Nightshade (17 tales of Urban Fantasy, Magic, Mayhem, Demons, Fae, Witches, Ghosts, and more)

by Annie Bellet

The RV park was in shambles around them. Demon bodies had been turned to jerky after a few days in the sunlight. Everything stank of rot and was brown with dried blood. But the eggs and coffee were still just eggs and coffee, and that was fine.

  At least it was quiet.

  “I’m done with Malcolm,” Elise said suddenly. Her head was bowed over her plate. She had drained her cup of coffee but barely touched the scrambled eggs.

  James frowned. It seemed significant that she was deciding to be done with Malcolm, though he wasn’t sure why. He was glad, certainly. If he never had to suffer being called “Jimmy boy” again in his entire life, it would be too soon.

  Even so, there was more weight to that declaration than there should have been.

  He squinted at the rising sun. Even when it was only halfway over the canyon, it was bright enough to make his eyes water. “Yeah?”

  Elise glared at a chunk of egg. “Yeah.” Her hair looked far redder than usual, as though she were Icarus flying too close to the sun, and she had caught fire.

  It was odd that Elise would be done with Malcolm so abruptly. It wasn’t as though the stress of battle could have done it. They’d fought a lot of battles in the last few months.

  Well, James wasn’t going to question it. He didn’t like Malcolm anyway.

  Distant engines echoed over the RV park. McIntyre’s cleanup crew was on the way to sweep up all the demon bodies. Malcolm was waiting to meet them at the far end of the trail, and probably nursing a hangover because he had drunk quite a lot of whiskey to celebrate their victory against the demons of Phlegethon.

  “All right,” James said. “Probably for the best. Our money will last longer with just the two of us anyway.”

  Elise set her fork down. “McIntyre says there’s a nest of demons in Tampa.”

  “Tampa.” He swirled his coffee in the mug. It was sludgy and black and strong enough to make hair grow on a frog’s forehead. Just the way Elise liked it. “Long drive to Tampa.”

  “Mmm,” she said.

  They ate together, and drank their coffee, and that was it.

  One more apocalypse averted.

  SM Reine is an urban fantasy author. She writes on a treadmill desk and has four black cats, which is one cat short of her husband divorcing her so he doesn’t have to clean another litter box for the rest of his life.

  You can find more about her books on her website.

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  Brea’s Tale: Arrival

  Anthea Sharp

  When a faerie girl is sent on a mission to the mortal world, she must learn to navigate the intricacies of life among humans - but will she survive undetected?

  The faerie girl arrived in a bubble of cold blue light, a barrier between herself and the dangers of the mortal world. Before she could take a breath the magic dissipated, revealing crumbling structures and pitted pavement beneath a dimly-lit sky. Clammy air pressed against her skin, and she shivered, her gossamer garment giving her little protection. It appeared to be night, though there was no moon to guide her, no pinpricks of stars shining steady overhead.

  The air smelled wrong, tainted with rot and strange metallic fumes. The light was peculiar too, an orange wash smeared across the clouds. But the sounds were the most foreign things: monstrous growls approaching and receding, mortal voices raised in shouts of fear or anger, the rushing pulse of something too mechanical to be waves pushing against the shore.

  In one hand she clutched a silver medallion inset with a moonstone, the chain trickling through her fingers. More than a talisman, it was a means to return back to the enchanted world from which she had come. Precious beyond words.

  Blinking, she tried to recall her name. Her human name, which once she had worn as easily as a woolen shawl wrapped about her shoulders. Once—before she had slipped into the Realm of Faerie and lost all need for human things.

  Brea had been her name. Brea Cairgead.

  She stood unsteadily on her two human legs and tried to quell the nervousness prickling through her. The wrongness of this world made her heart beat fast. Every instinct shouted at her to flee, to flick her tail and dart to the concealing coolness of the deep shadows.

  Yet even if there had been a sheltering pool nearby, she was trapped in this mortal form. There would be no tail, no fins, no undulating through the bright waters. Not until she completed her quest and was allowed to return home to the Realm of Faerie.

