Nightshade (17 tales of Urban Fantasy, Magic, Mayhem, Demons, Fae, Witches, Ghosts, and more)

by Annie Bellet

  Brea chose a table beside the window, where the airy brush of ferns against her arm steadied her even further. It was frightening, being out in the world and interacting with mortals. She half-expected them to point and scream, decrying her as inhuman and then doing something barbaric, like tying her to a stake to be burned alive.

  She shuddered at the thought of such a hideous fate and attempted to distract herself by reading one of the colorful menus stacked upon the table.

  “Herbal tea and a bowl of soup, please,” she said when the bespectacled serving girl came to inquire.

  The tea would be lovely, and she would pretend to eat the soup. She would take no mortal food, only pure liquids infused with flowers and leaves. Indeed, when the soup arrived, the scent of it made her feel ill. It would provide excuse enough for her to linger, however, so she pushed the bowl to the side and concentrated on the steam wafting up from her tea.

  Spearmint and chamomile, which grew in the meadows on the brighter edges of the Dusk Vale. The scent made a wave of longing rush through her. Would she ever return again to the stream she called home, or leap and splash in the silvery waters of the nearby lake?

  Such thoughts had no profit to them, and Brea resolutely turned her mind away.

  If there was an echo of loneliness to the idea of returning to her existence in the vale, what of it? She was a solitary fey, needing no companionship except the dragonflies to dance with and the ripples of wind on the water to sing her to sleep.

  “Anything else?” the serving girl asked as she passed Brea’s table.

  Brea shook her head and handed the girl the silver card, willing her fingers not to tremble. If the worst happened, klaxons sounded and guards appeared, she could always disappear into a mist and float away.

  Trying not to appear obvious, she watched the serving girl swipe the card. Nothing dire occurred, and Brea let out a tiny, relieved sigh.

  “Thanks for coming in!” the girl said, returning her card and a printout.

  “My pleasure.” Brea rose, then hesitated.

  From the dozens of vids she had absorbed the night before, she understood it was customary to leave a token of thanks at the table.

  With a thought, she conjured up a few coins and nudged them next to the plate. She hoped they would not turn to leaves the next morning, in the way of faerie gold. But since she had no actual money, the deception couldn’t be helped.

  Confidence quickening her stride, Brea went back into the glass palace of wonders and proceeded to purchase everything she found both beautiful and useful. A velvet coverlet the color of sapphire-blue water, a set of pure crystal drinking goblets, a small chest with bronze fittings, two pillows filled with goose-down, an amazing foam mattress that compressed into, and, more for fancy than practicality, a string of colorful glass baubles to hang from one of the broken-out windows.

  Her cart was full—overfull—and she had not begun to select her wardrobe. It would be difficult enough to carry this much back to her hideout in the Exe, so she made herself stop. Only then was she aware of the weariness pulsing through her. The lights overhead seemed suddenly far too bright, searing her eyes, and she wanted to curl up on one of the display beds and sleep.

  Instead, she scraped up the strength to finish making her purchases, then lugged the bulky bags out of the shop.

  Back on the sidewalk, the hum of metal assailed her. More vehicles traveled the street now, and her reserves had fallen too low. Oh, curses upon her small store of strength, so quickly depleted! She staggered to the end of the block and halted, her chest rising and falling with the beginnings of panic.

  No, she would not crumble and weep. Had she not already proved she was strong enough to face the human world? She must simply be more clever.

  Tipping her face to the sky, she hummed a rhyme of lightness, of ease, and the bags she carried lifted, each one weighing no more than a vial of moon dust, a spiral of silk.

  Exhaustion pulled at her, but she made herself walk sure and straight down the streets until she reached the squalid alleyways bordering the Exe.

  Then, with the last droplets of her strength, she tugged a concealing enchantment over herself. By the time she gained the safety of her shelter, she was weaving and stumbling like the town drunk.

  Nearly weeping with relief, Brea dragged herself over the threshold and set her bags on the floor. Her wards of protection emitted a serene silver glow, showing that no one had breached the boundary while she was away. It was all she could do to fetch herself a cup of water. After drinking it thirstily, she pulled the coverlet out, extracted the mattress from its bag, and plummeted into exhausted sleep.

  ***

  The sun chased the moon across the sky four times before Brea awoke fully. She lay upon the comfortable foam, reveling in the softness of azure velvet pulled up around her chin, and stared at the dawn-shrouded sky visible through her half-broken roof. A strange feeling washed through her, different from the simple acceptance of things she felt when in her waterbound form. If she had to name it, she might call it contentment.

  Ah, it was dangerous, to feel such things as a mortal again. She must harden herself, for she could not afford any more weaknesses.

  As shadows faded from the room, she fetched her customary cup of water, drinking from the delicate edge of one of her new goblets. She cast a small golden ball of light for illumination while she unpacked the bags, hung her sun catcher in the window, then pulled out the bronze-bound chest.

  She let three drops of water run off her fingers, each one imbuing an enchantment into the wood: protection, concealment, safekeeping. Carefully, she placed the medallion into the chest, then closed it and murmured a word of binding. Blue lines flared at the edges, and the magic was set.

