help her track down Rumpel faster. Looking her over, she took a deep breath. Then, moving her hand to her neck and running her hand across the crescent moon charm, she gave a single nod.

  “And you’re sure you’ll be okay?” she asked.

  “Thank you for worrying, but I’ll be fine!” she grinned. “My name’s Bailey.”

  “Serafina,” she replied, and then paused to grip the nearby handle as the train came to a stop. Grabbing her bag, she motioned that it was her stop before turning and stepping off. “But you can called me ‘Sera’ if you’d like. Everyone who knows me does.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sera!” Bailey called, keeping pace behind her. “So, what’s our next step?”

  Somehow hearing “our next step” made Serafina feel pounds lighter.

  “I actually just finished tonight’s business, so why don’t you meet me tomorrow morning, say around ten? I’m staying at the Heart O’ Chicago Motel.”

  “Okay,” Bailey smiled. “Look forward to working with you!”

  Serafina nodded, surprising herself as she realized that she was looking forward to it, as well. Still uncertain what she was getting herself into, she only said, “Same.”

  Chapter 3

  The night he arrived had been one of the coldest nights of the season. Some might go so far as to say it was unseasonably so. Serafina, though not at the time, had grown inclined to agree.

  Decked out in a long, black duster, his curly, shoulder-length brown hair was hidden beneath tufts of snow. Whether or not he’d been aware of the accumulation he wore, there was no denying that he wore it well. He’d requested shelter from the weather, though he didn’t seem at all discomforted by it, and, from the entrance to Serafina and Damon’s trailer, held out a pouch of jingling mysteries as payment. Damon had quickly agreed. Whether it was an act of kindness or greed, she still wasn’t sure, but Serafina’s thoughts were plagued by other concerns regarding her own thoughts. For starters, the sheer concern she felt for allowing another man into their trailer. It seemed… wrong. Even more wrong than that, however, was the other plaguing concern: that she actually felt intrigued at the idea. He’d slipped in like a breeze and introduced himself as ‘Gold.’ The name fit. Between the nature of his payment and the astonishing hue of his eyes—which, though she tried again and again to tell herself they were just a very, very light brown, were undeniably golden.

  The night had seemed to go on forever, Damon instantly warming up to Gold, soon seeming as if they were longtime friends, and prattling on about his upcoming role as father. Serafina, neither wanting to interrupt nor having anything to contribute, sank all six months of her pregnancy into her favorite chair and started to read. She’d almost—ALMOST!—forgotten all about their guest and the rest of the world around her when Gold moved to retrieve a stack of spell books from his bag.

  That was the moment that everything had changed.

  Just like that, Serafina was just as intrigued, just as enamored, with Gold as Damon.

  Days turned to weeks…

  Soon Gold, beloved by all, had his own tent within their camp. None seemed suspicious of this—of the newcomer’s intentions or their own inexplicable openness to him—and before long it was as though he’d always been there. Serafina certainly hadn’t complained, as it gave her the freedom to study Gold’s books… and to study Gold, himself. The line between light and dark magic skewed and, finally, vanished as their lessons progressed. So too did other lines—lines that Serafina had never considered crossing, and, naïve as she’d been, hadn’t even realized she was drawing dangerously close to doing so. From time to time, reality would dawn upon her and Serafina would offer payment for the lessons, but Gold would always shrug it off and explain that he’d be paid in due time.. That it was no concern for him then. Serafina hadn’t even batted an eyelash at that, desiring both the knowledge he provided and him. She didn’t want to admit her growing feelings for Gold, but every day they spent together, she felt herself growing more and more intrigued…

  More and more connected.

  And Damon had noticed this, as well.

  Serafina hadn’t wanted to hurt Damon. She hadn’t even wanted to want Gold, after all! But the seeds of disaster had been planted. The two grew distant; their long talks fading to silence and their rock-solid trust cracking to expose suspicion and doubt beneath. Then, like a forgotten pot left atop a roaring fire, it all boiled over. That argument would be the last time Serafina would ever get to speak to her husband and the father of her unborn child.

  That argument…

  She regretted her words, her actions, everything. She had left, running straight into Gold’s waiting arms. She confessed to him that night, and, under the burning gaze of the blood moon, she and Gold had shared their first kiss.

  …and their last.

  She’d known, even in the wake of the argument, that what she was doing was wrong. Breaking away, she’d tried to deny him; to explain that it could not be—that it would not be.

  Then those golden eyes burned even brighter…

  That mysterious smile grew even wider…

  And Serafina knew that she was dealing with no ordinary man.

  Then her water broke…

  “The devil always collects
his dues, dearie,” those eyes, still so familiar despite the growing gold sheen in them, gleamed down at her.

  “The devil always collects his dues, dearie.”

  Gold’s words had repeated over and over in her mind.

  “The devil always collects his dues, dearie.”

  “NO! PLEASE DON’T! PLEASE…” Serafina howled, lurching up from the bed and dragging the sweat-soaked sheets with her clammy skin.

  She clenched her eyes and held her breath, waiting for the pounding on the wall from her not-so-friendly neighbor. When no response came, though, she let herself relax, dared a few deep breaths, then grabbed the towel she’d set beside the bed for just this purpose and began mopping her face.

  Then the response came…

  Sighing, she looked past the edges of the scratchy terry cloth at the door as the series of impacts continued.

  “Better to get it over with fast,” she whispered to herself as she realized a part of her was considering pretending that she’d already fallen back to sleep.

  Not like he’d believe that, anyway.

  Not like she’d let herself, either.

  Letting out another sigh, she ran her thumb over the crescent moon charm around her neck before tossing the towel onto the bed and crossing the room. In the few steps it took to close the distance, she found herself inwardly conflicted about whether or not she was excited at the idea of a conflict. On the one hand, she always—ALWAYS!—woke up from that dream wanting—NEEDING!—to hurt somebody. (It was no mystery just who that somebody was, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.) On the other hand, however, was the promise she’d made that, unless given no other alternative, she wouldn’t rely on violence to solve things. After the episode that morning over the eggs, however, she wasn’t sure a pleasant chat would do the trick.

  As she reached for the knob, she’d already mapped out three possible ways the man might choose to attack her. Then, giving it a quarter-turn, she came up with a half-dozen possible responses to each of those three. By the time she had the door halfway open, she’d already beaten him in several bare-knuckle rounds and a few with any sort of weapon he might have chosen to bring along with him.