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

by Annie Bellet

  Further on, a hollow-cheeked woman rummaged through a pile of trash on the street. She shrank back as Brea strode past, fear rising off her in sour waves.

  The sounds of human machines grew louder. Brea hesitated at the edge of an area pulsing with angry red light, invisible to the mortal gaze. This was the province of the men who had wanted to capture her, their territory marked by sigils painted on the nearby buildings—angular and bright, and full of warning.

  She stood a moment, then turned aside. Even in her forbidding human guise, she would not be able to pass safely through.

  Sooner than she was ready for, she went from the crumbling neighborhood into more normal human habitation. First, Bread spied a few scrawny children who darted into sagging houses at her approach, then men gathered about hulks of painful iron in the street, and women moving hurriedly, bags of provisions beneath their arms.

  Ahead the rush and roar grew louder, as did the vibrations of cold iron grating against her bones. When she came to the source, she stopped dead in surprise.

  Horseless wagons made of metal charged up and down the streets, growling and emitting noxious fumes. Humans rode inside, hurtling at abnormal speeds. Brea’s belly clenched at the thought of being enclosed in so much iron. The metal was deadly to the fey folk, and the tang of it in the air smote her.

  She swayed, dizziness shading her vision. Her mind darted this way and that, a minnow trapped in a puddle. She was defenseless, prey for any passing hunger.

  Breathing shallowly through her mouth, she whirled and ran back the way she had come. Past the women and men, past the startled children, until enough crumbling brick and concrete was between her and the inimical hum of the metal.

  Panting, she stopped beside a brightly painted wall and bent, hands on her knees. This would never do. How could she perform her task and obey the queen’s bidding when she was overcome the moment she stepped into the heart of the human city? Already she could hear the mocking titters of the Dark Court denizens.

  Think, girl, she told herself. Despite the general disbelief in her abilities, surely the Dark Queen would not have sent her on an entirely fruitless endeavor.

  Which meant that, somehow, she had the strength to succeed.

  Mortals did not feel the effect of cold iron. Once, she’d been one of them. She did not think she could ever be completely human, not after she had discovered her own magic and dwelt so long in the Realm; centuries, judging by the world she now found herself in.

  But perhaps she might be able to become more human.

  Not here, though, in an alleyway where she could still hear the roar of the metal contraptions. Shoulders slumped, she picked her way back into the Exe and the bare welcome of the shelter she had claimed as her own.

  ***

  It took three days and three nights for her to find the balance.

  The first day, the first change. As a faerie creature, she was too vulnerable to the iron used in the mortal world. How could she complete her mission when facing such weakness?

  Perhaps the answer was to fully embrace her human past. She opened the hole in her heart, the one filled with sorrow and loss, and dived in

  Her skin tightened and burned, her vision narrowed, the colors fading, and she could no longer feel the slow, steady pulse of the earth and stars. She stared at her blunt, human hands, smelled the stink of mortal fear, and panicked revulsion rose in her throat, nearly choking her.

  No. Too much of herself was imbued with magic. Without it, she became nothing but a feeble human girl. As such, it would be impossible to carry out the queen’s bidding. With great relief, she backed away from the edge of mortality. Cool silver closed over her, like the waters of a still pool, and she collapsed, exhausted, upon the hard floor.

  She woke, aching, with the light of a new dawn. The concrete was cold beneath her, and the need for water burned her throat. Wincing, she rose and went to the bathing room. Clearly she’d gone too far into her own humanity the day before.

  The water ran clear, and she caught some in a broken cup she had found the previous day on her way home. As she drank, careful of the jagged porcelain edge, she pondered.

  What if she embraced her heritage, the shape changing magic borne in her blood?

  If this attempt went awry as the last one had, she should ensure there was sufficient water at hand. It would be the utmost stupidity to die flopping about the floor, suffocating from the harsh air.

