Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  “I think the point is,” Master Murtagh says, “it is difficult because there are many things pulling at our time.”

  “You couldn’t spare attending a betrothal party to avenge our clan?” I can’t lower my voice as I challenge him.

  “No one was making such a comparison.” His giant hand stretches into the air, long fingers with almost pointed nails. “One thing we know here, which may not be apparent to those out in the field, is that nothing is going to happen quickly with the Hunters. They have been fighting us for millennia and they will continue to fight us. This will not change. So, this single attack-”

  “The murder of our entire cabal!” My voice rises and barrels out of my mouth.

  “-should not throw us off our intended activities.”

  My mouth is open and I’m stepping forward to argue the point with him, but he raises his hand and lowers his chin, his black eyes narrowing in on me and stopping me in my tracks.

  “Or, do we show strength? Do we show unity? Do we show we will not be reactionary? Instead, we will take strong forward action in our own time.”

  A murmur of agreement goes up around the room. I glance at the sharp faces of the Ravensgaard.

  “In a game of cat and mouse, who would you rather be?” Master Murtagh asks.

  “The cat!” a few calls go up the room as if it’s a battle cry.

  “Pussy!” One drunk guy in the corner wails out. The room titters, but I don’t take my eyes off Master Murtagh.

  “I wasn’t going to just fly into Dublin, scians slicing,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Are you sure about that?” Master Murtagh asks.

  My tongue worries the inside of my teeth and my eyes stray to the wood beam ceiling high above Murtagh’s head. “I have a strategy,” I say.

  “Step closer,” Murtagh whispers. I move right up to him until the only people who can hear his words are Riordan, Fintan, and myself. “Being a simple girl from a decimated cabal is not going to get you what you want,” Master Murtagh says gravely. “I have brought you here to show you the strength of the Ravensgaard. It could be at your disposal. And-”

  “Could?” I ask. What the hell is he talking about? The skin tightens across my face.

  “They will not follow some young grief-crazed, vengeful girl,” he says. “Regardless of how well you spar, and I have been keeping track. Regardless of how careful you are and how clever you are, power does not come on demand. It comes from alliances.”

  “I am here to try and build an alliance with you so we will destroy the Hunters together.” I gasp the words out.

  “And what happens when you are alone with these Ravensgaard in Dublin trying to wipe out the Hunters? How will they listen to you then?” He leans in close so our faces are merely a few inches away.

  “I- I don’t know,” I stammer. “They will do what you tell them. Won’t they?”

  “Alliances are not formed by words. They are formed by contracts and formal agreements.”

  “I have nothing to give you,” I say.

  “On the contrary,” Master Murtagh says. “I believe we both have something to help the other.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “You want power and strength, and this comes from an alliance. Lord Van Arend is calling us to Muiderslot and intends to bind one of my sons to a Ravensgaard girl who lives in California. I want to be sure he is not able to bind my eldest son.

  I don’t take my eyes off Master Murtagh because what he’s saying, to be sure creates my future.

  “So what I am proposing is that we announce your betrothal tonight, now to my son Riordan.

  I work hard to keep my face impassive as my insides buckle and collapse and explode all at the same time. “Marry?” I ask not daring to look at Riordan, a man I’m not in love with. I couldn’t be in love with anybody right now. My world is engulfed by revenge and grief. But being married to the son of the Master, or at least betrothed to him would give me power. I could command the Ravensgaard to join me in battle against the Hunters. At twenty-five being betrothed would not be unexpected. My gaze shifts to Riordan. He is gazing at me intensely. The conversation we’re having does not surprise him. He and his father have already discussed it beforehand.

  “So, we could do each other a favor,” Master Murtagh says. “You can protect my son from leaving me and being shipped to California and I will give you a battalion who will follow you to Dublin.”

