Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  My gut is horrified at the way I’m responding to Riordan’s kindness. It’s like no one’s ever been kind to me before, which of course isn’t true. It’s more that everybody who’s ever been kind to me, besides Siobhan, is now dead. I clench my teeth together and swallow hard. This is not the time to think about them. My fingers trace the scar on the inside of my wrist. The single line flares out then tapers to a jagged point, and then cuts back, three angles underneath the top line. A nearly perfect line drawing of a wing.

  A mark left on me by whoever it was that left me on the steps in Dublin. The clan simply believed its purpose was to let them know I was a shifter, so they didn’t turn me out into an orphanage. But I’ve always thought the person who put the scar there had left the message for me.

  A familiar pain shoots through the line and I press my thumb against my lips, grimacing.

  “Are you all right?” Riordan says, his hand reaching out for my elbow.

  I pull my sleeve down over the scar. “Yes, just a scratch,” I dismiss. There’s been a dull ache in the lines ever since my clan was murdered. I bend over to distance myself from Riordan and see something odd on a post on the wall.

  “What’s that?” I lean in closer, trying not to let my surprise show.

  There’s a burn mark in a board of the middle pillar that holds up the barn. It’s way down low where no one can see it. Riordan follows my gaze and frowns as he runs his finger over it.

  “Interesting. It’s the mark,” he says. “You’ll see them around here sometimes. I think my father had most of them removed. He didn’t want people to see them.”

  “Okay, but what is it the mark of?” I can’t keep the tremors out of my voice as I ask him this question, and I don’t look at him, my finger trace and retrace the marks on the post.

  “He must’ve had to keep this one here because it’s burned into the post, and I guess nobody saw it…until you, that is.”

  The mark is flat and smooth, but the edges are scarred splintered.

  “It’s as if somebody was trying to hack the image of the wood and then somehow couldn’t. Maybe it’s protected by magic.” Riordan straightens. “The gouges outside of the protected area are very deep and strong, so they must have put a lot of force into it. But they must’ve stopped when they became concerned it would damage the post holding up the roof.”

  “But you haven’t answered my real question,” I say. “What caused the mark? What does it mean?”.

  Riordan looks over his shoulder, as if somebody could be hiding out in the quiet stable. It’s suppertime, so I can’t imagine anybody would be. But he wants to make sure nobody hears his words.

  He leans in slowly and carefully. “This is the mark of the queen,” he says.

  “What do you mean the mark of the queen?” My voice is close and quiet, as if I can’t breathe. The air is being pushed out of my lungs.

  “Well, you’ll see it around some places where, for some reason, they couldn’t remove it. There are many but they’re mostly in places where you can’t easily see them. I’ve been in the stable hundreds of times and I’ve never seen that one. But they are the mark of the queen’s house. The house that died with the queen. My father thought it was best if we removed all the marks to show our loyalty to the Order and the van Arends.”

  “Or maybe you want to wipe out all proof of her existence?” I say. “Scrub out her mark as if she never existed?”

  Riordan shrinks slightly from my tone. “It’s my father’s job to keep the Ravensgaard safe and carefully embedded within the Order and the Van Arends,” he says.

  “If you want to keep us safe, then he needs to get rid of Hunters. And maybe he should’ve invested a little bit more in the magic the queen was working on.”

  He visibly cringes when I use the word queen. But I don’t care. Because as my finger traces the mark on the post, it’s completely familiar. I have traced the lines a thousand times in my life. The mark of the queen, a black jagged wing, is the exact same scar someone carved into my skin.

  5

  It’s almost impossible to sleep. I’m haunted by the death of my cabal and the revelation of the scar. Riordan had seen it also, when I pushed open the door to the stable trying to get out. He’d asked about it, but I shrugged it off. I told him it was a birthmark and wasn’t it weird it looked so much like the queen’s mark? But there had been something deep and thoughtful in his eyes as he nodded and shrugged it off with me. I don’t know this man but it’s like I can already read him. And I’m pretty sure by the way looked at me sideways he can read me too. But we kept the truth in silence and headed back up to the manor.

