Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  Within moments, no one was left to force the door open, and it slid shut as the train lurched forward. The leader glanced at me, his almond-shaped eyes filled with something sharp and cruel. I dropped my gaze as my heart rate picked up, flooding me with adrenaline. Morgan had warned me to keep my head down. Now seemed like a good time to practice that advice.

  “Did you really think you could break a deal with me and get away with it?” said a harsh voice. I peeked up through my eyelashes to see Tattoo Guy’s glare had moved to the figure at the back of the train. “I want my money, Leila.”

  “I’m getting your money,” said a female voice with attitude. The figure in the army green coat raised their head and the hood fell back, revealing a young woman with choppy black hair, her skin a warm tawny beige only a few shades lighter than my own golden brown. “My contact in the city—”

  “Is bullshit,” Tattoo Guy spat. “I generously give you two extra days to pay me back, and then an hour before we’re supposed to meet, I hear you’re on the Metro headed east? I call your bluff, Leila.”

  The woman’s dark eyes burned as she stared back at the men who’d cornered her. The fire in her eyes seemed familiar, somehow. She stood and faced the men, a buzz that I felt more than heard making the car feel suddenly cramped. Suspicion curled in my mind. That had felt like magic. Was she djinn?

  “If you can’t pay the money you owe,” Tattoo Guy said, looking her up and down with a predatory gleam in his eyes, “then you’ll have to earn it back another way.”

  Leila sneered. “Make me.”

  Tattoo Guy started toward her. I slid my left foot forward, catching one of his, and he crashed to the floor. Leila struck like a snake, yanking his gun from his belt and pistol-whipping the back of his head. She aimed at his stunned companions before they’d even started moving.

  “Guns on the seat next to her,” Leila ordered. “Then back up to the other end of the car. Now.”

  The gang obeyed, one by one disarming and backing up, glaring at us with murder in their eyes. When they’d reached the opposite end of the car, Leila took one hand off the gun and aimed it at them, her fingers outstretched. The buzz of magic zipped past me, and the men all dropped to the floor, asleep or unconscious.

  I grinned. She was djinn.

  “That was stupid,” Leila said. I whipped around and realized she was talking to me. “I had everything under control.”

  “I created the distraction that let you take control,” I corrected. “You’re welcome.”

  She just glared at me.

  “Us djinn have to stick together,” I said.

  “I’m not djinn!” Her shout echoed over the rumbling of the train. She pulled up the sleeves of her coat to show me her bare wrists. “See?”

  Maybe she was half-djinn. That would explain her magic, but not why she sounded angry. The train began to slow as we approached the next stop.

  “Don’t waste your freedom,” I told her.

  She didn’t answer, her eyes still smoldering as she started going through Tattoo Guy’s pockets.

  Without warning, my slave cuffs seared my wrists. White-hot fire raced through me, ripping a scream from my throat and bringing me to my knees. I lost sight of Leila, lost the sensation of movement from the train—there was nothing but incandescent heat like a bonfire devouring me.

  The fire in my blood suddenly dissipated, leaving me tingling all over, kneeling on the hard floor, and gasping for breath in the dark.

  The dark?

  I looked around, but the pole and the two men and the train car were gone. A window let in barely enough light to make out shapes in the darkness. Several feet in front me stood a large rectangular shadow—a desk, maybe? Other shapes became visible as my eyes adjusted: broken shelves on the back wall, a tipped over chair. I reached out my hands and found something hard to my right, like a wall. I used it to stand, and something clinked under my feet. Broken glass.

  I was definitely not on the train anymore. In fact, this looked a lot like Morgan’s office, only…shattered.

  A scuffle came from the other side of the desk, then a crash. A figure stumbled around the desk toward me, closely followed by another, smaller figure.

  “Adira,” the first person rasped. Morgan sounded like he’d been choked, the way he’d strangled me. He lurched toward me, collapsing at my feet. “Help me.”

  I looked back at the second figure, who had stopped by the desk. Something long and thin glinted in their hands. For a moment, I just stared, uncomprehending. I had been somehow magically transported to my master’s office—which was completely unheard of—where a figure wrapped in dark, loose-fitting clothing held a wire in their hands trying to kill him. How was this possible? Was it even real?

  The attacker lifted a hand and flicked their fingers toward the door behind me, like they wanted me to leave. Maybe I could leave. The attacker’s face was covered, so they didn’t risk anything by letting me go. Maybe if I left, I’d wake up from this nightmare. But if I left and it was real, they would almost certainly kill my master. And if Morgan died, what would happen to me?

  I didn’t want to find out. So I stepped over Morgan, planting myself solidly between him and the attacker, and shook my head. “I’m not letting you kill him.”

  The figure cocked their head at my unexpected reaction. The pause as they tried to figure out what to do with me would probably be my best opportunity. So I did another unexpected thing: I launched at them, hands outstretched to rip off the hood concealing their identity. The figure dropped the wire and slapped my hands aside as they stepped to the side. My momentum carried me past them into the side of the desk. Hands grabbed my hair and slammed my head down into the desk, barely cushioned by the stacks of paper covering it. Stars burst in my eyes, pain radiating in my skull. The attacker yanked my hair to do it again. I dug my elbow back into the body holding me down, hard, just like I had with Sebastian. They grunted and released my hair, and I swung around ready to slam my fist in their nose. But they were ready for that, dodging my best blow easily.

