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

by SM Reine

  “Speak but few words. The less you say, the less fuel you provide for the queen’s anger.”

  “Right.”

  At some point, Aran intended to find out why the queen was so mad. So far, Thomas had dodged his questions, claiming it wasn’t a good idea to discuss anywhere near the Dark Court.

  “Show me your formal bow once again,” Thomas said.

  “Are you sure it’s necessary?”

  Although Aran thought of himself as fairly coordinated, the complex court bow Thomas had drilled into him was not an easy move to master.

  “Yes.” There was no room for argument in Thomas’s tone.

  With a deep breath, Aran swept back the cloak, then stepped forward onto his right foot. He dipped low, sweeping his right arm out, while his left went behind him for balance. When he started to straighten, Thomas tapped him on the back.

  “Hold,” he said. “You may not rise until the queen gives you leave.”

  “My leg is killing me.”

  “’Tis not a matter for joking, BlackWing. More than your leg will be in pain, should you disrespect the queen.”

  Aran gritted his teeth and held the position, ignoring the hot jabs of discomfort in his muscles. Yeah, he was a rebel, like Spark had said—but there were times when you played by the rules. Until you knew when, where, and how to break them.

  “Rise,” Thomas said. “You are ready.”

  Provided he didn’t fall flat on his face. Aran unbent and rocked back onto his heels, easing the tension from his body.

  “Ready as I’ll be,” he said. “Lead on.”

  As they stepped into the clearing, the babble of fey voices rose. The figures cavorting in front of the fire paused, watching him with avid gazes. At the far side of the clearing, a tall figure stood, his head crowned with antlers gilded silver by the distant moon. Lithe hounds curled, serpentine, around his feet. There was something incredibly creepy about him, and Aran averted his eyes.

  Thomas led him past the banquet tables laid with food he couldn’t eat. Not that he’d want to—the silver goblets were filled with a heavy, dark red liquid that looked like blood, and the delicacies glowed with strange colors on their burnished plates.

  Sweet, melancholy music twined through the clearing; a breathy flute accompanied by the solemn beat of a drum. The air held the whisper of a chill, more pronounced as they drew closer to the throne. Aran darted a glance at the queen, her terrible, beautiful face framed by hair black as midnight, soft as smoke.

  Then they were before the tangled throne. Thomas swept into the court bow, and Aran followed, feeling clumsy. He remained bent over, barely breathing, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears.

  “Bard Thomas, BlackWing, rise,” the queen said at last.

  Aran cautiously straightened, careful not to meet her mesmerizing gaze. Instead, he watched the gossamer-winged faerie maidens clustered behind the throne. With their haunted eyes and pale skin, they looked as if they never smiled.

  “Stand forward, BlackWing,” the queen commanded, “and tell me what you seek in the Realm of Faerie.”

  Swallowing, he took a step toward the throne. Thomas stood at his shoulder, and Aran was grateful for the support. Even though they didn’t trust one another, Thomas was a decent guy.

  “Address her formally,” the bard whispered to him as Aran opened his mouth.

  Right. He paused a moment, considering what to say.

  “Your majesty—I’m here because the goblin told me this is where I’d be able to see what lies behind Feyland. That’s what I want.”

  Beside him, Thomas drew in a sharp breath.

  “Are you satisfied with what you have found?” the queen asked, a bite of laughter in her voice.

  “Not exactly.”

  He never would have guessed actual magic underlay the sim game of Feyland. How was a guy supposed to hack that? Learn a bunch of spells? It was ridiculous, in a horrible kind of way.

  “You are a mortal skilled in the use of this so-called game and its interface, are you not?”

  “I guess.” Not that he’d had much of a chance to play Feyland.

  The Dark Queen smiled, and Aran blinked at the way the clearing lightened, as if dusted with starlight. Her deep eyes were filled with mystery, and he swayed, dizzy from the force of her expression.

  “Steady,” Thomas said in an undertone, catching his arm.

  Aran yanked his gaze back down to the deep green moss underfoot and pulled in a steadying breath. The queen’s laughter sifted over him, light as chiming bells.

