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

by SM Reine

Whoever was in the hall, they were getting louder. And they kept saying her name. Scooping her hair out of her face, she went to the door and looked out the peephole.

  Disbelief flashed through her, cold, then hot. She undid the locks and flung her door open.

  “Aran!” It was him.

  “Miss Jaxley.” Her security guard, Joe, had Aran by the arm. “Sorry to disturb you. I was just escorting Mr. Cole out. Burt instructed us he wasn’t welcome.”

  “Wait,” she said. “I want to talk to him.”

  “You do?” Joe’s look of confusion was almost funny.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I told you so.” Aran pulled free of Joe’s grasp and tugged his leather jacket back into place. “Can I come in?”

  Spark stepped back and held the door wider. She knew she looked terrible, with her sleep-tangled hair and slept-in clothes, but that didn’t matter. When Joe started to follow Aran into her room, she held up her hand.

  “Just him,” she said.

  “But Miss Jaxley—”

  “He’s safe. And you can check back in a half hour, okay? Aran and I need to talk. Alone.”

  “Burt’s going to kill me,” Joe said.

  “Tell Burt I insisted. Since that’s exactly what I’m doing. Bye.” She shut the door in his face, then locked it.

  Slowly, she turned. Yes, Aran really stood there, hands in his pockets. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled.

  Instead she folded her arms, wincing as she jarred her wrist.

  “Are you okay?” He was suddenly way too close, setting one gentle finger on her splint. “Is this… did you get injured in-game?”

  “Yep. No thanks to you.”

  His eyes widened with horror. “Oh, crap. I am so sorry. I didn’t know—”

  “It’s just sprained. Though, yes, if you get injured in the realm, it carries over to the real world.” She brushed past him, going to one of the two chairs set at the far end of the room. “Tell me how you escaped the Dark Realm. And what happened to the gateway between the worlds.”

  “Ah.” He looked down at the floor, then back to her. “I screwed up, and I need your help.”

  “Now you’re asking for my help?” Anger flared through her, and she was wide awake. “After our little encounter in-game, why would you even think I’d lift a finger for you? You managed to get out of the realm. I’d say you’re doing fine on your own.”

  He sat in the other chair and rested his forearms on his knees.

  “Ever hear of gold coins turning to leaves?” he asked.

  “Faerie gold. Dammit, Aran. What happened?”

  He let out a long breath, his dark eyes haunted. “I thought I’d finally be set. Do what the queen asked, open the gateway, get my reward, and be done.”

  “And it never occurred to you that the gateway was closed for a reason?”

  “I…” He shook his head. “I didn’t think too hard about it. It was a puzzle to crack. That’s all.”

  She stood, fury whipping through her. “Let me tell you then. Last night, at Bella Boingo’s concert, the Wild Hunt materialized. In our world. Do you know what that means?”

  He sucked in a breath. “Oh, hell. We have to close that gate.”

  “How could you be so stupid?” She shook her fist in his face, then whirled away.

  She’d never wanted to actually attack someone, until now. Mastering her fury, she stalked the length of the room, then back. Aran watched her, his shoulders bent in what had better be remorse.

  “We need to get into Feyland now and fix this,” she said. “You can fix it, right?”

  “Yeah. I think.”

  “Stay there.” She pointed at him, then grabbed some fresh clothes and went into the bathroom. As soon as she was dressed and somewhat groomed, she messaged Vonda.

  :Come to my room, please? It’s urgent.:

  :Be right there.:

  Bless Vonda for not asking questions.

  Spark emerged from the bathroom to see Aran still in his chair. He was turning the pink stone around between his fingers, the one he’d given her. The one that, despite herself, she put on the bedside table each night in order to feel a little less lonely.

  She was still so mad at him she could spit.

  “Give that back.”

  She didn’t wait for him to hand the stone over, just snatched it from him and put it in her pocket.

  “We’re about to have a visitor,” she said. “Keep your mouth shut, all right?”

