Mandy M. Roth - Magic Under Fire (Over a Dozen Tales of Urban Fantasy)

by Unknown

  The large mailbox was on its side, the white USPS faded into a hardly discernible SP. It was badly dented from a scavenger who’d come along sometime during the last half-century, prying it open to see if there was anything valuable inside. Clothing. Books. Tools. Anything that might be useful, and still in its wrappings.

  Once, Marisa and her sister Lainey had found a plastic package of bras and silk panties inside the trunk of a rusty car. She’d been more than a little disappointed when the red and pink lace bras had only fit Lainey, but at least she got some of the fancy panties. It was the luck of the find, these discovered treasures, and aside from that, Lainey was the one most likely to have occasion to show off the pretty lingerie. All the young men in River Vale had been interested in looking down Lainey’s shirt and wriggling her out of her jeans. If she hadn’t moved away, they probably still would be.

  Marisa, who was quiet and serious, and whose shirt didn’t fill out quite as much as her flame-haired sister’s did, had been much too busy with her books for the likes of Luke Desmond, Jamie Gilbert, and Anson Claridge to notice her. But they sure as hell had noticed Lainey—especially Luke.

  Until he broke her heart.

  By now, Marisa had reached the edge of the small settlement of River Vale, so named because of an elegant sign that stood by two brick half-walls, as if announcing entrance to some exclusive club. Now the gold-painted letters were faded, and when the V had fallen off, Gil Darnley had nailed it back in place. Decades ago, shortly after the Change, the half-walls had been repaired and extended into a ten-foot wall made of whatever large items the survivors could find. A thick enclosure made from brick, old billboards, train cars, and metal sheets now protected the cluster of less than two dozen households that made up River Vale.

  During the day, the gates were open, but at night, of course, they were closed against the threats that came with the setting sun: wolves, an occasional tiger or panther, and, most frightening of all, the zombie-like gangas.

  Marisa wasn’t the only person who’d heard the warning sounds: old Gil Tapper, Matt Redding, Jules and Bobby, and several others had come out of their houses or workshops to look toward the rumbling sound.

  “Bin about a year since they come,” Gil said, scratching his chin. Despite his easy words, he must have been more nervous than he let on, for he left three dark red marks on his wrinkled skin.

  “Longer’n that,” Matt added. He was wiping his hands on a cloth, his muscular forearms bare. His face was flushed and he used the rag to wipe away a rivulet of sweat trickling down one cheek. He’d obviously just stepped out of the heat of his plastics-smelting workshop.

  Plastic was one of the so-called “neo-natural” resources that was the result of the destruction of civilization and the loss of twenty-first century infrastructure. It was everywhere, and in fifty years had shown no signs of degrading or weakening—unlike wood, concrete, and other manmade objects.

  Matt glanced at Marisa, his brown eyes lingering. “I think the last time they were was after your dad passed, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded, but didn’t pause to talk with the others. They could wait and meet the MITs when they came through the gates like a proper welcoming committee—even though not one of the River Vale villagers wanted them there. But she had to check on everything. Make sure it was all tidy so the bounty hunters wouldn’t find the hidden cache of books and computers.

  Marisa knew she’d find the secret door still closed up, just the way she always took care to leave it. But she had to check just to make sure. Grandma Nell and Dad had kept the secret for years, and they’d entrusted her with it. Only her.

  Not even Lainey.

  The truck was within easy sight of the main gate to the settlement when Marisa bounded up the wide stone steps to the place she called home. The front half of the plain, rectangular stone and brick building had made it through the earthquakes and storms of the Change, but the back portion hadn’t fared so well. Its roof had collapsed and parts of the back walls had caved in.

  But in the front, above the main door, the words William T. Shelby Public Library, est. 1957 were still clearly engraved in the marble lintel.