  “Ah, I forget how easily you mortals are undone,” she said. “I have a challenge for you, BlackWing. I greatly desire to open my realm more fully to the human world—and to do this, I need someone who understands the inner workings of Feyland.”

  “Wait.” Aran blinked. “You want me to hack into the real world from here, using Feyland?”

  “Just so.” Her voice softened, melting like honey around his senses. “Can you do this thing for me?”

  Half of him wanted to say yes to her, yes to anything she asked. But he’d learned caution in the most painful way possible.

  “Is that a good idea?” he asked. “For us humans, I mean.”

  Thomas squeezed his arm, but the queen was clearly displeased by his answer. Eyes glittering like diamonds, she leaned forward. Aran hadn’t noticed before how long and deadly looking her fingernails were.

  “Do you dare to question me?” Her voice was a cold blade slicing the air.

  “My lady,” Thomas said. “He is not your subject, to command as you please. And if you recall, he is but newly come to the realm. Forgive him for his brashness.”

  The queen’s eyes narrowed, and she sat back. Aran let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  “Although I owe you no explanation, mortal,” she said, “know that the Realm of Faerie will wither and die if the gate is not opened. And you shall be well rewarded. Wealth and power are within your grasp. Only do this one thing for me.”

  Aran curled his chilled fingers into his palms. Somehow, he didn’t think reverse-hacking his way into the human world was going to be simple. But he also suspected he didn’t have a choice.

  “What good will wealth and power do me, here?” he asked, glancing to the creatures clustered about the throne. The goblin, Codcadden, grinned, showing his pointed teeth.

  Aran didn’t want to boss faeries around, plus he didn’t think they’d take orders from a human all that well. The things he wanted weren’t found in the Realm of Faerie. Or maybe anywhere. He was smart enough to know that most of them couldn’t be bought, either.

  “The boy speaks truly,” Thomas said. “One of his payments must be a return to the mortal realm.”

  “If he is able to prove himself, he shall reap the rewards,” the queen said. “And if not, then you shall have an apprentice, Thomas. Forever.”

  The finality in her words made Aran’s gut turn to ice. This just got worse and worse.

  “I’ll want payment in gold,” he said. “And I’m going to need some gear.” Though he had no idea what.

  The Dark Queen waved her hand. “Agreed. Bard Thomas shall equip you as necessary. I expect you to succeed in this, mortal boy.”

  “I will.”

  Despite having no clue how to accomplish what the queen wanted, failure wasn’t an option. Aran looked at Thomas’s weary face, the sorrow lying heavy in his eyes.

  No way was Aran going to spend eternity trapped in the Realm of Faerie.

  “Thanks, Vonda,” Spark said as the road crew finished hooking up her FullD system.

  It took up most of the space in her hotel room, wedged between the bed and wall, but she wasn’t planning on sleeping much, anyway. She had a lot of simming to do.

  During their takeout dinner, she’d convinced her manager to let her use the sim system to “work out the glitches” for the upcoming demos. Vonda had given her a funny look, but gave Spark permission to use a FullD for the eveni
ng.

  “Get your mojo back,” Vonda said. “We load out at noon tomorrow. That’s all the sim time I can give you.”

  “How far is it to the next gig?”

  “Four hours. You’re on for the demo at six tonight, and I want you fresh and on your game, all right?” Vonda pointed at her.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Spark saluted.

  “Don’t stay up too late.”

  “Mhm.”

  “Good night then.” Vonda rolled her eyes as she shut the door, clearly understanding that Spark had made no promises.

  Spark threw the deadbolt, checked to make sure the windows were locked and the curtains shut tight, then fired up her system. She didn’t relish the thought of an all-night marathon, but she might not get another chance to enter Feyland unobserved.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t totally stint on sleep, or it would show during the demo appearances. She couldn’t afford any more slips, not with the Terabins waiting for her to falter.

  One thing at a time. Her first job was to get in-game and help whoever had inadvertently stumbled into the Realm of Faerie.

