Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Margo Bond Collins

  Maybe, if her people had just let her succumb in the first place, then she’d have actually get some rest!

  It was too late for that now, though. The time for the easy way out had come, gone, and not even bothered to wave to her along the way.

  Good thing, too, because she’d have likely given it the finger.

  No, her people were right to keep her alive. They were right to keep her safe from herself. With the coming of new details—stories mostly, but wasn’t everything a story?—it became clear that, whether or not she wanted to hate them for it, she actually owed them all a thanks that could never be repaid.

  Because it wasn’t her time, not with the knowledge that her child might still be alive.

  Because he was still out there; still plaguing the world.

  Which was why, after the first few weeks of “mourning,” what she’d taken to calling the violent rampage her mind had been on, Serafina set out through camp to find Jerock, one of the strongest fighters in their camp. While her gypsy tribe had long ago forbidden fighting outside of their camp, they still enjoyed weekly shows where they’d set up a ring in the middle of camp. Spectators were encouraged to come in and enjoy the spectacle (at a small cost, of course) and, all in all, it always seemed to generate more positive energy than negative. It never failed, however, to place Jerock in Serafina’s care each week. At first, seeing the effects of the fights firsthand made Serafina hate the idea fighting. While others, like her husband, Damon, got to enjoy the enthusiasm and endorphins and showmanship, Serafina had always been left wiping up blood and stitching up lacerations. Damon, whenever she’d complained back then, would shrug and tell her it was a “guy thing” and that it was probably better that she not like it, adding that it was good that at least one of the soon-to-be parents have the good sense to discourage such things.

  “So what’s that make me now, Damon?” she’d jokingly asked herself ever since then.

  Because, of course, she couldn’t ask him. Not anymore.

  This had been the mindset—“what’s that make me now?”—she’d found herself in when she’d first approached Jerock after everything that had befallen her. Even then, unable to shake the memories—still remembering it all; every awful detail—she’d just worked to turn them into fuel rather than an obstacle. And so, pulling herself out of her own crippling mind, she’d taken to training. Training in strength, stamina, combat—every form of combat she could track down—and, through it all, training for her mind. Ironically, the latter was the most difficult to train. A body could be shaped and conditioned with relative ease provided the drive was right; a broken mind, however, wasn’t so eager. Every new step—every added weight, extra mile, and every new ice bath—was a mental leap that had her considering that sweet nothingness all over again.

  And that was how Serafina, a healer, had turned herself into a killer.

  She’d realized early on that she would get nowhere in stopping him with a warm smile, a kind bedside demeanor, and a properly set bandage. What, was she going to one-up the monster with antidotes and elixirs?

  “Here’s a top-notch remedy, care to give me my life back?”

  Not likely.

  Besides, it had been that Serafina—Serafina-the-healer, who’d always been buried in books and yearning to learn more and more—who’d allowed herself to be seduced by the promises of new knowledge. His knowledge. His dark arts had mystified and entranced her and, admittedly, she’d wanted more. She’d all but invited him into her life, and through that open door had strolled pain and suffering and blood and screams…

  She could still remember it all. Every awful detail.

  But there was a place and a time for those memories, and ‘here-and-now’ wasn’t it.

  Shaking off the memories, Serafina kept her eyes aimed forward, willing her thoughts to do the same, as she made her way to the voivode’s tent. Her peoples’ leader was expecting her. Stopping at the entrance to await the call, she worked to calm her thundering heart and took a deep breath. She had been preparing for this day for months, all who knew her knowing what was to come of her efforts, but, now that the day was upon her, she couldn’t steady her nerves.

  “Come in, Serafina,” a low voice called from the other side of the tent.

  Another deep breath.

  Then another.

  Would her lungs ever feel satisfied?

  Finally, giving the crescent moon charm at her neck one thoughtful tug, she took a step inside, being greeted by three elders, two advisors sitting on either side of the voivode, who were all seated upon their own embroidered rug. The rugs, bearing a personal insignia to each, had been passed down over the generations and, if she had the time or energy to try, she knew that she’d be able to read the stories etched upon them. The old her—the part of herself that she’d been training to suppress and, if possible, outright kill—suddenly wanted nothing more than to study those rugs and forget all about this. Suddenly the gold and purple tapestries represented something that could distract her from her self-assigned mission. Those rugs, rugs that had entranced her for as long as she could remember, had fascinated her enough at one time to make her long to earn the role of a voivode; to earn the right to sit upon one and have her tale added to its already enriched pattern.

  That dream had died long ago, though, as so many dreams seemed to do.

  But she wouldn’t let the distraction kill this dream. This dream, she swore, would be much more than that.

  And for a dream to come true, she knew, one had to first pull themselves out of the peacefulness of sleep.

  “How have you been, Dear?” the voivode asked her.

  Been better. The response, her first instinct, didn’t make it past a thought, but it lingered there, heavy and palpable enough for her to believe they’d heard it all the same. “I’m doing much better now,” she offered instead. “Especially since making the decision.”

  The three tensed at that, and the two elders turned their heads to glance at the voivode.