  Marisa let herself inside, inhaling the scent of home: the lingering lemon and grapefruit essences she used for cleaning, the smell of the bread she’d tried to make this morning—which had burned—and, of course, the smell of books. Row upon row, shelf upon shelf, from floor to the fifteen-foot-high ceiling…there were books everywhere.

  Not all of them had been part of the Shelby Library when the Change occurred. Over the years, Grandma Nell and Marisa’s father had built up the collection from a variety of sources. A librarian herself, Grandma Nell had taught her son, and then her granddaughter, how to categorize the books just as she and her peers had done before the Change, and how to restore, protect, and conserve them. And the collection included everything from numerous copies of the Bible to Nancy Drew, Clive Cussler, Jodi Picoult, and J. K. Rowling, along with unending shelves of cookbooks, histories and biographies, and volumes about animals, plants, and even basic construction, electricity, and plumbing.

  And then there was the Special Collection. The books that—

  Marisa froze. She tilted her head, a hand resting on the old plastered wall as if to help keep herself still. Had she heard someone?

  The faintest shuffle? The softest, barest breath of a movement?

  Surely not. There was no one else who had any reason to come into her library, no one who even had—

  The hair at the back of her neck prickled. All the moisture in her mouth seemed to evaporate, moving to dampen her palms.

  Someone is here.

  She was sure of it.

  And whoever it was had no reason to be so silent and sneaky…unless he or she was up to no good.

  Heart in her throat, Marisa steadied her breathing and tried to silently talk herself into calmness. It could be a mouse, or even a stray leaf rustling against the window or over the floor…

  Let’s face it, she told herself. She wouldn’t be nervous at all if the MITs weren’t here. And they hadn’t even arrived yet, so it couldn’t be—

  A hand came from nowhere, clamping over her mouth just as a strong arm slipped around her from behind.

  Marisa froze, then gave a muffled shriek from behind the fingers covering her mouth. She began to buck and kick and struggle, terror filming her vision red as her glasses tumbled to the floor.

  “Shhh! Marisa…it’s me,” came a deep, low voice next to her ear. He grunted as she caught him blindly in the gut. “Don’t yell…don’t make a sound.” He still held her firmly, and she was acutely aware of the strength of his solid body and the power in the arms that held her still.

  Me? Me who?

  The voice was familiar, but…

  Then her eyes goggled with shock, and she yanked at the hand covering her mouth. To her surprise and relief, it allowed her to do so, and she twisted awkwardly in his firm grip until she could see him.

  Luke Desmond?

  “What in the hell—!”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth again, his shadowy face turning fierce and hard. “Be still,” he hissed. “Unless you want me dead.”

  At that, she stopped struggling. Did she want him dead? Oh yes, she wanted him dead. With an abrupt twist, she pulled away. “You have no idea,” she said grimly, swooping down to pick up her glasses. “How badly I want you dead.”

  As she came up, shoving the spectacles into place, she got a good look at him. Her heart gave a little flip and her insides a little shiver, and damned if her mouth didn’t go dry.

  She hadn’t seen Luke since he left River Vale five years ago—the day after he was supposed to marry Lainey. The day after he’d broken the engagement—and both sisters’ hearts.

  What the five years had done to Luke Desmond could only be described as sinful. Even back then, at twenty-one and just barely a man, he’d been too good-looking to believe—with his tousled tawny-blond hair, shocking
blue eyes, and ridiculous dimples that shouldn’t be sexy on a man but somehow were. But now he was…more. Just more of everything: more tousled, more tanned, more muscular, more imposing. And he smelled delicious—all sun-kissed and male, with a tinge of something coppery.

  Marisa stepped back. Get a grip, you idiot.

  Luke gave her a weak smile, looking at her warily as if she were a coiled snake or a hissing wildcat. “I guess five years hasn’t changed your opinion of me much, hm?” His voice sounded strained.

  “Not much. What are you doing here, anyway?” Marisa had no idea where he’d been or what he’d been doing since he left River Vale. “Lainey’s married now, you know. She moved to Flat Rock, and she wouldn’t take you ba—”

  “I need your help.”

