Street Spells: Seven Urban Fantasy Shorts

by Aimee Easterling

  Then we were parking, disembarking, the deer trail I often followed beckoning me into the leafless trees. “Do you need help carrying that?” Chased asked, and I turned in confusion. I wasn’t carrying anything other than a fanny pack of trail essentials and the burning desire to find 257 before the rancher could.

  “Nope. Got it,” Wolf growled, wrapping a furless body up inside the goat’s severed skin. The shifter had been prepping meat while we drove down the highway, apparently. Must have ripped through the tough hide with his teeth...which would explain the blood smeared around his fingers and mouth.

  A werewolf’s culinary habits, however, were currently irrelevant. Instead, I barely noticed Wolf flinging the corpse across one shoulder before I was running, following a path that I knew like the back of my hand. At this time of day, 257’s whole family would likely be back at the den site. They would have gorged on whatever meal the father provided, which meant the afternoon was devoted to digestion and a nap.

  I was out of breath by the time the trail split in two a hundred feet from my destination. Still, I did my best to keep quiet as I picked my way along a nearly invisible track to angle closer to the wolves’ lair. The animals would know I was nearby, but hopefully they’d remember my scent and relax back into dreamland. Best they stayed in their den so I could guard them all at once....

  I’d achieved my usual spot on the overlook, blood pounding in my ears and sweat stinging my eyes, when I saw the first figure burst out of the tree line. It wasn’t Roman or Joe—for that much I was grateful. But when Wolf dropped his burden and lunged at the pile of napping puppies, I stopped being able to breathe.

  Chapter 7

  In the wild, wolves sometimes slaughter entire litters of puppies while engaged in territorial warfare. So I pushed myself upright in preparation for leaping off the rock ledge. I wasn’t so sure I’d survive the fall, but those puppies definitely didn’t have time for me to play it safe.

  Only...a hand grabbed me before I could lurch forward. Then Chase’s voice whispered promises into my ear. “Wolfie wouldn’t harm a hair on a puppy’s head. He’s helping. You have my word on that.”

  And the blood-stained shifter lived up to his friend’s analysis...but someone else had already done the wolf pups harm. Because neither adult nor offspring protested the intrusion into their home turf, instead lying still as death while Wolfie grabbed pup after pup off the ground. He wrapped them up in the furry side of the wether’s skin before tying the bundle closed with strings that had once protected caprine leg bones. Then, without a word of warning, he lobbed the puppies and goat hide directly up at us.

  I gasped, jerked forward, then steadied as Chase reached out unbelievably far to snag the grisly object before it could slam into the rock face. He laid the bundle on the ground before us, untied the legs, and revealed a jumble of puppies I would have given anything to save.

  “They’re not dead.” I didn’t understand what my companion was saying until Chase’s hand took mine and brought my fingers over to the nearest pup. Together we traced the warm curve of the baby’s belly, felt the soft flow of breath huffing out of each nose.

  “Drugged?” I gazed back beneath us, where Wolfie was dragging 257 into the woods with a predator’s intensity of purpose. Now that I could focus on something other than impending disaster, I noted the remains of the wolf family’s dinner scattered at the shifter’s feet. Hard hooves, an uneaten goat head, a hide eerily similar to the one the pups had been wrapped within.

  So that was why Wolfie skinned the wether in the backseat of the rental vehicle—he was preparing a feast for wild wolves to keep them off our backs. Too bad someone else had already carried out a similar mission...with a more dastardly, drug-laden impulse at its core.

  Roman. Of course he’d stolen the extra two kids, shot them full of sedative, then left the bodies where 257’s mate would find the easy meal and drag it home. But why had Joe’s neighbor gone to so much effort to sedate a family of wild animals when he could just as easily have killed them outright?

  “All werewolves aren’t like this,” Chase informed me urgently, dipping his head until I finally allowed myself to look into his eyes. “Drifter wolves though...sometimes they regress to their most instinctual natures and can’t be brought back to rational thought. All they care about is territory and finding a chocolate-scented pack princess to mate with.” He paused, surveyed the landscape around us. “There aren’t any female werewolves in the vicinity. So, territoriality it is.”

