Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Look, I know he’s been hard on you, but Micah … well, he’s complicated.”

  She regarded him as she chewed, lost in thought. “I can tell you guys are close.”

  He nodded before sliding a few of the beignets onto his own plate. “We are. Like brothers. We’ve been fighting together for seven years.

  “Yet, he’s a Southern Cajun, and it’s obvious you’re a Yankee.”

  Jack laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

  She nodded. “It is to anyone with ears. You’re from New York.”

  He nodded, eyebrows raised. “You’re right; I am. Brooklyn, to be precise. You have a good ear.”

  “How did that happen, then? You guys are so different.”

  “When Michael calls upon the best of the best, you answer no matter where you’re from.”

  “Michael?” she asked, recalling the little she knew about the Bible. “As in …?”

  “The archangel,” he confirmed. “The very one. He is at the head of our order, he and the other angels of war. When we had that first meeting at the Lady of Our Immaculate Heart Church, Micah sat right next to me. Michael told us how hard this mission would be, and gave us all a chance to back out beforehand. Said he wouldn’t hold it against us if we decided we couldn’t do it. I was only eighteen—Micah a few months older—and we were both cocky as hell. Slaying demons was all we wanted to do, so it sounded like fun. Dangerous fun, but still.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  He lowered his liquid gray eyes to his plate. She couldn’t see them, but his avoidance said more than his words ever could. She could see it before, and it became even more prominent now in the stark light of day.

  Jackson Bennett, Jr. had grown tired and jaded.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Forget I asked.”

  “No,” he insisted, running a hand over his hair. “It’s okay. I just … no one wants to admit that they’re tired of doing the right thing. You know? That’s like a doctor saying he’s tired of saving lives. Who does that?”

  “No doctor has to risk his life and sacrifice everything to operate on a patient,” she pointed out. “You’re no different than young men who risk their lives to go to war. They might go with dreams of glory and honor, but they don’t always return that way. You’re fighting in a war, too, Jack. A war that won’t be over until Armageddon, if I understand things correctly. Even if we get Solomon’s seal, and close the ten portals, this fight doesn’t stop there, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed with a snort and a shake of his head. “I will fight against demons for the souls of mankind until the day I die, if the end of the world doesn’t happen first. If I ever have a son, he’ll in all likelihood do the same. It’s our calling, and it’s also our curse.”

  “I don’t know too many people who think of callings and curses in the same way.”

  “Give it time,” he countered. “You can always see the curse in a calling.”

  She set her now empty coffee cup in the sink and trashed her paper plate. “Speaking of fathers, by the way … do you happen to know anything about mine?”

  Jack’s lips tightened a bit at the corners and he watched her, seeming unsure of what to say next. “Are you sure you want to go down that road?”

  “Color me curious.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “Look, not a lot gets to me, okay? I’ve had a crappy life so I’ve come to expect that crappy things will happen to me. Like, for example, finding out that my birth father is a demon. I doubt knowing which demon it is going to give me a case of the vapors.”

  He nodded. “I can tell you’re a tough girl, but it’s just that your father isn’t any ordinary demon. He’s one of the biggest, baddest demons around.”

  “Isn’t that just typical,” she snorted. “What’s his name?”

  “Eligos.” Jack shivered as the name fell from his mouth, and a tremor slid down her spine like an icy drop of water. “Also known as the Great Duke of Hell. He specializes in malice, malcontent, warmongering, and feeding on the darkness within a person. If there is any darkness to be found inside someone, he latches onto it and exploits it.”

  Addison wrapped her arms around herself, despite the heat that had her sweating minutes before. “What does he look like?” she asked, her curiosity now in overdrive, despite the fact that the mere mention of his name had her shaking.

  “Ugly as sin, no pun intended. Like a mummified human skeleton with strips of flesh still hanging around here and there. Empty eye sockets, flames burning in the depths. Kind of like Ghostrider, but way less cool.”

