Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  We worked well together, my Sheriff, and me.

  Though futile, I tried to stop my lips from quirking into a smile. We played nicely too. Glynn seemed to enjoy my company. I reveled in his. The world shone brighter with him in my life. But would he care about our anniversary this weekend? My joy faded. Would he remember?

  A low murmur of voices dragged my attention back to the scene beyond my window. I stood silently behind the thick curtain in my bedroom. Even though the sun didn’t hit this room, my skin moistened in the heat radiating from the glass. The elegant mayor of Winterhurst strolled down my front steps, and climbed into her carriage. In the lilac dusk, her silver hair gleamed like the soft manes of the pale gray horses waiting for her. After a whistle from the driver, the horses set off at a sedate walk.

  As if she sensed me spying from the window, the mayor turned her face toward the house. I jolted back, straight into Evie's icy core. I clasped my hand against my mouth and held in a squeal. I shut the window fast against the invasive summer heat. No one in a carriage heading to my gate should've heard. But our mayor was also a celebrated priestess for the earth goddess Haebeth, even I didn't know everything she could do.

  "Sorry Meagan, I didn't mean to sneak up on you." Evie swooshed away from me.

  "My fault for not paying attention."

  "Why are you hiding? You respect the Mayor."

  "It's nothing." With eyes focused on the scratched wooden floor I paced to the wall and back.

  "I can wait while you step this out." Evie settled herself into my bedside chair, her voice gentle.

  Wasn't that the truth. I glanced across at Evie. She was probably tolerant when alive, but being a ghost had given her the patience of a spider. She could wait until I walked the length and breadth of the house a hundred times.

  "She has this way of guilting me into saying yes." With my eyes closed, I rubbed my thumb in the center of my forehead. "Damn it. I know she's right."

  I stomped to the end of the bed, kicked at the blanket box, and shrieked. "Bloody thing is solid oak and has withstood centuries of use."

  "And abuse." Evie nudged me onto the bed and wrapped her cool hands around my throbbing toe. "Feel better now?"

  "She wants me to sit on the council court hearings, as my dad did."

  "As every generation of your family has done. And done well."

  "That's what she said. But I don't want to judge my neighbors."

  "You attend council meetings. It’s a logical extension, and with the death of Old Mrs. Westall, you are the best person to represent the witches among us."

  "I'm too young. I don't have enough experience."

  "You are nineteen years old, my love. You slid wise from your mother's womb."

  I struggled to find the right words. I didn't want to sound selfish or above the concerns of everybody else in the district. After a few seconds, I gave up. "It's border disputes between neighboring farmers, disputes about sides of beef and rolls of fabric. It's hard to stay awake listening to arguments from both sides."

  "So, it’s more that you don't want to judge the boring things people argue about?"

  My body tensed. Evie had hit a kernel of truth. "I don't want to judge on important things either." But if I didn't, then who would? Some of the old biddies on the council saw life in stark black-and-white. "I know you are right. It's expected of me." I massaged my foot. Yes, I’d fulfill my responsibilities. But not now.

  "Tell me what's really wrong." Evie spoke in her soothing lilt.

  "I can’t think about filling my dad's shoes." He’d died when I was only three years old. His reputation loomed large in the town, but he hadn’t lived long enough to teach me his ways. "I have to concentrate on getting this weekend right."

  "You will. I'll help. Between us we will make sure everything is perfect."

  "I'm leaving nothing to chance. I want the perfect meal. I want to glow in the pinky light of the long dusk on my bedroom balcony. I want to wear the perfect dress. I want him to want me. You know me." I shook my head. "Something will come up and ruin everything."

  Evie slid next to me. "You stare down undead ancestors hell-bent on destroying you. Yet faced with options of what to wear for a date with a man you like, you turn into a dithering mess of indecision."

  Man that I like. What an understatement. I turned my head into her almost opaque shoulder.

  Evie wound her arm around my waist. "Glynn is coming for the weekend. He said yes to your invitation."

  "I bet he hasn't remembered it's our anniversary."

  "Why wouldn't he?" Evie twirled a finger in one of the curls near my ear.