  I open my mouth to say the words that will sculpt my future. Either I will break with Murtagh and reject him and his son in front of the entire clan, which would shame him and probably make me an outcast. Or else I will take his offer. It doesn’t appear I have many choices here. But is long as I can lead a battalion into Dublin, it seems like it’s the right choice.

  “Yes,” I say and nod my head. “I accept the engagement and the betrothal.” Although it does seem strange to accept a marriage proposal from the father instead of the son. Right now, I don’t even dare look at Riordan. There will be plenty of time for that once we are married.

  “Perfect,” Master Murtagh roars and motions Riordan forward.

  Riordan’s black eyes are dancing with light as he takes my hand and bows low to kiss it. Such a strange old fashioned gesture. A cheer rises from the crowd, as if they were all expecting it. My gaze flies around the room. Riordan keeps hold of my hand and turns me toward the people as his father’s booming voice fills the hall. Siobhan stares at me, wide-eyed.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Ravensgaard. Our family welcomes a new member. The Murtagh clan brings Davin Murphy into our midst. Let this announcement be her official betrothal for her impending marriage to my son. The nuptials will take place one week from tonight, before we embark on our trip to Muiderslot.”

  I whip around to look at Murtagh. “What about Dublin?”

  He places an arm around my shoulder and leans in to whisper in my ear. His breath is heavy with the scent of lamb and potatoes. “Go easy now, young one, the crowd is rejoicing! If you want to lead, you must read the crowd and know what they need. First, they must celebrate and welcome you in to the clan, and then we can raise the troops to go up and clean out the filth of Dublin.”

  “But I thought I thought we would go immediately,” I say.

  “Give it a little bit of time,” Master Murtagh says. “Do not be worrying. The Hunters are not going anywhere. They have always plagued us and they will continue to do so.”

  “Until I destroy them,” I say, turning back to the crowd. Siobhan is still staring at me wide-eyed and unblinking, but I hold up my hand and the crowd cheers. I give them my best smile.

  The words of Siobhan’s father, Casey, are loud in my head. “We do whatever it takes to beat the enemy.”

  If marrying into the Murtagh clan is what I need to do, then I will do it. I will play the game and do what I must to command the forces necessary to take down the Alliance of Righteous Humanity.

  7

  The next morning my change in status is apparent when a maid knocks on the door waking me up at the crack of dawn. She brings new clothes because it seems being married to a Murtagh is going to require a change of clothing. They swoop in and start loading up the wardrobe. But as they go to take my old Dublin clothes, my hand reaches out and snatches them back.

  “It’s fine, I’ll wear the dresses you bring. But you can’t burn my clothes.”

  The maid ducks her head and rushes out the door.

  Siobhan’s eyes fall on me. “You’re going to be the Lady of this castle.” She murmurs.

  I turn my back so she can’t see my face. “I don’t care about being Lady of the Manor,” I say. “You heard they may be marrying Fintan off into California?”

  Siobhan shrugs her shoulders and lowers her head to the side. “It makes no difference,” she says. “It would be silly to become heartbroken over someone you’ve known for one week.”

  “Perhaps,” I say, “But it does happen.”

  “Yeah, in romantic traged
ies like Romeo and Juliet,” Siobhan says. “I don’t subscribe to romantic tragedies.”

  I can’t fault her spirit. “We are survivors,” she says. “We’ve always been survivors. Davin, you survive whatever happened when you were a baby and we both made it through countless run-ins with the Hunters.”

  I know. I understand. If she was going to grieve anything or anyone right now it’s not going to be some boy she’s just met. It was going to be her father, her mother, and her brother who died in the attack.

  “Shall we go and explore today?” she asks.

  “We’ve done enough exploring. Today I’m going to train. I am going to prepare myself, as your father taught me so that when it’s time to strike, I am ready.”

  “Must I come?” she asks. “I was thinking I would do a wee bit more exploring.”

  I frown. Since when does she ask permission from me? And then it hits me, I’m to be the lady of the castle and right now, there is no other. She is asking my permission.

