Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  I pursed my lips and tried to untangle my thoughts. I’m pretty sure I broke a brain cell or two in the process. What the hell was I doing? Not what I was supposed to be doing.

  He continued to stare and I’ll admit, it was unnerving. But it also gave me the chance to really get a good look at him in return. Angular jaw, full lips, messy brown hair. Hazel eyes concealing a hint of something dark and raw. While I’d found him cute, too cute really, the night before… in a different light, he could almost be my type.

  If I wasn’t trying to save my own ass. And he wasn’t trying to drag me into a search and rescue mission for someone I didn’t even know.

  “You don’t know me,” I repeated.

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know enough about you to know that you have certain talents that may be useful to me. You’re very well connected to the Supe world, which may also come in handy. And you’re quick-witted enough to know that I could persuade you if I wanted. But I won’t. Mainly because I won’t need to.”

  I gulped. Looked away. Gnawed on his speech for a bit.

  Finally, I was sufficiently pissed enough to respond. “I’ll repeat, you don’t know me. You don’t have a clue what I’m capable of and who I’m connected to is useless to you. For all intents and purposes, I’m an island. And for good measure, one more time, I’m not taking on random, sketchy jobs from strange boys.”

  I stood to make my grand exit, only he reached out a hand to stop me. It was about that time that I also realized I’d yet to get around to the questions I wanted to ask him. So, I sat again, my focus back on the plan.

  “Fine, you’ve got five minutes. Convince me.”

  I looked up to see the waitress doing a drive by with our drinks. I swear she didn’t even slow down to drop them off. Just plunked them on the table and went about her merry old-ass way, beer sloshing on the table.

  Dane cleared his throat, lifted one of the bottles to his lips, took a swig, then spoke. “Okay, hear me out. Find Elena for me, please. Our parents will kill me if I don’t get her back.”

  He lowered his head and leaned closer. I leaned forward without meaning to.

  “I know who has her. And I know why he took her,” he spoke low and glanced around. “Which is part of the problem. He’s bad news and the longer Elena is gone, the more danger she’s in.”

  “What is she to you?” I was guessing his sister, maybe? Hopefully.

  “She’s like me,” he waggled his fingers in my direction.

  I pulled back ever so slightly. No way was I looking for a repeat lusting—at least not one I hadn’t asked for. “Which is what, exactly?”

  Please don’t say incubus. Please don’t say incubus.

  “I’m an incubus. Elena is a succubus—he took her to…” He pursed his lips and looked away.

  I’m not good with people’s emotions and shit. I didn’t know how to hug someone or pat them on the back, saying “there, there” while they cry. I don’t do overt sympathy or friendly support. I’m just not that person. So, I waited in silence. Can you say awkward?

  Dane stared at the wall for over a minute before turning back to face me. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks red. I had an overwhelming urge to hug him, but I tamped that shit right down.

  “He took Elena for her power,” Dane said. “He wants to use her to grow his own strength… only she has to get her power from others first. Are you following me?”

  It took a minute for me to connect the dots, but when I did, oh boy. My eyes widened. “You don’t mean what I think you mean?”

  He nodded, wrung his hands together. He didn’t look up as he spoke. “Yes, I’m afraid I do. He’s going to use her like a magical battery. Take her power, through force or manipulation, and eventually she will have to feed.”

  Even though I knew what he was going to say next, I still wasn’t prepared.

  “She’ll be weak and unable to resist when he pimps her out for a double payday. Lining his pockets while recharging her for another round. He’s done this before. Elena doesn’t deserve that and I can’t let it happen to her. I’ll do anything to get her back. I’ll pay anything to make sure that her captor does not walk away from this with a heartbeat.”

  My own pulse sped up at that. His proposition sounded a lot like redemption to my ears, at least a little bit. Sure, helping someone in distress was reward enough. But I couldn’t lose sight of the fact that I had a huge black mark on my soul that I was hoping to erase. Call it leveling the karmic scales. I was fated to be bad, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use it for good.

  “Wait, you said this guy has done this before. Why has no one stopped him?”

  He shrugged and I wasn’t buying it. If it was that bad, I was walking away right then, while I still could. I made a move like I’d heard enough. “Peace out, beansprout.”

  “Quinn, that package you’re looking for?” Dane’s voice was oddly emotionless.

  Shit, I’d almost forgotten about that. But at least I’d been right—he was involved somehow. Actually, that wasn’t good news for me though.

  Life 3, Quinn 0.

  “Yeah, what do you know about it?” I narrowed my eyes.

  He put his hands up and tried way too hard to look innocent. “I know who has it. If you help me, I’ll tell you how to get it back.”

  Well, damn. He had me by the short hairs.

  3

  “Fine.” I chugged my beer and stood, pulling a card out of my pocket. “Here’s my number and email address. Send me all the information you have and I’ll see what I can find out for you.”

  Dane shook his head and stood, pulled out his phone and plugged in my number, tapping away. “No, we’ve got work to do and very little time. There’s a spare room at my place. Get your things from the hotel and come to the address I’m sending you. I’ll grab coffee and meet you there.”