  Ah, but she was so weak compared to most members of the Dark Court. Their mocking words still echoed in her thoughts.

  “That one?” The black-mouthed banshee had shrieked with glee. “She’ll not last a day in the human world!”

  “Aye, she’ll be eaten in a trice.” One of the redcap goblins licked his lips, then bared his needle-sharp teeth. “Maybe I’ll follow her in and do the job myself.”

  “No need,” a fungal-covered hooligan sneered. “She’ll return defeated by the next moon, mark my words. Then the queen might give her to you as a plaything.”

  The Dark Queen’s cold voice cut through the babble. “This maid betrayed the Realm, and must pay the price. Whether she succeeds or not, I lay this geas upon her. Should she fail, she shall be banished to walk the Shadowlands forever.”

  The court tittered at the queen’s words. Their bright, avid gazes had fixed on Brea, anticipating her disgraceful return, ready to revel in the crushing bitterness of her failure.

  She must not fail.

  Though she might have been mortal once, was she not now a creature of the Realm? She had a few small magics to call upon, paltry though they might be. Lifting her face to the absent moon, she prayed they would be enough.

  She was alone and afraid, but she would not let this strange new place defeat her. She pulled in a breath of tainted air, trying not to cough at the sour taste. First, she must find a safe haven. Once hidden, she could begin to explore this city of the humans, fortify herself, and discover a way to fulfill the queen’s commands.

  Something moved in the shadowed mouth of a nearby alleyway.

  “Well, well. What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here in the Exe?” The voice was smooth and full of menace.

  Brea whirled, breath clogging in her throat, to see a pock-faced man leaning against the crumbling wall. His smile, and the blade of his knife, glinted in the dim light. From down the alley came the clack of rubble being dislodged and soft footsteps. Two more men emerged, both young and feral-looking.

  Any brief notion that she might be able to use these humans fled. She was prey here, not predator.

  “Only wearing a nightie, too.” The first man’s smile widened. “Sleepwalking, love? We can show you back to bed.”

  The others laughed, something brutish in the sound.

  “What’s in her hand?” one of them asked.

  The first man straightened and began to approach. “Are you a runaway? Been stealing jewelry? Let’s have a look.”

  No. She could not lose the medallion.

  Brea gulped air, then turned and ran. Blindly, stupidly, stumbling over discarded metal pipes that burned her bare feet. Behind her came the sounds of pursuit, the men tossing banter back and forth. There was no doubt they would catch her.

  Moon and stars, please let her find a safe place!

  A noisesome puddle slicked her feet with oil, and she scraped her arm upon a coil of sharp wire. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  Heart hammering, she veered around a corner, then let out a cry of relief. A tree stood in an abandoned square ahead, branches reaching into the eerie orange sky. She forced herself to run faster, and heard her pursuers accelerate in response. Closer, closer…

  Gasping, she fetched up at the tree, her hands going to the rough bark for reassurance. For power.

  She cried out again, but this time in defeat. The tree was dead, a husk with withered roots reaching into the poisoned soil. There was no living energy she could pull forth to help her defeat her enemies. Only
soot and dust.

  The men rushed up and surrounded her, the leader coming to stand before her.

  “Enough,” he said. His breath came easy in his chest, and Brea bitterly rued her new human form, that could scarcely run a handful of minutes without tiring.

  He caught her wrist, and she yelped at the touch of metal against her skin. Bright spots of pain drilled into her body from where his iron-ringed hand clasped her arm, and she yanked herself free, medallion still gripped tightly in her closed fist.

  Brea closed her eyes briefly, old fear washing through her. She had been chased by brigands one fateful day, long ago. Caught then, too. But this time there was no silent, sacred water waiting to welcome her in. No liquid transformation that could be wrought.

  “Take her back to the rest of the pack?” one of the younger men asked.