  She scowled at that. “There’s no way,” she protested. “My mother might be a drug addict with poor taste in men, but even she wouldn’t sleep with a guy who looks like that. Maybe there’s been some kind of mistake.”

  “No mistake. All demons and angels can take on a human form at will. It would have been easy for him to get to her. Demons are hideous in their true forms, but they know how to make themselves, and their vices, attractive. Your mother wouldn’t have stood a chance, especially if she didn’t know he was a demon.”

  Remembering her mother’s strange behavior whenever the subject of her father was mentioned, she shook her head. “Maybe not,” she mused out loud. “But she knew something. I need to talk to her.”

  “There’s no time. Reniel will be here soon to meet with us about the next part of our mission, which will be getting you to the ring. In the meantime, Eligos and the others are sure to know that you’ve been chosen to wield the seal. Which means last night was just a preview of all you’re in for. They’ll be coming for you, which is why I can’t let you out of my sight for a second.”

  “I know you have a job to do, but I just found out my entire life is a lie. You may not think so, but I believe I’m entitled to the whole truth. You know a lot, but there are things I need to understand that only my mama can tell me.”

  Jack breathed a heavy sigh, his jaw ticking in annoyance. “Of course I agree that you’re entitled to the truth, but there isn’t time. Can’t it wait until after?”

  “After I’ve risked my life for the human race and maybe even died for a cause I knew nothing about a few days ago? Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m going, Jack, whether you come along or not.”

  Without giving him a chance to answer, or to try and stop her, she turned on her heels and marched back toward his bedroom.

  Jack tried not to watch the sway of Addison’s hips as she walked, but it was damned hard. For one thing, her shorts were way too short. Not that it was her fault. After all, they didn’t exactly belong to her. The cutoffs with frayed edges had once belonged to Tracy. Micah hadn’t kept everything, but a few stray items still lay around here and there; the shorts and boots Addison wore among them. Tracy had been petite, and at least two sizes smaller than Addison. With her long legs and curvy hips calling attention to the uneven hemline, Jack found his eyes straying down to her swaying backside more than once as they marched up the narrow, dirt lane leading to Addison’s childhood home.

  It wasn’t just the shorts, but the way she walked, as if the entire world were a runway. She had presence, and a strut that made her look at home on the dusty path wearing cutoff shorts and someone else’s cowboy boots. Far too busty to wear the shirt Micah had given her, she’d borrowed one of Jackson’s, knotting it at the bottom against her hip for a better fit. The smooth patch of skin showing between the knotted t-shirt and the waistband of her shorts taunted him, until all he could think about was grabbing her by the waist and pulling her up against him, allowing his thumb to trace that bare skin in slow circles.

  It had been far too long since he’d gotten laid. It had to be the explanation for why he was so distracted when they had far more important things to worry about. Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on their surroundings instead of Addison’s curvaceous thighs.

  The trailer’s faded siding looked weathered and worn, the wooden steps leading up to its front door splintered and littered with
cigarette ash. A cat lay in the shadows beneath the stairs, its yellow eyes glittering and its black tail twitching. A clay pot sat near the front door, the dead stems of a plant withering and hanging over its edges. More cigarette butts protruded from the ash-covered soil. Floral curtains covered the windows and could be seen through the broken slats of the mini-blinds behind them.

  “Are you sure there’s anyone here?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder to where Micah stood leaning against his pickup. There wasn’t another car parked in the makeshift driveway—no more than a slab of concrete on the side of the house—and not a sound came from inside the trailer.

  “Only one way to find out,” she declared, balling her hand into a fist and pounding on the door.

  It rattled in the frame as he tried to peer through the gaps in the blinds, hoping to determine if there was anyone at home. He understood her need for more information, but being out in the open like this made him edgy. Demons had no qualms about attacking in broad daylight, and Addison had now become their number one target.

