Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Dear Lord, but you can fly fast!” William gasped, landing a couple of feet from us. “Keeping up was a true challenge, mighty lamassu! Are you well, child? Did you enjoy the ride?”

  I nodded, looking around. That was the very first time I had flown, and it had been fantastic. Exhilarating.

  I had expected this market would be in some sort of magical place accessible only with a spell, not a totally normal part of London. Since it was midnight, the gallery was closed up. The place was completely deserted, and wrapped in an unnatural silence, so deep, that I couldn’t even hear the London traffic in the background. And in London one always hear the traffic in the background, no matter what time it is. I couldn’t feel any supernatural presence either. Not a single one.

  “What are we doing here?” I finally asked, clueless.

  “You’ll see very soon, girl,” the lamassu replied. “Now, I have to rush back. You all be careful, watch your back…” he turned to James and gave him a long look. “I hope you’re not making the greatest mistake of your life, dude.”

  “Relax, it’s just one in a long line. I’ve done worse…” James joked back.

  “Why aren’t you coming with us?” I asked, wishing he would. Maybe it was the silence of the place, the darkness. Or maybe not. All I knew, was that I suddenly felt overwhelmed and scared and thought that having a lamassu backing me up would make things better.

  “I can’t come, girl. I’m a guarding God, my powers are connected to whatever I’m guarding and these days it’s the British Museum. Leaving it has already made me weaker, and I must hurry back, while I can still fly.”

  “Oh, I understand,” I replied. “Thanks for everything.”

  And, I don’t know why, but I turned to him and did my best to hug his huge, powerful body.

  “You’re welcome,” Hank replied, looking away. “Just be careful, OK?”

  “OK,” I nodded.

  “Don’t worry Hank, we’re not stupid,” James interjected, with half a smile.

  “The girl maybe isn’t… but I’m not so sure about you…” the Lamassu replied, sceptical. And then he took off.

  “Uh… OK. What’s next?” I turned to James. “Why have we stopped here? I feel nothing, no supernatural presence…”

  “Good Lord, are you always this impatient?”

  “No, this evening she’s doing her best to restrain herself for you, Mr Turner. Usually she’s much, MUCH more annoyin… “

  “Will!”

  “I’m sorry, child, but you have to admit…”

  “OK, OK!” I erupted, defeated. “I’m sorry. I’m aware that I can be a bit difficult at times,” I continued, looking at James. “It’s just that I’m not used to working with others, besides William, and we tend to always be in a rush. You know, the faster you run, and the more likely you are to stay alive, in my world.”

  “Your world is my world, Miss Wise. I do understand. I suppose we should both agree that we each have a…er…strong personality, and we should work to keep it at bay.”

  “Let’s agree on that!” I chuckled. “Now, tell me what’s next and I’ll just follow your lead!”

  “Sure…right…” James gave me a sceptical look, then started rummaging in his satchel and extracted a purple bag sealed with a golden rope. “The Goblin Market’s gate is closed and hidden. To reveal it, all we need is a little bit of this,” he continued, weighing the bag in his hand and showing it to me.

  “What’s that?”

  “Magic gold. Golden nuggets, to be precise. They’re the most common payment accepted in the Goblin Market,” he opened the bag a little so that I could see its shiny contents. “Nowadays, wizards and witches trade with human money, like the Pound or the Euro. But goblins and the like neither understand, nor accept any type of human currency, so the Council is forced to keep a certain amount of this gold in its vault so that wizards and witches can acquire some when we need it.”

  “I see. This is so very interesting, Mr Turner! And of course, as soon as I am paid by my client, I will be happy to refund you with the equivalent in pounds. After all, you bought this gold from the Council and…”

  “Bought it from the Council?” he smiled, a mischievous look appearing briefly in his dark blue eyes. “Miss Wise, you have no idea!”

  He then raised the bag of gold towards the Convent Garden’s entrance and whispered words I couldn’t grasp. Suddenly, the air filled with fireflies.

  “Fireflies? In London? Goodness gracious!” William muttered to himself.

