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

by SM Reine

  When I started swimming towards land, though, he followed.

  We reached the rocky shoreline, stopping at each set of cement pillars to let him rest. As if by mutual assent, we didn’t get out of the water right away but traveled south, sliding from one private dock and mooring to the next in a slow procession down the shoreline.

  The morning sun disappeared behind cloud cover, which helped turn everything gray when police boats skimmed the water on their way towards the bridge.

  I heard the thwup, thwup, thwup of rotary blades, and couldn’t help but follow them with my eyes. Some of the helicopters looked military. I wondered if they were Sweeps, anti-terrorist from our own government, or just navy from down the coast in Tacoma.

  We hid under one dock and then the next until our teeth chattered, waiting for them to circle and pass. We didn’t speak, and I tried not to worry as Revik’s breathing grew ragged. Just as the activity really exploded around the bridge and the submerged GTX, we climbed out into a public park, wading over and through thick vegetation that surrounded the last bit of water before it dumped us out on a wide, manicured grass lawn.

  I helped him into the trees.

  I was likely more conspicuous with my tattered waitressing uniform and bare legs, but he looked worse than me, and not only because of the blood still running down one side of his face. I could only hope no one saw us until we entered the forested park, where the trees made us at least as inconspicuous as your average homeless person. Once we were well out of sight of the shore, I helped him lean against a tree, then slide down to sit.

  He was shivering by then, so pale he looked dead.

  I looked around for something I might cover him with, then decided speed mattered more. At the moment, the cops were focusing on the car itself. Once they saw no one in it, I knew that would change, and fast.

  The adjoining neighborhood didn’t look rich enough to have a grid along the entire coast. If it did, we were screwed already, since our presence would have been recorded and sent automatically to SCARB and local law enforcement. Even so, I had to assume regular, mid-grade upper-middle class suburban security, which meant towers on the streets that took timed images...maybe flyers at night, depending on how paranoid the neighbors were.

  Still thinking about this, I squatted next to his legs.

  “Revik.” I grasped his arm, tighter, until his eyes opened. “Don’t go to sleep. You can’t sleep, okay? I need to know I can trust you if I leave.”

  “There is a safe house—”

  “You told me,” I said patiently. “But we’re not going to make it like this. You said it’s downtown, right? And you can’t do anything in the Barrier. So we need to do it the human way. I need to get us clothes. And at least one local ident card, to get us past the gate.”

  I saw him look at the wet uniform clinging to my body, my blood-matted hair. He nodded.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Don’t fall asleep.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise, Allie.”

  I slid through a row of bushes, trying to avoid the road while staying on the edge of park that backed up against the nearest street full of wealthy homes, all of which lined the coast of Lake Washington. I looked for signs of burglar alarms, avoiding houses with cars in the driveway or where I could hear voices or feed stations blaring off screens through the windows.

  Thank god, Seattle was nothing like San Francisco.

  I found an open back door with no external cameras I could see at about the fourth or fifth house I checked. From a slight rise overlooking a set of backyards that formed a gentle curve around that part of the lake, I spotted the clothesline first and stopped. My fingers clutched the trunk of a tree as I looked for people in the windows and adjacent yards.

  Men’s clothing hung from the sagging cotton rope between two maple trees. I saw sheets on another line that went to the other side of the Craftsman-style house. Women’s clothes hung there also in a more colorful line of blues and purples, and what looked like a child’s, but that line was much closer to the back of the house. It was the men’s clothes that drew my eyes. I found myself hoping they were dry, even as I measured the length of the pant legs with my eyes, wondering if they would be remotely close enough to fit him.

  A moment later, I slid through a gap in the tall evergreen shrubs that hid the back of the house from the lake’s shore, avoiding the actual footpath and its stone steps down to their private dock. Stepping along the fence, I got as close to the line as I dared without breaking cover, then reached out to tug off a pair of jeans and baggy sweats, grabbing a long-sleeved T-shirt and an only slightly damp sweatshirt from another section of line.

