Hexes and Handcuffs: A Limited Edition Collection of Supernatural Prison Stories

by Margo Bond Collins

  The world was ending as I knew it, as elves descended on the city.

  I was distracted.

  All I could think about was surviving, me and my friends. Everything up until then was almost irrelevant.

  Anger fueled me. And I had a whole list of things to be upset about, including my prior inaction.

  As quiet as we could, we inched to our spots. Graham, before the invasion, used to be the athlete of the group. He had the stamina to grab and go, but the children were more important than the mana. Their lives were in danger now.

  “I still can’t snipe,” Chi said.

  “Yeah, but you can be my second set of eyes to make sure we don’t get caught, and Rust, you grab the mana.”

  I practically flew up the fire escape’s stairs of the four-story building to my perch overlooking the street. From my vantage point, in a prone position, I looked through my rifle’s scope. I saw Rust moving toward the right, as Graham ducked to the left. And Ola moved to the middle of the street. That girl never believed in hiding. Instead, I watched her cup the air, creating neon glowing sigils that floated.

  “What the hell?” Chi asked. “Is she pulling something out?”

  “No, I think she’s summoning. That is something we all need to learn. You think she can teach us?” I truly would have loved to add something to my arsenal. The dancer's leaps and jumps could only get me so far, as well as how to bitch slap someone with a gun, but that was for another battle.

  I squinted, and then I saw them: a pack of spiky-haired hounds. Their eyes glowed red, and foam dripped from their mouths. “What are those?”

  Ola had a magical association, and despite all of the tension in Richmond, mindless violence by the oppressors against us, Ola had a jarring connection we didn’t. But she was one of us, whatever she was.

  I frowned. “Hellhounds?” If they caught us using magic, even if we were just magic adjacent, the punishment would likely mean treason. It wasn’t something I worried about. The main thing was to get the mana.

  Ola clapped her hands, and the pack broke into two groups and charged forward.

  It was just the distraction needed. The soldiers focused on the dogs. I took a deep breath and concentrated on the soldiers, picking them off one by one.

  “Go help Graham and Emili,” I told Chi. “The guards are moving toward the pipe player.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have to keep an eye out on Rust.” I scanned the area, still not seeing him, like he’d up and vanished. “You know the deal. We’ll meet back at the safe house. If I don’t come, it’s because it isn’t safe to.”

  It was our one rule: never endanger the lives of the only family we had.

  I ducked down and moved back toward the fire escape.

  Fyre hurried back to me. “They are taking the fairies to drain them,” she buzzed. “We have to stop them.”

  I frowned, not understanding. Panning the area, I saw what Fyre meant. The dark elves were unloading what appeared to be a bunch of downtrodden fairies, leading them out with silver chains. Unlike pixies and disir, small in stature, these fairies were human in size, with large wings that protruded through their clothes.

  My gaze finally landed on Rust. With his hands raised, I noticed he held a satchel of what must have been the mana, but a guard had him pinned down on his knees.

  I didn’t have a clear shot. The guard stood right before him, and at this angle, if I took it, I could likely hit Rust, too. Dammit to hell!

  Killing the guards meant our basic survival, as we rebelled against those in power to regain a society we’d lost. The war might have officially ended according to the peace accords out of what used to be Washington D.C., signed by our former President. But he’d been deposed, and now the rebellion continued.

  “Sorry, Rust,” I whispered. Pushing back the lump in my throat that felt like cotton on the back of my tongue, I pulled the trigger.

  A loud boom suddenly rocked the building on which I stood, and I crashed through the roof. Coughing, I sputtered, tasting blood in my mouth, while the grit of dust and pulverized concrete covered my face.

  I should have been happy that I’d landed as soft as one could through a roof. I rolled to the side and glanced at the fire ballooning from the other side and leaned in to listen.

  I didn’t have much of a chance if those things showed up to end me. I’d been too careless.

  My ribs ached, as did my head. I pulled my weapon to me and cradled it tightly. It was all I had to protect the entire world.

