Urban Mythic: Thirteen Novels of Adventure and Romance, featuring Norse and Greek Gods, Demons and Djinn, Angels, Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves in the Modern World

by C. Gockel

  She walked around the building as fast as she could, reached the side eave, and saw the much smaller door she was looking for. A quick trial showed that it, too, was locked. The Aboyne community didn’t take risks with their parish, it seemed. But there was a window, not of stained glass but something more modern. Lily stood on her tiptoes and heaved. It was closed, but they hadn’t thrown the safety lock and it gave.

  When she dropped down on the other side this time, she didn’t fall on anything. The minister’s office was draped in shadows, but the dark hulks suggesting furniture were few and far between. Office table, narrow locker-style cabinet, couple of chairs… there couldn’t be much more.

  Which was good. If she had to go through the minister’s belongings to find a magical horn of faerie make, she’d feel much more like a burglar and less like a rescuer.

  The door connecting the office to the church was open and Lily slipped through. Her sneakers squeaked against the polished floor and the sound echoed in the empty space. Moonlight filtered through the stained glass and lit up the place in a colorless glow that would make the search, if not easier, at least less impossible. The pulpit stood like a lone sentinel in front of a sea of upholstered chairs, more prominent even than the simple altar at its side. High galleries adorned three of the four walls, each supported by marble columns and each with their wrought iron stairs to reach the upper seats. Other than that, it was empty.

  Where would Mackenna hide the horn? Not in plain sight because that would risk someone relocating it to an unsafe location. So it wouldn’t be where people would stumble upon it by accident either. Most ancient churches of the Midlands would offer a hundred nooks to store a small object out of sight, but the interior of Aboyne’s parish church was almost aseptic. Perhaps it was because it had to be restored and could no longer be considered ancient.

  Lily shook herself. By standing there and thinking architecture, she’d solve nothing.

  First the galleries. The steps going up and down. The banners hung upon the walls. The underside of the seats of every chair. The underside of every seat in the main eave. The back of the portrait. The pulpit. The altar. The organ. She couldn’t see very well, but she felt her way through it all, looking for a hollow sound, a raised border, a shape out of the ordinary.

  Nothing. Nothing at all.

  She should have brought a flashlight. She should have thought to pick one up and throw it in the knapsack. Granted, it might have called a neighbor’s attention, but this groping and fumbling in the dark couldn’t be much better.

  The dark wouldn’t last forever, either. Lily could almost feel the first hints of predawn creeping up on her. Soon, the graves outside would be covered in morning’s dew and the sky would go gray and she’d be out of time.

  She might be out of time already, taking into account the way its passage didn’t have an exact correlation between mortal and faerie worlds.

  She felt like a rendition of Alice’s White Rabbit. Late, late; rushing around in circles and managing nothing. There was not a hint of the horn in the church. And really, when she stopped to think about it, it made sense. Mackenna was a very proper woman—except for the odd bits concerning faerie lore, of course. Still, even those bits had made her more polite, gentle, and self-aware than average. You didn’t overstep your boundaries when dealing with faeries, and so Mackenna had never overstepped hers when dealing with normal people, either. Imagining her breaking into a church and hiding something there, like a pirate’s cache, was just wrong. The church might be for the whole congregation, but it didn’t belong to any one member and she wouldn’t have been comfortable putting something of hers in a public place, no matter how faerie-proof it was.

  But if Cadowain had been wrong and the horn wasn’t here, then where was it?

  Hallowed ground.

  Of course. Of course!

  Mackenna didn’t own the building, but she did own a plot of its hallowed grounds, didn’t she?

  Lily ran back to the minister’s office. She put one of the chairs below the window and used it to climb out with less struggling. Perhaps the next morning they would notice someone had broken in and hadn’t touched a thing, and perhaps by night she’d be laughing at their confused looks with her grandma while they scratched their heads and tried to understand. It didn’t matter.