  “Head Jackal will want to see what we found,” the first man said. “Too bad she don’t have a wrist chip. Looks more valuable than she is. Though whatever she’s got…”

  He grabbed her again, and pried her fingers open. The silver medallion was revealed upon her palm, gleaming in the faint light. The runes inscribed on the surface were barely visible, but the moonstone shone as if lit from within.

  Despair washed through her, but she pushed it away. She must escape. She had no choice.

  And she was no longer a frightened mortal girl, unaware of her own magic. She was a creature of Faerie now, one of the fey folk.

  Unfortunately, the medallion she held was no use, despite the powerful spell it contained. The talisman’s magic could not be turned to any purpose but the one it was made for—to send her back to the Dark Court. Should she return now, her fate would be sealed. Goblin’s plaything, then eternal banishment to a land of dust and shadows.

  “Pretty.” The man reached to pluck it from her hand.

  Heart pounding in her chest, Brea closed her fingers around the medallion. Fiercely, she summoned the power of the invisible stars, the small, rugged weeds pushing up through cracks in the concrete, the salty rush of blood under the men’s skin.

  Glimmer and fade, come to my aid. Mortal flesh turn to air, bear me safe far from here.

  She half closed her eyes and willed herself to become a wisp of shadow, a tatter of moonlight. The dead tree pulsed and shivered, the weeds on the sidewalk wilted over, spent. A violent shiver wracked her body, and then she disappeared, her form now invisible, yet still present.

  A breath of wind curled around the dead tree, and she caught the tail of it and let it pull her out of reach.

  “Where’d she go?” the first man yelled.

  “You were supposed to be holding her,” one of the youths said.

  “She was right here, dammit. Don’t just stand there, find her.”

  They split up, searching the shadows, their footsteps angry over the ground. They would not catch her. Already she was slipping beyond their reach, carried away on the breeze.

  “Take me to a safe haven,” she whispered, fighting her body’s urge to become solid once more.

  Not yet. She must find a hiding place.

  The wind eddied and turned, bearing her first high, then low. Lights of human habitation spread like a blanket, but the place she was traveling over was dark. That would serve well enough—for was she not a creature who dwelt on the edge of the Dark Realm? Here in the mortal world, darkness would be her ally.

  At last the breeze slid through the broken-out window of an abandoned building. Thrice around it went, like an animal making its den, then whispered away to nothing.

  Unable to maintain her ethereal state, Brea tumbled to the cold cement floor and landed painfully on her hands and knees. She shuddered, breathing fast to combat the sudden churning in her belly. Curses upon this ungainly human body she now wore, bound by gravity and bone and unsuited to the workings of magic.

  Finally the sickness passed and she sat up, alert for any sign of danger.

  The growls and rumbles of mortal machines were distant here, muted to a dull drone. She sensed no trace of the men who’d tried to ensnare her. Other humans dwelt near to her hiding place—she could feel the sickly yellow pulse of their presence—but they were wounded and worn, presenting no immediate threat.

  Exhaustion crashed down on her like the flume of a waterfall. The medallion slipped gently from her hand and clinked upon the cement.

  She was safe—for now.

  ***

  Thirst burned through her, waking her from confused dreams of the Dark Queen’s midnight gaze and Puck’s impish smile.

  But she was no longer in the Realm, as her aching mortal body proved.

  Water.

  The need pushed her to her feet, and she stood a moment, surveying her hiding place. The silver medallion lay gleaming against the cracked, stained floor. She picked it up, magicked a pocket into her gossamer garment, and tucked the talisman away.

  Wan yellow light crept in through the broken doorway and spilled over the jutting overhang of the ruined roof. The sky overhead was blue, and Brea caught her breath. For so long she had lived in the sweet dimness of the Dusk Vale that she’d nearly forgotten the color of the daytime sky.

  The sight gave her the strength to step over the rubbled threshold. Outside, another husk of a tree rose beside the wall of her shelter, its dry, dead leaves whispering together in the faint breeze. The air smelled of decay and things long abandoned.

