Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  She’d spend the rest of her life assembling wizard supply pre-packs and running door-knock recoveries if she didn’t do something. She had to break the cycle.

  “Pop.” She darted up the aisle after him. “Wait a minute.”

  A blur of black and orange caught her notice in the window. Another Help Wanted sign. She tore it out and clambered up the stairs after him, hard on his heels.

  He switched on his monitor and glanced at the sign in her hands with a frown. “Why do you keep taking those down? You throw away good money.”

  “I don’t want you to hire anyone.”

  He shrugged. “I know you were fond of Trevor but he’s not coming back. We need to replace him.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  He turned and leaned against his desk, arms folded. “Past is past, Aerie. Time to move on.”

  “I know. That’s why—” She faltered. “I can do it, Pop. You know I can. Trevor taught me everything. And I did everything he told me to do. I train, I studied language, world cultures, I was straight A’s in school. No, listen. I wanted to be like him my whole life. I’m ready for it.”

  He huffed out an exasperated breath. “You think you’re ready? You have no idea what it means to be in Acquisitions. What about the first time you don’t get what you set out for? Or if you come up against something you can’t handle? You’re just a kid.”

  His condescending tone made her clench her fingers. If she’d punched the wall every time she’d heard him say that, there wouldn’t be a wall left anymore. “I’m almost twenty. That’s not a kid.”

  “To me, it is.” He took off his glasses. “Besides. I need you.”

  “You do?” Another glow of hope, not quite sunrise-strong, warmed her.

  “Of course, I do. You’re talented. And strong. Just like Dez was. I’m proud of the work you’ve done.”

  She faltered, caught off guard at the mention of her mother. He’d never spoken about her in such a positive way. “You are?”

  “Of course, I am. You’re my repo man. You’re good at it, Aerie. You’ve never come home without your mark. Now. A call came in yesterday.” He twisted to pick up a file from his desk and tipped it toward her. “I have to follow up on one last lead but I think you’re going to have fun with this one.”

  Hope sank like a dark, lead weight. Fun? He thought she had fun doing that?

  “We’ll talk later. I’m interviewing someone later and I need to get a few things ready.” He held out the file, shaking it when she didn’t take it fast enough. “Read this file for some background. I should have the contract retrieved by tomorrow. Okay? There’s a girl.”

  He sat down and started clicking through web pages without another word. She’d been dismissed.

  Again. She supposed he thought selling lucky candles to non-magic folk was fun, too. His priorities were completely janked.

  She turned without a sound and went down the hall to her room, closing the door behind her with a half-hearted slam. He couldn’t possibly be anything less like her. It was hard sometimes to even think they were actually related.

  A few hours later, she sat behind the counter, re-reading the file and Googling the driving route in between ringing out customers. The evening shift was always her shift.

  Greysen had left shortly before sunset, as was his custom. Twilight was a rough time for him. The doorways between worlds opened at twilight and the Otherworlder spent most of his evenings posting guard at the Mound. A lot of Elemental folk did. They were the only ones with power enough to keep others from passing through.

  Few people—few wizards, anyway—realized what sacrifices the Elemental folk made to keep the human world human. If they did, maybe they’d be quick to knock off with the prejudice.

  The bells jingled, the door opened. She closed the file.

  “Welcome to Pathering’s. Can I help you?” Once more the customer service face slid over her expression. It quickly fell when she saw who it was.

  Jels.

  She was off her stool and against the back display before she could stop herself. No one else here to intervene. No one to run interference. No one to witness. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got an interview with your old man.”

  Oh no. No. No. No. Recovering from her shock, she slid between him and the stairs. Anything to keep him back. “I didn’t know he was hiring a janitor.”

  He poked her hard enough to make her stumble back. “Why would he? He’s got you. Out of my way, trash.”

  His touch reviled her. A familiar lump of hot molten fury dropped into her stomach. One day—all she had to do was make a tiny casting circle and flick him out of her life forever—

  “Aerie?” Pop hollered from the top of the steps. “Bring him up, please.”