  Siobhan had gone down to supper, and I knew I should also if I was going to continue to petition Master Murtagh and impress him with my capabilities, but I simply couldn’t. Every time I looked at food I thought of Mrs. O’Leary and our rambunctious dinners at home. That will never happen again. I roll into my bed, crumpling into the fetal position.

  Days pass in the dark castle and I keep to myself and search for the symbol. I don’t tell anybody what I’m doing and avoid Riordan as I wait for an audience with Master Murtagh. The symbol is surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly hard to find. In fact, over a full week I only find it in two other places.

  One was in a small door hidden under the staircase. It was a very tiny mark, burnt into the wood and there are scratches around the edges, like the one in the stable.

  The other one is on a bookshelf in the library. I’m a little surprised to see the size of the library. The Ravensgaard are a warrior people. I haven’t spent much time in books; I never had much time. The library at the Castle, though is filled with massive books from floor to the height of the two-story ceiling. There is a mezzanine level running all the way around the room. To get up it there’s a small circular staircase. Then once you’re up there, you use a rolling ladder to reach the highest shelves.

  It is phenomenal.

  Finally, I tell Siobhan everything I know and bring her to the library to show her. On the mezzanine level, at the farthest corner across from the spiral staircase against the lowest shelf, that is where I found the tiniest Ravensgaard mark. It’s burnt into the smallest point of the wood, and this one, unlike the other two, doesn’t have the scratches around it. No one has tried to remove it. Maybe they never discovered it.

  I compare it to the mark on my wrist. The thin red line from someone I don’t remember. It didn’t just mark me as a shifter. It may mark me as a member of the Ravensgaard queen’s house.

  Could I be a descendent of the queen?

  It seems impossible. When the queen died, she was well over a hundred years old. Some say she was over twice that and had used dark magic to preserve herself. How can I be a descendent of her? She died twenty-five years ago. Right around the time I was born. Even if she was still alive when I was born, there’s no way in hell she could’ve given birth. Even by magic she would’ve needed, well, a partner and probably to be at least less than a hundred-years-old.

  My fingers trace the edges of the mark in the wood.

  “Can you talk to Riordan about it? Maybe he can help,” Siobhan says. “We’ve been scouring this castle for a week and the most we’ve found is two other marks.”

  “I’m not so sure he’s going to be able to provide any clarity.” I say. “He’s barely allowed to say the name. He doesn’t even recognize her as the queen and is not allowed to say she was a queen. When Master Murtagh came into the castle it was almost like he expunged the name of the queen everywhere. And I don’t completely believe this is just to satisfy the Van Arends and the Order. It seems Master Murtagh isn’t a huge fan of the Ravensgaard queen and doesn’t want her mentioned ever again.”

  “Don’t confuse the son with the father,” Siobhan says. “I think Riordan might be kind of sweet on you.”

  My heart skips a beat when she says that because, well I know he’s a little cocky and angular, but there’s something about him I like, too. In the last week
he’s been constantly checking in, seeing if he could offer us anything we needed. But still…

  “If he cared for me,” I say. “He’d be working a little harder to get his father’s attention and focus on Dublin.”

  “You don’t even know if he’s not focused on Dublin,” Siobhan says. “As the leader of Ravensgaard, he could be doing anything and not be telling a couple of low levels like us about it.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that. “Have you heard something?” I ask. “What has he done?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Nothing. We have to stay calm, even if we’re in a house of liars. Maybe they’re trying to protect us? Did you think of that?”

  “No. We never asked for protection,” I say. “And what has changed your mind. I thought you were the biggest haters of the Murtaghs.”

  I glance at her and I see it. “You like Fintan,” I say.

