Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure, & Magic

by SM Reine

  Aran held out his hand, and she took it, his grip warm and firm.

  “Since you couldn’t make it to the beach,” he said, pressing something hard and oval into her palm, “I brought part of it to you.”

  She looked down, to see a pinkish stone. It was a small thing—and it meant more than she could say.

  “It’s an agate,” he said. “If you get it wet, it’s pretty.”

  “Thanks. For thinking of me.”

  She wished she could find other words. But there was only goodbye. She closed her hand around the stone; a bittersweet memory, but better than nothing.

  He dropped his gaze. “Anyway. Good luck, Spark.”

  “You too.” She stepped forward and hugged him.

  After a startled second, Aran’s arms came around her, sure and solid, erasing the residue of the Terabins’ touch.

  Then Burt cleared his throat, Aran let go, and the crowd of fans surrounded her again.

  “Goodbye,” she said, so quietly he probably didn’t hear.

  He lifted his hand, and then she lost sight of him as Burt and Joe steered her toward the VIP exit.

  “Time’s up,” Burt called to the crowd. “Head down the road to the Burkesville Mega-Gamma Center tomorrow, the next stop on Spark’s tour. See you there!”

  She made herself smile and wave at the fans until the door closed behind her. But her other hand was tightly clenched around a small, pink stone.

  The redcap goblin, along with two of his kin, bowed low before the midnight throne.

  “Has the hour come for us to depart, my lady?” he asked.

  The Dark Queen leaned forward. Her pale hands flexed, fingernails biting into the tangled vines. Her smile glittered, sharp as shattered diamonds.

  “Yes,” she said.

  The sibilant word echoed through the clearing. Moon-colored moths fluttered up, startled, only to be caught and devoured by stealthy, dark-winged bats. The court musicians played a low, sorrowful melody, and the night breeze stirred the shadowed oak leaves.

  “The mortal moon wanes to darkness,” the queen said. “Step aside, Codcadden, and I shall open a portal.”

  She drew a sharp black thorn from her robes, then gestured to one of the faerie handmaidens beside her throne. Eyes dark with knowledge, the maiden came and knelt before her ruler. The Dark Queen gently cupped her handmaiden’s cheek, a world’s wealth of sorrow in her face. Then, without a word, she took her thorn and plunged it into the maiden’s heart.

  A single drop of blood fell upon the velvet-green moss. Silver light emanated upward from the spot, forming an unearthly, radiant ball. The faerie maiden breathed a last sigh and folded like a torn cobweb.

  “Make haste,” the Dark Queen said to the goblins. “Fetch me the boy ’ere the new dawn wakes, and breaks this dearly won enchantment.”

  “Yes, my queen,” Codcadden said.

  He carried a worn leather sack, and his evil smile matched the fierce knives strapped to his belt. Roughly, he pushed his companions into the glowing sphere, leaped in after them, and was gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Aran didn’t bother going to sleep. He sat on the lumpy sofa, the blue flicker of his tablet the only light in the Chowneys’ garage. Too much soda surged through his system to relax, so he was wasting time following links to all Spark’s appearances. Not that he’d show up at any of them, but there was something strangely comforting about knowing where she’d be over the next couple weeks.

  The VirtuMax tour would spend a few more days in the area, then head all over the country, basically. Which would be cool, if she had the time—or freedom—to actually visit the cities she appeared in. Too bad she’d missed seeing his hometown.

  At least she had a rock as a souvenir.

  A rock. Aran shook his head. What had he even been thinking? At the time, it seemed like a romantic gesture, but in hindsight he was embarrassed. I have a prime crush on you, so here’s a stone I picked up. Weak. It was probably in the bottom of the hotel’s trashcan by now.

  Enough Spark obsessing. He flicked his tablet to one of his favorite music streams, turned up the earpods, and let the heavy beat and electric guitars anesthetize his brain. Despite the caffeine and sugar pumping through him, his eyes closed, weariness weighting his bones.

  Silence, and the feeling of being watched, woke him. With a yawn, he glanced at his tablet. Midnight, exactly, and for some reason his music had cut off. But that wasn’t all.