  I shivered, something about Chase’s recitation bringing to mind the hard-edged self-centeredness of the man I’d spent all morning scrubbing out the barn with. Roman had sniffed me when we first met, I now realized. Had sniffed me...then dismissed me as completely irrelevant for any use other than as a beast of burden who would do more than her fair share of the work.

  And, at last, the final piece fitted into the jigsaw puzzle of my understanding. Roman was not only the drugger of wolves and the killer of livestock, he had also set into motion a larger and more nefarious plan. What better way to deal with two unwanted neighbors than to bring both together and make it look like they’d killed each other off? Joe was such a loner he likely had no heirs, so his land would sell for far less than it was worth at auction. Meanwhile, 257 and her family would be rotting into the soil, leaving Roman free to enjoy not only his newly purchased territory but also the wilderness area to the north.

  Which made my unthought-out plan of diving into the forest to prevent harm to my wolves dubious at best and suicidal at worst. Still, I was here and so were the wolf pups. I narrowed my eyes and resolved to stick it out.

  While I’d been rewriting the past into a more cohesive story, Chase had knelt to disentangle the puppies, placing each one so no noses were obstructed by a sibling’s tail. Beneath us, Wolfie returned to the small clearing, leaned down to lift the father wolf. At least we’d prevented the lupine part of the planned massacre....

  Only we hadn’t been quite fast enough after all. Because Roman stepped out from behind a tremendous boulder at that moment, his human body seeming to harden as he slunk forward as silently as any wolf.

  I hadn’t moved a muscle, but wild animals know when you’re looking at them. Sure enough, the shifter looked up, his mouth widening into a sharp-toothed smile as he acknowledged me. Then, turning toward Wolfie’s unprotected back, he raised his arm and revealed a gun.

  Chapter 8

  I had no doubt Wolfie could defend himself against another shifter...but could he stop a bullet while protecting the animal lying drugged and defenseless at his feet? I wasn’t so sure, and I hated feeling useless. So I threw myself into the fight.

  No, not literally. I was a scientist, not a fighter. So I eschewed violence and used the weapons I had at my disposal instead. Rooting around in my fanny pack, I pulled out a half-melted chocolate bar, swiping the candy under each armpit even as I wriggled out of three layers of clothes.

  “Hey, you!” It had been over a decade since I’d paid the bills as an exotic dancer, but some things you never forget. Pretending not to notice the fact that Chase’s jaw had dropped beside me, I swiveled my hips, bounced bare breasts, and raised my arms so the combination of sweat and chocolate could waft off my unclad form.

  And here’s the thing—sometimes the real world is just as magical as any fairy tale. The air had been still and stagnant until that moment, but a stray breeze kicked up now from the northeast. It cooled my back and sent aromas spiraling toward the stalking shifter. In response, Roman hesitated, giving Wolfie time to push the drugged animal behind him one second before exploding into lupine form.

  Fur and fangs, tail and claws. All of that was hiding inside the—well, okay, I admit it—semi-human being who had recently ridden in the convertible’s back seat? This wolf had been directly behind me, could have ripped off my face had I dared turn around to speak to the stranger....

  I jolted at the undeniable evidence of werewolf existence, but didn’t pau
se the undulating motion of my hands and arms. After all, Roman’s gun was still raised and ready, and the shifter clearly wasn’t dumb enough to turn his back on an enraged enemy for the sake of a naked stranger on top of a rock.

  But maybe if, like me, Roman saw a magical transition. Maybe if he felt the existence of a female werewolf deep within his gut. Perhaps then Roman would lose himself in the hunt for a pack princess to claim as his mate.

  Of course, I didn’t possess an animal alter-ego. But, if I was lucky, I just might have a werewolf at my beck and call....

  I glanced down to find Chase’s warm blue eyes staring back at me out of the body of a tremendous canine, his body seeming even larger than it had been in human form. I should have been terrified. Should have run screaming. But, instead, I smiled back, curved my body sideways...then collapsed in on myself as if suffering from a major stomachache.

  Or as if shifting from two-legger to four-legger. Understanding my intentions, Chase pressed up against me. And as I fell he leapt.