  When no one answered, she knocked again, this time rising up on tiptoe to peer through the small circular window built into the door. After another moment, she tried the doorknob and found it unlocked.

  “Wait,” he whispered, taking her elbow in a gentle but firm grasp. “Let me go in first.”

  The house felt too quiet, too still. Motioning for Micah to join them, he brushed past Addison and through the open door. The closed curtains left the living room and kitchen area of the trailer in shadowed darkness. He made out the shapes of furniture in the room and reached out for a lamp. The bulb flickered on, casting its meager light on a gut-churning scene. The place was in shambles, the furniture falling apart, the cushions burnt in several places by cigarettes. Speaking of which, the room reeked of stale Marlboros and cat urine. A few of the animals lounged about on surfaces; a third licked at a molding dinner plate left on the coffee table.

  The living area and kitchen were a mess, littered with stray magazines, empty glasses, and dirty plates. Piles of clothing that he could only assume were dirty lay strewn on the floor, the kitchen counters piled high with even more filthy dishes. A trash can in the corner of the room overflowed, and four ashtrays brimmed with ashes and butts. He wrinkled his nose, coming farther into the room, keeping alert for any sign of trouble.

  “There’s no way anyone lives here,” Micah declared, following him into the room. “This place hasn’t been cleaned in God knows how long.”

  “Oh, yes, there is,” Addison protested from the doorway. “This is how it’s always been. The litterbox is clean.” She pointed at the tray. “My mother might not take very good care of herself, but she always looks after the cats. She’s here.”

  Jack held a hand up to keep her from advancing further into the trailer. “Let us check the bedrooms first.”

  She rolled her eyes, but stayed put while he and Micah waded through the trashed living room toward the open door hanging open just off the kitchen. A low whimper met his ears before he reached the threshold, and he darted inside, his every nerve ending on high alert. The room appeared empty at first—just a cluttered mess, with old, dilapidated furniture and one very hideous, floral-printed bedspread.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked as Micah came up behind him.

  “Prob’ly just another cat,” his friend drawled. “Checked the room next door and the bathroom. All clear.”

  He inclined his head and listened close. “No, it wasn’t a cat,” he insisted. “It sounded like a person.”

  “You’re paranoid, podna. There ain’t nobody…”

  Micah trailed off as the tacky bedspread moved and shifted, and a pile of even more clothes fell aside to reveal a writhing form on the bed.

  Exchanging a glance with Micah, Jack crossed the room in three long strides and swept the comforter aside, revealing a woman that had to be Addison’s mother. She was rail thin, with leathery skin made buttery brown by the sun, and hair a more natural shade of red than her daughter’s, a disheveled bird’s nest around her head and face. Her hollowed cheeks caused her cheekbones to jut out beneath her eyes, too prominent and sharp. She wore a tatty bra and panties and not much else; while Jack knew he should look away, he couldn’t help but notice how her collarbones protruded through her skin, or how prominent her ribs were. Her eyes should have been the same warm hazel as Addison’s, but an unfocused glassiness had stolen their luster. Her mouth hung open, but he couldn’t hear her breath.

  “Micah, I think she’s sick,” he said, pressing his fingers to where her throat met her jawline. Her pulse galloped against his fingertips. “We should call an ambulance.”

  “She’s not sick,” Addison said from the bedroom doorway.

  He straightened and whirled, trying to block the sight of the woman from her view. No one should have to see their mother this way.

  But Addison just leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest and giving the figure on the bed a narrowed glare. “She’s high.”

  Frowning, he turned back to take a closer look at the woman on the bed. Sure enough, he recognized the evidence of drug use. The track marks running up and down her arms … the scabs between her fingers and toes … the needle still clutched in one hand.

  “Shouldn’t we do something?” he asked, placing one knee on the bed to lean over her. He waved one hand in front of her face, but she remained unresponsive.

  “You do whatever you want,” Addison replied flippantly. “I’m going into the living room to wait for her to snap out of it. I’m not leaving here without answers.”