  Taking my bundle back into the hedge, I didn’t wait but pulled the bloody and ripped-up white waitressing blouse over my head and left it in the bushes. Then I writhed out of the black miniskirt and even my underwear so that I was stark naked, and freezing my ass off. In less than a minute, I’d pulled on the long-sleeved tee and jeans, rolling up the cuffs on the latter so they rested on the top of my feet and folding over the waist to keep them up without a belt. I left the sweats and sweatshirt in the hedge and looked back up at the house itself.

  That’s when I noticed the back door was open.

  At first it made me panic. I wondered if someone had seen me, or come outside to collect clothes. When I didn’t hear or see anyone after a few minutes, however, I decided the door had already been open when I got there.

  I hesitated only a half-second longer, then crept forward.

  I knew we needed money, and this was better than mugging someone.

  Time was an issue, too.

  I walked to the back door, moving quietly. I tried not to think too much about how I must look, with my hair bunched up with lake gunk in it, my arms and face bloody and bruised. I told myself that these people could afford to be robbed, with a house like this on the lake...and if they found it disquieting that someone had snuck into their house while they were at home, well, that was a small price to pay.

  It still didn’t feel great, though.

  I peered into a large but dated kitchen with dark oak cabinets and white-tile counters. The linoleum was clean but faded from its original flecked gold and white. On a butcher-block cutting board, I saw an actual homemade pie. Staring at it, seeing the dark berry puree bleeding out of the crust, I felt my stomach grind into a hard knot.

  Tiptoeing around the pie to the refrigerator, I opened the door softly, glancing over the contents before grabbing a container of milk and quaffing it. Setting it down carefully so as not to rattle the metal shelf, I pulled out a package of bread, then another plastic package of what looked like real cheese, probably from one of the local farmer’s markets.

  As I closed the door softly, I caught sight of the entryway table. On it sat a leather purse, worn to a pale beige from years of use. It looked like something my mom would buy and wear into nothing, too, and suddenly I felt a little sick.

  Shoving aside my lingering guilt, I walked with painstaking care down the hall, conscious of any loose floorboards as I lifted and placed my bare feet. I reached the purse and opened the snaps, wincing at the faint click before I tugged it open.

  The woman’s wallet lay on top, a faded Gucci with a white and brown pattern along the coin purse. I opened it quickly and quietly, found an ident card and breathed a sigh of relief in spite of my guilt. Tugging it carefully out of the side pocket and shoving it into the front pocket of the stolen jeans, I closed the purse, then hesitated again, seeing the woman’s headset.

  I could leave both in the taxi. Minus a few credits, the woman would probably get them both back without too much of a hassle; the cabbie would be legally obliged to turn them in, and they were both coded to her. Hesitating only a second longer, I snatched up the headset, too, and turned for the back door.

  I found myself facing a four-year-old boy with dark eyes and dark hair. His mouth fell slightly
open as he stared up at me, his eyes growing wider and wider. My heart thudded in my chest, but I held up a hand to reassure him.

  “It’s okay, kid,” I whispered. “It’s for a good cause. Tell your mom I’m really sorry.”

  The kid stared at me, his almond eyes growing wider still.

  Then his mouth dropped open for real.

  “Mom!” he shrieked. “Mommy! There’s a dirty lady in here! She has my sammich bread! She has my sammich bread!”

  My heart stopped for a half-beat.

  ...Then I bolted, leaping over and past the boy.

  I landed off-kilter on one foot, picked up my weight, stumbled for the door, limping on the ankle I’d just twisted. I knocked into the door frame as I ran by, smacking my shoulder and making a loud clattering noise that echoed into the small clearing.

  A screech of lake-rusted hinges followed me as the door swung behind my erratic path. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the door hung crooked on its wooden frame.

  I didn’t look back again.

  At the small opening in the hedge, I scooped up the clothes I’d stolen for Revik, then ran behind the denser vegetation and through the next backyard over. I made it back up to the wooded park above the row of homes a few minutes later, trying not to think about whether Revik would still be there.

  Panting, I ran up to the cluster of roots on to the tree where I thought I’d left him.