  "He's a man. I haven't reminded him. As much as I enjoy many of his traits, he's as romantic as a hammer."

  Evie squeezed my hands. "Whether he remembers or not, he's coming to see you, to be with you." She understood me better than anyone else, and all she saw was my silliness.

  "We've been dating six months this coming Saturday." If I tried to explain to Evie, perhaps I’d better understand myself. Most people would wait twelve months to celebrate. I pressed my thumb between my eyebrows. After escaping the orphanage, finding my home in Winterhurst, and finding Glynn, six months felt like a lifetime. A new life I cherished and wanted to celebrate now, not in another six months’ time.

  She nodded, her smile genuine and mellow.

  "It’s six months since we first met across his desk in the police station. I can't expect him to remember, can I?" I couldn't sit still. I paced to my dressing table. "It doesn't matter. You're right, I'm acting like a silly teenager."

  "I didn't call you silly. I get it."

  "Even if he believes in six-month anniversaries, will he pick our first meeting in his police station, or our first proper conversation in the cemetery, or our first kiss?" I flopped onto the stool. "Or the Beltane dance when we danced around the fire until the sun rose, or the first time we lay together?"

  "Or is his head so full of meaningful moments it's impossible to choose one?" Evie joined me at the dressing table. In the mirror, I sat alone. Even I couldn't see the particles coming together to form her shape.

  I fiddled with my brush and comb. "Why do I need his validation, his approval? Why do I want him to recognize this anniversary with as much joy as I feel?"

  "You overthink things." Evie’s coolness enveloped me. "You need no-one's approval. You just want him to love you, as much as you love him."

  My eyes filled with tears at Evie's gentle words. I scrubbed them away with the back of my hand, pulled open a small drawer in the dressing table and fingered the amulet I'd prepared for Glynn. I'd swirled a drop of Glynn's blood and two drops of my own into the strongest protection spell I'd ever concocted.

  He'd cut his hand while fixing my stove, and he laughed when I scooped up a little blood that dripped from the wound. He'd willingly donated it, though he didn't know what for.

  He knows what I am, and he still trusts me.

  My eyes drifted shut. Evie was right, it didn't matter if he remembered our anniversary or not. I rolled the amulet in the palm of my hand. The pentacle engraved onyx still gleamed from sweet scented Sandalwood oil. The onyx heated and vibrated. How odd. I rolled it into my other hand and it vibrated faster. I clutched my fingers around the stone and pulled it to my chest. The amulet linked Glynn and I by the power of our blood, it shouldn't tremble like this.

  Evie drifted to my side. "Let's pick an outfit for you to wear. You'll have four days to make any adjustments needed."

  I traced my fingertips across my neck. I bet my library housed a book about amulets and their random behavior. I'd check after dinner. Returning the amulet to my drawer, I nodded at Evie. Brand-new clothes filled my wardrobe. Most bought, but never worn by my mother. Looser styles were fine, but she must've been tiny. I'd need to let out any fitted garments. In a few minutes, I assembled a pile of dresses on my bed.

  I grabbed the top two dresses and the fresh clean scent of cedar played in the air. I held first one, then
the other under my chin. "The blue or the green? Are you sure these colors suit me?"

  "You have your mother's coloring." Evie settled on the bed. "I love this sapphire blue with your red hair, especially now it's growing again."

  "It's not red." I scrunched my fingers through my hair. Not red, but growing at last. Almost six months ago, I'd shorn off my waist length hair after bits of goo attached themselves and nothing washed it off. An image of the burning barn seared into my head. We’d killed the unstable undead who climbed from the grave Glynn and I first talked over, but it cost a man his life, and flames singed my hair into a pitiful matted mass. Now, sweat glued my hair to my head, but tendrils curled below my ears.

  Evie raised her eyebrows, her mouth twitching. "The lighter streak is pretty and gives you an air of authority at the same time."

  "I hate it. A fat, ugly, gray streak across my plum hair." I stressed the word plum as I tossed the dresses back onto my bed. "I'd cast a spell to get rid of it if I could."