  The sound of approaching jackboots combined with spoken Elvish rang in my ears. Rapidly blinking and gasping, I squirmed away from the fire into a far corner, covering my body with a soiled tarp.

  If I ever needed to believe in a deity, it was now, for they’d gotten us into this mess.

  The pain beckoned me, and into its clutches, I crumbled.

  Chapter Two

  It took death to appreciate life.

  I came to with an IV of mana in my arm, and Ola was wiping the sweat from my brow. My muscles ached like my body had been through the ringer. “What’s going on?” I asked, my throat parched, my mouth tasting like cotton candy. Weird.

  “Hush now,” Ola chastised. “I’m happy to have you back.”

  “Back?” That was a strange thing to say. I leaned forward, my head swimming. “What’s happening? I glanced around the room and noticed that I was at Rust’s apartment. Unlike my hovel, his place was sterile in design, reflecting his Tier-B status. Stainless steel, clean lines, white walls, and exposed brick meant home to him.

  “Where’s Rust?” My lips and chin trembled uncontrollably. My vision blurred.

  “He’s at the fire station, working like he’s supposed to be. Remember our rules: everything is supposed to look normal, be normal. You scared the crap out of us when you crashed through the roof.”

  I didn’t recall much: the echoing sounds of jackboots, Elvish, and the glowing red eyes of a hellhound.

  “Hellhound?” I asked.

  “That is how I found you. They let me know.”

  Ola’s connection with these mythical beasts was foolish. I didn’t know how she could trust anything that these gods of hers sent her way, but if one allowed her to save me, maybe I should be a little bit grateful.

  I moved to pull the IV from my arm.

  “Don’t,” Ola said. “You need to keep it in there until this bag drains. It’s the only thing keeping you alive. We had to do a transfusion.

  “A what now?”

  Let’s be honest here. The thought of carrying dark elven magic in my body made me feel violated, like I didn’t have a voice or a choice. Could I be myself with their toxin pumping through me?

  “You would have died from your injuries if my hound hadn’t responded to my voice and licked your wounds.”

  “You let a dog lick me?” It might have sounded like I had a thing against pets, animals, or such. But it wasn’t the dog, per se, but the gods who owned it. They’d continued to curse us by not assisting with the continued prayers, pleas, and even sacrifices by more than just a few.

  “His saliva helped to seal your wounds, and he carried you back here to Rust’s apartment.” She shook her head as if not knowing. Her pink cap flopped to the side.

  “Where’s Rust?” I asked again, and again she ignored me.

  I’d spent the past three days holed up in Rust’s apartment. The mana made it as if my recovery was almost instantaneous. And since then, I’d spent my days here drowning my troubles, questions, and mistrust away with my new friends named Jack, Jim, and Hennessey. The streets were too hot for me, and I still wasn’t sure how Rust had made it out of that fiasco alive, with the mana, and uninjured.

  The alcohol helped to keep the nightmares away.

  Living in a warzone, it was how I coped.

  Forever had a meaning, and with our fingers interlaced, our moans of pleasure resounded. Life in these four walls was perfect. Muted sunlight filtered into his luxur
ious bedroom. Lying on his bed, on the double-stuffed mattress, my gaze took in the man who made me stutter.

  Rust affectionately traced his fingers along my inner thigh, and I giggled, my breath hitching, my pulse raced in anticipation waiting for him to take me to wonderland. My body tingled wherever he kissed and teased, and I was hyperaware of his nearness and my wanting him to come ever closer.

  The soft music played, the singer crooned, “Where were you when the end began?”

  And I tensed, and not from the pleasure I was receiving from my boyfriend. Today marked the first anniversary since they’d invaded.

  “You okay, babe?” Rust leaned forward and kissed me again. My hands trailed along his broad shoulders and tasted his delicious mouth that promised me decadence, and so far, he’d delivered.

  He’d helped me to survive this.

  In his strong arms was my home, and I was safe.