  An eerie glow was forming in the middle of the garage. It looked like a digital special effect—a pulsating ball of light that expanded until it was about four feet high. What the hell? Aran stood and pulled his earpods out, ready to sprint for the door.

  A strand of melody threaded through the air, haunting and melancholy. Then three figures stepped out of the light: three squat creatures, one of which looked familiar. Shock froze Aran’s feet, and sped his breath.

  No. Way. The goblin from Feyland had not just materialized on the stained concrete floor of the Chowney’s old garage.

  Except that it had.

  “Greetings, Eron. We have come for you, as promised.” The goblin held up a worn leather sack and smiled, sharp-toothed and malicious.

  “I’m dreaming,” Aran said, the words dry in his mouth. He swallowed, and tried again. “I’m not awake. This isn’t happening.”

  The goblin let out a snort. “Foolish mortal. Do you think to bargain with the fey folk and emerge unscathed? Nay, you promised to meet us at midnight on the new moon. The appointed hour has come.”

  A rank, feral scent filled the garage, like skunk spray. That, more than anything, convinced Aran this was really happening, no matter how surreal. He never smelled stuff in his dreams.

  “You’re taking me away with you?” His mind scrambled furiously for a way out. Stall the creatures, lull them into thinking he was cooperating, then run.

  “Did you not wish to see beyond the scrim of Feyland, to the deeper realm?” the head goblin asked. Behind him, the other two waited, their eyes gleaming.

  “I thought…”

  What had he thought? That the next time he played the game, the system override codes would have something to do with the words “midnight” and “dark moon.”

  Not that goblins would show up out of a glowing portal.

  His heart thumped loudly in his chest. It’s real. It’s real. He took a ragged breath, trying to think.

  “Come.” The goblin stepped forward, swinging his sack. “’Tis past time to depart.”

  “Wait!” Aran held up his hands. “I need a minute.”

  He glanced around the dingy garage. What did he have here? Nothing worth anything, except his friendship with Bix. No cash, no prospects.

  And the goblins weren’t trying to kill him, though they weren’t exactly friendly. He didn’t trust them, but something was happening, something big.

  Something magic.

  Why not go with the creatures? The thought shivered through him, and with it the memory of the boy he’d once been, who had believed. Magic was real, and he had a chance to experience it firsthand.

  He snatched up his tablet and opened the messager, quickly keying in the words.

  :Bix, I’m going away for a bit. No worries. See you when.:

  Vague yet reassuring. He sent the message, then powered off the tablet. No telling what the glowing portal would do to the electronics, but he was taking it along, wherever they were going.

  Fear and excitement clogged his throat. Where were they going?

  “All right,” he said to the goblin.

  The creature smiled and opened the mouth of the sack wide. A moment later, Aran was engulfed in darkness and foul-smelling leather. He lost his balance, and somehow ended up on his back, completely enclosed by the bag.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “Let me out!”

  “You must pass between the realms ensconced within the sack,” the head goblin said. “Else your mortal senses will be addled beyond use.”

 
The goblin grunted and lifted the bag, making Aran’s stomach lurch. Bright light flared around him and the queasiness intensified. He gulped for air, refusing to be sick all over himself.

  He was set down with a thump on a springy surface and, to his relief, the goblin opened the sack. Crisp night air, scented with spice and smoke, filled Aran’s lungs. A dark sky spread overhead, studded with stars brighter than he’d ever seen.

  “My lady,” the goblin said. “We have returned with the mortal.”

  “Unharmed?” The voice was silver and starlight.

  “Yes,” the goblin said. “As you can see.”

  His clawed fingers closed around Aran’s elbow, hauling him to his knees. Aran blinked as a wave of dizziness and wonder washed over him. He was in a clearing encircled by dark trees. Grotesque and beautiful creatures surrounded him, but they faded to insignificance when he looked up and saw her.