  She put on the helmet and gloves and activated Feyland. At the character screen, she paused. Should she make a new avatar, one better suited to solo questing?

  She hovered over the description of the Knight, then shook her head. Straightforward melee fighting had never been her style. Plus she’d already mastered a few of her Kitsune’s tricks. Better to play a familiar class. If that didn’t work, she could start over with a new character. As if she had time to do that.

  Before she could waste more time second-guessing, Spark flicked her fingers in the command to enter game. Spinning golden light enfolded her, and for once she welcomed the queasy sensation. She’d been worried that Feyland wouldn’t take her into the realm, but the feeling of transitioning out of the real world was unmistakable.

  A moment later, she stood in the familiar sunlit clearing. Everything looked the same, except for one key difference. The mushrooms in the faerie ring encircling her were pale white, the color of moonlight. Proof that she was on the way to the Dark Court.

  She checked that her weapons were in place, then strode down the path. The branches of the white-barked trees interlaced above her head, sending a lattice of shadows across the soft moss. Bright orange butterflies flickered in and out of shafts of sunlight, and the whole forest seemed peaceful and serene.

  Too bad it was the anteroom to a land filled with evil fey folk. She had a few levels to go to reach the court, however—at least according to Jennet.

  When the bus had arrived at their hotel for the night, Spark had checked in and then messaged Jennet from the privacy of her room. Apparently, when Jennet and Tam had battled the Dark Queen, they’d had to complete a number of very strange quests, progressing through different areas of Feyland until they reached the court. It was the game, but tweaked.

  Although there might be a shortcut. Jennet had advised her to keep watch for Puck.

  :That freaky sprite?: Spark had asked.

  :Yes. He can be very helpful, so watch for him.:

  Spark wasn’t so sure. She’d only seen a bit of Puck—both in the real world and the realm. While he’d assisted them a couple times, the main thing she remembered was that he’d ridden her fox form as if she was a horse. Kind of demeaning, to be used as the personal mount of a fey little creature.

  Something rustled in the underbrush beside the path. Spark whirled, one hand on her dagger. Nothing appeared. She stood still, trying to breathe silently, and stared at the bushes for a long moment.

  “Okay then,” she said. “But I know you’re there, whatever you are.”

  There was no answer—and she didn’t have time to stand around arguing with shrubbery. Keeping a wary eye out, Spark continued on. So what if her pace increased almost to a run. She was in a hurry.

  The trees thinned, and the path led from the forest’s edge into a sunny meadow filled with blue and red flowers. A short way along the path stood a cottage right out of an English countryside postcard, complete with a thatched roof and windows mullioned in tiny squares of glass.

  The creature squatting on the doorstep, though, definitely detracted from the picture. He was covered in long black hair, his beard tangled with twigs and mosses. The nails of his knobbly toes and crooked hands were grimy and uneven. A whiff of rotting vegetables rose from where he sat, and Spark wrinkled her nose. Ready to leap into combat if necessary, she slowly approached the cottage.

  Two beady, malicious eyes regarded her, but the creature made no move to attack.

  “Greetings,” Spark said, stopping a few feet from the door.

  “Fox-girl,” the creature said, his voice rough, as though he seldom spoke, “do you seek a quest?”

  “I do.”

  “Heh.” The hairy man chewed on the end of his beard a moment. Then he spat it out, and pointed down the path. “Yonder lies the tree of copper apples. Fetch one and bring it to me, and you shall succeed. Do you accept?”

  There was some trick—there was always a trick—but Spark trusted her wits and reflexes to deal with whatever Feyland threw at her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  The air chimed with the faint echo of bells, and the hairy man nodded.

  “Well?” he said. “Don’t just stand there.”

  He probably wouldn’t like it if she laughed at him, but he sounded like a grumpy old aunt of hers. Hiding her smile, Spark turned and headed in the direction he’d indicated.

  Over the curve of the hill she found an orchard. Apple trees spread, planted in orderly rows, though not all of them bore fruit. Some were spangled with white flowers, while others unfurled leaves the new green of spring. From her vantage point she scanned the trees, but all the fruit she could see hanging from the boughs was red. The tree with copper apples must be farther in.