  I was about to ask what was happening, but the words died in my throat as the fireflies started dancing in the air, in front of the entrance. Slowly but steadily, the rhythm of their dance became more and more consistent and, moving at the sound of a music we couldn’t hear, they grouped together, forming hundreds of golden lines, like golden ropes that floated in mid-air and entwined with one another to create a tall, baroque golden gate with an arch marked “Goblin Market” in flourish characters.

  “Remarkable!” William erupted, his eyes full of wonder and admiration.

  “All that matters to goblins, is gold,” James said. “Show them the money and they’ll show you their door. Miss Wise, my good manners would normally insist on ‘Ladies first’, but not here. I will need to enter before you, so that they first see a wizard, and then are made to recognize that you’re with me. The Goblin Market isn’t a particularly safe place, as you’ve probably already guessed. So, always stay close to me and keep a low profile, and it will be all right. Please know that I’m not patronising you. Let’s be very clear: This is a dangerous place to pretty much anyone who’s not a goblin, including me and his Grace. Have I explained myself?”

  “Absolutely, Mr Turner,” I nodded. “We’ll stay close to you and won’t draw attention, right Will?”

  “Of course, child.”

  “Let’s go, then,” James said, stepping towards the gate that immediately opened in front of him.

  Passing through the gate felt like going through mist, a magical mist, dense with the scent of an ancient forest in the early morning, when the trees are wet with dew and ancient secrets.

  “What’s this smell?” I asked, the moment the mist started vanishing. “The air here is different, doesn’t feel like Lond… good grief!”

  Covent Garden was gone, replaced by an ancient wood. All around us were tall and decrepit trees whose thick, leafy branches screened us from the sky above.

  Under each tree, there was a stall, each different in shape and colour. One was all black with a giant red mouth on it which kept saying, in a feminine, husky voice: “Love potions, love potions… for everyone dears! Be sexy! Be irresistible!”

  Another stall was literally part of the tree, being covered with leaves, ivy and luminous fruits which looked as if they were made of crystal. Serving as its counter was a giant root protruding from the ground.

  I spotted another stall whose tent was made of a rainbow of colours turning into other shapes and colours continuously, like a giant kaleidoscope. The air was filled with fireflies providing a dim light all around, reflected by the wild, silvery grass swaying under my feet. Although there was no hint of breeze.

  “Goodness Gracious!” William erupted, floating gently by my side. “There is so much power here! I can feel so many auras and all so different!”

  “Welcome to the Goblin Market, Your Grace!” James replied, with a grin. “Pretty interesting place, don’t you think, Miss Wise?”

  “Uh?” I said, staring at the stalls, nearly hypnotised by their shapes and colours.

  “Miss Wise, please do try to focus. We have things to do here and people to meet.”

  “Yes, yes, sorry,” I apologised, coming back to my senses. “It’s just that there’s so much to see here…and feel…”

  “You’ll get used to it,” James reassured me. “Now, we need to find a friend of mine of sorts, who trades here. Follow me, stay close and DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING, NOR TALK TO ANYONE, unless I tell you to.
Again, don’t doubt the danger here, most of the creatures here can be… excitable, to say the least. Your Grace, just be aware that everyone can see you in here, so please be careful.”

  “Very well, Mr Turner,” William replied, as I nodded and we both followed James obediently.

  The place was crowded with all sorts of creatures and paranormal beings, most of them I was seeing for the very first time.

  Just looking at them made me feel inadequate. And frightened.

  I saw a banshee, terrible and beautiful, in a green robe and thankfully silent. She was closely followed by a huge cave troll she led by the leash. There was also a number of very old ghosts, including one of a medieval monk. William didn’t know him.