  She cobbled together a rough plug for the bathing trough, then filled it halfway with water. Perched on the side, she began to hum a liquid lullaby. Although she’d never met her mother, the woman had gifted her with the power to transform. Her mother’s heritage was tied to the sea, but Brea had been unable to activate her own ability within the salty brine.

  Instead, the pure water of the sacred spring had spawned her first transformation. That location, and her half-human blood, might explain why she was not a mer-creature—nor a nixie, a water hag, or a nymph. She was a girl who might become a flashing silver fish from one heartbeat to the next.

  With that thought, she changed, slipping down into the water. There were no sheltering shadows, no waving tendrils of plants, no swirling currents to soothe her scales. Only plain water, carrying an unpleasant tang to her piscean senses, though it was safe enough for her to drink.

  A sigh became bubbles, and then she sat in the water, human once more. Her gossamer dress clung wetly to her legs, and her hair dripped down her back.

  Transforming to her fish form was no answer, either, though she felt much refreshed. Still, a silver trout could not do as the queen commanded.

  Neither could an aching and non-magical human body.

  Frowning, Brea rose from the tub. Despite her makeshift stopper, the water was slowly slipping down the drain. She tugged the plug out, then went to the main room of her shelter, leaving a trail of droplets in her wake.

  If she were to embrace a greater degree of mortality, she would need more than a hard floor in an empty room. Such austerity was all very well for creatures of shadow and starlight, or fish who could swim away and find a home in any watery embrace. But for the magical mortal she must become, some comfort was in order.

  She settled cross-legged on the stained cement, calling up memories of when she was human.

  A bed was a necessity, and not just a thin straw mattress covered with a scratchy woolen blanket that still smelled of sheep. She would need clothing, and something to store it in. Someplace safe to keep the medallion—a small chest, perhaps—that she might bespell with protections. A drinking vessel that did not threaten to cut her mouth with each sip. Those would make a fine start.

  And how will you insinuate yourself into the human world and begin the queen’s quest? She banished the voice, though it caused a flutter of fear in her chest. First things first.

  Now, while the strength of her magic flowed through her, she should attempt going among mortals again. But not on foot, and not into the area she had tried before.

  She hummed again, and let herself become light as a wisp, a glimmer. Breeze, bear me forth, high and safe overhead, to find what I seek; garments bright, and a bed.

  Clumsy, perhaps, but adequate. No one at the Dark Court had accused her of elegance in her spell casting.

  The obliging wind floated her up and out of the gap in her crumbling roof. From a height, the blight spreading over the Exe was plain. Decay, neglect, and loneliness—the ideal place to hide. She floated south, then east, trusting the air to carry her. Indeed, it was a much better solution than donning a glamour and trying to navigate the human world on foot. A pity she could not set her magical mark upon the mortals as she drifted past, but this form had its limitations.

  She realized her mistake as she hovered before a window made of glass so smooth it was nearly invisible. Displayed inside were various items of clothing, some of them so garishly colored they assaulted her senses.

  As a wisp of wind, she could not touch anything. Which meant she co
uld not carry away garments, or bedding, or any of her purchases whatsoever.

  But at least she could find the location of the vendors of such things. Perhaps even more importantly, she might observe the humans going about their business. The metal vehicles did not weaken her as much as they had the day before. She was growing stronger, and her ephemeral form seemed to buffer her from the worst effects.

  A woman wearing a green coat passed beneath her. Brea caught the fragrance of lemon and spices in her hair, and decided to follow.

  As luck would have it, the woman entered one of the shops lining the street. Brea managed to drift inside before the strange glass doors whooshed shut. Then she paused, glad she had no lungs, for she would have gasped aloud.

  Row upon row of skirts and trousers, dresses and scarves; more than a hundred people could wear in a lifetime. Beyond the ranks of clothing stood cases overflowing with jewelry, colorful gems glinting amid the sheen of precious metals. And beyond even that, like some palace filled with wonders, dozens of beds, each one made up more opulently than the last.