  The chest went into the corner, her new bedding pulled beneath the intact portion of the roof, her set of goblets arrayed in the bathing room. It was a start, and a good one at that.

  Now she must attire herself with human clothing and, even more essential, purchase at least one screen device, the center of this much-changed mortal world.

  As she had done before, Brea floated to the area where the shops were, then transformed herself into human form. She entered a shop with garments on display, and soon discovered the immense frustration of having to find clothes of the proper size and shape.

  Cloaking herself in starlight and mist was so much simpler! Illusions did not tug or squeeze or hang imperfectly upon her form the way physical clothing did. It took the better part of the day just to assemble a few outfits, when she had envisioned being able to complete her entire wardrobe in a few simple hours.

  Unlike the first time she had attempted to shop, she monitored her energy levels. When tiredness began to tug upon her bones, Brea completed her purchases and took them back to her shelter.

  She did the same the next day, and the next, and her possessions grew: clothing of all kinds, jewelry, a small store of cosmetics, scavenged boxes to keep her new belongings in, and an increasing collection of tablet devices.

  She found herself fascinated by them—those small flat screens holding such power and magic. The Brea of her past would have thought such things to be darkest sorcery, and indeed both the mortal and fae parts of herself were dazzled and a little frightened by the technology. Tech, as the humans called it.

  It was beginning to make sense, how the simulation game called Feyland had intersected with the Realm of Faerie. One type of magic meeting another, in a place that was neither real nor unreal, where anything was possible. No wonder the Dark Queen was determined to pull as many mortals as she could into her dying Realm. Their dreams, their sorrows, even their blood would revitalize the land.

  Brea shivered at what that ultimately meant to the humans and their world. But despite her qualms, she was bound to do the queen’s bidding.

  Still, she delayed. Before she embarked upon her mission, she must find one more pair of soft leather boots, and an amulet made of amber to match the bracelet she had
procured the other day. New tablets were announced, and surely she could not begin her work for the queen until she was outfitted with the newest devices.

  She had been in the mortal world a fortnight, and that first, warm kernel of contentment was beginning to grow into something more. A sensation she had all but forgotten. Happiness.

  Perhaps you might simply stay here, a small, treacherous part of herself whispered. Do not return to the Realm, do not put your touch upon the humans. Just make this tiny, perfect life for yourself.

  It was tempting, and yet she knew it would never succeed. Beyond the fact that some nights loneliness still shrouded her in a cold fog, the Dark Queen would not turn a blind eye to Brea shirking her duties.

  She had been sent to the human world to make youths susceptible to the magic of the Realm, so that when they played Feyland they would slip and tumble into the queen’s clutches instead of staying safely within the confines of the game. Here, in the city of Crestview, a few mortals had already crossed that boundary more than once, making it more permeable and easier to bend to the Dark Queen’s wishes.

  Brea was but a tool in the queen’s implacable hand.

  The next morning she awoke with the aftermath of frightening dreams still shivering through her. Redcap goblins had chased her through the Exe, the queen had stared at her until she had felt a blackthorn dart through her heart. Clutching her chest, Brea had felt hot blood flow through her fingers.

  The warnings were clear. She must not delay any further.

  Brea flicked on her newest tablet and carefully typed out the words of her next, inevitable step. How to become a high school student.

  Using her magic, she had been able to quickly absorb how to read and write in the modern way, but she still was not entirely certain of the spellings of things. The tablet lit up with answers, however, and soon enough she grasped what was necessary.

  An hour later, with a touch of enchantment humming inside Crestview High School’s system, she had an identity as an exchange student from Ireland staying with a fictitious host family. With a last tap upon the screen, the deed was done. She was now enrolled as a junior at the high school—and expected to begin classes the very next Monday. Fear shivered through her at the thought.

  But had she not used her wits and small magic to succeed among the mortals? As daunting as this next part of her mission might be, she would face it and show the Dark Court that she was not a helpless creature to be gutted and tossed aside.

  She was a faerie girl. Whether the human world knew it or not, she would put her mark upon it—silvery and magical, shining with the light of a hundred invisible stars.

  Brea’s tale falls between Spark and Royal in Anthea’s novels of Feyland. Grab the first book in the USA Today bestselling series, Feyland: The Dark Realm, for FREE at all ebook retailers.

  Want to read more about Brea’s mission? Pick up ROYAL: Feyguard Book 2 for the continuation of her quest… and perhaps an answer to the loneliness within her soul.

  Find out more about Anthea’s USA Today bestselling books: http://antheasharp.com/

  Join Anthea’s mailing list (and get a free story!): http://eepurl.com/1qtFb

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  Angels and Demons

  Colleen Vanderlinden

  A mysterious woman haunts the streets of Detroit, dishing up her own version of vigilante justice. If the stories about her are true, she could end up being the city’s biggest nightmare.

  “Stone, block that son of a bitch,” Nain shouted as he ducked the out-of-control punch the werewolf aimed toward his face. He drew back and dropped the were with one punch, then bent and cuffed him behind his back.

  “Jones,” he said, and the police chief hauled the unconscious werewolf up, and he and Nain put him in the back of the van Jones had brought with them.