  Her footsteps vibrated across the thin floor as she left the room. Jack covered Addison’s mother’s body with the comforter once more.

  When he returned to the living room, she just stood there in the midst of the filth, staring off into the distance. A toilet flush sounded down the hall, and Micah appeared once more, navigating the narrow doorway sideways to allow his broad shoulders room to get through.

  “I gotta get out of here,” he mumbled to Jack, already headed for the door. “I’ll be back with food. Looks like we’ll be awhile waitin’.”

  “All right, man,” he answered to Micah’s retreating back. Once his partner had left, he sidled up beside Addison. She refused to look at him as he stood beside her staring at her profile. They looked alike—Addison and her mother—though the woman in the other room had been reduced to a shadow of a person. Still, Addison hadn’t seemed surprised to find her in that state.

  “He sure left in a hurry,” she said after a while.

  Jack shoved his hands down into his pockets. “Micah doesn’t deal well with this kind of stuff … other people’s problems.”

  She snorted. “You sure are cryptic. Someday, you’re going to have to explain all that to me. I mean, I’m guessing there used to be three of you … it’s the only way to explain the girl clothes at your place. Did he love her?”

  He met her gaze and answered with honesty. “More than anyone else in the world. We don’t have to stay here, Addison. We can come back later when she’s … better.”

  “She’ll never be better,” she replied with a shake of her head. “It’s best to catch her right after she comes down off a high, or we’ll never find her sober. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want. I can take care of myself.”

  She sauntered into the kitchen, approached the sink, and turned it on. Locating a bottle of dish soap—miraculously hidden behind a stack of plates—she started piling the dirty dishes on the counter and making room in the sink.

  He stood there watching her for a moment, his insides churning at the forlorn picture she made. Seeing her, standing in the dilapidated trailer, told him more about her than she’d doubtless ever be willing to say to him out loud. Even in her borrowed clothes and messy ponytail, she was beauty in the midst of all the muck. An iris growing from a crack in the asphalt. Remarkable.

  He joined her at the sink, taking a soapy plate from her and
rinsing it. She turned toward him, her eyes sharp and questioning, though she remained silent

  “Something tells me you’ve been taking care of yourself for a very long time,” he said. “You don’t have to do it alone this time, Addison. That’s why I’m here. Let me help you.”

  She seemed to not know how to respond to that. Her gaze questioned and probed, also a bit awed, as if no one had ever offered to be there for her before.

  He broke eye contact, going back to helping her rinse the clean dishes. Then, she returned to her washing. They worked that way together for the rest of the afternoon, the clinking of dishes and the sound of the broom over the floor the only breaks in the silence.

  9

  Who We Were

  They’d scrubbed every inch of the trailer by the time Micah returned with pizzas.

  His eyes widened as he faltered in the doorway. “Am I in the right place?”

  His speech sounded slurred, and Addison could tell by the unfocused look in his eyes that he’d been drinking.

  “We busted our asses cleaning while you were off getting drunk,” she accused from where she sat on the couch. She and Jackson had just settled in the living room with I Love Lucy re-runs when Micah came stumbling in.

  He gave a lazy shrug and set the three pizza boxes he’d been holding on the card table in the kitchen. Settling into one of the folding chairs pushed up to the plastic table, he produced a six-pack of beer and popped one open.

  “Doesn’t look like I missed much.”

  She curled one hand into a fist and fought the urge to ram it down his throat. The more time she spent in Micah’s presence, the harder the impulse became to resist. Jack’s hand covered hers in a soothing gesture and when she turned to look at him, calm suffused her.

  How does he do that?

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Standing, he offered her a hand up. She accepted, letting him pull her to her feet. She trailed him to the table and sat across from Micah. With no other chairs, Jack chose to stand, leaning against the counter as he opened one of the pizza boxes and slid a slice onto one of the now clean plates.