Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Will they ask?”

  She crawled out of the shelter without answering. I followed and stood next to her. In the few minutes we’d been disguising me, the dystopian street had come alive. People had crawled out of their tents and cardboard and sleeping bags, a whole crowd lining the street. More flashlights shone as latecomers woke and joined the crowd. I stepped into the street and scanned further down. The burgeoning lines of the desperate and destitute continued multiple blocks to where two police cruisers sat blocking the road, their red and blue lights flashing. Cops were already moving down both sides of the street with big, bright flashlights that burned my eyes.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, watching as they stopped at every shelter and aimed their giant flashlights in people’s faces. The police held something in front of each person, and waited for a response before moving on.

  “Herding everyone on the street,” Callum said gruffly from behind me. “Getting a good look at everyone’s faces. Probably showing them a photo.”

  If the authorities were going through every single person on the street, then all the blending in had been for nothing. This wasn’t a simple matter of merging with a crowd. This was a hunt, and I was the target.

  “I should go before they get any closer.” I tried to slip around Callum, but he stopped me.

  “Don’t draw attention. This can still work.”

  “How?” I hissed. “They’re going to look right in my face.”

  He shook his head. “Those are industrial headlights they’re using. They’ll whitewash your face, so you won’t look the same. And with the disguise, I barely even recognize you.” He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “They’re just fishing. As long as there are no witnesses, you’ll be fine.”

  I looked back at the police as they inched closer, trying to subdue the nerves fluttering in my belly. Everyone had been asleep when I came to Skid Row. Everyone but Gemma and Oscar.

  Gemma glanced back at me as if she knew where my thoughts must have gone after Callum’s words. “Don’t look so nervous, Alice,” she said with a slight emphasis on the name. “They do this every few months. Nothing to worry about.”

  I nodded, grateful that she was willing to keep my identity secret, even though she didn’t really what she was protecting. Then another thought came to mind. I turned to Callum.

  “What about Hernandez?”

  Callum smiled. “You wouldn’t believe he’s the same person. I changed his clothes and dumped my last bottle of cheap beer over him. They’ll glance in and move on.”

  He smiled so confidently, his blue eyes sparkling, that I couldn’t help but breathe a little easier. I glanced into his shelter at Hernandez, who looked nothing like the man I’d shared a cell with a short time ago. My stomach calmed. If he could be disguised so well, then maybe my disguise would hold, too. Maybe this would actually work.

  Shouts made me jump. The police had reached Oscar’s corner and dragged him out of his hiding place, shining the harsh light in the dirty man’s face. He squirmed against the two that held him, and screamed as a third questioned him.

  Then another man approached. His features were indistinguishable, but something about him seemed familiar. Oscar calmed and gestured wildly up the street.

  “Good trade,” he said in his too-loud voice. “It was a good trade!”

  His arm stilled, one finger extended. My stomach dropped.

  He was pointing right at me.

  8

  “Damn it, Oscar,” muttered Callum. “He doesn’t usually cooperate in these raids. That man must have—”

  “Made a good trade,” I finished.

  The police had started moving this way, one group moving faster while the ones behind them continued interrogating the people on the street. That was my saving grace: the sheer number of people lined up on the road meant the police hadn’t made a beeline for me. Yet.

  “You have to run, Adira,” Callum whispered. “Quickly, before they get any closer.”

  “What about blending in and not being alone?”

  “The third of rule of living on the street is knowing when to break the other rules. Sometimes you have to run, even when you’re innocent.” He squeezed my shoulder again, his blue eyes no longer sparkling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

  “Thank you for trying,” I whispered back, unexpectedly sad to leave. “It’s more than most people I’ve met would’ve done.”

  I slid around him to start moving away from my pursuers. Callum’s hand slid off my shoulder with a whispered, “Good luck.”

  I didn’t look back at him, as much as part of me wanted to. Weaving through the line of homeless humans, I did my best not to jostle anyone or cross any flashlights. They paid me no mind, too sleepy to care. Footsteps sounded behind me, and stern voices grew louder as the police approached. Slipping behind someone to stay in the shadows, I glanced back to see how close they were. They were questioning Gemma and Callum now, and my throat tightened. Would they keep my secret?

  Still looking back, I hurried on in the dark and slammed into something solid enough to hurt. A half-filled shopping cart rattled loudly, echoing off the buildings that lined the street. Everyone around me looked my way and I froze.

  “There she is!” The cop’s yell broke the stillness, followed by pounding feet as they ran toward me.

  I picked up my skirt and ran, pumping my legs and my lungs as fast as I could. No time to bob and weave through the crowd, no point in trying to blend in now. I turned a corner and fled down a narrow street. The sounds of pursuit echoed behind me as I reached the next block and made another turn onto a road with no streetlights. My surroundings became a blur as I flew down roads and alleys, choosing each new path based on its shadows. Like my earlier flight from the police station, I had to escape the light. Only now instead of stiff muscles from carrying an unconscious Hernandez, I had a thumping heart and aching lungs. I couldn’t keep this up for long.