  Full moon. Every month, there were always a few werewolves who had to act like idiots. He stormed over to where Stone was sitting on another werewolf’s back, calmly talking to the werewolf as it raged.

  “You know he can’t understand you,” Nain said.

  “It’s all in the tone, boyo. He’s still a man, under all the fur and such.”

  “He’s a man who should have been under lock and key tonight,” Nain grumbled, and he and Stone pulled the were over to where the police chief waited. It wasn’t a normal thing for Nain to actually work with Detroit’s law enforcement community in any kind of official manner, but he’d known Jones for a while, and once the officer had become the chief of police, Nain found himself working with him more often.

  Of course, it helped that the chief was a shifter. He wouldn’t have worked with him if he was just another human.

  “That’ll do it, I guess,” the chief said after the last were was cuffed and tranquilized and put into the van. “Official report will be that it was a rabid dog. These guys will be guarded by my pack until they shake if off in the morning.”

  Nain nodded, and he shook hands with the chief, then watched as Jones and Stone shook. Off to the side, another of his teammates, Ada, applied an herbal salve to the shifter who’d come along with Jones to help clean up the werewolf problem. He’d ended up with a pretty nasty scratch along the side of his face, and Ada was doing her best to make sure he healed up all right. It was just what she did: kick ass one minute, and go full Earth mother the next. But always with a bit of a bite, because that was just Ada.

  “You should move faster next time,” Ada was currently telling the shifter, who stared at her incredulously. “Keep your head in the game when you’re fighting werewolves. This isn’t amateur hour, son.” Nain watched her finish up, and then she walked over, joining him and Stone.

  “I think that will do for now. You two can head back to the loft. I’m going to patrol for a while.”

  “Still looking for your mystery woman?” Ada asked with a smile. Nain shrugged.

  “Well, good luck boss. See you around.” Stone clapped Nain’s shoulder and he and Ada walked off, toward Stone’s motorcycle. After watching the motorcycle, and then the police van take off into the night, Nain got in his truck and made his way out of the neighborhood, toward Gratiot Avenue, which would take him through that night’s patrol area. He drove with the windows down, his mind open, surveying the thoughts of those around him, barely having to think about it. After all this time, it was second nature.

  As he passed certain places, he remembered the way they’d once looked. It was almost impossible not to. The giant church that had once stood on a certain corner, the cobblestone streets that had made up that neighborhood. He’d been in Detroit his entire existence. Over three hundred years now. He’d been there when the French had first arrived. He’d personally cursed Antoine Cadillac. He’d never expected that story to live as long as it had.

  The Nain Rouge. Red dwarf. Red demon. In his early days, his adolescence, he’d done more than a few things he now regretted. Among them was appearing in his true demonic form to the humans of the area. The worst of the things he’d done were things he was still trying to make amends for.

  A demon with a conscience, Stone jokingly called him. It was ridiculous, of course. He didn’t really have one. Mostly, he found he liked Detroit and it pissed him off when powered beings, mainly vampires, werewolves, and shifters, made trouble. The paranormal community lived right along side the Normal one, and the Normals were none the wiser. That was something that seemed to be true everywhere, and he considered it his own personal mission to keep the humans blissfully unaware of him and the others. It was for their own safety, really.

  When he was being honest with himself, which wasn’t often, he could admit that he did it hoping for redemption. As if redemption for a demon was even a possibility.

  He’d eventually changed his ways, from being a typical, raging, murdering, plundering demon to eventually finding himself as a vigilante crimefighter, dealing with supernatural assholes. A team had formed around him. He’d been doing th
is for a hundred years now. The members of his team had changed over the years, some leaving, others dying after a long life. Too many dying in the line of duty.

  He drove, and listened, and kept an eye out. Aside from the usual supernatural bullshit his team was busy with, they were currently trying to track a woman the media was calling “the Angel.” In the past several months, she’d apparently rescued several women and girls in a variety of bad situations. But there was more to it than that. Stories were spreading about her, about a tiny woman who beat much larger men into submission. About criminals who turned up at the police station, willingly confessing to crimes they’d committed. Guys who’d spent their entire lives, sometimes, thieving and beating and worse, and they suddenly decided to confess and turn themselves in?

  Nain didn’t like it. Not that she wasn’t doing good things, because she was and more power to her if that was it. But so much of what they heard pointed to the fact that she was a telepath. And maybe more. It was the “maybe more” that had him and his second in command, Brennan, out every night chasing rumors about her. They were sure they’d gotten close several times, but she was like a ghost, always gone before they got to where she’d supposedly been. Usually all they found when they got there were unconscious or crying dudes and clear signs of a struggle.

  If the stories were true, if, as he suspected, these guys were turning themselves in because of something she’d done, then he needed to know firsthand what he was dealing with. A telepath who could plant subliminal messages and orders in the mind of another was rare. Dangerous. If that’s what he was dealing with, he needed to know. And then he needed to decide what to do about it.

  After a couple hours, during which he checked in with a couple of his contacts and not-so-gently convinced a group of shifters to stop fighting like assholes where the Normals could see them, he headed back toward the loft.