  She ignores me. “We may not have asked for protection directly, but we came to a castle that’s well guarded and hidden. You came here from a place where twenty trained warriors were killed. Fintan says his father would never send two young girls back into the midst of that danger.”

  I raise my head slowly and stare at Siobhan. “What else did Fintan say?”

  “Don’t give me that look,” Siobhan says. “Like I’m with the enemy or something.”

  “If you’re doing anything to keep us from going back to Dublin then you are the enemy.” I say curtly. “What would Keith think of that?”

  “Don’t bring Keith into this.” Siobhan snaps, her cheeks bright red.

  She’s right, that was unfair. But I’m not about to say sorry.

  “Too much. It’s too much,” she says. “Can’t we enjoy the safety of the castle? We haven’t had anything like this our whole life, and now you want to throw it away like it doesn’t mean anything?”

  “It means something,” I say. “It means you’re selling out to a guy with a castle. You’re selling out because you got an eye on his hide.”

  “Fintan cares for me,” Siobhan says. “And I care for him. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that,” I say. “What’s wrong is that you would live your life married to Fintan at the feet of the Master protected by the spells and doing nothing about the Alliance. You’ll give up. You’ll let the Hunters win. They destroyed our family and you will let them scare you into submission. Well I won’t do that. I can’t do that. I want their blood.”

  “Whose blood?” The voice comes down from below.

  “Shit.” I roll my eyes.

  Siobhan stands up and looks over the mezzanine metal railing. Fintan and Riordan stand below, looking up. Fintan waves.

  “Hi! How are you?” Siobhan squeaks. Her voice is sunny and bright, as if we had been up here discussing the latest Lord Byron discovery. “We were looking at something I wanted to show you! Come up.”

  “No!” I grip her wrist.

  “You have to,” she says. “They’re on our side.”

  I scowl at her. I’m not even sure if we’re on the same side anymore.

  The confines of the mezzanine are a little closer than I want to be standing to Riordan. His body is warm and his eyes intense as he and Fintan squish along the railing and we all squat down. He smells of green grass and wood smoke. It’s as if he’d been sitting out in the pasture by a campfire. I inhale deeply because it’s such a warm and comforting smell, like nothing we’ve ever had in Dublin.

  “What is it?” He asks, his voice low and soft.

  My finger traces the mark on the wood.

  “The symbol again.”

  “That’s the same one you have on your arm,” he says pulling my wrist out to look at the scar I have there. I look up into his black eyes. He’s thinking the same thing I am. I mean I don’t know for sure, but there’s something there.

  “You don’t know how you got it?” Fintan asks.

  “It’s too similar to be a coincidence,” Siobhan says.

  “I bet she’s related to the Ravensgaard queen.” Fintan doesn’t touch the scar, but he pulls my arm away from my body as if it’s a prized relic he’s examining, as if it’s something that doesn’t belong to my body. The guys shift it back-and-forth, looking at the scar in the dim library light.

  “It’s remarkably the same,” he says.

  “And if it’s the same, it means you may be related. Only that would be a difficult thing to prove.” Fintan looks studiously at the scar before gently placing my hand back against my side.

  His face is fraught with some subtle firmness and I wonder if telling the children of Master Murtagh was the right thing to do. My eyes shift quickly to Siobhan. But she is looking up at Fenton, whose red curls fall over his ears. Her face is full of trust. I don’t think I’m quite that gullible but I do like the idea they will help us. Maybe I can show them I’m no threat.

  “I’m sure it’s just some random scar,” I say. “There would be no way to prove any of it. The queen’s been dead a long time and, well, it doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  “Not really,” Riordan says. “I mean, it’s not like she could be your mother, she was supposed to be quite old when she died.”

  “Maybe father would know something,” Fintan says. “We will talk to him.”

  “But he doesn’t seem to like the queen very much,” Siobhan quavers.

  “Would you quit calling her the queen?” Riordan says.