  She hit the outside floor with a thud that left her breathless for a moment, and she used it to get her bearings. It was one place she hadn’t been to since she was little, but the impression of the cemetery in her child’s mind was quite drastic and she recalled to the last detail the visits she and Mackenna had paid to that place every Friday afternoon. Her feet took her there by memory, not stumbling or hesitating once and slowing only when in front of the correct Celtic granite cross.

  It looked much like the one she had fallen on top of before, but it wasn’t as old. Ivy and overgrowth had been kept in check with a firm hand and weeds hadn’t dared to invade the tomb yet. The carved name was smoothed by the elements but still starkly visible. It said “Cormag Kirk. More beloved than forever.”

  Her grandfather’s grave.

  She knelt in front of it and ran her fingers over the corners where they sunk into the ground.

  There! Upturned soil, the vegetation pushing up again but not quite equal to the older grass. The dirt packed, yes, but not settled.

  She began to dig with her bare fingers, her blunt nails cracking and the scratches in her knuckles reopening. She cleared one inch, then another, and then she touched something rough. A burlap bundle, stained as brown as the earth itself.

  It resisted, but with a harsh tug, she pulled it free and shook the dirt out. It was very light, about a foot long, and Lily parted the cloth with trembling fingers and baited breath.

  And there it was, bone and bronze and mother of pearl and gold.

  The horn of the Wild Hunt.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A spear of freezing cold hit Lily’s chest the moment her feet thudded on the other side of the cemetery wall. Icy fingers squeezed her lungs and she gasped for breath, her free hand reaching up to the burning spot.

  It was her pendant. Her fingers slipped below the chain and pulled it away from her skin, trying to escape the sensation, and a droplet of cool water slid down her knuckles and wrist. She held it up to eye level, and before her eyes, the remaining silver rose bloom wilted and wept.

  Her hand shook. The wilted flower settled into the new shape, the water dried upon her skin and the preternatural cold seeped from the silver charm until it was no colder than any other metal would.

  The chain slipped from her fingers and fell against her skin, settling in the hollow of her throat.

  She lifted her eyes and found Troy.

  For a split second, the tableau held. They just stood there, her shaking and him steady like a statue of cut ice, her lips attempting to form words and his pressed in a hard line—her not knowing what to feel and his emerald eyes showing her nothing at all. Then, the stillness shattered.

  Troy’s body hit hers and they tumbled down in a heap. Her grip around the knapsack tightened and the horn dug into her side. She saw stars exploding in her vision. Something thudded against the cemetery wall. Something else whizzed past her head.

  An arrow feathered in white. An arrow!

  She kicked out and Troy cursed, rolling them about. The new position gave Lily purchase and she sprung up. Running back into the cemetery would be the wise thing, to protect the horn and to make sure they couldn’t reach her, but whoever was firing had the same basic grasp of strategy and kept the arrows raining between her and the low wall.

  She raced toward the trees for whatever cover they would offer. She made it as far as the first row when Troy caught up to her again. His arm locked about her waist and he hauled her back to his chest. They both crashed against a tree trunk, the bark scraping Lily’s cheek, and he used a leg to pin hers and keep her from kicking out.

  She screamed and tried to use her elbows to
hit him.

  “Do not be a fool,” he snarled in her ear, slapping a hand over her mouth.

  Suddenly, the world around them changed. It wasn’t like stepping over an opening. This was more disconcerting perhaps because it came with the certainty of not having moved. It brought a shifting of shadows, a translucent veil draped over her eyes to murk her vision and a sense of detachment from her own skin.

  Then, she saw him.

  He came from deeper into the trees, walking on silent feet. Tall and slender, he moved with the grace of a feline and Lily recognized him as a sidhe faerie, like Cadowain. Unlike him, this one looked more like a hunter and less like a courtier. His clothing was dark to blend in with the night and his rolling steps were more suited to stalk prey than to dance. He was strong, and he was dangerous, and if Troy hadn’t manhandled her as he had, she would have ran into him. Like a hare flushed out by the hounds.