  She gaped at him. “You need my help. Really. And what on earth makes you think I’d—”

  He stiffened and held up a sharp hand, tilting his head as if to listen. In the distance was the unmistakable sound of voices and the rumble of engines. The MITs.

  “They’re here already. Damn.” His words were barely audible as his attention darted around. “I need to—I need…”

  All at once, he slid to the floor.

  And that was when Marisa saw the blood.

  CHAPTER 2

  “L uke!” Marisa knelt next to him, frantically feeling around to find out where he was wounded.

  He opened his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered, and tried to stand. “Lost a little blood today.”

  “So I see.” She looped an arm around his shoulders and, as he braced himself against the wall, helped him come upright. By now, she’d discovered the source of the injury—at the back of his head. His shirt was soaked all down his spine in a wide swath of red, but other than that, he seemed to have no other injury.

  “Come on,” she muttered, helping him inch down the hall toward her living quarters. Her glasses kept slipping whenever she bumped against him, and pieces of hair were falling from her ponytail.

  When he realized her destination, he stopped. “No. Not there.”

  “Cripes, Luke, beggars can’t be choosers. You’re about to faint again.”

  “You have to hide me. Please.”

  “Hide you?” She froze. “From whom?” Yet she suspected she knew the answer. Apparently it wasn’t coincidence that the MITs had arrived, and here was Luke Desmond, bleeding all over her.

  “There’s no time—Marisa, please. Hide me.” He looked at her with those crystal-clear blue eyes. They were frosted with pain and wary with hope. “Please.”

  And damn it if she wasn’t going to fall into them if she didn’t look away. She spewed out a long breath and adjusted her glasses. “Can you walk at all?”

  “Yes. Just…give me a little support. I’ll be fine.”

  Though filled with misgivings—after all, no one had ever gone into the Special Collection room besides Marisa, Grandma Nell, and Dad—she knew it was the only place to hide anyone. Or anything.

  Carefully, step by step, she guided him through the large, high-ceilinged room that housed the books which didn’t need to be protected. High, short windows lined the outside walls and kept the space bright and cheerful. Row upon row of shelves made a labyrinthine pattern in the space, but in the back there was a narrow hallway. When they reached the dark wooden door that led into the hall, as well as her living quarters, Marisa hesitated.

  No one knew about the hidden room, or the Secret Collection. In fifty years, only five people were aware of its existence—let alone its location.

  And now, just because Luke Desmond showed up looking all hot and golden and injured, Marisa was about to blow the biggest and most important secret of River Vale to a pair of blue eyes and a teenage crush. To a guy who’d hurt and betrayed her sister.

  She looked up at him, debating—fully aware that as he was bleeding everywhere (oh crap, she was going to have to clean all that up before anyone saw it) and the MITs were doing whatever they were doing in River Vale, time was ticking on.

  “I’m going to have to blindfold you. You can’t see where we’re going,” she said finally. Reluctantly.

  His eyes widened, but he apparently decided it was prudent not to speak. Instead, he gave a short nod.

  Her decision to blindfold him presented another problem, however: the wound at the back of his head would be just about where she’d have to tie the blindfold, and she dared not cause him any more pain or injury. If only she had a hood or something she could throw over his head…

  Time was wasting. Tension skittered through her too, though Marisa was uncomfortably aware it surely had more to do with Luke’s proximity than that of the MITs. Which was damned foolish on her part, but what could she do?

  “Let me see your shirt,” she said. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense.

  Before he could respond, she was dragging the blood-soaked t-shirt up and over his head to cover his eyes. Oh boy. That was not smart.

  Her belly fluttered wildly as she saw exactly what those five years had done to the smooth, golden torso she’d admired from afar while Luke was draped over Lainey, and Lainey was draped over Luke.

  Marisa could hardly swallow, her mouth was so dry; her knees were weak, and her brain seemed to slowly disengage…because she realized she was going to have to have him drape all over her right now in order to get him to a safe hiding place.