  “Then you have not changed your mind?” one asked.

  Serafina shook her head.

  The other followed with, “And there’s nothing we can do to sway you?”

  She shook her head again. She’d known all along that they could not support what she planned to do. Despite this, even knowing her intentions the moment she’d begun her training with Jerock, they hadn’t tried to stop her. She thought this was more out of respect than anything else. After her tragedy, the training—not the end goal, granted, but the training itself—was likely viewed as therapeutic. Everyone had likely hoped that the passing time and newfound passion would serve to satisfy her, and, with any luck, this day would never come.

  If that had been the case, they’d been wrong.

  Serafina didn’t have their support in this quest, but she knew she’d never be without their love. Their love, however, had carried her as far as it could. As a peaceful tribe, they wouldn’t be a part of what she intended to do next. They couldn’t without sacrificing their ways and uprooting everything they were. And that was something neither they nor she could allow. As such, from that point forward, she would be on her own.

  “We understand your drive, child, and we can even respect it to a degree,” the voivode offered, though she was already shaking her head, “but, as you know, it cannot be allowed to remain here with us. Either this vendetta or you must leave us.”

  “I understand,” Serafina nodded, and she did.

  She knew they wouldn’t believe that, but she did understand the weight of her decision.

  Another tense moment passed, a pregnant silence that threatened to miscarry at any moment stretching into inconceivable terms.

  “The creature you seek to pursue…” one of the elders began.

  “… is not something one so easily trifles with,” the other finished.

  The voivode, nodding at this, pressed her palms against her thighs, seeming to struggle to keep herself from standing. “He has existed for ma
ny centuries,” she explained further. “He is powerful, cunning. This mission—what you aim to accomplish—is likely impossible.”

  “Likely,” Serafina agreed.

  “And yet you will not change your mind?”

  She shook her head once again.

  “Then this is a quest to die?” the elder to the voivode’s left spat out, seeming to break the tone between the three and earning a concerned glance from the other two.

  “No,” Serafina said, though she couldn’t bring herself to shake her head at that question. “This is a quest to reclaim what was taken from me. Whether that is the opportunity to get my child back or the chance to rejoin with my husband remains to be seen.”

  “I see…” the voivode said with a heavy sigh. “Then I suppose it’s only fair that we grant you that freedom. But know that this creature—this… Rumpelstiltskin—will not make either quest a simple one.”

  “I wouldn’t expect him to,” Serafina, having the closest thing she’d ever get to a blessing along with her inevitable banishment, bowed her head and rose to her feet. The three stared at her for a moment, their gazes both understanding and filled with pity. She made her choice and she wouldn’t regret it. She couldn’t regret it. Then, before turning her back to the three and, with them, to her people, she swore an oath that echoed from that point forward.

  It would hang in that tent for days to come, but, more than that, it would hang in her heart until the end of her days.

  “I will kill Rumpelstiltskin…

  “or I will die trying.”

  Chapter 1

  Three days on the road and the loneliness just kept intensifying. Just three days, but already it felt like so much longer. Like the hurt was measured more in miles and memories than in the seventy-two hours that had passed.

  Three days…

  Three days away from her home, the only home Serafina had ever known and all the Rom who’d been her family since the start. Three days cycling through her life and everything she’d ever known. Three days weighing the then against the now and trying to understand how it had come to this. Three days in a cramped car filled with maps, weaponry, food wrappers, and hatred.

  It had been almost a year since the tragedy, almost a year since Rumpel, who’d called himself Erik then, had first shown his face. Or, as she’d since found out, one of his faces. The heinous creature had an annoying habit of never occupying the same form for long. Ugly as he was on the inside, he’d showed up, beautiful and charming, to their camp and everyone, Serafina included, had fallen under his spell. And all without a trace of magic spent on his part. Not the traditional sort of magic, at least. Practically reeking of gold, it wouldn’t take much for him to seduce even the most modest of souls with the promise of untold riches. With that, he could manipulate anybody. Unfortunately, that “anybody” had turned out to be Serafina. Bloated with pregnancy and interested only in reading and research, she never would have thought herself to be of interest to anybody, let alone the enchanting newcomer.

  But an interest she proved herself to be.

  Though it was strange, she had found it flattering—Damn him! Damn him! DAMN HIM!—and hadn’t thought anything more of it at the time. Looking back on it all, though, it made perfect sense. She’d been the perfect sort of prey: ripe and crippled by her own curiosity. A fresh swell of self-loathing threatened to overtake her and, moving her hand to her neck, she clenched the crescent moon charm with her free hand and allowed the peaceful calm it offered to rush through her.

  “Bastard!” she growled, taking the last bite of her burger.

  Crumpling and tossing another grease-soaked wrapper to the floor of the passenger-side seat, Serafina wrapped her arms around her chest, willing herself to start the car and continue. She’d been using memories of her husband and their child to push forward, fighting herself as she weaponized her memories to keep her going without allowing them to turn nuclear and destroy her before she had a chance to drop the payload of her hatred on Rumpelstiltskin. It was getting harder, though. And it was getting colder. She wasn’t sure if the chill she was feeling was from the season or from herself, and, still clenching her eyes shut, she blindly reached with numb fingers to turn the keys in the ignition. Then, steering herself away from the two golden arcs and stifling a growl at that, she forced herself to think once more on her plan.