  We separated, facing each other, waiting for the next strike. Heat flooded my arms and legs as adrenaline spiked. We had traded positions, so now the attacker had their back to the door—and Morgan. He inched toward the door and reached for the handle.

  The attacker followed my gaze over their shoulder and whirled around to grab him. I rushed forward, but not in time. Morgan was jerked back by his collar and thrown into me. We crashed into the desk, my moaning master pinning me down. Fire burned in my spine, jolts of pain cascading down my legs. Then his weight disappeared and my lungs filled again as I instinctively sucked in precious air.

  This was nothing like fighting off unwanted attention, more violent than anything I’d ever experienced. The enemy was so much stronger than me. How was I supposed to win this fight?

  Gurgles and thrashing pulled me out of the pain-riddled haze. I sat up and saw the dark figure straddling Morgan, their hands at his throat as he kicked. He looked at me with bulging, desperate eyes, and my cuffs burned. Then it hit me: Morgan hadn’t teleported me from the train to save him. I had done that, because he’d given me unspoken permission to use magic to answer his desperate summons.

  Which meant I had all the power I needed to fight off his attacker.

  I pushed to my feet and rushed at the enemy again, yelling wordlessly. The heat under my skin bloomed, fire giving me speed and strength I didn’t know I had. I crashed into the dark figure and we tumbled together over Morgan and across the room. I rolled to my feet and whipped around to face my opponent, catching them off-guard with a wicked left hook that sent them spinning. I followed without any plan except to make sure they didn’t touch Morgan again, trusting my heritage and the incandescent bonfire burning inside me. The figure stumbled back as I approached, as if I was literally on fire. Maybe I was. My power ran so hot I wouldn’t be surprised if I were glowing or smoking.

  I lunged at the figure and landed a solid punch in the b
elly that made them cry out. The magic that humans sucked out of my people for electricity translated into kinetic energy too, so when I grabbed the attacker and threw them at the wall, they hit with a resounding thud and collapsed to the floor with a groan.

  A feral grin stretched across my face. I could get used to this.

  I stalked toward my opponent, who scrambled around the edge of the room to keep away from me. That’s right, human—you should be afraid of me, a righteous djinn sparking with power. They lurched to their feet, backing toward the window, a black silhouette against the city lights. For a moment we stared at each other, again waiting for the strike. I took a deep breath and gathered my power—or tried to, since I’d never done this before. I imagined the fire of my magic burning even hotter, red-hot lava consuming everything in its path, sizzling white-hot lightning that destroyed its target in an instant. The heat inside me built and built, hotter and hotter until I couldn’t contain it anymore. With a scream, I rushed at my enemy. They turned from me as if to run, but there was nowhere to go.

  Except the window.

  The dark figure leapt at the window and crashed through the glass, falling out of sight. I caught myself on the window frame, one hand on either side as I leaned out through the whole they had made. Glass glinted as it fell to the street far below, but I couldn’t see the figure through the shadows so many stories below.

  A breeze cooled my flushed cheeks, toying with a few strands of my hair. The heat surged, roiling under my skin, the magic I’d gathered needing to be released. I took a shaky breath, trying to keep myself from exploding. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and I glanced up at the sky, a few clouds moving in from the west covering the few stars visible through all the light pollution. I had imagined lightning as a way to build up my power—could I release all this pent-up energy that way?

  I hurriedly backed away from the window. Bad idea. Lightning always traveled down, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not to mention the kind of attention that would bring to the studio. So I forced myself to calm down, slow and measured breaths as I relaxed each muscle group from my shoulders down. I imagined the heat fading the way a fire burns down to coals. All my magic would still be there in passive glowing embers instead of roaring flames. The power rushed out of me, leaving me warm and exhausted.

  In the silence came a shuddering breath, and I remembered what I’d been fighting for. I rushed to Morgan where he lay on the floor and knelt next to him. Blood pooled underneath him in a growing puddle, and his neck was shredded from the wire. “Master?”

  His eyes fluttered, glassy and bloodshot. I sighed in relief that he was still alive. I wrapped my hands around his torn neck, applying as much pressure as I dared to stem the bleeding.

  “Who was that?” I asked. “Who would want to kill you?”

  His lips moved as he tried to answer, but all that came out was a wordless gurgle. Blood gushed from his throat. With his left hand he feebly grabbed my arm, his rings cold against my hot skin. He tried to speak again. “I’m…I’m sor—”

  Morgan’s eyes unfocused and dimmed, and his hand slid from my arm. His chest stopped moving, leaving the room deathly still and silent.

  “No,” I said, shaking him. Blood squeezed out under my hands. He didn’t respond, his body completely limp. “Morgan!”

  I slowly took my hands from his throat and sat back on my heels, staring at my dead master. The attacker had succeeded after all. I had failed. Even being able to use my magic, I had failed.