  But as fast as I ran, the pounding footsteps and shouts of the cops behind me never died. The rumble of engines and a flash of red and blue from my left forced me to turn right, onto a road with more light than I liked. I had to find a safe place to hide before they could herd me into a trap.

  I dashed down the next alley I came across, splashing a puddle as I ran past stoops of several side doors. Maybe I could double back and hide somewhere the cops had already passed. A police car cruised down the road ahead, slowing at the opening to the alley. I dropped behind the stairs of the nearest side door, hissing as the friction against the cement burned my palm.

  I held the position, afraid to move, listening to the engine purr. After what felt like an hour but was probably only a minute or two, the sound faded as the car moved on. My ragged breaths and pounding heart filled my ears, loud enough it was miracle the cops didn’t find me just by listening. I was so tired, running on nothing but adrenaline. My bruised throat burned as I gulped air. My body ached after everything I’d been through, and I wanted nothing more than to stay curled up against the steps and sleep. But this alley was relatively wide, allowing plenty of light from the streets at either end. And the stairs only hid me from the far end of the alley. I was too exposed here. I had to keep moving.

  Smothering a groan, I pushed to my feet, my legs trembling from all the running. A sharp pain pinched my heel. I’d forgotten about that blister from walking too much yesterday. But I couldn’t worry about that now. I hurried down the alley to the far end where the cruiser had passed, pausing at the corner to peer up and down the street. There were no shanties on the sidewalks, no shopping carts or bundles of blankets where people slept. About half the streetlights were broken, though, so I guess this was the edge of Skid Row. About a block down the street between a pair of dead streetlights, a swath of pitch black cut through the buildings that marched down the street. Since a patrol had already come this way, presumably shining their high-powered flashlights into the darkness, that alley was my best option.

/>   I scanned the street again to make sure no one was looking this way. A few blocks up, a police car rolled slowly through the intersection and disappeared from view. Now or never.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the alley and crossed the street to the dim side, then strode down the sidewalk toward the dark alley. I moved purposefully, like I had every reason to be there, just in case. As I approached my destination, the hum of voices reached me. I tensed, struggling against the urge to run. After a few more strides, I ducked into the nearly complete darkness of the alley, leaning against the brick wall and listening. I couldn’t make out the words, but the voices hadn’t changed in pitch or intensity. I sighed quietly. They hadn’t seen me.

  But they were close. I continued deeper into the alley, searching for a place to hide and, hopefully, rest. A large shape loomed out of the darkness. A dumpster, judging by the smell. I rounded it and sat against a rough wall in its shadow, invisible from the street, where the voices were growing louder. I held my breath, partly to avoid breathing the stench and partly to help me hear better.

  “Think we’ll find her, or one of the other patrols?” said a voice. It sounded like a young man.

  His companion murmured too softly for me to make out his reply. My lungs started to burn, so I let myself breathe again, slowly through my mouth to minimize the noise.

  “I hope it’s us.” The first voice sounded excited. “Catching an escaped murdering djinn will help me make detective sooner. I still don’t know why you’re here, though.”

  A soft hiss followed by silence made me think his companion shushed him. The young cop’s voice had gotten a bit louder at the end, though. Footsteps tapped lightly on the cement.

  They were definitely getting closer.

  The taps paused at the mouth of the alley, and white beam of light swept through the darkness in front of me. I tensed, freezing every muscle so not even a stray sound would give me away.

  If they came into the alley, I’d have to be invisible for them to miss me. But the only djinn who could hide himself that completely was Kalak. He had featured in many of my mother’s stories about the homeland. Sometimes he was a spy, though usually he played pranks, and he never got caught because he could use his magic to become invisible.

  But Kalak didn’t have copper and iron slave cuffs to bind him.

  The light passed over the walls, ground, and dumpster a second time. My stomach twisted as the moment stretched out, like a high note on a violin held impossibly long.

  I couldn’t use magic to hide or fight. The only reason I’d been able to use my power earlier was because Morgan had given me permission.

  My hands fisted. If I couldn’t use magic, then I’d use my fists. I’d rather be shot and killed in a struggle than go back to that enchanted holding cell and a public execution.

  The light disappeared, and I blinked as my eyes re-adjusted to the darkness. Footsteps sounded again, getting fainter. They weren’t coming down the alley after all. I leaned my head back on the wall and sighed.

  The darkness moved in front of me, and before I could process the shape, it grabbed the front of my jacket and hauled me off the ground. I kicked, and my foot connected. My attacker groaned and dropped me. I shoved hard at his chest, but he grabbed my arms and pulled me with him as he stumbled. I tried to keep the momentum, intending to slam him into the far wall, but he twisted his shoulders away from me. I tripped over his leg, and only his firm grip on my arms saved me from cracking my skull on the wall. He pulled me along as he finished his twist, whipping me around and slamming me against the wall next to the dumpster. My shoulder blades screamed and my teeth rattled. I tried to kick again. He blocked my leg with his own, then pressed against me, grabbing my wrists and using his entire body to pin me to the wall. I struggled against him, but he was solid and strong, and I only succeeded in scraping my head on rough cement.

  “Stop it,” my attacker hissed, his breath brushing my cheek. “Do you want that trigger-happy rookie to find you?”