  He stepped past them, a light frown marring his perfect, inhuman features. His eyes scanned the surroundings and never focused on them. A look of bewilderment twisted his mouth and he moved out of Lily’s vision.

  Troy’s heart beat a furious rhythm against her back, and she felt his grip become less proficient and more desperate as he struggled to keep his breathing silent. Whatever he was doing to keep the sidhe from noticing them was costing him dearly. Lily remembered he had explained to her that workings needed time to prepare, but he had managed to hide them at a moment’s notice, while struggling against her. For how long would he be able to keep it up?

  Moments stretched into eternity, and then, without a word of warning, Troy stepped away from her. She staggered at the sudden lack of support and his hand grabbed her wrist, hauling her into a run that had them doubling the hunting party.

  Lily raced awkwardly, one arm still secured around her bundle and the other pulled by Troy. He was guiding them away from the safety of the hallowed ground, but also away from the sidhe and his arrow-flinging hounds, so she followed his lead.

  Until she recognized where he was headed.

  “No!” she said, digging in her heels with enough force to rock him back. “We can’t cross over.”

  “I cannot hold the illusion forever,” he snapped back. His breathing was ragged and sweat droplets seemed to be mixing with the usual water dripping from his hair. “My own domain is the only place I can hope to surpass him.”

  “If we cross over with the horn, the queen will know. They will know it’s no longer safe.”

  “They already do, fool. That was Marast, the Unseelie Queen’s best knight. Can you not see how you have been played?”

  A voice clear as the stars shouted something in the background. They had found their trail.

  “Played by whom? Who’s the only Unseelie here?”

  “Who warned you not to strike thoughtless bargains?” he shot back. Then, his eyes fixed at a point over her shoulder and widened, the white showing around green irises.

  An arrow flew past by her.

  Troy leapt forward and grabbed her, twisting them around to move away from the incoming attack. Toward the river.

  The arrow hadn’t meant to kill them. It was just flushing them out, again.

  “Stop!” she said. “They’ll back us against the riverside.”

  He grinned back over his shoulder, not stopping. It was a gesture sharp as a knife. “They are welcome to try.”

  The shadows of the shift began to coalesce around him while they raced the Unseelie sidhe hunter.

  Our riders never fall.

  Drown them, eat them.

  The last rose, wilted. No more obligations to save her.

  “No! No, no, no!”

  The hunting party caught on to his intentions at the same time Lily did and began firing in earnest, but by then it was too late.

  Troy’s arms wrapped around her waist, the world titled in its axis and then the change was upon him and Lily could do nothing but scream as he hurtled them toward the river.

  Someone shouted behind them, the voice barely heard over the thundering of blood rushing in her ears, and then Troy sank and took her with him. Every muscle in her body tensed when she hit the freezing water and she fought to break free of his magic, to push away from him and cling to the surface, but she might as well have been trying to escape her own skin. She went under, the murky river swallowing the predawn light, and she tried to claw at Troy, to pull on his mane, to get him to let her go before the darkness trapped her.

  But her throat burned. Her chest ached, squeezed by an invisible fist that urged her to breathe.

  She fought harder.

  It didn’t make a difference. She knew giving in would kill her, would only hasten her toward a watery grave, but there was no escape and her body betrayed her. She took a frantic gulp—

  And a rush of fresh air soothed her starving lungs.

  ~FIN~

  The Wild Curse, Faerie Sworn Book 2, is available at your favorite retailer.

  Learn more on the author’s website, or click here to sign up for her mailing list.

  A DEMON BOUND

  Imp Series Book 1

  Debra Dunbar

  Samantha Martin is an imp, enjoying an extended vacation from Hel. All she wants to do is drink beer by the pool, play mischievous pranks on the humans, and get her hot neighbor in the sack. It’s a relaxing break from her infernal home as long as she manages to avoid the angels, who won’t hesitate to execute her on sight.

  But when her naughty hellhound lands her in trouble with the local werewolf pack, Sam is blackmailed into helping track and catch a killer. The steps she must take to appease the werewolves will put her right in the crosshairs of the angels. And with angels, there is no second chance.