  “No,” I finish strapping on my weapons. Riordan and Fintan will both be in training. Siobhan deserves a break. “Go and find out what you can. If we’re going to live here now, we best gain as much knowledge as possible.”

  Siobhan nods. “Live in Castle Brannach…” she murmurs as if she’d just realized that was what my betrothal means.

  “You can’t leave me,” I say.

  “Of course not,” she agrees.

  But as I turn and leave the room, I see the confusion deep in her eyes.

  The change of tone is immediate in the training hall also. When I walk in, the other Ravensgaard show immediate respect. They now call me “Mistress Davin,” and one of the ones who always sits in the corner when we spar actually stands up and bows. And when he stands up I realize he’s over seven feet tall and, like Casey would’ve said, built like a brick shit house.

  I’m sweating and aiming and jabbing, dodging and ducking and weaving. They cut me no slack, which is perfect; it’s as it should be. I don’t need any favors because I’m betrothed to Riordan. In fact, I try to shut it out of my head, because it’s a little too hard to fathom. It’s only as I best one of them that I realize Siobhan has slipped into the room.

  She stands quietly in the corner. It looks like she’s just watching us spar, but I’ve known her my whole life. I recognize the straight-line of her shoulders and her wide-eyed anxiety. Her jaw moves slightly, like she’s chewing gum even though I know she hates it. She’s trying to ease tension. She doesn’t even have to motion me over. The minute she catches my eye, I give a single brief nod, quickly finish off my opponent, and walk over to her. I can tell by the way her eyes rake the room over my shoulder that we’re not about to have a conversation in the training room. She slips her arm through mine as we step out to the hallway.

  There’s no one outside, but she still leans in covertly, her voice low and urgent in my ear. “I met someone,” she hisses.

  “Romantic?” I ask, a little confused why this would interrupt a training session.

  She shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she says. “The old man who feeds the chickens,”

  My brows drawn together “What are you talking about?” I ask. “Why do you need me?”

  “I got tired in the library and thought, you know, it would be best to speak to people who might possibly remember something. It wasn’t that long ago. So, I went and found him in the garden, but I want you to meet him.”

  “You’re dragging me out of training to go to an old man’s house?” I ask.

  Her voice shakes slightly. “He lives in the eaves down by the garages. I think it’s more like a flat above where they store the vehicles.”

  “Why?” I ask because she’s acting odd.

  “Just… I want you to hear what he has to say.” She won’t make eye contact.

  This isn’t like her at all. “Okay,” I say, motioning her to lead the way.

  It wouldn’t take us long to get there, except Siobhan doesn’t want us to be seen by anyone. So, we go down the back way past the garden, around the side of the stable until slowly, we come to the cobblestones that mark the rear of the garages. They look very like the black spired horse stable where I first found the mark. In fact, my guess is they are a portion of the stables that have been renovated when vehicles took over for horses.

  The doors of the garages are open, but we avoid them and instead go to a small doorway off the side. Behind it is a narrow staircase that leads up into darkness.

  “Are you sure we’re supposed to go up there?” I ask.

  “Yes, these are the exact instructions he gave me,” Siobhan says. “It’s okay.”

  What are you gonna do when your best friend has got something in her head? I pull my scian closer to me so it doesn’t smack the edge of the wall as we go up the stairs.

  At the top, there’s a long thin hallway with multiple doors down either side. We go down two doors on the right and Siobhan knocks lightly on one. It’s opened in seconds by her old chicken man. He has a beak of a nose and everything about him is gray, from his skin to his hair to his eyes. If we weren’t at Castle Brannach this whole situation would seem completely dubious.

  He steps aside and bows low as we enter the room. After another narrow hallway, there’s a galley kitchen off to the left that looks like it would fit about half a person. At the end the room on the right is a small closet with a small, crisply made bed. Through the last door is a tiny room, with a couch and a small heater in the corner. This must be the living room, though it can barely fit the three of us. My guess is the old man never has visitors.

