Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  That was when Dean’s words came back to me: It’ll be like a dead zone for any witch who tries to use magic around you.

  Of course. The bracelet only worked on witches.

  I was so stupid to forget this important fact.

  Jinn tapped into a whole different well of magic that was stored within themselves—whereas witches and warlocks utilized the magic of the world around them.

  In a moment of panic, I focused my powers on his palm, hoping to freeze his skin and stop his coalescing of power, but he saw right through my glare and backhanded me across the face. I spiraled to the ground, my shoulder and hip taking the brunt of the landing. With a groan, I held my cheek, which would no doubt bruise from the force of his blow. I moved to stand back up, but felt the air around me crackle with power as Anwar brought his glowing hand above my scalp.

  “Give me the relic, and this all ends. Don’t give me the relic, and prepare for horrors beyond your imagining,” he snarled, his teeth bared. Somehow, it was scarier than when the vampire did it back at the pub.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retaliated, gritting my teeth. He had me pinned down. I couldn’t get a grip on my powers, my cheek throbbing, my knuckles pained, and my vision blurring. I couldn’t concentrate enough to freeze his ass. If I could just get a good look at his boots…

  “Be that way.” Anwar pulled back slightly out of my sight, once again reading my motives. I cursed inwardly, bracing myself for the magic that would no doubt begin to assault my senses.

  “Kirsi!”

  My eyes snapped open just in time to see Branton tackle Anwar off his feet and onto the ground. The large Arabic man wasn’t ready for the outside attack and went down hard, the illumination of his arm dissipating to nothing more than a dull glow. His head bounced against the concrete, the black in his eyes glazing over from disorientation and pain. He hissed, turning to face his new opponent.

  “Kirsi!” Branton yelled again, doing his best to pin Anwar to the ground. “You need to run!”

  I quickly caught my bearings and yelled back at him, “I told you I don’t need your help!”

  “Sure seemed like you did,” he retorted before Anwar knocked him off with a hard left strike. He went sprawling on the ground, nothing more than an average mortali without his magic. As long as I wore my bracelet, he couldn’t properly defend himself. I briefly wondered if he even knew how to fight without spells.

  “Insolent fool,” Anwar spat, his accent coming out full force in his rage. “You want to experience torment as well? Fine! Be my guest!”

  The glow of his arm brightened once more. This time, he didn’t give any pomp or circumstance to it. He held his power-imbued arm above Branton’s head, and let the blue light reach out and latch onto his skull, assaulting him with his illusionary magic.

  “Branton!” I screamed, forcing myself to my feet. I had to save him, asshole stalker or not. He was just trying to help me, and now he was receiving what should have been my punishment. Friend or not, Anwar had to be stopped.

  I trained my eyes on Anwar’s arm, hoping to all the gods above that there was just a bit of moisture in the air to freeze enough to make him stop. The air chilled around us, and I felt my power pool within me, my eyes the epicenter of its current. I let it build behind the dam of my eyelids and then, with as big a push as I could give, I let it all loose.

  The glowing skin of Anwar’s arm began to turn blue, the humidity in the air around him forming and crystallizing. A thin sheet of ice spread across his arm beginning at his elbow and ending at his wrist, not exactly the block I wanted but hopefully enough to stop him.

  My hopes were dashed when he brought up his other hand and smashed the ice before it could graph to his skin.

  “Nice try.” Anwar shot me a sneer, continuing his assault on Branton, who stared off into space, his eyes wide and bloodshot as unimaginable horrors no doubt appeared in his mind.

  The feeling of defeat spread through me, my energy depleted with that one last, failed attack. I fell to my knees, panting, sweat dripping from my forehead. My body felt heavy, the exertion of power in my desperation a heavy burden on my shoulders.

  I failed… I thought, gritting my teeth in frustration. I failed to protect my family.