  He left without a backwards glance and I sat there, dumbfounded. That hadn’t gone as planned. Was my whole damn life cursed or something? It was beginning to look that way. Or at the least this freaking job was.

  I checked my phone for Dane’s address and noticed several other text messages waiting. None from my mother, so that was progress. I did have two from Clive telling me to check in and another from Cassidy. Not only was she my mother’s best friend and an actual fairy princess, but she was also my de-facto Godmother and the woman responsible for teaching me how to safely wield my magic—for the most part anyway.

  Why did everyone feel the need to check up on me suddenly? It’s not like I was a helpless kid anymore. While not as powerful as my mother, I could still hold my own against most run of the mill magics.

  For those above my power level, I had plenty of back-up plans: carbon steel blades tucked away in several places on my body. A Sig Sauer p938 resting comfortably in a holster in the small of my back and its mate riding shotgun under my left arm, cross-body style. And that didn’t even include my magic shooters—those babies were always locked and loaded, even if the thought of using them left me nauseas and pale. But that’s a story for another time.

  The point being, I’m not a damn wallflower and it was about time everyone stopped treating me like one. I ignored all the messages and focused on what I could control. Too bad it was a short list.

  I signaled the waitress over for one more drink. I had a feeling I was going to need it. Bunking with an incubus—that did not sound like a wise decision. Good thing I’d never been accused of making those.

  When I was done drowning my sorrows, I left the bar and went to retrieve my things from the shit-hole motel. Ten minutes after that, I was letting my GPS lead me into a decidedly better part of town. Graffiti gave way to sculpted, potted greenery, historic brownstones and an ass-load of expensive SUV’s parked on the streets. Being an incubus must pay, I thought as I parked several doors down from my destination.

  I cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving myself a pep talk.

  You can do this, Quinn. Magic shooters, reme
mber? And hollow points. Easy, peasy. Now get your shit together and go figure out how to rescue the poor succubus so you can finish your actual job. Deliver the package safely to Clive’s ice-cold hands. Then get paid. Repeat.

  I shoved open the car door, stooped to grab my stuff and went to face the incubus. But once again, the face had changed.

  “Great, you made it. Thank you so much for coming.” Dane smiled like he was the chess club president. It was kind of endearing, or it would have been if I didn’t know it was an act.

  Or was it? Faced with two Dane’s, how did I know which was real?

  I shrugged and stepped inside. “Where should I put my things?”

  “Oh, anywhere.” He motioned around the living room with his arms. “Me casa es su casa. Just drop your bags wherever. I’ll take you to the spare bedroom later. Right now, I have something to show you.”

  His words were perfectly innocent, but his tone, well, that was a little darker. Gods, he was giving me emotional whiplash. I sighed and tossed my bag on the couch. By the time I looked up, he’d already disappeared into what looked to be his dining room.

  I found him there, hands pressed upon the table, leaning over an enormous spread of papers, books, maps and newspaper clippings. Under different circumstances, I might have noticed the way his sweater clung to his swimmer’s body, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or any number of things that hot-blooded women notice when they really look at a hot guy for the first time. But that would be inappropriate, given what brought us together, right?

  “Uh, wow. I can see you’ve done your homework.” I joked to get my mind off his ass and back to the problem at hand.

  My mouth fell open when I took a closer look at the table. I’d expected to see things related to the missing girl, Elena, but I hadn’t expected that he’d researched the shit out of me too. But he had. A lot. It was pretty overwhelming and more than a little scary.

  There were close-up’s of me running errands, jogging along a secluded beach back home, even ones of me entering the grounds of Clive’s estate in D.C. several days ago. Some of the photos dated back more than six months. I felt violated and more than a little pissed. “If your… if Elena was taken recently, do you mind telling me why in the hell you have surveillance pictures of me dressed as Harley Quinn last Halloween?”

  His cheeks pinked just a bit. “Oh, right. I didn’t take those. Believe me, I didn’t even know of your existence until a few days ago, right after Elena was taken. These I got online. It’s probably not comforting, but certain organizations keep dossiers on anyone remotely associated with the supernatural world. Like sitting there waiting for someone to request a copy. One wire transfer and I had everything delivered right to my email.”

  “You’re right, that’s not comforting at all.” I circled the elongated table, pretending to study everything before me. But what I was really thinking about was the online spy shit. Did my mother or Clive know I was being spied on? Where they being spied on? And by who… and to what purpose?

  Either way, it all left a rock-hard pit in my stomach. I shoved all that aside and brought the focus back around to the real reason I was there.

  “Is this Elena? She’s beautiful.” I said, hoping to get Dane talking about her. The more I knew about her, about everything, the better.

  “Yes. That was taken last year,” he said.

  I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

  No matter, I was still focusing on the pictures staring back at me.

  “Why me?” I held up an image of me sporting a bikini out on Parker’s Island. I barely remembered the day it had been taken. A bunch of us took boats out to the small barrier island and spent the entire sunny day partying for no other reason than we could. The next day I sported a wicked headache and a blistering sunburn. So, not my finest hour.