  To Dr. Hadley Tremaine (1939–2001), Chairman of the Department of English, Hood College, Frederick, Maryland, who taught me that there is great treasure to be found in what others consign to hell.

  Chapter 1

  I parked down the street from the bail bond office and pretended to fuss with some papers on the passenger seat as I watched two boys race toward me out of the corner of my eye. They were hauling ass, and one darted across traffic in a daring effort to cut the other off.

  “Wait for it, wait for it,” I muttered as they sped toward the car.

  One, two, three, open. I flung the car door out to its full width and a wave of satisfaction rolled through me as I heard a thump and felt the door vibrate against my hand. The boy toward the outside had managed to dive out of the way, missing the door by inches and rolling expertly as he landed on the ground. The inside boy wasn’t so lucky. He’d bounced off the door with the thump I had felt and hit the cement sidewalk with a meaty thwack.

  “Yeah,” yelled the outside boy as he hopped to his feet. He punctuated the word with an exuberant fist pump. I got out of the car and gave him a high five.

  “All yours, Roberto,” I told him.

  I paid a twenty to any kid who watched my car while I took care of business. That normally wouldn’t have been a good deal. A Corvette in this neighborhood would attract a lot of attention, and a kid watching it wouldn’t necessarily deter theft. But my car was well known. All the kid needed to do was inform anyone looking to lift the tires that this was my vehicle, and let me know if anyone was stupid enough to do so anyway. Well worth the twenty.

  I turned to the other kid, who was staggering to his feet from the pavement and wiping a bloody nose.

  “Maybe next time, Dante,” I said. He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose and staggered off.

  I had a moment of panic as I shut the car door and thought that Dante may have dented it. Humans were soft and squishy, but he’d hit with a good bit of force. I lucked out this time, though. No dent, just a bit of blood and snot that I wiped off with the side of my arm. Fuck! That was close. I don’t always think things through before I do them, and it would have really sucked if he’d damaged my car.

  “Are you going to evict Old Man Larson, Ma’am?” Roberto asked me
.

  “Nope, just collecting rents,” I replied.

  Most people would rather have been home by the pool with a cold beer on a hot day like today, but I actually liked collecting rents. I’d spent the morning taking cash from those tenants who didn’t trust the mail system, or who found it impossible to obtain a checking account. This was my last visit of the day with one particular tenant who needed an in–person, see–the–light kind of call.

  I’m a slum lord. Commercial, residential, it doesn’t matter as long as the building is cheap, squeaks by code and I can rent it. About seventy percent of my tenants pay promptly. I’ve been told that’s an incredible percentage with these types of properties. The others shove cash–stuffed envelopes at me as soon as I ring the bell.

  I’m also a demon, which is probably why I have such a high compliance rate on my rent collections. We demons usually live in another realm and pop over here to vacation. Low ranking demons save for centuries to pay someone for safe passage. Ones with status in the hierarchy come over whenever they feel like it. Of course, it is still risky trying to get through the gates undetected, and to hustle your ass back before your fun activities bring death down on your head. The more often you come over, the greater the chance is that you’ll be caught and killed by the angels.

  I’ve been here over forty years on a sort of extended vacation, which is unheard of among my kind. I’ve managed to stay alive by laying low and posing as a human, with as little energy usage and bad behavior as possible for a demon. So far I’ve succeeded in remaining undetected.

  I walked the block down to the apartment building feeling the heat from the broken sidewalk right through my shoes, and kicked an empty whisky pint out of the way to ring the doorbell. My tenant should have been waiting for me since I pulled some favors and had a friend arrange a drug buy. Otherwise he would most likely hide in the back and pretend he was not home. When that happens, I have to sneak around the place peering in windows and eventually breaking in to confront the tenant. I hate that. These houses are all over one hundred years old and the windows aren’t standard size. It’s very difficult to get them repaired. My tenant was expecting a buyer and not a landlord, so I hoped I didn’t have to break any windows to get in this time.