  “Don’t bother.” He leered and dipped his face close to hers, causing her to shrink into a hunch. “I know my way.”

  She stood, mouth clamped shut, and did what she always did whenever he got up in her face.

  Absolutely nothing.

  It was all she could to do to lock up the shop and slink up the stairs, holding her breath, trying to not make a sound as she retreated to her room.

  4

  She could hear their voices through her bedroom wall, laughing and agreeing, late into the night.

  She crumpled the page she was reading without meaning to, her face pinched with repressed anger. He could be a charming bastard when he wanted to be. And it had been a long time since he wanted to be charming. He’d discarded that act when he discovered force got the job done faster.

  Pop was gushing all over him like he was a favorite son. Whatever. They were made for each other. Both of them could play the bullshit game because neither one had any real feelings.

  Maybe that was why Jels was in there, and not her.

  She banged her head against her headboard, her eyes stinging. What was the point of protest? Pop hadn’t believed her when she’d told him about her bike. He hadn’t believed her when she told him what had happened at the lake that night, either. That stupid night, when she had been stupid enough to trust Jels.

  And Pop didn’t believe her these days, every time she’d tried once again to make him see Jels for what he truly was.

  What was the point, anyway? She did know Jels for what he was, and no matter what she imagined, alone in her room, every night…every time she faced him she just reverted right back to that victim all over again.

  No matter how tough she was on the job, when it was just her, she was useless. If only…

  She tossed the file onto the floor and shut out the light. If only she had found a way to let her true strength shine through. Maybe she’d stop feeling like everything she did—her whole life—was just a lie.

  The next morning, she dressed for work like an automaton. Usually each job brought with it a sense of anticipation, a new adventure, despite her disdain for the work itself. Adrenaline was adrenaline, no matter the situation.

  Today was different. It felt like she was just going through motions. Putting on her blue Dickies, shoving her arms into the sleeves of her uniform jacket, slicking her hair back into a utilitarian bun before yanking on her cap. Staring at her reflection, she took it all in. This was what Pop saw. This was all Pop ever wanted to see.

  She stalked down to the office, file under her arm, to pick up what she needed for her new assignment. It would be ready for her: clipboard, contract, van keys, company credit card. Pop was pretty regimental when came to his jobs. He didn’t like hitches.

  Picking it up off the corner of his desk, she scanned the contract. Boring stuff. Enhanced dousing rods. Door knock basic repo.

  She turned toward the door when something caught her eye. A different kind of file, not the usual brown double top-punch legal size. This one was blue and old, the corners worn and dog-eared. Not like him at all, with his obsession with fastidious precision.

  She glanced at the door, craning her neck and straining her ears to make sure he was
n’t around. Flipping it open, her eyes grew wide.

  Pages and pages on an artifact. Sketches, descriptions, scribbled notes on last known location of a bejeweled amulet.

  An Asmodeus amulet, to be exact. One didn’t come across them too often, not even in this line of work. Few natural mages were comfortable wielding divinity magic.

  Aerie shuddered. Asmodeus was no angel.

  She snapped the file shut, her gut twisting with apprehension.

  This was no repo assignment. This was so much more. There was only one thing it could be.

  The Acquisitioner’s audition. Whoever found this would get the job. And he was going to send Jels after it.

  Biting her lips, she looked out the window. Not if she found it first.

  She shoved the odd file inside the folder of her own assignment. Tucking the clipboard under her arm, she grabbed her ID and the keys to the van before double-timing it out the door.

  The address belonged to a dark-blue multi-story house in the Green Ridge section of Scranton, one of several large homes that were so big that only four or five houses took up the entire block. She liked the old spear-tipped wrought-iron fence surrounding the property, and the ivy that climbed its way up to and around the corners of the house. Nice touch. Creepy, but nice.

  The stained-glass windows and turrets were also creepy but nice. These big city wizards had strange taste. So unlike Vanguardian wizards, who occupied every other unit of the endless strips of three-floored rowhomes. These city people obviously didn’t care much for blending in.