  “K-Kirsi…”

  Branton’s voice caught my attention, no matter how small it was. I met his eyes, watched as he forced himself through the agony to focus on me, his lips quivering as he spoke.

  “The… b-bracelet…” he ground out, drool beginning to seep out the sides of his lips. “T-Take… it…”

  He didn’t have to finish. I already knew what I had to do to save him, and myself.

  Without giving it a second thought, I tore the bracelet off my wrist and tossed it as far as I could. It landed with a clatter several yards away.

  The effect was instantaneous. Light began to form around Branton, his eyes focusing through their pained haze into a determined glare. He clenched his teeth and pushed back against Anwar’s magic with his own.

  “Wha—” Anwar was stunned by the sudden turn of events, not expecting Branton’s magic to match his own so cleanly. Branton gave a roar and swung his arm, a blast of energy slamming into Anwar’s chest and sending him flying into the brick wall behind him—a good three feet away.

  An indent the size of Anwar’s large frame formed in the wall from the impact, the force of the blow unbelievable. I stared in awe at the raw power this warlock possessed.

  Dean, eat your heart out.

  With a single blow, Anwar fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “Curses!” I exclaimed.

  “We need to go.” Branton was at my side before I realized it, helping me to my feet. Usually, I would have fought him, but in my state, I wasn’t in a position to do shit. He tried to pick me up and carry me bridal style, but I quickly slapped him on the shoulder with my good hand, causing him to roll his eyes at my little hissy. I propped my arm against him, and we quickly made our escape from the downed Jinn lying in the street.

  8

  Branton’s car wasn’t far, but I still remained speechless as he helped me into the passenger seat and sped away. I just couldn’t believe he’d saved me, or that I saved him.

  Once I took the time to think about it, I did nothing to save him. I only put him in danger.

  Then again, I wouldn’t have had that damn bracelet on had he not tried to pull my mind. I still couldn’t let my guard down. It was very possible he was just trying to play good cop while working for the enemy.

  “Could you do me a favor and put your glasses back on? It’s fucking freezing in here,” his gruff voice said, causing me to look up and see frost forming on the AC vents and around the windshield.

  I did as he asked, digging in my pocket for the spectacles and hoping they wouldn’t be broken after the tiff I’d just had with Anwar.

  Once I had them in place, the temperature around me rose a little.

  “So, want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Branton asked. He knew there was some sort of evil sending their army after me, so why he would ask flared the anger inside me even more.

  I finally looked over at him, my arms across my chest in defiance. “Why in the hell would you think I’d bring you in on this? You shouldn’t have been there in the first place!” I knew my volume was spiking to damn near screech-level, but having this guy follow me around like he was my protector was not gonna fly with me, regardless of the fact he just went through some serious mental fuckery because of Anwar.

  “You have a real funny way of saying thank you,” he spat back.

  “Who the hell said I needed help? You just show up thinking you’re going to save the damsel in distress, but you don’t even know me. How the hell do you just assume I need your help in the first place?” I was rambling, but the asshat had me pissed.

  “I know enough about your family to know that you all need to hone in on your powers. You won’t be able to protect a fucking fly until y
ou work on control and strength,” he said, his words slithering through my brain like an itch I couldn’t scratch while he gripped the steering wheel tight, his foot heavy on the gas pedal.

  “Let me out,” I demanded. “Now.”

  “Not gonna happen. Now tell me where you live.”

  “How do I know you’re not working for… for whoever the fuck is after me? You think I’m just going to give you that kind of information like it’s not a danger to my life?” I questioned, wishing to hell I knew how to get this motherfucking car to stop so I could get out.

  “I guess helping you didn’t prove to you I’m not the bad guy?” he asked. I knew his question was rhetorical, but even if it wasn’t, it didn’t deserve an answer.

  Without saying another word, I slid the glasses off my face and stared out the windshield. I wondered how long it would take for him to pull over once he couldn’t see.

  It only took seconds for the glass of the windshield to begin fogging, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to pull over and scrape the frost from it.