  Like all of us, Roman saw what he wanted to see. Took in not one woman descending while a different wolf was rising but instead a single being changing form after as good as begging him to come feel her up. From my vantage point, pressed close to the rock and barely able to peer over the edge without revealing myself further, I saw our enemy start sprinting toward us...before going down beneath Wolfie’s claws and fangs.

  The battle was over within seconds, Roman yelping once then going silent as the grave. And even though the bones crunching and blood spurting were horrific, I found myself glad that Wolfie had put the drifter out of his misery. I was, in fact, exalting at our victory when Charlotte stumbled out of the woods and onto the scene.

  THE AFTERMATH WAS BLISSFULLY anticlimactic. Joe was found trussed and terrified at the base of the boulder Roman had emerged from behind, the rancher’s view of the show so occluded he swore up and down his life had been saved by a wild wolf. And while Roman’s death might have mandated a wolf termination under any other circumstances, Wolfie had slipped into the trees to shift before the cavalry rode to our rescue, leaving all lupines in the vicinity clearly drugged and innocent of any crime.

  “I had no idea wolves were so protective of people,” Joe repeated from the trail in front of me while Charlotte raised her eyebrows and speared me with a piercing gaze. She wasn’t buying the story, I could tell...but I found myself less worried about my job than I was about the man—werewolf—walking by my side.

  “Is that chocolate on your sleeve?” my boss asked as she brushed past us, attempting to catch up with Wolfie and Joe before they could stride away out of sight.

  “Dirt,” I lied, turning sideways to glance at the wolf family napping in the glade we were leaving behind. 257’s eyes were fluttering, proving that she’d soon claw her way out of slumber. But I wasn’t worried about wild wolves’ futures any longer, not with the closest rancher now intent upon saving rather than slaughtering their kind.

  Instead, I let the others speed away down the trail before us, slowing my footsteps to match Chase’s as he lingered in the secluded woodland spot. “So,” he started, eyes dropping and foot scuffing against the leaf litter now that we found ourselves alone save for sedated animals.

  “So,” I agreed, only realizing our arms were swinging in tandem when Chase’s big hand slid sideways to enfold my own. This time, the touch reminded me of relaxing into a hot bath after a week of endless hiking. Meanwhile, Chase’s voice when he spoke again was as caressing as any touch.

  “My pack is established now,” the shifter murmured. “Werewolves, humans, half-shifters—you’d be a perfect fit.”

  This time, he didn’t ask me. But I didn’t need an official invitation. I was ready for a different adventure than the career-focused mountain I’d spent the last decade clawing my way up.

  “Sounds perfect,” I answered, tilting my head so I could meet the eyes of the werewolf who had repeatedly ridden to my rescue. Why settle for the real world when you could enjoy a fairy tale? “Count me in.”

  I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Scapegoat! If so, you can read far more about Wolfie (and a bit about Chase) in the Wolf Rampant Trilogy. The first book in the series is free on all retailers, so why not check it out? You can also download a free starter library and get access to plenty of extras when you sign up for my email list.

  Thanks for reading! You are why I write.

  Dead Goblins and Overdue Rent

  by Tori Centanni

  IT SHOULD SAY SOMETHING that finding a dead goblin at the bus stop wasn’t the worst part of my night.

  No, so far that honor went to standing in a vampire’s living room for over an hour making small talk with her bloodsucking friends while she searched for money to pay me for services rendered.

  The dead goblin was just another road block on my way home to pay my rent, which was already two days late. My landlord happened to be a vampire too, and his tendency to lose track of time was probably the only reason I didn’t have a big orange eviction notice on my door.

  The goblin had been propped against the side of the bus shelter, assuming he hadn’t just died here, a fair assumption since I didn’t see a lot of goblins riding the bus. When I’d jogged up after narrowly missing my bus home, I’d seen several people walk right on by without noticing. That was good, but also sort of demoralizing.

  Then again, the goblin was short and had a hood pulled down over his green face and pointy ears. If you didn’t look too closely, he appeared to be a pile of clothes or maybe a ventriloquist’s puppet. I noticed because noticing things was part of my job as a private investigator. Plus, the smell of rotting goblin flesh was hard to miss, so pungent it burned my nostrils. How humans missed this stuff, I didn’t know.