  As she stepped into the orchard, the raucous cry of crows sounded. Up ahead, a dozen black shapes took to the sky. A murder of crows. She shivered, and stayed under the shelter of the branches as much as possible. Fending off an aerial attack was never fun, especially as her character had no shielding abilities.

  The birds swirled up into a dark funnel, and Spark headed directly for it. The trees around her weren’t anything special, despite the various seasons they represented. No—she’d find her copper apples in the part of the orchard where things were happening. Which meant heading for the crows.

  Bees hummed among the flowers, and a few petals drifted like snow. The place was peaceful, until rough caws punctured the air. The light dimmed as a thick cloud shaded the sun. Ahead, she glimpsed a dark, gnarled shape: a tree with twisted branches rising into the sky. The area surrounding the tree was blighted, the green grass withered to gray. Her heart gave a thump. At the tip of the highest branch an apple hung, bright as a new penny.

  The crows swirled around it, guarding their treasure. This close, Spark could see that their claws and beaks were sheathed in metal.

  Great. Combat crows.

  She paused beneath a flowering tree and studied her target. The branch bearing the apple was way too thin to take her weight, plus the crows wouldn’t let her get near the tree without dealing some painful injuries.

  Injuries that would carry over into the real world, according to Jennet. Spark wasn’t in a hurry to find out the truth of her friend’s words. So, a direct assault on the tree was out.

  Slowly, she drew her bow and nocked an arrow. First thing was to get that shiny apple down to where she could grab it. Then she’d have to improvise.

  Spark sighted down the arrow and took a deep, steadying breath. The circle of copper glimmered in her vision until her entire being focused on that one spot.

  She exhaled and loosed her arrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Spark’s arrow flew true, hitting the apple with a hollow clang. The fruit wobbled, but didn’t fall. Dammit!

  Screeching, the crows flurried into the air. They’d be on her in moments
. She pushed down the fear starting to ripple through her and nocked another arrow, aiming for the stem this time. It was a tricky target—but she only had time for one last shot.

  The arrow left the string with a hum, and Spark dashed after it. The crows increased their racket and began diving at her. She ducked low, feeling claws tangle in her hair. Ahead, the copper apple fell, the stem neatly severed.

  With a final burst of speed, Spark flung herself forward and caught the fruit in one hand. Using her bow, she beat back the dark birds and hurried to summon up one of her elemental spells. Air—that would do it. Clutching the apple to her chest, she chanted the awkward syllables.

  A gust of wind swept through the clearing, whipping her hair into her face, and pushing the crows back. Spark turned and ran, the angry calls of the birds following her.

  She made it about halfway through the orchard when the blossom-scattered grass before her erupted into a tangle of thorns. Leaping back, she saw that the wicked briars had sprouted all around her, and were closing in quickly. One long, sharp thorn pricked her wrist, painful as a needle.

  “Kijherba Oncoti!” she cried.

  Instantly, a wall of flame sprang up before her. Spark gestured it forward, and heard the briars screeching as the fire scorched them. They shriveled, and she leaped over the blackened tangle and kept running.

  Spark’s breath rasped in her throat as she raced for the edge of the orchard. She leaned forward, forcing another burst of speed. Behind her, the crows still called. A quick look over her shoulder showed a mass of thorns following in her wake, twisting and writhing along the ground.

  She burst out of the orchard, only to rock back at the sight of a huge silver serpent blocking her way. Seriously—the game wasn’t making it easy for her.

  The serpent hissed, showing a long, forked tongue, then reared back, preparing to strike. Spark scrolled rapidly through her spells. She’d already burned the charms for air and fire, which left earth and water.

  A thorn grazed her boot, and the crows called harshly behind her. Pulling on all her reserves, she wove the words of her remaining elements together, and flung them toward the serpent. Instantly it began to sink, surrounded by a pit of mud. It flailed back and forth, splashing clods of grass and thick gobs of mud up in huge gouts, but it was stuck, and sliding lower by the second.