  His breath caught, lungs aching as though he’d inhaled freezing air. A figure sat before him on a throne made of twisted leaves and vines. She was mystery and enchantment and yearning all rolled into one—but she wasn’t human. Her eyes, brilliant and dark, ensnared him with promises, and he was falling…

  No. Aran yanked his gaze away, pulse pounding. He didn’t know where he was, or even why, but he was not going to lose himself. Not without a fight.

  She laughed, a sound that sliced him to the heart.

  “Welcome,” she said, “to the Dark Court of the Realm of Faerie.”

  The what? He shot a glance at the knobbled and glimmering creatures arrayed about him. Those scary, dangerous things couldn’t possibly be fairies. They weren’t cute little flower-dressed pixies with sparkly wings and wide eyes.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, keeping his head bent so he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  The goblin’s claws dug into his skin, so hard Aran felt the blood rise.

  “You will address the queen as befits her power and title, mortal,” the creature hissed. “You are nothing but dirt beneath her feet.”

  “Calm yourself, Codcadden,” the queen said. “Our guest knows little of our ways, or our realm. He will learn.”

  There was threat and promise in those words, and Aran shivered. He yanked his arm out of Codcadden’s grasp, gritting his teeth as the goblin’s claws left streaks of blood on his skin.

  A man stepped out from behind the throne, and Aran felt his eyes widen. Not only did the guy look human—in marked contrast to all the other creatures in the clearing—he had a battered guitar slung across his back. His hair was brown, shot through with silver, and he regarded Aran for a long moment, his gaze both wise and weary.

  “My lady,” the man said, turning to the queen. “I beg leave to counsel and guide this mortal in the ways of the Dark Court.”

  The queen leaned forward, her dress swirling about her like inky mist. “Betray me not, Bard Thomas. You yet remain overly fond of the human world.”

  “I am true to you, my queen.” The man, Thomas, bowed low. “Did I not prove my worth with the stolen child?”

  Aran risked a glance at the queen’s face. Her eyes were narrowed and glittering.

  “Do not let this human wreak such havoc upon our court as the child did,” she said. “Truly I might have reconsidered, had I known the mischief that boy could cause.”

  Thomas’s mouth twitched, as though he held back a smile. Aran made another quick surveillance of the court from beneath his lowered lids. No one else looked even remotely human, so whoever this crazy boy had been, he was gone.

  Gone where was another question entirely, and one Aran wasn’t ready to think about.

  “I shall stand responsible for this boy,” Thomas said.

  “I’m not a child,” Aran said, then shut up when the man sent him a sharp look.

  “Very well,” the queen said. “I give him into your keeping, Bard Thomas. For now. Bring him before me again on the morrow.”

  “I shall, my lady.”

  Thomas swept her an elaborate bow, complete with a cloak flourish that should have looked foolish, but instead conveyed a high degree of respect. He stepped over to where Aran knelt, never quite turning his back to the queen, and held out a hand.

  “I’m Thomas,” he said.

  “I gathered that.” Aran looked at the man’s outstretched hand. He really wanted to refuse any help, but his head was still spinning.

  “Come,” Thomas said. “It is best not to linger in the queen’s sight, once your business with her has concluded.”

  “Right.”

  Aran took Thomas’s hand. It was warm, his grasp surprisingly firm as he drew Aran to his feet. The scratches on Aran’s arm stung, and he glanced down at the bare skin, surprised to see he still had his tablet tucked under his arm. No guarantee it worked here, though. Wherever here was.

  “You may share my quarters, for now.” Thomas let go of his hand, then turned and led him away from the clearing into the shelter of the trees.

  “Somehow, I don’t think you have a nice two-story house back in the woods,” Aran said.

  He glanced around at the moon-silvered forest. The violet flicker of a weird bonfire lit the edges of the clearing, and figures capered there. After a moment of watching the creatures moving on oddly jointed limbs, the flapping of gossamer wings, the waving of too-long fingers, he looked away. He wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with this.

  “Not quite a house, no.” Thomas’s voice held a touch of dry humor. “Yet it is a home all the same.”