  He wasn’t there.

  My heart stopped again, until I realized I’d gone to the wrong tree.

  I found him after I’d already started to panic, skidding to a stop when I saw his long legs splayed. When I saw his eyes closed, I panicked, sure he was dead...but they fluttered open as soon as I crouched beside him.

  “I didn’t sleep...” he said. “I didn’t.”

  Relieved beyond words, I kissed him on the mouth.

  His eyes registered a dim surprise.

  “Sorry I took so long,” I said, embarrassed, then grinned. “But hey, look!” I showed him the headset. Fitting it over my ear, I switched it on, even as it occurred to me to hope it didn’t have a DNA key. I knew some of the newer ones did.

  Luckily, it wasn’t that new.

  I scrolled through the woman’s cached numbers until I found one labeled “taxi.”

  “Yeah,” I said when the dispatcher picked up. I waited for her to trace our location. “Yeah, now.” I glanced at Revik, watched him fumble with the sweatshirt I’d brought him. “We’ll be in the parking lot.” I hung up, crouching in front of him again. “You up for this? We can’t go door to door...we’ll have to have them drop us near a bus stop, or downtown. It’s in Chinatown, right?”

  He nodded, unbuttoning his shirt.

  I continued to stand there as he began struggling out of it. Looking down at his exposed neck and shoulder, I noticed a question-mark scar curling up from his back to his throat, such a pale white color it had to be really old. It wasn’t small though, or particularly light. In fact, it was nearly the width of my index finger.

  I hesitated, wondered if I should offer to help, given his condition, then thought better of it and walked off a few paces instead, sitting on the grass with my back to him.

  Twisting off the clasp ties, I reached into the plastic bag filled with bread, selected a big piece with dark crust and began munching. It was soft with a crunchy, chewy crust, and at that moment I decided it was the best damned bread I’d ever eaten.

  I played lookout while I ate, combing fingers through my hair to get as much gunk out as I could, pausing occasionally to try to clean up my face on the long-sleeved tee.

  “Stockholm syndrome,” I muttered, then laughed, stuffing another piece of bread into my mouth and chewing.

  I would think about that later.

  The sun slid towards late-afternoon before we finally stood in front of a red-painted basement door.

  I looked up the cement stairs to the street, where a woman leaned against a telephone pole. Nylons torn, makeup running down her cheeks under a slightly askew wig, she swayed drunkenly on high heels, staring at Revik with half-hearted interest. She saw me looking at her and gestured in a dismissive wave.

  “Enjoy yourself, girlfriend.” She burst into a laugh. “That one’s too drunk to fuck, so you be nice...I find him in the gutter tomorrow, I’ll remember your face, honey...”

  My eyes found Revik’s. He continued leaning against me, his hand on the wall. He was having trouble breathing.

  I said to him, “You sure this is the place?”

  He didn’t look at the woman, who called out again, trying to get his attention. “Yes.”

  “Hey, lover! Be careful! That one looks like a predator...” She burst into drunken laughter. “Wanna come home with me? I’ll take good care of you. Hey! Tall and dark...”

  “This part of town isn’t exactly where I’d put a ‘safe’ house,” I muttered. “You’re sure we’re at the right—”

  “Seers have photographic memories, Allie,” he said. “Trust me. It is here.”

  Seeing the exhaustion behind the request in his eyes, I gripped him tighter, but still hesitated, staring at the chipped, red-painted door. I was about to walk into a house full of seers. Seers who would probably think I’d done this to him.

  And they wouldn’t be that far off.

  “Knock, Allie.”

  I raised my hand.

  The door opened before I could touch the wood.

  A woman stood there with stunning dark-red hair that hung in ringlets down either side of her heart-shaped face to bare, pearl-white shoulders. My eyes took in that flawless face, the dark blue eyes that shone almost violet and perfectly drawn lips. Everything about her, from her clothes to her figure to her hair reminded me of an old sex siren from the forties or fifties. The clothes she wore fit so well they could have been made for her.

  Or painted on her, perhaps.