  The only thing that makes the whole place palatable is that it smells of heaven. He’s cooking something wild and wonderful. Whatever’s bubbling on the stove smells of lamb and potatoes and onions and rich spices. And instantly my stomach growls. I suddenly realize I haven’t eaten properly since the dinner with my family in Dublin.

  “You brought her,” the old man growls as we sit down in the living room. There’s one loveseat that looks like no one’s ever sat in it and a well-worn sitting chair directly across from it. There’s no TV, no nothing, just the dark, windowless room.

  “Let’s see it,” he says holding out his hand.

  I glance at Siobhan. “See what?” I’m still not sure what the hell we’re doing up here.

  “The scar,” he says. “I want to see your scar.”

  I stick out my arm for inspection.

  He traces his finger along the lines, nodding slowly. “Ye are she,” he says gravely. I pull my arm back, trembling slightly. There something in this man… something about him.

  “Were you the one who dropped me with the cabal?” I blurt out, my heart pounding as I asked the question I never thought I’d be able to ask anyone in my entire life.

  “No,” he says.

  My heart sinks. “Oh.”

  “But,” he continues, leaning forward into the room. “I gave you that scar.”

  My whole world freezes. Every cell in my body not daring to move, trying to calculate his words and what they may mean.

  “You gave me the scar?” The world tightens around me. The air is hard to breathe.

  “Well I gave a three-year-old girl a scar about twenty-one years ago.” He says. “So unless there are other girls running around at your age with scars, I would guess this is the one I gave.”

  “Who asked you to? Who did this? Did you know my parents?” Questions fly from my mouth.

  “I did not know your parents. I did not know you. And, there isn’t much to tell. I was sitting down at the pub one night and it was cold out.” He settles back into his chair, but I’m on the edge of my seat waiting for every word he’s about to say. “I used to live on the outskirts battling the Hunters. But they eventually decided I was too old and couldn’t do anything, that I should be retired. And you can’t argue once that’s been decided. This was before Murtagh was the master. It was when he was simply the Queen’s right hand man.” He
scoffs a bit when he says this. “Some right-hand man he turned out to be,” he says.

  “You knew the queen?” Siobhan asks.

  “Not so much,” he says. “But there’s always time.” He gives me a wink.

  “But the queen’s dead.” Siobhan says.

  “Now, do you know that?” He asks. “Did you see the body?”

  Siobhan frowns and shakes her head. “She died long before we were born.”

  “That’s what Murtagh’ll have you believe. But have you ever wondered how this castle stays hidden if the witch queen who made the magic is dead?” he asks.

  “Who gave you to me?” I interrupt. I need to know more about myself right now, not the queen.

  “Look, a couple of Ravensgaard came to me. Young pups. I’ve never seen them since, so I don’t know what happened to them. They brought you and they told me to take you away and drop you somewhere. They said I should abandon you and lose you in the sea of humanity, where you would be lost forever from the Ravensgaard.”

  “Lost forever?” Siobhan’s voice trills with anger.

  “Or something like this. But I knew it would be no good. You can’t take a shifter and put them out there in the cold without the rites of the shifters. It kills them. It makes their lives miserable and short. So, I took you to the cabal I used to fight with. They had brought in a whole new group of people but regardless, they were Ravensgaard and I knew they would not refuse one of their own. And I knew a couple of the people there were still a little loyal to the royal family.”

  “My parents were always loyal to the queen,” Siobhan says.

  “Why did you give me the scar?” I ask.

  The man peers down at us, the crinkles around his eyes growing deeper, like rivers bleeding from his eyes.

  “So you would always know who you were,” he says.

  “A Ravensgaard?” I ask. “In case they rejected me?”

  “No,” his laugh is like a cackle filling up the tiny room. “So you would know you are a child of the royal house of Ravensgaard.”

  I’m breathless.