  She rang the bell, listening to the faint chimes within, which were immediately accompanied by the yip-yapping of a small and probably annoying lap dog.

  And where there was a lap dog… Aerie rolled her eyes and exhaled loudly through her nose. Please, not another little old lady. I can’t deal with—

  A young man opened the door, dressed in jean shorts and a sleeveless shirt.

  Her brows lifted. Surprise, surprise.

  Roughly her age, she thought, quickly assessing him. Maybe a little older. Brown shaggy hair that looked like he had just tried to tame it with his fingers on the way to answering the door (but epically failed.) The unruly hair framed a pair of big blue eyes and long copper lashes that made her stare, before her gaze was drawn to the pale glow of his freckled nose. Boyishly handsome, as if he were still deciding on whether he should just outgrow it, already.

  The man was a few inches taller than she, and had good posture, and carried his arms like he knew how to use them. No muscle man but probably not a wimp, either. Without meaning to, she sized him up and estimated his reach. She’d need to see him walk, though, if she wanted a clean appraisal.

  He leaned in the doorway and smiled. It was a nice smile. She rarely saw those when she’d go knocking. “Hi, there.”

  “Hi.” Aerie smiled and rocked back on her heels.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “Em—actually, yes.” She showed her badge but, this time, flipping her jacket open felt a lot like she flashed her chest. Awkward. Cleared her throat. “I represent Pathering’s Sorcery Supply. You are in possession of one Asmodeus-brand amulet, status: bewitched. The contract is forfeit. I’m here to reclaim it.”

  His expression didn’t change; he looked rather like he expected her to sell him some cookies. “We don’t have a contract with Pathering’s.”

  She leveled her gaze. Damn it. She hadn’t found any contact in the file but hoped to bluff it out of him. Poker face, Aerie. Raise the stakes.

  “No,” she said, her voice firm. “But the rightful possessor did. You may have purchased, borrowed, stolen, or received it through gift or trade. Doesn’t matter. According to Federal Wizarding Device law, devices under contract remain under contract until such time the contractor retracts the terms of contract. Whew.”

  She fanned herself with the clipboard. Did anyone else think it was warm? “Tongue-twister, isn’t it? Anyway, the contract under which that amulet is covered has been breached. Please surrender the item.”

  He crossed his arms and smiled even wider, his dimples prominent. “No.”

  It was all Aerie could do to keep her jaw from dropping onto her clipboard.

  No? No one ever said no, not even when she bluffed. They slammed doors or sprouted wings or, in one case, started to cry, but never no. She was at a complete loss. “You—you have to.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.” She stepped closer, pointing at herself for emphasis. “I’m licensed and bonded. I—I have a name badge. You have to.”

  “No. You are going to get off my porch right—” He poked her in the chest, hard enough to hurt. “Now.”

  Was that an attack? She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. Felt like an attack. Oh, well, he hit me first.

  She backed up a step and rubbed her mouth. “Do you understand Spanish?”

  “No.”

  “What a shame.” She circled her finger and cast at him. “¡No se mueva!”

  “ ¡Disipe!” He countered the spell with a gesture of his own, tenting his fingers and thumbs into an O and breaking her spell orb into a tiny shower of sparks. “I wouldn’t try that again. I’ve got the home field advantage.”

  “You liar! You said you didn’t know Spanish!”

  “I didn’t lie, I was being sarcastic. I answered you in Spanish.”

  “You jerk! Arretez!”

  “Dissipez.” He smirked and flicked the sparks of the disintegrating spell at her.

  “Wiązanie!” Aerie backed away, hoping to high Heaven he didn’t know—

  “Wydania.”

  Sigh. Polish.

  “I’m getting irritated.” He crossed his arms and glared down his nose at her. The freckles didn’t soften the look in the least.

  “You? I’m only trying to do my job, pal. Trust me. You don’t want someone to come and clean up after me. They’re not nice things.”