  The woman smiled, and the smile drew me like a caress.

  “Can I help you, friend?”

  I glanced at Revik. No wonder he wanted to come here.

  He remained outside the circle of light, but I felt his fingers relax slightly when the woman appeared. Turning away from the relief I could see on his face, I looked past her, glimpsing a wider space with more people, but her eyes must have followed mine back to him.

  “Revi’!” The violet eyes widened, all trace of coyness gone. “Gods, Revi’! What happened to you?”

  Before I could say a word, she stepped forward, not moving me aside so much as sliding into the gap between me and Revik and circling his waist with her arm. She took him for me before it occurred to me to protest, and led him through the doorway. I found myself just standing there, strangely light without him to prop up, but not really relieved, either.

  Then another pair of hands dragged me in after the two of them, swinging shut the door.

  More people rose from chairs, their faces showing different amounts of surprise. None spoke...aloud anyway. Looking around at all of them without really seeing them, I glimpsed satin dresses and long jackets, faces heavy with make-up with a variety of skin tones and hair textures. The first woman I’d seen appeared to be in charge. She gestured with her free hand to the others, speaking an odd mix of accented English and a language I didn’t know.

  “Mira, lock the door! Il’letre ar enge. Ivy, set up the room, yes, ugnete...make sure Sharin knows, and tell her to let the last one out the back...”

  The woman with the long red hair stood at a decent height, maybe five-nine, but still looked small where she supported Revik with her shoulder. I saw her caress his back with a ring-adorned hand and felt more than that pass between them.

  “That was you on the news!” she said, looking up at him. “I should have known...they intimated terrorism. But we didn't expect you so soon.” As if remembering, she looked over her shoulder at me. Her eyes glowed briefly, taking me in.

  “Is this her?”

  Revik glanced at me, too. Then he turned away, speaking only
to her, using that other language, interspersing his words with a series of clicks.

  “Arente ar mulens, sarten,” he said softly. He glanced at me again. “Il en, yet. Igre ar ulen. Bridge,” he added.

  The woman stared at me. “Ar li ente u?”

  “Ur et estarn. Alyson...ut te Allie.”

  The woman looked at me more intently. Her irises blurred just enough that I suspected she was reading my mind. I saw Revik nod to her perceptibly a few seconds later. He gestured fluidly with one hand, ending on a downward slash.

  I stood there, arms folded, fighting back emotion that felt more and more like anger. My eyes found his fingers entangled in the woman’s dark red hair, caressing the bare skin of her neck and shoulder.

  A pulse of warmth reached me.

  I jumped, my face hotter when I realized who had sent it. Then it hit me. He had access to his abilities again.

  He met my gaze. Ullysa has a construct on this place. It will keep us hidden from the Barrier proper. We are safe here...for now.

  Ullysa made a soft clicking sound that held a trace of amazement, drawing my eyes.

  “She is young, Revi',” she said. “I pictured an old man from the Elders’ impressions. Is she trained at all?”

  Revik made another of those downward slashing motions.

  No, he translated for me.

  Ullysa looked up at Revik’s face. “And how did they find you? We were told you got away from San Francisco cleanly.”

  “It was my mistake—” Revik began.

  “No,” I said. “It wasn’t.”

  Ullysa looked at me in surprise.

  Her expression suddenly grew much harder for me to read. She bowed politely as I thought it, indicating around the room with her free hand. I couldn’t help but notice her other hand was now under the sweatshirt Revik wore, caressing his bare back.

  Realizing I was staring, I looked away, folding my arms tighter.

  “Wait here, please,” she said politely. “...Esteemed Bridge.”

  I held up my hands, not hiding my annoyance. “Sure thing.”

  She left the room with Revik, whose eyes I avoided, only to meet other stares aimed at me from different parts of the room. Shrugging deliberately, I plopped down on one of the plush chairs. A number of seers had risen to stare at me. Most of those stares felt mainly curious, but I felt hostility there, as well. Maybe I was too tired to be afraid, or too angry, or too stupid, but I avoided looking at any of them, even to smooth over the silence.