  She only needed to go a bit further before she’d make it into Chicago, and, from there, the real work would begin.

  The lights of Chicago presented themselves sooner than Serafina liked. There, among the glow of it all, was the line that divided plans from action. The time would be upon her soon enough. She took a deep breath. Then, pointing the headlights back towards the city, she glided past the “WELCOME TO—” sign.

  After the first hints that her baby might still be alive, Serafina had sought any shred of information regarding Rumpel. Some of the information had been easy to get. Some had taken some persuasion. The first of those circumstances, an occurrence that she’d told nobody of, had been the final nail in the coffin; the point of no return. It was at that point that Serafina knew that she’d have to leave her life, and, with that already being solidified in her mind, it became the first moment that her self-assigned mission had become real. Now, finally in Chicago, she looked back on that first moment and felt what “real” really felt like.

  Overwhelmed by the sensation, she wordlessly repeated her plan to herself. She would find a place to stay, someplace small and nondescript, and set up all of her research. She would check her weapons, sharpen and oil them. She would bathe and rid herself of the grime and doubt the three days had caked upon her. Then, after what was certain to be another restless night’s attempt at rest, she would head out and put her training to the test. She had learned that there was an underground club in the city that could get information about Rumpelstiltskin’s whereabouts. Apparently, though Rumpel frequently visited the place, if the rumors the source had caught wind of were true he’d recently been banned. Though this seemed an odd turn of events for somebody like him, she figured it was as good a place to start as any. With any luck whoever was running the place would still be sore enough about whatever he’d done to offer up what she wanted to know willingly. Otherwise she might have to take some steps to persuade them. Either was a possibility. Though she could certainly see why a guy—and she used that term loosely—like Rumpel could get himself kicked out of just about anywhere, his charms and wits had a way of allowing him access to anywhere or anyone until he and he alone decided he’d had enough.

  Cars shot by her, some honking and shouting at the crawl she’d brought her old car to on the main road, as she took in the sights and sounds around her. Ignoring them, she once again rubbed the crescent moon charm around her neck, seeking its comfort. She had never been away from her family and while she was determined, the growing loneliness was impossible to ignore. Finally seeing the clogged traffic she was creating in the rearview, she steered onto a side street.

  You haven’t done anything yet, she thought to herself, ignoring the reality of the few she’d already “persuaded” to get this far. You could just turn around and go back.

  Her body shook with a wretch that was violent enough to swerve the car; the violent nausea that engulfed her answering for her before her own mind could.

  She couldn’t forgive him, not after everything he took from her.

  And she would never forgive herself if she allowed herself to try.

  After—if she survived—she would return home and, if possible, make peace with them. It was a long shot that was filled with more hope than actual confidence, but so was everything else her life had become. To leave their tribe, normally meant complete exile and the tribe was strict on their rulings. But Serafina had served her people as their healer, and in that time she’d earned many favors. Officially, she hadn’t been sentenced to exile; she was simply not permitted to nurture violent thoughts or plans with their support. It was for that reason that the
y could offer her no aid outside of letting her leave with her own car and all the money she’d managed to raise for this mission. It was a distant hope, one with more hurdles to clear than she believed herself capable of, but, though she couldn’t allow herself to turn back now, she might still have a chance…

  Reminding herself of the plan and, as always, to look ahead and never back—a rule she’d been breaking more and more over the past three days—she recited the first step of her plan:

  She would find a place to stay.

  By the time Serafina had reached the motel, paid the clerk (who’d made an initial stink about her paying in cash and not having a credit card to put on file), and made her way into her room, she was too exhausted to even remember the next few steps she’d planned. She took just enough time to glance around the room, taking in the random stains in the carpet and walls as well as the lopsided desk that tilted a just a bit more to the right than anything proclaiming itself a desk should. The surface of this was home to three brave pamphlets that managed to defy the surface’s aggressive slope and the urging of gravity. Of these, one was for a pizza place that boasted DELIVERY, another for Chinese food that demanded TAKE-OUT, and a trifold sheet of printer paper offering a channel guide along with several ads for XXX-themed ON-DEMAND- movies. Too tired to roll her eyes at all of it, she fell onto the mattress, vaguely registering that it felt like a cushioned sheet of plywood, and let sleep yank her out of that moment.

  “The devil always collects his dues, dearie,” those eyes, still so familiar despite the growing gold sheen in them, gleamed down at her.

  Serafina cried out, struggling to hold her upper body up despite the searing agony and strain. It was too difficult to focus beyond the sight of her parted knees; between her legs she saw the starting pool of blood begin to grow. She felt faint at the sight, but willed herself to stay conscious. Outside the realm of focus, the gold blur of Rumpelstiltskin—unfocused but unquestionably leering—moved the small, squirming mass closer to him, clutching it tightly and claiming it as his own in one as he clutched her child to his chest.