  Fintan shrugs. “Father is typically a fair man,” he says. “As long as you don’t call her the Queen, I don’t see any reason why he at least wouldn’t want to know about this.”

  He glances at his watch. “Father is in the study now. We’ll go talk to him. You never know. If you are a descendent of the Grand Dame, maybe it’ll get you the Dublin team you want faster,” Riordan says.

  “Do you think?” I ask. Maybe it’s a perfect opportunity. If it gives me some sort of pull, then I’m all for it.

  Some hours later we’re called to the Great Hall. I had to work off some of my energy so I went outside to train with some of the other Ravensgaard warriors. Apparently up here, not that many of the women train, but I guess they don’t have to, because it’s not like Hunters are breaking down the doors here. Regardless, the men accepted me and they sure as hell didn’t pull any punches as they came after me. I sparred and dodged and ducked and weaved, sometimes taking a blunt object to the side, another time landing punches in their faces. But good thing for us; shifters heal fast.

  I had just showered and changed when the maid, who we discovered was named Jane, called us downstairs.

  When we enter the Great Hall, I’m wearing black skinny jeans and a blood red T-shirt. I probably could’ve dressed nicer but, to be honest, I don’t have anything nicer. Up in Dublin we hardly worried about such things. It was much more a matter of simply getting by. And it’s not like we were given much money. We were paid a monthly stipend by the clan as soldiers of the realm, but it was never quite enough for personal needs.

  I thought, considering the nature of the conversation, that I would walk into the Great Hall with Siobhan and it would only be Fintan, Riordan, and their father waiting for us.

  But I was so wrong.

  6

  The hall is crowded with more Ravensgaard then I realized even lived up here. It’s as if all the villages of the realm have shown up. And they’re all dressed nicely, too. The women are in dresses and the men in dress shirts.

  I groan.

  “How did you know?” I accuse Siobhan, glancing at her black skirt and blouse.

  “I didn’t.” Her face flushes as she says the words, but her eyes dart to Fintan and she doesn’t have to finish.

  “I get it,” I said. “Never mind. We’re here now. Let’s get this over with.”

  But it’s not just about finishing this, it’s not about ending the campaign to convince Murtagh. It’s about getting him to say yes. Whatever it takes.

  This is t
he moment he’s meant to agree and we can start the onslaught on Dublin. I plaster on a smile and walk forward to the Master who sits on the throne before the entire hall.

  I nod my head in deference.

  “I didn’t realize you were throwing a party,” I say. “If I had I would’ve worn something a bit nicer.”

  “I thought it was time you met the Ravensgaard,” Master Murtagh booms. “It seems you’ve been here a week and I have not made any time for you. But now I think it is important we speak.”

  “When are we going to Dublin?”

  I ignore the fact there are so many people in the room. What do I care? I don’t even know them. All that matters is I get some sort of a response from Master Murtagh and here is a way to get a public one. It may even put more pressure on him.

  “I am not sure you are aware of the rules of the Ravensgaard,” Master Murtagh’s deep voice rings out across the room. “Often it is that we are held by roles and responsibilities difficult to overcome. As one of our warriors on the mere perimeters of our battlefield, you may not be used to the subtleties of our courts or the manner in which things are done here.”

  There’s an undercurrent in his message I can’t quite hear, but it’s not quite sinking in. “The subtleties of court?” This is the kind of crap I would expect to hear from Van Arend manor. At least, that’s what I heard it was like there.

  “We are due to attend Muiderslot and The Matching, which will be conducted here in the coming two weeks,” he says. “It is important not only we attend the event but after the Van Arends are matched so will my sons be matched.”

  Siobhan reaches over and clutches my hand. I don’t look. I don’t need to. I know exactly what she’s thinking. I shake my head.

  “What does this have to do with anything?” I say. “I thought we were here to plant the attack on Dublin against the Alliance?” I speak loudly, challenging the room with my gaze. Shouldn’t these be the people who return with me to Dublin?