  I bent down and, after making sure I was alone, pulled the hood back. I gasped.

  The goblin’s face had turned a grayish color in death and his eyes were wide open, with a milky color over the pupils. He reeked of rot and grave dirt, which was strange given his presence on a city street.

  It was rare for goblins to die. They were fae creatures and like all fae, they were immortal but could still be killed. It was uncommon for their bodies to be left behind in a mundane place where humans might discover them.

  Most humans did not know faeries—or vampires, or shifters, or witches like myself—existed and wouldn’t have believed it if you told them. The goal of the supernatural world was to keep it that way, which meant leaving fae corpses lying around wasn’t recommended.

  I reached toward the goblin’s pockets, hoping to dig out some clue of his identity so I could return his body to someone who’d want it. His eyes sparked to life, glowing red. His body lurched forward. I skipped backward, heart pounding, and nearly fell over as I moved out of range. The goblin snarled up at me, baring his big, sharp teeth.

  My fingers tingled with heat. I had to resist the urge to barbecue the creature with demon fire. Demon magic was highly illegal and I, Dani Warren, was a witch who had no business having it. Using it was always risky, but doubly so when I would definitely need to report this to the Watchers.

  The apparently-not-so-dead goblin struggled to its feet. I withdrew my sword and aimed the tip at the goblin’s face. He snapped his jaw and tried to bite my sword. I wrenched it back but kept it pointed in his direction, ready to skewer him if he came closer. He shambled forward, practically tripping over his own feet.

  I stared, mind reeling. He had definitely been dead... hadn’t he? I’d never seen a goblin look so ashen before and the smell of rot was still so overpowering that I had to breathe through my mouth.

  He moaned, a high, primal call of hunger that shook the marrow in my bones.

  I’d seen Night of the Living Dead. I knew what that moan meant, along with his slow shuffle, red eyes, and snapping jaw.

  Pulse racing, I inched backward and steeled myself for his attack. He shambled closer. I lifted my sword and slashed it sideways, catching him in the neck. The sword cut through h
is throat like butter, the blade enchanted to be preternaturally sharp. His head landed in the gutter. His body slumped to the ground.

  Panting, I stood with my sword out, in case the goblin somehow got up again. I was relieved that at one-thirty in the morning the street was silent and devoid of foot traffic. After several moments of stillness where the only sound was my haggard breathing, I sheathed my sword.

  I looked around for something to shove the body in. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t leave it here for the morning commuters to discover. That’d be a fun headline: Decapitated zombie goblin found at bus stop, news at 11.

  Unable to think of a better option, I went to the recycling receptacle next to the garbage can. I pried the top off and lifted the thick blue plastic bag out of it, overturning it to let the plastic and glass containers tumble onto the sidewalk. Penelope was always urging me to carry a backpack of supplies, given the number of times I found myself in sticky situations. Once she’d even suggested I buy a utility belt but I wasn’t a superhero.

  I lifted the goblin’s body and hefted it into the bag. It weighed a good fifty pounds but it was manageable. I lifted the head by its single tuft of black hair, making sure to hold it away from me. Dead or not, I didn’t want those sharp teeth anywhere near me. I cinched the bag closed and hefted it over my shoulder, like Santa carrying a sack of toys.

  I headed for the Watchers’ office, since I knew they’d be more receptive to me dumping a zombified corpse on their doorstep than the Magic Council’s administrative buildings would be. Paper pushers are paper pushers, even when they’re pushing around supernatural papers.

  I’d made it four blocks and was seriously considering summoning an Uber (could I trust the driver to avoid asking questions about my big blue plastic sack?) when a crow swooped in front of me. I groaned. The crow landed on the sidewalk and shifted into a tall, dark-haired woman with tan skin and dark eyes, like those of the bird. She wore a feathered dress that I suspected was an illusion. Most shifters couldn’t shift their clothes for obvious reasons but crow shifters had more magic than most and were able to weave illusions. Or at least, Penelope could.