  "It's a delicate streak, more a pinky caramel, but we will call the rest auburn if you insist." Evie glided into the wardrobe. "Have you tried any of the short dresses on?"

  "No." I held the long white dress I'd worn at the Beltane party against me. I loved the way the soft fabric swung around my body, but I’d worn it several times now. I wanted a sexy dress Glynn hadn't seen yet. This dress wasn’t the one.

  Evie stood with almost opaque hands rested beside transparent hips. "The silver dress will look fabulous on you."

  I shook my head. "Nothing short. Ugly legs, ugh."

  "There's nothing wrong with your legs—"

  "I want to look good. No jeans. Hair nice."

  "No eau-de-dead people in the air." Evie's face lit up in a grin.

  "Definitely not." My lips squeezed together in a grimace. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean you. I meant—"

  Evie hugged a welcome chill around my shoulders. "I know exactly what you mean, and need. I know when to give you space."

  "We've not had to deal with anything dead or undead for a couple of months. Let’s keep it that way. This weekend is for me and Glynn."

  "Try the silk silver slip dress. It's still wrapped in tissue paper, gorgeous, and easy to slide off." Evie wriggled her eyebrows playfully and blew the hangers apart. "Or this silvery green halter top with the wide leg pants you've never worn."

  I blew out a long sigh. "I'm sorry for being such a pain. Maybe I should stick with jeans, T-shirt, and scrunched up hair."

  "It hasn't put him off yet."

  "Hilarious."

  The kitchen door creaked open and a sweet tenor voice carried up the stairs.

  Evie floated to the landing. "Purah is home with groceries."

  "Thank Haebeth. I'm starving, and sick of thinking about clothes."

  I hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Purah swaggered in with a laden box. "I aced the poker game. I've got bags of rice, flour, and potatoes in the carriage. The letter on the top of that box is for you. The Constable gave it to me when I passed the police house." Purah laughed as he pointed to a box of groceries on the kitchen table. "Gave me quite a start when he ran out calling my name."

  "You shouldn't get up to mischief if you don't want to get starts like that." I kissed his cheek and grabbed the envelope.

  I read my name scrawled in Glynn's hand.

  He'd never written to me before.

  If he wanted to talk, no matter the weather, he'd always ridden here. I stared at the envelope while a stabbing pain shot from my abdomen into my chest. The amulet warned me. Something had come up. My weekend was about to be ruined.

  2

  With shaking hands, I ripped the envelope open, scanned the letter, and stumbled onto a kitchen chair.

  Glynn.

  Gone.

  The envelope fluttered to the floor.

  "Whatever is the matter?" Evie swooped to the back of the chair and a cool draft of air swirled around my feet.

  "The army called Glynn to Brimbank." I dropped the letter on the table, stabbed it with my fingertip. "He's gone. He hated it there. He told me he'd never go back, not to Brimbank, nor to the wretched army."

  "Glynn is our police captain, still connected to the Army—"

  "They discharged him from active duty after getting hurt." I wriggled against the hardwood back of the chair.

  Glynn recuperated for six months in a military hospital. I hadn't known him then, and he hated talking about himself. I knew little about his past. He transferred into police duty, with a medal he never mentioned. A murder investigation threw us together. Him from big old Brimbank, me from the quiet cloisters of an orphanage in a small town.

  "He told me the old cities are desolate now." I pushed back the chair, paced to the other side of my kitchen.

  "When I lived, an outing to Brimbank was a marvelous treat, we shopped, watched a show, and stayed overnight sometimes." Evie’s eyes brightened.

  "People abandoned it after the illness killed so many, and now it's a military base." I gesticulated my arms into a wide question. "Why did he rush back to a job and a place he hated?" I wiped beads of sweat from my brow and stabbed the letter again. "He dashed off, scrawled a quick note on paper torn from one of his yellow notepads, and he's shoved it in a used envelope. Glynn hasn't even explained why. He's always so precise with his words. This is not like him. Something is wrong."

  "Aren't you jumping to conclusions?" Evie looped a welcome cool arm around my shoulder. "I know you’re looking forward to seeing him—"

  "It's not just any weekend. It's our anniversary, yet he didn’t mention it." I waved the letter under her nose. "He said he'll make it up to me, but what does that mean? Clearly he doesn't expect to get back to Winterhurst in time."