  I also spotted a sinister, hairy creature which kind of looked like a goblin, only it had one eye, and one single filthy leg, on which it hopped around, growling. Then there was a beautiful, tall forest nymph, wearing a long dress made with leaves and spider web. I also saw some creepy being wearing a black cape with a hood under which I spotted six pairs of red eyes. There were lots of powerful dark auras looming over the Market. James was right: That place was far from being safe. I’ve always been a little reckless, but sure as hell I’ve never been an idiot. Doesn’t matter what my mother says. So I followed James’ orders, kept a low profile and didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

  The Goblin Market was bigger than it looked, I realised, after a good twenty minutes of walking through its magical stalls. I saw a female goblin selling mechanical silver animals. Small, but beautifully done, looking like exact copies of the living original. Maybe they were alive too, since they moved around the counter very quickly, and some could even fly, like birds or Santa’s reindeers.

  “Mechanical animals with real hearts, people!” the goblin shrieked. “Solid silver, keeps werewolves and most night creatures away…perfect to deliver your messages…”

  I passed by, shivering at the idea of what ‘real hearts’ could mean. I managed to ignore a stall selling bones of all sizes and shapes, definitely not human ones. Some were so enormous, that they looked like they were from dinosaurs. Or major demons.

  When we reached the stall selling spider pickles, I started having trouble really keeping it together. I mean, the counter was crowded with jars that held giant, black spiders, immersed in vinegar. Or worse. I’ve always been terrified of spiders, and seeing so many, so big! In jars! I needed to do something to cleanse my mind of what I was experiencing, distract myself, or James and William would soon be seeing me totally freaking out.

  “Sorry Mr Turner, can I ask you, where are we going, exactly? And who’s the person who’s supposed to help us?”

  “It’s not really a person, Miss Wise. It’s a little bit complicated to explain, so maybe you’d like to first move away from this spider stall that is clearly making you uncomfortable…”

  How on earth did he know?

  “This? Oh, well…” I stuttered, taken aback. “No, it’s not that…” William chuckled. “Fine! Let’s go,” I concluded, defeated.

  “So, we’re going to pay the Rain Man a visit, Miss Wise. I suppose you’ve never heard of him before, am I right?”

  “You are.”

  “Well, the Rain Man is… specialised in recycling, so to speak.”

  “Recycling?”

  “Exactly. His job is to pick-up negative emotions and feelings, like hate, fear, desperation and so on, and to transform that into beautiful and useful things.”

  “Beautiful and useful? Like what?”

  “Like some of the stuff we’ll need, if we want to stand a chance against Okasan,” he replied. “You’ll see, the Rain Man is very talented. Because of what he does, he has a terrible reputation, even worse than mine,” he grinned. “It’s just because he shows up whenever something bad happens, to collect the negative energy and emotions, so he’s considered a sort of ‘vulture’ by most magical beings. But he is, indeed, an artist. However, it’s true that he’s kind of greedy, his output being so valuable and rare, that he sells it at crazy prices… I brought all the gold I had, hopefully it will be enough.”

  “He’s like a sort of expensive artist making unique things out of horrid ones, am I right?” I said. “A little like Picasso who painted the Guernica, inspired by the horrors of the Great War which he turned into a masterpiece.”

  “Picasso? You’re an art lover, Miss Wise?” he looked genuinely surprised. Maybe even a little impressed, who knows.

  “Well, I read Classics, believe or not. Cambridge. I love many painters, but Picasso is one of my absolute favourites.”

  “He was a great artist,” James nodded. “A true bastard in real life.”

  “You knew Picasso?”

  “I did,” he replied, clearly amused by my surprised look. “Just remember that I am a wizard, Miss Wise. Much older than any human.”

  “Sure, sorry, I always forget,” I apologised.

  At the time, I had been hanging out with wizards and witches only for a few months, and it was still difficult to wrap my head around the whole ‘we’re hundreds of years old’ concept.

  “A flower? A berry, nice lady?” said a croaky voice. It was said in the Fairy Language. I immediately turned to where the voice came from and saw its owner, who owned the next stall, a couple of yards away.

  It was a particularly weird goblin with a giant head the shape of a huge seed, planted on a small, almost rachitic body. He wore a robe made of rotten leaves and various colourful, climbing plants. He was the owner of the stall I had noticed earlier, the one selling crystal-like fruits from a counter made of a giant root, beneath a tree so tall that I could barely see its branches.