  “You’re playing with fire, Kirsi.” His voice was calm as he continued to drive, seeming completely unaffected by the fact that his view was now fogged up. Not to mention I was playing with ice, not fire.

  Idiot.

  The dude was going to end up killing me in a fucking car accident at this rate. Of all the ways I thought I might die, vehicular manslaughter wasn’t one of them, especially since I didn’t own anything with wheels on it.

  Well, other than that rusty old bike I kept in the shed. But that didn’t count. The tires on that were likely flat anyway.

  He didn’t slow down, even though it was clear he was running stoplights as I watched the blurred glow of red pass over our heads… one after the other.

  Yep, this is it. I’m gonna die.

  Most people in trouble would get their phone out and call the cops, but sancti couldn’t rely on mortali officers to be of any help, and cities didn’t often have their own supernatural force. There were too many kinds of beings to have a single entity control them all.

  I knew of one sancti who worked for the mortali police, and he was often the one I’d call if I had any issues at the bar involving the paranormal.

  In general though, sancti knew the boundaries… mainly because protecting our secrets was more important to us than anything else.

  And this dickhead driving through light after light like a bat out of hell was surely going to get us in some trouble, whether it be human detection or our asses wrapped around a lamp post.

  I sighed in defeat and put my glasses back on, my hand reaching for the windshield defroster before he could. If I was going to die because of his shitty driving, it wasn’t going to be my fault.

  As the glass started clearing, I looked over and saw him smile ever so slightly.

  “Fucker,” I mumbled as I sat back in my seat.

  I glanced around and noticed we were on the east side of town. I lived on the northwest side, near the lake. Then again, I didn’t tell him where I lived, so it was anyone’s guess as to where he was taking me.

  I was off for the night, so what did I care if I had to walk fifteen miles back home?

  Frustrated, I stared at my captor while he drove, the moon lighting up his face between the dim, sporadic streetlights. If I had to be kidnapped by anyone, at least it was by a cute guy. I couldn’t deny that, no matter how infuriating he was.

  It was only eleven at night, but suddenly, my eyelids couldn’t stay open. I was seriously tired. Maybe the fight with Anwar wore me out more than I’d care to admit.

  I continued to peek glances at Branton until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Whatever the hell he was drugging my mind with was glorious.

  That was the last thought I had before I passed out cold.

  The sun was shining way too goddamn bright as my eyes finally shot open in surprise, wondering where the fuck I was. It took a second, but my vision finally adjusted to the brightness.

  I was in my room… and my blackout curtains were open.

  How the fuck I got home, upstairs, and in bed was beyond me. And whoever the hell opened my curtains would have to die a horrible, painful death.

  The last thing I remembered was passing out in Branton’s car.

  “Branton,” I hissed. That motherfucker.

  Then I thought, no… there was no way he could get me home. Even if he knew where I lived, the wards would’ve kept him from stepping foot on my property.

  Bewildered, I stumbled out of bed and made my way into the bathroom, assessing my injuries. My face was bruised, that was for damn sure. The cheekbone that Anwar had pummeled looked to be a bright blue—a side effect of my colder than normal blood. Reaching up to touch it, I suddenly realized how horrid my knuckles looked.

  Fuck.

  It was all coming back to me. I punched Anwar, not even making a dent in his face while I nearly obliterated my goddamn hand. While yes, my chilled blood would mean faster healing time, it still sucked to go through the next few days with a bruised-up face and a bum hand.

  With a sigh, and after carefully doing my morning business, I made my way downstairs. I was surprised to see Calder was up. Necromancers didn’t often see the hours before noon.

  “Morning,” I called out while beelining it to the coffee pot.

  “You mean afternoon?” he chimed in, his laughter clear as crystal. “Did you get wasted last night?”

  “What? What time is it?” I asked, scrubbing my face with my hands and wishing I had kept my dang fitness watch all while listening to the gurgle of the coffee.