  “I doubt they’d make it across the lawn. We’re not amateurs.”

  This was her last chance to use straight magic. Her German was rusty but she was running out of languages.

  He acted like an animal and deserved a cage of his own. A cage it was, then. “Karpfen ungeheuer!”

  His eyes wide, he gritted his teeth. “You did not just say that.”

  She laughed and darted past him into the foyer. The ceiling started to vibrate and her eardrums hurt from the sudden change in air pressure—the manifestation of a cage that big caused the air to contract in order to make space for it. “I sure did, jackass! You deserve to be behind bars—”

  The air suddenly opened over their heads but it wasn’t a cage that dropped down.

  It was a huge fish. It flopped once or twice on the floor, its mouth gaping in a perfect imitation of Aerie, who stood flat against the wall, flabbergasted.

  “Oh, yeah, that showed me,” he said. “Now, I’m going to kick your ass, stuff you into the fish, and send you back to the sewers.”

  “Crap!” She stared at the flopping fish. “What’s the German word for cage?”

  “Käfig. You really suck.” He jumped over the fish, catching her off guard, and pinned her shoulders to the wall. “Your parents shouldn’t let you practice magic with such a pitiful grasp of language.”

  “Don’t talk about my parents!” Her knee-jerk reaction hit him squarely in his soft spots.

  Oofing in pain, he doubled over. Aerie grabbed his wrist and strung out his arm, locking him in an arm-bar, and dropped him to his knees. Reaching behind her, she grasped a canister from her belt and yanked it free.

  Pepper spray. For all the situations magic can’t handle.

  She flicked up the safety on the nozzle and pointed it at him. “I don’t even feel bad about doing this—”

  “Aerie. . .” A woman’s voice floated through the room, familiar and strange and haunting.

  She stopped and lifted her chin, straining to hear it. “Did you say something?”

  He’d
gotten to his feet and took a deep breath, still holding his groin with his free hand. “Um, get out before I throw you out?”

  “No, really?” She released him and stepped away, sparing him a brief glance. “That is so second grade.”

  Raising his head, he glared at her. “Maybe I was just thinking it.”

  “Aerie. . .down here.” Definitely a woman. The voice was soft and distant but coming from somewhere close by.

  She raised her palm to cut him off. “There it is again.”

  “There what—”

  “Shh!” Aerie craned her head, listening for the voice. No mistake about it. Someone had called her.

  A heat grew in her pocket. The compass. Only a magic of the most powerful kind could kick start that old thing. She pulled it out and gingerly flipped it open. “Where?”

  “Nowhere.” The boy cracked his knuckles and circled his hands. “Crush.”

  “No!” The compass splintered in her hands, the fragments falling through her fingers. “Pop’s going to kill me!”

  “Not if I kill you first.” He took a single menacing step toward her. “Did I mention I was serious?”

  The look in his eyes was real enough. Aerie believed him. Spinning on her heel, she ran.

  The foyer opened up into a parlor which lead to a dining room and then another parlor. How many rooms did this place have? Sure, it looked huge from the outside but this was crazy.

  “Aerie…”

  Aerie stopped, panting. The only sound was the yip-yap dog. “Hello? Where are you?”

  Something brushed against the top of her head. She shook her hair and saw something fly loose. A stone? Was he throwing rocks? Another hit her head, a third her shoulder. No, too soft for a rock. Brushing it off, she watched it hit the floor.

  And skitter away. A big, black spider.

  Looking up, she saw a dozen more dropping down from the ceiling on their threads. A white surge of horror filled her from the feet up, fuzzing the corners of her vision. Anything but spiders.

  “You tripped a waking nightmare trigger,” the woman called. “Turn around. There’s a door.”

  Aerie obeyed without hesitation. She wanted out of this room before something worse than spiders manifested. There weren’t many things on her list of nightmares but the things that were on it were grotesquely nightmarish enough. Crossing the room, she scanned the blank, smooth wall. She formed her casting circle.