  That strong, sleek, and powerful body was going to be pressed up against her as they made their way down the hall—

  “I can’t see anything, Marisa.” As if to prove the point, Luke pressed his free hand against the shirt covering his eyes. “You can take me now…wherever you’re taking me. But let’s go. Hurry.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She swallowed hard and slid her arm around him just below his shoulder blades. Warm. Smooth. Taut.

  Oh boy.

  She blocked out the sensation, the smell of him, the feel of his muscles shifting as they edged along the corridor. All the while, the sound of voices in the distance was like an impending toll of doom, urging her to hurry, hurry, hurry…

  Yet she didn’t really know why exactly she was hurrying.

  She eased him through a narrow wooden door at the end of a short corridor, checking occasionally to make sure the t-shirt was covering his eyes and he couldn’t see the floor from any gap around his nose. She opened the door to reveal a slender corridor that ended abruptly at a collapsed wall. A large beam and pile of old, dusty bricks and rubble blocked the way. Behind it, there appeared to be nothing but a wall. On either side, the walls were cracked and the paint was peeling.

  “Can you stand here for a sec?” Marisa said, directing him against the wall for support.

  “Yes,” he grunted.

  Glancing at him to make sure he was all right, and that he wasn’t looking, she stood so he couldn’t see her as she pulled the cover off an old light switch. Behind it was a small pad of numbers that had been repurposed from an old garage door opener—or at least, that was what Theo Waxnicki had told her father when he wired it in place.

  Marisa typed in the code, pushed enter, then replaced the light switch cover as things began to move.

  She’d seen it many times, but she never tired of watching the James Bond-like way the hidden door was revealed: the entire pile of bricks and rubble rolled to the side on a mechanized slab of floor, the large beam tilted slowly and carefully to the right, and the wall behind opened. Everything happened silently and smoothly, for Marisa had been taught to keep the machinery well oiled.

  “This way,” she said, easing Luke from the wall and helping him through the narrow space created by the mechanisms. Once they were on the other side, she pushed the button that caused everything to ease back into place.

  Now she could remove Luke’s blindfold, for there was nothing for him to see but the plain walls of the secret chamber—and the treasures hidden within.

  But Marisa also made him take a few steps from the door, and shifted him around so he wouldn’t kn
ow from what direction they’d come. She didn’t want him figuring out how to leave the room…because once he left, he might be able to get back in.

  So when she whipped the dark t-shirt from his face, Luke was standing in the center of the room, and the entrance through which they’d come was to his right, and hidden behind a bookshelf.

  He blinked and looked around. She saw him take in the details of the windowless space: the shelves of books, computers, and other metal and electronic objects. A sofa, a table, several desks, and, in the corner, a small bed. There was also a tiny kitchenette—a stovetop, small fridge, and bucket-sized sink—tucked behind one of the columns in the corner, in the event one needed to “hole up” in here, as Dad used to say. And of course, also discreetly hidden, access to a toilet.

  “Wow,” said Luke, turning in a slow circle. “What is this place?” He walked over and brushed a computer keyboard on one of the desks.

  Marisa had decided to play it innocent. “It’s a storage room. You asked me to hide you, so I did. No one ever comes down here. No one will find you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. He seemed awfully stable all of a sudden, standing there in the middle of the room without support. A little pinch of worry cramped her belly. Had she made a mistake bringing him here? Her insides churned and she actually felt sweat spring to her palms and at the back of her neck.

  What did she really know about Luke Desmond anymore?

  Sure, they’d been friends before. He hung around the library even when Lainey wasn’t there, talking to Dad and reading books about carpentry and electrical skills…and he’d even conned Marisa into going fishing with him a few times (she didn’t like the baiting-of-the-hook part), and they both liked to play Scrabble and chess. But it had been five years. She didn’t know where Luke had been or what he’d been doing…