  Rust and I made it through the end of the world and still thrived. The ground had quaked, and the elves invaded with weapons. Mass murder, fire rained down from the sky until humankind bowed its knee.

  We’d lived through Hell, and the reigning regime brought with it a titanium fist.

  But now, I tried to wear blinders.

  Love was sacred, after all.

  Fears were part of PTSD, and there were no promises of tomorrow.

  He’d always been handsome, and under his scrutiny, it was as if I were bewitched and wanton, having his love all to myself. It was easy to get lost in those evergreen-colored eyes.

  Kismet had brought us here, and despite the world going to the shitter, I’d found happiness.

  I smiled, enjoying his attention and adoration.

  Love swelled, my toes curled, and waves of my pent-up desire’s release lapped over me.

  Bringing his head up from the apex of my thighs, he rose to nuzzle my neck.

  Kissing me again deeply, passionate enough to resurrect the dead. It said forever-love without words. Every second of life had been wasted until this new beginning.

  Emotions hung between us.

  This was not how sex usually went.

  “Kristen,” Rust panted, “I need another favor.”

  “Favor?” I asked, pulling away.

  “Yes, I was out drinking last night when the Fire Chief said he could get me into the morgue tonight, so I need you to make the run for me instead.”

  At the fire station, as a firefighter, he had options for sure, and a future.

  I’d made runs for him before, but that was the exception to the rule. But I trusted him and trusted the good he wanted to do.

  One year since the apocalypse, so what could be wrong with another short run to Shanty Town for him? I adored him, and he loved me.

  He didn’t mind the baggage, and when I’d been searching for hope, he’d reached out his hand and saved me from drowning in despair.

  But the fear in his eyes. Was it for me, for us, for them?

  “You don’t need to worry. Just like last time. You’ll drop it off at the shop.”

  The last time had been about delivering medicine to help those who couldn’t afford it.

  A gale wind off of the River whipped around the high-rise, howling outside. As one of the B-Tier, Rust lived on the ninth floor. He wasn’t high enough to touch the sky, but he had enough clout and points to get away with most things, unlike me.

  I hesitated, and he moved over to the drawer of the matching onyx side table.

  “I was going to save this until later, but this I want you to have.” Rust turned, and in his hands, he held an ‘Amber’s Jewels and Gems’ ring box.

  “Amber’s Gems?” I grinned broadly. The local retailer was the place my dad had bought every ring I’d ever owned, until the rebellion, until he’d died. I pushed back those tears. This was supposed to be a happy time.

  “Well, I wanted this to be as perfect as it could be. That store means everything to you.”

  I nodded. “And what is this supposed to be?”

  “My promise to you. I mean, we’re young now, but I want forever with you. Truth be told, I don’t know how that looks or even what the future holds, but I want you in it.”

  If things had continued as we’d planned, we’d have graduated from college this year, and a world of opportunities would have been ours.

  “I love you, and don’t you ever worry about that,” I said, and he slid the ring onto my fourth finger. I watched it sparkle, to then seep into my skin.

  “I’ve placed a cloaking spell on it so you can always carry me with you.”

  He pushed up from the bed, moved toward his closet, and opened his fire-station-supplied satchel, removed vials, and then passed them to me. I lifted the vial to the light and ogled the blueish liquid. Mana.

  “You won’t get caught,” he assured me. He then pulled on his khaki pants and a crisp white button-down shirt.

  “Leaving me here?” I asked.

  A grimace was his response until he hid it behind a casual smile. “You can show yourself out. I hate to eat and run, but the sick aren’t going to heal themselves.” The vials rested next to me. “Don’t forget: Deliver this before curfew.”

  “I have to make it to my callback today,” I said.

  “You’ve been trying to be a dancer for months. This delivery is more important. You could do some good, and art isn’t what this world needs. Trust me.”

  We’d always done this dance.

  He offered a paradise that I couldn’t enter without him.

  I nodded. It was easier to appease Rust than to cause an argument. Plus, my friends, Chi, Emili, and Ola would meet with me later.