  The sheer abundance was dizzying. Chieftains of old would have fallen weeping to their knees, or gone to war a thousand times over for a fraction of the wealth on display.

  “Look, mama.” A young child holding her mother’s hand, pointed to where Brea hovered near bank of lights. “Sparkly!”

  “Yes, dear.” The distracted parent didn’t bother glancing up.

  But if she had, would she have seen Brea’s shimmer? Unwilling to risk the chance, she wafted away toward the beds. She passed a corner filled with goblets and ornate plates, and an area where intricately patterned rugs spilled carelessly across the floor.

  A constant ringing noise pulled her to an intersection in the center of the vast store. From her vantage point overhead, she watched as busy shop girls imprisoned behind a counter placed the various customers’ goods into bags.

  She drifted closer, trying to determine the system of payment. Certainly there was no barter here, no exchanging a bag of onions for a length of woven cloth, or a salted fish for an apple.

  Instead, some of the buyers waved their hands in some kind of magical alchemy she could not discern. Others, however, tendered slim silvery cards that seemed to serve as currency. Puzzlingly, the shopkeeper girls always handed the cards back at the end of the transaction.

  Descending, Brea tried to catch a clearer view of the card.

  “Brr.” One of the shop girls pulled her sweater more tightly about her shoulders. “Can you believe management has the air on at this time of year?”

  “I don’t feel anything,” her nearest companion said.

  Realizing her presence was being sensed, Brea veered away, rising once more to the bright rows of lights.

  A flicker of light and sound beckoned her attention to the far wall where a row of framed images were displayed. Yet these were not motionless portraits, but living depictions, seeming so real she might drift into the very picture and be transported to a different place. What strange human magic was this?

  One screen showed an earnest young man crashing though underbrush as he was pursued by fierce wild creatures. Another depicted a beautiful woman declaring her love for a bored-looking fellow dressed all in black, while a third featured a disembodied voice describing a scene full of rubble and smoke.

  A bright flicker of color made her turn and watch, bemused, as a chipper girl extolled the virtues of a cream one could apply to hands and face. That seemed to end quickly, and another woman appeared, holding up a glass of green liquid called “SupaVitaWata,” and drinking deeply. Then a boy, floating above the ground on something termed a g-board.

  It was overwhelming, yet she could not tear herself away. Information washed over her like waves, each one bearing some new thought or product or emotion, until she was waterlogged.

  She soon understood that in order to function as a human in this new world she would need a number of devices. A tablet, or two, or three. A messager. A card that held credits upon it. Another that identified her.

  The last two could be replaced by something called a wrist chip, but that seemed an enchantment beyond her means. It would be simpler to conjure up cards than to try to work out the intricacies of imbedding the information into her skin.

  She was about to turn away when a feature flashed upon the nearest screen. It showed a large collection of youths attending a sporting event. Attention sharpening, she concentrated on the image, ignoring the uniformed players running about the green field in favor of observing the crowd.

  This! This was what she sought. A concentration of people young enough to be susceptible to the mark of magic, yet old enough to be able to move about the world without a chaperone.

  Using her magic, she nudged that screen’s volume up until she could hear.

  “…and once again a disappointing night for Crestview High, as the Cougars lose their third straight game of the season.”

  Now she noticed the large letters inscribed at the edge of the field, spelling out Crestview High School.

  Once she obtained the items she needed for her existence in the human world, she had a new goal. Whatever a high school might be, she would discover how to enter it and become ensconced there. It was the perfect place to carry out the Dark Queen’s mission.

  ***

  Hours later, bewildered and bedazzled from spending so much time in front of the screens, Brea slipped out the door behind an exiting customer. She floated beneath the orange-washed clouds obscuring the night sky and let the breeze bear her back to her shelter.