  My breath caught. I recognized that voice. I stilled and looked at the man holding me. Only a hint of light from the street made it this far into the alley, but it was enough to reveal high cheekbones and a rogue lock of hair slashing across his forehead.

  Nick Morgan.

  Our eyes met, and I realized I was panting, my breasts rubbing against his chest. I tried to calm down and slow my breathing, but that meant deeper breaths, which only made it worse.

  “I can’t breathe,” I whispered.

  His eyes tracked to my mouth. For the briefest moment, I wondered if he would close the distance, my traitorous body warming at the thought of his lips on mine. I narrowed my eyes at him. The man held me captive. I shouldn’t feel anything positive about him.

  He eased back, far enough we weren’t in full contact, but still too close for comfort. He did not release my wrists.

  “What do you want?” I breathed.

  “I saw the crime scene photos.” He paused, like he had to force himself to speak. “I saw how my uncle’s throat was torn up. There’s nothing in his office that could have done that.”

  A little smile crossed my lips. “You believe me.”

  “I believe there’s a possibility you’re innocent,” he said. “And if there’s any chance you really are just a witness, then I can’t afford to lose you.”

  He eased back a little more, enough to bring my arms down in front of me, his hands still clamped around my cuffs. He meant to compel me. I sighed, preparing for the magic to force me to do his bidding. Of course that’s what he wanted. What else would he have meant?

  “I compel you to speak the truth,” Nick intoned in a harsh whisper. “Who killed John Morgan?”

  I opened my mouth, ready for the magic to push words off my tongue, but nothing happened. I blinked and glanced at my cuffs, at Nick’ hands gripping my wrists. Why wasn’t it working?

  I yanked my wrists out of his grip. “So glad to see you trust me.”

  “I’m not here because of trust,” he shot back. “I’m here for the truth.”

  “I told you the truth!” My hiss shot through the alley, sounding far too loud. “He was being attacked. I fought them off, but not before they wounded him. Then I tried to save him.” I breathed deep and tried to speak in a calmer tone. “Morgan was a decent master. I had no reason to kill him.”

  “And every reason to lie about it if you did.”

  “So what now, Nick?” I said, unable to help myself, too angry to care. I doubted I could say anything to make the situation any worse. “You hand me over the police to be executed with the rising of the sun? Risk losing the only witness to your uncle’s murder while the real killer walks free?”

  He stared at me, his eyes hard. “I can’t let you go. But I can’t let them kill you if you’re innocent. That isn’t justice. I needed that compulsion from you to convince them to investigate.”

  “The council has already made their decision. They won’t look any further unless there’s proof I’m not the killer.”

  “You’re right.” Nick nodded, his eyes brightening. “We have to find proof.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “We?”

  He nodded again. “If you really are innocent, then you’ll help me find proof of the real killer. I get justice for my uncle, and you clear your name.”

  I pursed my lips. There was no way to say no to his plan. He’d assume I was guilty and take me in, and I’d be executed within a few hours. But agreeing to his ridiculous idea was just as dangerous, since the whole city would be looking for me. If he was going to put me in a tricky position, the least I could do was return the favor.

  “If I help you, you will fight the council’s decision to have me executed,” I said.

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “You will make sure everyone knows that not only am I innocent,” I continued, jamming my finger in Nick’ chest, “but that I even tried to save Morgan’s life.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’
m sure that can be arranged.”

  “And you will free me from slavery.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  I crossed my arms. “You heard me.”

  “I must have heard wrong,” he said with a glare.

  I leaned forward, matching his glare with my own. “I am not going back to that cell,” I hissed, my voice shaking. “If you want me to stay in a city where everyone wants to kill me to help you hunt down a murderer that no one else believes exists, then you will repay me with my freedom.”

  Before he could answer, thudding footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley. “Morgan?” called the young cop. “You here?”

  I balled my hands into fists, ready to fight. But Nick pressed closer, nearly pinning me again. He placed one hand on the wall above my shoulder and the other over my mouth, far more gently than I would have expected.

  “Yeah,” he called. “Be right there.”

  The cop kept walking down the alley. “I already cleared the other alley and up to the next block. What are you still doing here?”

  Nick looked at me, his eyes full of indecision. The other man’s footsteps grew louder. Finally he answered. “I’m taking a leak. I said I’d be right there.”

  I sighed and relaxed my hands. He wasn’t going to turn me in.

  The cop chuckled. “By a dumpster, seriously?”

  “Nothing’s open, and no one’s here.” Nick looked meaningfully toward the man on the other side of the dumpster. “Except you.”

  “All right, I’ll wait in the street.”

  “No, keep searching,” Nick said. “I’ll catch up.”

  “Whatever.” Thudding footsteps faded as the other man left.

  Nick watched him leave, waiting until we could no longer hear him before facing me. He dropped his hands and stepped back from me, leaving my lips cool from the absence of his touch.

  “You have a deal, Adira. Meet me at Morning Glory Cafe at sunrise.” He leaned forward, his expression intent. “If you don’t show up, I’ll take it as an admission of your guilt, and I will not rest until you’ve paid for your crime in blood.”