  I turned away from her, poured myself a glass of water, slouched against the bench, and gulped down the liquid. The amulet. Did it realize something I didn't? Was it telling me Glynn lay hurt somewhere? That he needed me? Evie watched me from the middle of the room. She didn't need to learn about the amulet. It would worry her.

  Glynn needed me. The thought took hold in my brain.

  She glided across the floor and touched my arm. "Can you imagine Glynn voicing disappointment in a letter? He's written that he'll make it up to you, and I'm sure he will."

  Purah returned with the last box, pushed the door shut with his foot, and carried the boxes into the pantry. The noise of scraping cans and brushing boxes echoed through the kitchen as he stacked the groceries. He climbed back up the steps into the kitchen. His long hair hung in a lank ponytail, even he—usually so elegant—looked crumpled, over-heated, and disheveled. I'd almost forgotten I had a schoolgirl crush on him, until I fell for Glynn.

  I mumbled a garbled thank you. At least we would eat well for weeks.

  Purah wiped sweat from his eyes and stood before me. "Bad news?"

  "Glynn returned to Brimbank." I waved the letter toward Purah. "What’s happening? The mayor visited here just a few hours ago, she said nothing about trouble in Brimbank, and I'm sure she would have done if she'd known."

  Purah found a clean glass and filled it with water. "He'll be back, won't he? Do your dinner thing later."

  I reread the short letter, my breath catching in my throat. A few months ago, Purah inadvertently caused the death of my best friend Rose. He’d saved my life when I first left the orphanage. He’d kept his promise to my father and tutored me in basic witchcraft when I arrived, in all my naiveté, at Ravenswood. I'd forgiven him for Rose, but that didn't bring her back. One way or another I'd lost everyone I loved. I lost them, they abandoned me, and they betrayed me.

  Is it Glynn's turn?

  It wouldn't surprise me. After all, I'm a freak who talks with the dead. Perhaps losing everyone I care about is the price I must pay.

  I forced a long deep breath from my lungs to steady my voice. "He says he doesn't know all the details, doesn't know when he'll be back." I rubbed the back of my neck. "They want hi
m to train sergeants to replace several missing, presumed dead."

  Purah and I stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink, and I pondered what little information I knew. If Glynn had let someone pull him back onto active-duty, then something big and bad had happened. Glynn wouldn't have gone otherwise. I chewed my lips as I sipped water. Glynn admitted he possessed a rare knack for predicting undead enemies’ actions. Is that why he rushed there? It made sense. He hadn't said it in the letter, but I bet someone high up suspected something undead killed the men.

  I scrunched my shoulders to my ears. "It doesn't sound good."

  Purah lifted his brows.

  I didn't want to state my fears aloud.

  He shrugged. "He's a good soldier, he'll be fine." Purah lowered his tone, used his tutor's voice. "Glynn can't tell you much yet, he doesn't know the full story himself."

  My hand tightened around the single piece of paper. What if he never came back? Warmth seeped from my body. I couldn't lose him. Only two weeks ago, we'd picnicked along the banks of the Wye, gorged ourselves on plump blackberries. We'd lain side by side on one of Glynn's prickly blankets and watched the stars twinkle alive in a slowly darkening sky. I could still feel his lips against my skin, his breath warm against my neck, our hearts beating in time.

  I shook myself away from the sweet memory and back into my hot kitchen. "He should've asked for my help. I'd have gone with him."

  If he'd asked me.

  "Why would he ask your help in a military matter?" Purah scratched his cheek.

  "I'm a necromancer, descended from a long line of sorcerers who specialize in not only talking with but raising and controlling the dead." True, I’d resisted at first, but in the end, I couldn't deny my skills.

  Purah taught me as much as he could, and I'd quickly outgrown his knowledge. Glynn knew what I could do, but he sometimes thought me undisciplined, impulsive. Is that why he didn’t include me in his dash to Brimbank? I took a deep breath to steady my voice. "I'm better equipped to deal with the undead than anyone else."