  “He speaks the Fairy Language,” I whispered to James. “Not all goblins do,” I explained.

  He nodded as we cautiously approached the stall. It was particularly luminous, the most luminous of all I had seen so far, thanks to a swarm of fireflies flying furiously around the flowers and the sweet fruits on display, drinking in their juices and their magical pollen.

  “How do you know I speak the Fairy Language?” I asked, doing my best to hide my anxiety. James was right behind me and I could almost feel his tension. Like me, he knew that, when a goblin speaks to you in whatever language, you’re forced to answer. Ignoring a goblin isn’t advisable ever, nothing makes them angrier than being ignored. And no one wants to deal with an angry goblin. No one. The last thing we needed was to upset a powerful goblin in a place full of other supernatural creatures.

  “I know many things,” the goblin replied, this time in English. “Including that your people are afraid of you, and they treat you like an outcast.”

  How the hell did he know? Had he been following me, or was I the subject of some juicy supernatural gossip? Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, there wasn’t time to investigate.

  “If you know so many things,” I replied, trying to sound as polite as possible. “Then you should also know that I’m wise enough not to accept fruit and flowers from a goblin.”

  I nodded at that giant root which served as a counter, covered with all sorts of multi-coloured fruits, monstrously beautiful flowers and seeds, ready to produce God knew what. I recognised some of them: blackberries, huge mangos, delicate white lilies. Obviously, none of those were actually what they looked like. I wondered if they were more or less dangerous than the other fare which was completely alien to me, yet looked fascinating and scary at the same time. Like a giant, velvety orange flower which puffed a deliciously smelling smoke, or purple bananas which were…breathing.

  “We might be interested in what you are selling,” James said. I turned to him not sure if he really meant it or not. As I said, one must be cautious with goblins. “Just be quick, we have other business to attend to here.”

  “Sure, Mighty Wizard, of course… My name is Thalea and I’m here to serve you,” he said, displaying several roots and fruits in front of us as well as a dozen small, velvet bags each closed with a silvery ribbon. My eyes fell
onto a bunch of rather large seeds that looked like they were made of solid gold.

  “Interested in that?” Thalia grinned. “That’s a magic flower called Flos Aureus. It’s very rare. It grows only on the shores of the Black Lake. Its beauty and perfume are irresistible. These plants are very wild and have their own will, but they are very obedient to their master. They are much desired by beings who wish to amass great quantities of gold. Still, a merchant knows his customers, and I see that neither of you is interested in amassing gold,” the goblin gave us both a meaningful grin. “These flowers, however, can also be used against one’s enemies. The moment they grow, they start puffing into the air magic pollen that can turn anything surrounding them into gold. No matter how big. Whether living or not. They won’t turn on their own master, as long as he, or she, has a will strong enough to control them.”

  Next to the golden seeds was a pile of black ones. These were very tiny and shiny, like small black gems. There was something about them though, that made me think of small, nasty insects.

  “These seeds are called ‘The Black Plague’ by wizards. They also have another name, a Fairy one I won’t share with you. They grow in the deepest recesses of the Dark Mountains and mostly feed on dark magic. These particular ones were selected to feed on barriers, including dark ones. Just throw one seed in front of the barrier you want to break, and splash it with water. The Black Plague will grow in a few seconds and will instinctively attack the barrier, the more powerful, the better. These plants are strong and ravenous so, if you need to break through any magical place, no matter how well protected, this is what you need.”

  “I’ve heard that this plant can get out of control,” James interjected. “And pose a threat to those who use it.”

  “I beg to differ, mighty wizard: Only those with a weak will risk such a fate. If the Plague knows her master, she serves him well.”

  James and I exchanged glances. Surely, we could use a plant that fed on magic barriers. Okasan’s lair was likely to be very well-guarded, and also wrapped in a very powerful, magic protection. Still, James didn’t look excited at having such a creature on our side.