  “Got it.”

  At least he knew better than to push her with questions. Spark pulled the cover up over the rumpled sheets of her bed, then went to the door. Before Vonda could knock, Spark opened it and gestured her inside. Across the hall, Joe watched from the open door of his own room, but made no move to come in. Smart guy.

  “Whoa.” Vonda halted in the middle of the room. “What’s he doing here?”

  She cast a suspicious glance at the bed, then back at Aran, and Spark hurried to answer.

  “He arrived a few minutes ago, that’s all. We need to use a couple of the FullD systems, just the two of us. I can’t explain—but trust me, it’s important.”

  “What about your wrist?” Vonda set her hands on her hips. “This is not okay.”

  “I know. But we have to do it now. Please.” Spark went up to her manager, hoping Vonda could read the truth in her eyes.

  Vonda studied her face, then exhaled sharply through her nostrils. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten into, but I can give you an hour. One hour, that’s it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I bet you haven’t eaten breakfast.”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “Whatever’s going on, you need to eat. Raid the room’s snack bar.” Vonda held up her hand. “Don’t argue. You’re the only one who never touches it. Niteesh decimates his, and the Terabins always eat the most expensive stuff.”

  “Okay then.”

  Spark opened the hotel fridge and pulled out a couple of nut-packed candy bars and cans of soda. However Aran had gotten there, she’d bet he hadn’t stopped for a hearty meal along the way.

  “I’ll let you into the conference room where we’ve set up the systems,” Vonda said. “And I’ll tell the others not to barge in. But when your time’s up, we talk.”

  She glared at Aran, then swung back to Spark.

  “Right,” Spark said. She tossed a bar and a can of soda to Aran. “Let’s go.”

  Aran silently followed Spark and her manager to the conference room with the FullD set-ups. On the way, he ate the candy bar and chugged the soda, grateful for the sugar rush clearing his head. It still wasn’t enough to wash away the guilt.

  This was going to be tricky, in more ways than one.

  He had to fix the code without giving away the fact he’d been trying to hack Feyland all along, try to get Spark to forgive him, and—hardest of all—escape the wrath of the Dark Queen.

  He geared up while Spark argued with Vonda about wearing an oversized gaming glove. They sorted it out, and soon Spark was ready. She gave him a sharp nod, and he logged in, sending his avatar into Feyland.

  Golden light swirled around him, making his stomach churn. He clenched his teeth against the sensation, and a moment later his Saboteur materialized in a faerie-ringed clearing full of shadows.

  Spark’s Kitsune flickered into being beside him.

  “Good,” she said. “We’re in the right place. I wasn’t sure this would work.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ve already fought through two of the game levels, so we’re getting close to the Dark Court. This place,” she swept her arm out, “has the right mushrooms, and it’s night.”

  He looked up at the dark blue sky speckled with stars. “Night, but not midnight. No moon.”

  “Yet.”

  She cupped her hands, and a second later held a glowing ball of flame. It rose into the air to hover a few inches above her he
ad, casting a reddish illumination over their surroundings.

  “Now.” She turned to face him, her expression stern. “What did you do to open the gateway, and can we fix it from here?”

  He glanced around the clearing. The place was completely unfamiliar. No mirror images, no wall of code. At least, he didn’t think so. He went forward a few paces, hand outstretched, stepping over the pale mushrooms to the path leading between dark trees. His questing fingers met no resistance.

  “Can’t do it from here,” he said. “We need to get closer to the court.”

  “Great. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

  “Good thing you’re with me.” His weak smile faded under her narrow-eyed stare.

  “Come on.” She started down the path, the ball of flame bobbing overhead. “And don’t do anything stupid. More stupid than you already have, that is.”

  “Wait.” He caught up to her and took her arm. “I get it. I totally screwed up. Believe me, I feel like crap about it, and I’m trying to make amends here. So you can quit riding me.”

  She stared at him a minute, and then her gaze dropped to the leaf-strewn path beneath their feet.