  And Rust was right. It wasn’t like I was going to get the internship. I was a simple Tier-C, and he was a B. I should have been happy to even be allowed to be there with him.

  Love didn’t ask questions; love didn’t wonder if he had my best interests at heart or his own.

  Instead of asking, I nodded my agreement and turned away. Relationships required a dance, not a requiem.

  I heard the apartment door snick closed behind him. Seeing that I still had time before my new item on my to-do list, and losing Rust wasn’t part of that, I stared at the spot where his ring rested.

  All I wanted to do was believe him and in the happy ever after he was promising, but our lives were so intertwined that I wasn’t sure happiness was truly there.

  Love came with a cost, dues, and it was time to pay the entry fee.

  Rising from the bed, I moved and gathered my rumpled clothes from the floor. I had a delivery to make.

  Chapter Three

  I walked in a swarm of people, and armed soldiers observed us. They gripped their weapons, and like a pendulum, stalked left and right in search of something, or someone.

  Their tactics, surprise patrols, and arrests had increased over the past few days.

  In this place where either cameras, eyes, or both were on you at any time, it was hard to be part of the rebellion. The police had been absorbed into the guard, and now only soldiers watched over us, all obedient to the invaders’ orders. Supposedly, there was no more “Big Brother.” One was either for the invader or against them.

  But then, some walked the line in between.

  And we all had reasons for participating.

  I pushed away any thought as to arrests, prisons, or anything else that might be picked up on an emotional scanner. The last thing I needed was to be plucked out of the group of pedestrians.

  Misstepping, a young man wearing tattered clothes bumped into me, turned to look over his shoulder, and ducked deeper into the crowd.

  “Stop!” a soldier called out, and the young man was then quickly felled by a light taser.

  He must have been human for the light taser to be used. Maybe he’d done something petty. He seized on the ground, and out of his hands fell a loaf of bread still wrapped in the Le Pain, Tier-B, paper wrapping. A tier he surely did not belong to.

  It must have been close to the end of the
month, and the arrest quota needed to be filled. Nervousness wafted like the stench of raw sewage. I gulped, pressing down anything that might resemble fear.

  In this world, fear was a sign of guilt, a symptom of something larger than the desire to survive.

  There was a way to survive the overlord’s oppression and being unmemorable was one of them.

  Confidence was the key. Not too proud, not like one owned the street, but that one didn’t have to crawl along it.

  And not getting caught.

  Neon lights flashed; electricity flickered as dusk settled. The bell chimed, and everyone stopped to stare at one of the large jumbotrons overhead which depicted two supernaturals sparring—a vampire and a were shifter. The gladiatorial-style games of supernaturals sparring were interrupted—magic was illegal everywhere except in that ring.

  The scene changed to depict one of the Dark Elven Generals, flashed his pinched face on the screen, and Elvish, English, and Spanish subtitles scrolled underneath.

  Everyone stopped like a clock and tilted their heads upward to watch the screen. We were required to gaze upon it with admiration, to honor the news of the Overlords and their might.

  “Your city is now safer, as the magical rebellion led by the apostates has ended,” the prim and properly coiffed blonde news anchor stated. The inflection in her voice proving that she’d either left her humanity behind or truly believed their propaganda. “Our leaders have embraced our new ways to ensure your safety and that of our community. We continue to find ways to improve our relationship. Our reward system has been updated, and new credits placed on your account for your patriotism. Honor the Elves. If you see the spark of rebellion, report it for your chance to be blessed by the Overlords for a chance to win an increase in caste tiers.”

  An audible gasp moved across the sidewalk, and the bell chimed again, signaling the return to normalcy.

  “Thirty minutes until curfew,” the AI announcer said, and the cacophony of the crowd returned.

  I pulled the collar up on my black wool coat and strutted along with the other pedestrians of C-Class, always blending in with the non-bright color mélange of despair. Always orderly, never capturing attention, slow and steady like it was a simple stroll meant to be enjoyed.