  They followed a twisty path a short distance, to a pole with a single, ornate lantern suspended on it. The interior was lit with dancing balls of light. When Aran squinted, he could make out tiny, winged figures inside each glow. They fluttered back and forth, pressing their hands and faces to the sides of the lantern, their mouths open in silent screams. Trapped.

  His throat closed, and for a sick moment he couldn’t breathe.

  “Easy.” Thomas was beside him, one hand on his shoulder. “Do not dwell overmuch on the sights here. The Dark Realm is what it is—and not meant for mortals.”

  Aran swallowed hard. Once. Twice.

  “But you live here, and you’re mortal.” He forced the words out, pretending normalcy despite the fear burning in his lungs.

  A sad, tired smile crossed Thomas’s lips. “I was mortal, once. Now I belong fully to the realm.”

  A story there—but Aran didn’t want to hear it. Not now. And clearly Thomas didn’t want to tell it, for he started down the path again. Aran caught up with him, and soon he saw a pale blur ahead, between the dark tree trunks.

  It was a tent, softly lit with silver radiance, and easily big enough to house ten men. Three peaks rose, the highest in the middle, and from it a flag hung. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it looked like it depicted a golden harp.

  “What did she call you?” he asked. “Not sir or lord…”

  “Bard,” Thomas said. “I am the Dark Queen’s Bard, and my music is sworn to her service. As am I.”

  Aran didn’t ask what that meant. Or think about whether he’d have to do the same. The prickle all down his spine was answer enough. What the hell had he done, coming here?

  He shoved the question away and followed Thomas into the tent. Softness cushioned his steps, and he let out a breath at the warmth and color inside. Lanterns—regular ones, lit by candle flame instead of trapped fairies—hung from the ceiling, illuminating the patterned carpets underfoot, the shelves of books, the row of polished instruments Aran couldn’t identify.

  “Lute, nyckelharpa, hurdy-gurdy, pipes,” Thomas said. “Also three guitars, two harps, and an assortment of flutes and whistles. No fiddles, alas.”

  “You take this bard stuff seriously.”

  “It is who I am. Have you a passing acquaintance with any musical instrument?”

  Aran shrugged. “I played electric bass for a few months, when I was twelve.”

  “A pity.” Thomas lifted one shoulder, then went to one side of the tent a
nd pulled back a crimson hanging.

  “My spare room, such as it is,” he said. “You are welcome to it.”

  Aran ducked under the hanging and made a quick survey of the place. Three lanterns hung about the room, and it was cozy, in an otherworldly way. A carpet with blue and green flowers spread across the canvas floor, and in the center of the small room stood a tent pole made of a smooth, living tree. It supported the roof with four branches, and at the peak Aran glimpsed a patch of sky. On one side of the room was a low bed covered with patchwork velvet, and on the other sat a table with curly legs and a top made out of a gigantic leaf. A leaf-like chair was drawn up to the table.

  He set his tablet on the table. It looked incongruous—all sleek plas-metal and black glass against the burnished autumn leaf. Later, after Thomas left, he’d see if he could get it working.

  The little room had no windows, and he felt his throat tighten again. Ease off, he told himself. He could probably yank up the side of the tent and get out that way. Maybe climb the tree and escape overhead—or get his hands on a knife and slash an exit.

  Yeah, having a knife would be good, no matter what. Some of the creatures out there had looked severely unfriendly.

  He put his hands on hips and turned to face Thomas, who still stood in the doorway.

  “How long am I going to be here?” Aran asked.

  Inside him a cold wind blew, shredding everything solid he’d ever believed in. Things like the permanence of the world, and the fact that magic didn’t, couldn’t possibly, exist.

  He felt young and old at the same time. As a kid, he’d buried himself in books about wizards and elves, then moved to the immersive world of sim gaming, fiercely wanting to believe that enchantments were real. He’d finally let go of those dreams. And now here he was, surrounded by the magic he’d finally given up yearning for.

  The look in Thomas’s eyes started to make sense to Aran, and he pushed back the panic hovering at the edges of his mind. One thing at a time.

  “Well.” Thomas tilted his head. “How long you remain here depends on you.”

  “Really? Then why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?”