  “It’s not just you I’m riding,” she said. “I failed. If I’d pulled you out earlier, when I saw you in-game, none of this would have happened.”

  “I wouldn’t have come. Stop it.” He held up a hand as she started to speak again. “You were hurt, the hunt was on your trail, and I honestly don’t think you had the time to fight me into submission and drag me back, one-handed, to the mortal world.”

  She pulled a breath in through her nose, then let it out. “Fine. We’re not done with this, but for right now let’s focus on closing that gateway.”

  The night forest rustled with strange noises as they continued along the path, and Spark’s ball of fire made the trees loom ominously. Shadows flickered over the trunks, and Aran set his hand to his long-knife, senses on full alert.

  “Halt!” A figure leaped onto the path, blocking their way. “You may not pass.”

  Firelight shone off his sword and the burnished bronze of his chest piece and helm. Aran drew his blade and called upon his skills as a Saboteur to melt into the darkness surrounding them. He stepped off the path, carefully setting his feet on the dark patches of loam and avoiding any telltale twigs. If Spark kept the guy distracted, Aran could sneak around for an unexpected killing strike.

  “Stand aside,” Spark said to the armored figure.

  The attacker moved closer to her, and Aran drew his blade. No way was he going to stand by and let Spark get injured again in-game. He lifted his knife and lunged forward in a deadly strike.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Spark?” The warrior lowered his sword.

  “Aran, stop!” Spark yelled.

  Twisting, Aran managed to turn his attack away from the warrior’s neck. The blade slid down his opponent’s armored shoulder with a screech, and the warrior pivoted, swinging his sword at Aran’s head.

  He ducked and pulled his second blade, heartbeat pumping urgently.

  “Both of you, stand down,” Spark said, pushing between them. “You’re not enemies.”

  “You sure about that?” Aran asked.

  “Yes.” She nudged him away from the warrior. “Aran, meet Roy.”

  The warrior pulled off his helmet, revealing ordinary human features, and studied Aran. Neither of them said hello.

  After a moment, Roy sheathed his sword and turned to Spark. “I was wondering when you’d make it in-game.”

  “You’ve been here all night?” Spark asked. “You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m fine.” Roy shrugged, but Aran was sure he was lying. “I said I’d message you when I got out. What, you think I forgot?”

  Aran shot a glance at Spark. This guy had her private number? He shoved down the hot stab of jealousy. After all, he had no claim on her—in fact, had blown his chances pretty spectacularly. Even if she did keep the rock he’d given her on her nightstand.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  She turned to him, her magenta hair extra red in the firelight.

  “Put your knife away,” she said. “Roy is one of the Feyguard. And he’s been doing his job of protecting the border.”

  “Spark, I know why you’re here,” Roy said, then tipped his head at Aran. “But what about him?”

  “Aran’s going to help me close the gate,” she said.

  “He is?” Roy raised one eyebrow. “Should I be jealous?”

  “No.” Her voice was firm. “You should be logging off and getting some rest. We’ll stand watch here until you get one of the other Feyguard in.”

  “Zeg was here until recently. I sent him to get some rest. I can handle this.”

  Aran snorted. Roy’s voice held a ragged edge, and clearly the dude was trying to play tough to impress Spark.

  “Watch it, pretty-boy,” Roy said to him.

  “Roy.” Spark set a hand on his arm. “Please.”

  Roy’s look of resolution softened at her touch, and Aran couldn’t blame him. He’d cave, too, if Spark looked at him that way.

  “Okay,” Roy said. “I’ll gather the others and send them in. Be careful.”

  “Don’t worry.” Spark stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

  Not the lips. Aran filed that bit of information to ponder later.

  “You better do everything you can to protect her.” Roy gave Aran one last, narrow-eyed look, then strode away toward the clearing.

  “Nice guy,” Aran said, finally sheathing his blade. “Are all your friends so sweet? And what’s with the super-secret Feyguard club?”