  “I needed someone… at first I was going to ask your mother. Everyone knows what she is, what she’s capable of. But then I realized that while she could easily rescue Elena and rid the world of one twisted bastard, she might not be the right person for the job. I have a feeling that you are.” He took a seat and motioned for me to do the same.

  * * *

  “Okay, but that still doesn’t answer my question. Why me?” I pulled up a chair, turned it around and straddled it, facing Dane.

  “I know your history, know what happened when you were a little girl. And I think that’s shaped who you are today. You’re hungry—for revenge, redemption, or whatever—and you need to satisfy that hunger. That makes you my best chance at getting Elena back.”

  I looked away quickly, focused on the modern art piece hanging on the wall above an antique sideboard. The bright blue, the burnt yellow, the deep orange, colors that swam around the canvas much like the thoughts swirling inside my own head.

  How the hell did he know all of that? And how was I supposed to respond?

  Little snippets of memory flashed through my mind. The locked cell she’d kept me in, buried in the bowels of the castle in Italy. The look on Morgan’s face when my magic hit her square over her heart. The look on my mother’s face when she realized her child had killed someone—the wrong someone. How my father had deflated when everyone realized that he’d been instrumental in my kidnapping.

  How could I not be fucked up after all that?

  “That’s quite a rosy picture you’re painting of me.” I said through gritted teeth.

  Dane placed a hand on my arm, “It’s okay. I understand hunger, the kind that eats at you, the kind that comes from a dark place yet yearns for the light.”

  His voice was low, silky and I found myself relaxing with each syllable he spoke. He was using his gift to ease my discomfort and I have to say, I really didn’t mind.

  I cleared my throat and focused back on the table full of information. “Okay, show me what you have so far. Give me the lay of the land so I know what we’re working with.”

  He nodded, coming back to himself. “Right. Where to start?”

  I tapped the photo of Elena. “How about the beginning. When did she go missing exactly, and from where?”

  Dane sighed, dug a notebook out from under a stack of newspapers and pushed it across the table in my direction. “It’s all here.”

  He stood and went into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “I forgot to pick up coffee, but I can make some. We’re going to be here a while.”

  While he was busy clanging things around in the kitchen, I glanced over his notes. They were detailed and straight to the point. Again, I had to wonder if Dane had some military or law enforcement connection.

  Elena Kovach, 20 years old, junior at U of M. 5”6, auburn hair, 125lbs.

  Last known location: the parking structure on campus, near the athletic complex.

  Missing since approx. 6pm, Wed the 29th.

  Elena said goodbye to her Anatomy lab partner at the entrance to the structure several minutes before six. No security footage. Her car left the structure ten minutes later, unknown hooded figure driving.

  Car found abandoned and stripped two days later down by the river. No prints. Smelled of incense and decay. NO blood evidence or indication of foul play.

  No ransom demand, indicating money is not a direct motive.

  From there I turned to a stack of newspaper clippings. A dozen or so young, beautiful women, abducted from points all over the country and the only thing they had in common was each was noted as “charismatic” and “adored by everyone who met her” type of stuff in the articles. And as far as I could tell their bodies were never found.

  Goose flesh prickled my arms. This must be what Dane meant when he’d said Elena wasn’t the first, I thought.

  “Hey, these girls in the clippings…” I rifled through them a second time. “What are the chances they’re all supes.”

  “No speculation necessary, they’re succubi. All of them.” He stood in the archway, holding two steamy cups of goodness.

  “How do you know?” I took the offer
ed coffee and sipped it greedily while he joined me at the table.

  He tapped on one of the clippings. “Well, I met this girl once, years ago during one of my parents’ match-making trips. Nice, but a little vain.” He shuffled to another article, which was more recent, dating back to a year ago. “She was on my parents short list, though we never met in person.”

  I pushed back from the table and turned to face him. “Come again?”

  He sighed and took the seat next to mine. “We, succubi and incubi, don’t have the numbers we once did. And due to the draining nature of our particular gifts, and our need to avoid extinction, arranged marriages have become the norm I’m afraid. It sucks, but it’s the only logical answer. We can’t maintain long-term relationships with humans. It would kill them eventually.”

  “Okay…” I chewed on that for a bit, my face twisting under the weight of my own thoughts. “So… you don’t date humans, only each other?”

  Pity, I thought, before mentally slapping myself. Focus, Quinn.

  He shook his head, blushed. “Not exactly. We still need to feed, you know.”

  Oh, right. It was my turn to blush. “So, you’ll marry a succubus, but have, uh, relationships with other people still? That must be hard, I’d think.”

  A darkness crossed his face, then flitted away like smoke. “Not really. Love and sex can be two very different things. You’ve slept with someone you had no real feelings for, right? For us, sex is like eating or breathing is to humans. Biologically necessary, with the added bonus of being pleasurable.”

  I’d be lying if that last bit didn’t make all tingly. Sigh. Back to the task at hand. “So, all these girls are succubi. They gain power or something from sex, power that your perp then taps into and takes for himself. Is that the theory?”

  He nodded, swallowed hard. “Yes. He’s not an incubus, otherwise he wouldn’t need to do any of this. My working theory, he’s a human that’s managed to get his hands on a spell or something. Either that or a natural born witch gone rogue.”