  She turned in a slow circle, examining the half-ruined building, the withered tree, the broken walkway where thin grasses struggled up between the cracks.

  Yes. This place would serve well enough as her temporary home.

  There was much to do in order to make it a place of some comfort, but first she must find water.

  The oil-slimed puddles she sensed in a nearby alleyway made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. No, she could not stomach such tainted liquid. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. Cool water, pure water, whither might you be?

  The shimmer of an answer came from deeper inside her shelter, though it was masked with the forbidding hum of iron. Brea followed the song into a small room where tiny insects scuttled. A white trough lay within, and a smaller basin. The scent of water rose strongly from the walls.

  How to reach it?

  She folded her arms and studied the basin, reluctantly coming to the conclusion that the metal handles protruding from the wall would release the water. Yet she could not touch them without burning herself.

  “Think, girl,” she said, the sound of her own voice soft in the dimness.

  Back in the main room, she cast about for an answer. The tiny red heartbeats of small rodents pulled her to the far corner, where mice nested in a pile of torn rags.

  “I am sorry,” she said to them, “but I’m in need of your bedding. Perhaps you ought to find another dwelling place.”

  She did not particularly relish the thought of sharing her new quarters with the mice. Using a bit of magic, she nudged them forth, a half-dozen furry, squeaking bodies that made for the door without much protest.

  Gingerly picking up the rags, Brea carried them to the doorway and shook them vigorously. Despite her weakness, she laid a quick cleansing enchantment upon the dingy bits of cloth. The effort left her shaking, and she leaned against the doorjamb for a long moment, letting the pale sun warm her skin.

  Water.

  Yes, yes. Somewhat unsteadily she went back into the small room. Gritting her teeth at the painful proximity of cold iron, she wrapped the rags about one handle and turned. It squeaked with disuse, and a coughing rattle came from within the damp-etched walls.

  A trickle emerged, stained with minerals, and Brea turned the handle harder. Please.

  Glorious fresh water spilled forth into the basin.

  She turned her face to the sky, to the invisible stars, and breathed a prayer of thanks. Then, careful to avoid the spigot, she stuck her hands into that life-giving stream and gulped greedily from her cupped palms. Peace and strength flowed into her. Smiling, sh
e leaned forward and let the water run over her head, down into her eyes and grateful mouth.

  At last, replete, she shut the water off and shook her wet hair away from her face. Now she could start exploring her surroundings and make a plan of action. For the first time, a flutter of excitement went through her.

  It had been a long, long time since she’d inhabited the human world. Although she was a fey creature now, there was, perhaps, a kernel of loneliness in her heart. An ache belonging to the mortal part of herself, whether she wanted it or not.

  But yearnings aside, she needed to ward her shelter for safety and protection. With renewed magic coursing through her, she hummed and wove her spells. First, a layer of aversions strung like spider silk around the perimeter, so that any human wandering by would have no interest in exploring further, and would turn away.

  Then more protections about the threshold and broken windows, and where the roof gaped open, keeping away anything that would mean her harm.

  It was not the kind of magic that would leap and attack, like a guard dog, but a deflection—a pebble placed in the current that the water might run around without causing any harm.

  Once her wards were complete Brea could no longer ignore the fact that she must now venture into the human world. Judging from the events of last night, she would need a disguise, a glamour to pull across her features. Something as fierce and forbidding as possible.

  After a moment’s pondering, she combined the worst features of her three pursuers into one hulking, ugly human male, and let the guise settled over her shoulders.

  Then, ignoring the tremor in her belly, she stepped out into the light.

  As she had thought, the area around her shelter was mostly deserted. She turned toward the hum, the heartbeat of the city, and began to walk.

  Two blocks down the empty street she passed a building filled with the sluggish dreams of yellow-eyed men. Their thoughts put her in mind of a nest of chilled wasps; slow to rouse, but once angered, difficult to escape. She resolved to give them a wide berth.