  “What do you think?” The warmth that had infused Spark’s voice left when Roy did. “Somebody has to make sure the human world is protected. No thanks to you.”

  “How many are in the club?”

  “Not nearly enough.” Her shoulders dipped.

  “Like, a hundred?”

  She shook her head. “Try seven.”

  “What? That seems… inadequate.”

  “It would be plenty, if not for your idiotic choice to fling the gateway wide open!”

  “Shh.” Aran held up his hand. “I heard something.”

  The underbrush crackled again, and he whirled, going into a fighting crouch. Two spots of brightness blinked at him, and an instant later, a familiar, tattered figure sprang onto the path.

  “Puck!” Aran and Spark exclaimed at the same time.

  Puck grinned at them. “I am come to offer aid.”

  Aran narrowed his eyes at the sprite. He didn’t trust the little creature—not after the way he’d “helped” Aran previously.

  “What did you have in mind?” Aran asked.

  Puck ignored him, and floated up to hover before Spark.

  “You bear an injury,” he said to her. “I shall heal it, should you desire.”

  “That would be great.” She held out her left arm.

  The sprite set two of his long, spindly fingers on her wrist. Greenish light flared, and Spark let out a yelp. Aran took a step forward, ready to bat Puck out of the air.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “That feels much better.”

  Puck gave a sharp, satisfied nod. “You are mended, across all realms. But now, ’tis past time you mortals continued on your final quest. Go! I shall guard the way.”

  “I don’t think so,” Aran said.

  Now that he knew how utterly serious this gap between the worlds was, he was committed to closing it—and making sure that nothing else slipped through in the meantime.

  “We can trust Puck,” Spark said. “Look, he fixed my wrist, and he’s helped out before.”

  “Better if we wait for one of your Feyguard buddies to show up. What if Puck lets something get through? Don’t you think having a faerie guarding the way sort of defeats the purpose?”

  “We don’t have time,” she said. “Vonda only gave us an hour. We can’t waste it hanging around here,
especially when someone else is volunteering.”

  “Something else, you mean.”

  “The lady speaks truly,” Puck said. “Even now, the Dark Court may be massing, ready to push into the human world. Quickly now.” He gestured down the pathway.

  “Come on.” Spark grabbed Aran’s arm and towed him into movement.

  Grimly, he followed deeper into the dark forest, hoping they hadn’t made a huge mistake by leaving the sprite in charge.

  “What’s this quest Puck mentioned?” he asked, once they’d gone some distance.

  “An extended questline I’m on. If I’m right, we need to find a golden apple.”

  “Sounds mythic.”

  She shook her head, her bright hair shining in the firelight. “No gods and goddesses in the realm. Just the fey folk—who are probably older than human history.”

  The memory of the Dark Queen’s timeless, beautiful face sent a shiver down his back. He’d bet Spark was right.

  Ahead, a glimmer of light shone between the trees, and the scent of wood smoke twined through the air. They hurried along the path and came to another clearing. This one held a fire in its center, and beside the fire sat a hunched figure in a gray cloak.

  Aran and Spark paused at the edge of the trees, and the figure lifted her head. Long white hair spilled from her hood and framed her wizened face.

  “Who comes?” she asked in a voice as thin as cobwebs.

  She turned her head, seeking, and Spark leaned close to his shoulder.

  “She’s blind,” she whispered, her breath a feather against his ear.

  “Ah!” The old woman’s face fixed on them, her eyes blank sockets. “I hear you. Come to the fire, so my hands may learn your features.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Aran whispered back.

  Spark pulled her bow out. With one smooth motion, she nocked an arrow to the string. “You go. I’ll cover you. Ask her for a quest.”

  Great.

  Slowly, he approached the fire. The woman kept her blind eyes turned to him. Just in case, he slipped one of his knives free of its sheath.

  “Now, now,” the old woman said. “No need for that. Put your blade away, young man.”

  “I thought you were blind.” He halted and re-sheathed his dagger.