  The stained floor and broken windows made it seem a hovel compared to the riches she had just seen. Yet it was her hovel. And unlike the glass palaces of the shops, here she could feel the wind as it blew in through the half-collapsed roof. The stars, when they shone, were visible overhead, and the rain and dew could enter as they willed.

  Wearily, she let herself become solid flesh. She had overtaxed herself. After staggering to fetch a cup of water, she curled up in the middle of the floor, but sleep eluded her. Instead, hyper-colored visions flashed through her mind, a montage of everything she had seen upon the screens.

  Tomorrow, she must set about establishing herself in the mortal world. At least she knew where to begin—with gear and clothing and a reconnaissance of the place called Crestview High…

  Sleep overtook her like a fast-moving hawk, catching her up in its claws all unawares. When Brea next blinked, morning light lay sluggish across the floor, mirroring her own state.

  Sighing, she fetched water, then stepped outside. The dead tree beside her sagging doorway rustled, as if in sympathy. She was tempted to nurture it, to pour her magical energy into its restoration—and in another time and place, she would have.

  But the queen’s geas lay heavy upon her. There would be no squandering her small store of magic simply to rescue one tree.

  Sipping from her broken cup, she let the pale sunshine warm her cheeks. Today, she would be herself. Not quite fey. Not quite mortal—but close enough to pass for one.

  A temporary glamour would give her suitable clothing while she visited the palatial stores. As for the card full of credits, a quick act of duplicate conjury should do. Finesse the details with a nudge of magic, and she would be able to purchase whatever she needed.

  Transporting everything might prove more difficult, but sometimes plain effort was the better choice. She could conserve her energy if she hand-carried her purchases back into the Exe. Of course, a touch of concealment would be in order, but that was far easier than trying to magically move items from one place to another.

  A breath of wind, a shimmer of light, and a hidden alleyway later, she emerged on the street full of shops. Cautiously, she shot glances at her reflection in the windows as she passed.

  Her dark hair held a sheen of silver, which she quickly muted. For her illusion, she wore the type of trousers called jeans, and a gray sweater that matched the color of her eyes. Her skin was pale, but no
t remarkably so. She appeared to be a normal girl, of an age termed a teenager in the modern world.

  Holding her head high in an attempt to look as though she belonged, Brea entered the enormous shop she had explored the day before. Her first task was to mirror-magic one of the cards so that she could procure the items she desired.

  Under the guise of perusing a display of handbags, she sidled close to the purchasing area. When the next customer handed her card to the shop girl, Brea closed her eyes in concentration and hummed beneath her breath. A moment later, a silvery card appeared in her hand. Fortunately, it was not made of metal but of the material the mortals called plastic, which seemed to be everywhere.

  Brea tapped her index finger three times upon the card, imbuing it with endless credits, the name Brea Cairgead, and the attribute of unquestioning acceptance. The effort left her a tiny bit dizzy. She would need to stock up on bottles of water to carry with her for replenishment.

  “Are you all right, miss?” A man wearing the uniform of store security paused beside her. Concern and suspicion mixed in equal parts in his expression.

  “I am well.” She made sure to flash the card at him. “Just a trifle hungry.”

  “Gotta watch that low blood sugar.” He nodded knowingly. “Café three doors down.”

  “My thanks.” The word tripped on her tongue, but he didn’t seem to notice. In the Realm of Faerie, one did not bestow thanks, for it was an obligation and an unwelcome debt laid upon the recipient.

  Yet it was customary in the human world, and her mission was to become as human-seeming as possible. Affixing a smile to her face, Brea went outside, aware that the guard watched her depart. It was best to test the card away from his suspicious gaze, anyway, in case her magic had gone awry.

  The small café down the block was a tranquil haven, paneled in dark wood with actual, living plants decorating the wide windowsills and a tiny fountain playing near the door. She let out a sigh, then hovered awkwardly, unsure of the protocol.

  “Go ahead and take a seat anywhere,” the serving girl said, waving one hand.