  Sweet, sweet coffee.

  “Um, it’s almost four.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of something. I didn’t have enough interest or energy to figure out what it was.

  “Holy shit! That means I have to be at the pub in an hour!”

  “Yeah, you must’ve gotten totally faced last night,” Calder said with another infuriating chuckle.

  “Nope. Not even a drop of alcohol,” I admitted. But I couldn’t figure out why I’d slept so dang long. “Hey, Calder. Who brought me home last night?”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t here. You were totally passed out when I got home just after two in the morning. I could even hear you snoring from down the hall,” he added, this time without the infuriating laughter.

  “Shut up, I don’t snore.” That meant Branton got me inside somehow. I wasn’t sure how he managed, but I sure as hell was going to ask next time I saw him.

  As soon as my coffee was done, I dragged my ass upstairs and grabbed my phone—which was dead as a doornail. I needed to text Sade and ask her to fill in for me until I got there. Considering it was her night off and she lived over the bar, it made sense.

  I plugged in the POS and made my way to the bathroom. A warm shower was just what I needed. My muscles were still sore from last night’s debacle.

  Removing my tank, watchful not to clutch too tightly with my sore hand, I remembered the new tattoo I got and itched to see it. I was sure it would be fabulous, but still wanted to see with my own eyes.

  Cautiously, I took the bandage off and stared at my awesome piece. Bo did an amazing job, and that was putting it mildly. It looked so good.

  I took careful consideration when showering to make sure I didn’t drown my new artwork. It honestly wouldn’t hurt it any, but I still wanted to be extra vigilant.

  It didn’t take long after drying off for me to text Sade and then find something to wear that would show off my new tattoo. A halter top would be perfect, and the keyhole in the front showed just enough cleavage to increase my tips tonight. Assuming men didn’t mind tipping a battered bartender with a black eye.

  Wearing a leather skirt and knee-high boots, I was almost ready to go. I just had to do one last thing.

  Makeup.

  I had a love-hate relationship with makeup, my powers causing the hate… well, that and the price of the shit. But it sure did make my eyes stand out, e
ven behind the fugly glasses. So that was why I bothered. That, and the bright blue marks decorating my cheek.

  Thankfully, I was only going to be about an hour late, after the twenty-minute walk there, of course. To be honest, I couldn’t wait. Working behind the bar was almost therapeutic to me.

  And so was the walk to get there.

  I wasn’t in the bar but about five minutes before he walked in.

  9

  I was both excited and pissed to see Branton, the latter winning out over any other emotion. I wasn’t sure why he got under my skin so much, other than his blatant lack of respect for one’s privacy. Trying to pull my mind was clearly not a way to impress me or gain my trust for that matter.

  I rounded the bar and didn’t waste any time getting up in his face. “I have a bone to pick with you,” I said, poking my finger into his chest.

  “Pick away,” he responded with a maddening smirk, holding his hands out to the sides as if inviting my assault. “But can I get a drink first?”

  Without hesitation, I grabbed his hand, wincing with the pain that shot through me from the injuries on my knuckles, and led him to one of the storage rooms. I didn’t need anyone overhearing our conversation. As soon as we were secluded in the dark room, crates of beer and wine surrounding us, I rounded on him.

  “What the hell did you do to me?” I asked, my voice forceful like a yell but with the volume of a whisper.

  “What are you blabbering about now?” he asked, his face void of any indication he knew what I was talking about.

  “Somehow, I magically got home. Yet, I have no memory of it. So what voodoo shit did you pull on me this time?” I knew I was being demanding, and somewhat rude, but I just couldn’t trust the guy. Not only did I not know him well, but he was a witch—and my history with them usually ended with me being used in some form.

  “Again, a thank you would suffice,” he said, that stupid smile still plastered all over his face as he leaned his ass against a crate and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes sparkled as he grinned. He was clearly enjoying my discomfort way too much.