  The worst part was, I didn’t know how I felt about it all. Was I supposed to mourn for a slave owner, someone who used me like property and strangled me when he was angry? I wasn’t glad he was dead, but I didn’t feel badly about it, either. In fact, I didn’t really feel anything. Just numbness, a stark contrast to the heat I’d felt only a few minutes ago.

  And never mind how I felt—what I was supposed to do now? Call the police? Run for freedom?

  I didn’t get a chance to decide before the door blasted open behind me. I whipped around as several flashlight beams pierced the gloom.

  “Hands where I can see them, now!”

  I raised my arms, Morgan’s blood on my palms, as the flashlights converged on me. I squinted against the glare as a drops of my master’s blood began to run down my arms. “My master, John Morgan, is dead,” I said. “He summoned me here because he was being attacked. I fought off the attacker. They went through the window. I tried to save him, but…”

  The police fanned out, two of them coming behind me as the others kept their flashlights—and, I assumed, their guns—trained on me. One cop pulled me to my feet, while the other knelt to examine Morgan. After a moment, he glanced at the others and shook his head.

  The cop behind me jerked my arms behind my back, cinching my wrists with a click of cold iron handcuffs above my slave bracelets. “What are you doing? You have to find the attacker! It’s only been a few minutes, they can’t have gone far.”

  “Shut up, slave,” the man behind me growled. He pushed me toward the door, one hand gripping my bicep painfully. “You’re under arrest for murder.”

  4

  There were already bruises forming on my arm under the officer’s grip by the time the elevator opened to the ground floor. He pushed me out before the doors were fully opened, half dragging me through the elegant marble lobby. The doorman who had held open the door for me hours earlier with a polite smile now glared at me as we passed him on our way out.

  Several angled squad cars blocked the street in front of the building. Despite the late hour, a crowd was growing around them, humans pressing closer to see what the fuss was all about. A news van was already in place, camera lights flashing, burning my retinas.

  I turned my face away from the cameras as much as I could with the officer dragging me toward one of the police cars. Wait a minute. The attacker had jumped through a window—had that been on this side of the building? There should be broken glass somewhere, proof of my story. I craned my head around to look back at the sidewalk around the building.

  The officer jerked me harder. “Let’s go,” he growled.

  I frantically scanned the sidewalk. It had to be there somewhere.

  A car door opened in front of me, and still I struggled to see the broken glass. I glanced up at the penthouse, but it was too high and dark to see the broken window. I was certain this was the right side of the building.

  “Get in.” The officer clapped a hand on my head and forced me down into the car, then slammed the door behind me. I pressed my face to the window and strained one last time to find the broken glass, but all I saw was cement and angry human faces.

  Morgan’s attacker had gone through a window like it was nothing. So where was all the glass?

  The officer got in the driver’s seat and started the car. I sat back in the caged back seat, the handcuffs pinching my wrists behind me. I had chosen to defend my master, tried to save his life, and this is what I got for it. Maybe I should have taken the attacker’s offer and abandoned him, disappeared into the night. Too late now.

  After a short drive, the officer turned into an underground parking structure below the precinct, the darkness like a giant maw swallowing me whole. The first flutter of fear churned in my belly, pushing through the numbness of my arrest. As slaves, djinn had no rights. I wouldn’t have a trial. No one would present evidence to defend me. A prominent wealthy human had been found murdered and a djinn at the scene with blood on her hands. My fate was already sealed.

  The officer zipped into a parking stall, then came around and pulled me from the squad car, resuming his grip on my already bruised arm. A groan escaped my throat as he marched me toward the elevator.

  “Shut up,” he growled, squeezing my arm. “You think you can murder one of us and bat your eyelashes and whimper and everything will be okay? Think again, slave.”

  He yanked me into the small, utilitarian elevator and jammed a button. The box lurched and started moving. The officer�
�s grip tightened again, pain blooming across my arm. I ground my teeth against it, forcing my face into remain neutral. The officer’s animosity filled the small space, almost palpable, as if I’d hurt someone he loved. I didn’t think he’d known Morgan, but then again I’d never seen my master’s nephew before today either. So I didn’t let myself react to the pain at all. Even a grimace might set him off.

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The officer pushed me out into a kind of lobby decorated in shades of brown. Dark tiles covered the floor, while simple beige chairs made up the waiting area, surrounded by walls the color of sand. He marched me past the dark wood counter to a gate that led to a similarly drab hallway. The woman behind the counter unlocked the gate and we pushed through, the officer locking it behind us.

  The woman pulled out a tablet and set it before me. “What did you catch tonight, Greg?”

  “A djinn,” the officer answered, removing the handcuffs. “She murdered her master.”

  I whipped around to face him. “No I didn’t! I told you there was someone else when I got there.”

  He slapped me before I could blink. The blow sent me spinning to the floor, my cheek burning, stars in my eyes. He grabbed my hair and hauled me back to my feet in front of the counter.

  The woman stared wide-eyed as the officer, still holding me by the hair with one hand, grabbed my wrist and presented my hand to her, my master’s dried blood staining my skin. She took my hand and gently spread my fingers before pressing my hand against the tablet. It flashed white as it scanned.