Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  "Something strange is happening." Glynn wiped crumbs from his chin, snaked his arm around my waist. "No journalists have been here since it started."

  "Then who is writing the articles? Whoever they are, are they right?"

  "There are no journalists." Del thrust mugs of coffee across the kitchen bench. "We've got a leak somewhere."

  Glynn seemed to trust Del with a lot more information then he trusted me.

  "From within the military?" I asked.

  "It's not your problem." He rested his head on my shoulder. "And you're still going home. The car is coming back first thing tomorrow morning to take you to the temporary station."

  He could be so stubborn. It didn't make any sense. He knew I could handle myself around dead people. Something else had him worried.

  "I'm a good listener?" I lightened my tone, touched his cheek. "I bet it's annoying you. Knowing you've got somebody reporting information you don't want revealed."

  "Annoying isn't what I'd call it." Del muttered.

  "You know it. But changing the subject won't work." Glynn lifted his head, his breath tickled the skin beneath my ear, but his tone was serious. He couldn't disguise a yawn. "I'm not discussing the issue with you."

  I'd arrived out of the blue, and I'd never seen him this tired, this tense. "I'm sorry for arriving unannounced. Your note didn't have an address. I couldn't write back to you."

  "It's a war zone. You've no business arriving at all." Del stretched her arms along the bench top.

  "Del, that's enough." Glynn spoke with authority, Del acknowledged it as if she was accustomed to doing so.

  She focused her gaze onto Glynn. "She will be staying in your room no doubt?"

  The two glared at one another. I stood and grabbed my bag. "May I take a bath?"

  She kept her eyes on Glynn for a few seconds too long. "We've bore water, if that suits."

  Glynn squeezed my hand. "Don't wash the stick from your hair."

  I shot my hand to my head. Pulled a twig from my scalp. "You let me sit here with a twig in my hair?"

  "Cute new look." Glynn grinned. "I like it."

  Del gestured me to follow her. "It's just as well you two are together." Her voice wavered. "I've only one spare bedroom."

  Could she be jealous? I didn't sense a romance between them. But what would I know? Cloistered for most of my life, and since leaving the orphanage I seemed to spend as much time with dead people as I did the living. I followed Del down a short hallway. She stopped at a linen cupboard built into the wall and pulled out a soft, clean towel. She pointed to the guest bedroom, and to the bathroom door, and handed the towel to me. She almost ran back to the kitchen. No doubt to talk more with Glynn, a man she obviously knew well and trusted. I stretched my jaw from side to side, suddenly aware I'd been clenching my teeth. He'd been part of the army for ten years. He had a whole life before I met him that I knew little about.

  He didn't want to talk about why he'd been called back, what had him afraid. If I pushed him, he'd clam up. But if he thought he could stick me on a train back to New Maidstone in the morning—I pushed my shoulders back—he didn't know me very well.

  7

  Del's guest room was large and cooler than the kitchen. The same pergola that sheltered the kitchen window kept the sun from the full-length window here. The double bed looked soft and inviting. But I'd been sitting on my bum for most of the day, and bruises from the jump from the train throbbed and threatened to stiffen. I needed to move, not lie down.

  I peeled off my sticky-with-sweat and dusty clothes and hung my outer trousers and shirt on coat hangers dangling from the pelmet.

  A bark sounded again. This time, much closer. A wet, black nose pressed against the glass of the door that opened onto a small wooden deck, a private area for guests staying in the spare room. The heavy vine cover cast dappled light and shadows across the space as I stepped out onto the deck. The dog thumped her thick tail against a seat set along the wall. I dropped into the seat and held her soft face in my hands.

  It had been a long time since I'd petted a dog. We'd had a big yellow mongrel at St. Stephen's. The nuns had been reticent at first, but Father Andrew let us keep her. The memory of losing her stabbed into my chest. I'd cried for days when she died.

  "I really do need a bath," I muttered to the dog.

  She followed me into the room and spread herself along the floor, the tip of her tail still beating a slow rhythm against the tiles.

  I grabbed the towel, and made my way to the bathroom a few steps down the hall. The small white enamel bath gleamed. A stack of cream colored goats milk soap stood on a rack next to the bath, the soft scent climbed to my nose and reminded me of home. Purah and Evie would be looking after my goats. I smiled to myself, they'd probably be complaining the whole time, but it wouldn't be long before we had Ravenswood soap on the market. At the turn of the tap, hot water swirled into the bottom of the bath. I peeled off my underwear tossed it into the sink and stepped into the water.

  The water turned dirty brown. I pulled the plug, I'd have to scrub myself clean before I could lie in a pleasing bath. Claws clicked along the floor, the dog pushed her nose into the bathroom and pattered to me with her tail still waging. At the sound of footsteps, she let out a short yap and ran to the door. I glanced at the heavy army boots, let my gaze wander up his legs, around his torso, across his shoulders and up his neck, to a face I'd grown to care about.

  He knelt to rub the dog’s head. "Heya Missy." His gaze caught mine. "I’m sorry for being gruff. I just want you to be safe."

  His eyes, the color of aged whiskey simmered with a decadent invitation. He brushed strands of hair off his face and lifted his mouth in his wonderful lopsided smile. My return smile wavered; every few seconds I alternated between relief at finding him safe, to anger at his refusal to answer my questions.

  I pointed to the grains of dirt in the bottom of the bath. "I just want to get clean."

  Glynn knelt alongside the bath, caressed my face in his hands and touched his lips briefly to mine. "I'll help."

  "We seem to make a habit of meeting in bathrooms." At the Inn after the barn fire that singed my hair into a molten mass. In his tiny bathroom in his flat behind the police house. In the huge bronze bath, that one big enough for both of us, at Ravenswood. I grinned at several delicious memories and pulled his body back to mine. Reaching through a gap between his shirt buttons, I found warm, soft skin.

  "I'm not complaining." His voice faltered, he gently ran his fingers up and down my spine. His touch coaxed unexpected quivers across my skin. He leaned closer and rested his forehead against mine, his warm breath drifted across my face. I closed my eyes in anticipation, let my lips part. His soft lips surrounded mine and my body flushed with heat.

  He drew away and immediately I craved the enveloping warmth.

  "Later," he whispered. "We'll go to bed early." He twisted to take a good look at my back. "What have you got in that satchel of yours? Your torso looks like you've gone a few rounds with a prizefighter."

  "Just the usual. Plus, a present for you."

  "I've already got my present." He kissed my cheek softly, as if afraid to reignite the passion between us yet. He grinned. "There's a spray attachment. We'll wash you down like you're a dirty dog."

  Missy wagged her tail, perhaps remembering enjoyed baths, or glad that she wasn't involved in this one. Glynn fitted a device to the tap and showered me with water.

  "It will take hours to get all the dirt off me."

  He snaked his arm around my waist, nibbled his teeth against my neck. "Hours and hours."

  I pulled away from him. "You know it's incredibly sexist to rate your concern about my safety, above my concern about yours." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "It isn't respectful to assume your military skills are somehow more appropriate than my skills with the dead."

  "I love the way your nose wrinkles when you get cross." He plucked a block of soap from the stack and lathered my shoulders.<
br />
  I punched his shoulder. "Don't make fun of me. I'm serious."

  "Or what?" His grin widened further.

  "I'll turn you into a frog."

  "Nope. Not one of your skills."

  "You've no idea what skills I'm keeping to myself."

  "I haven't noticed the population of Winterhurst decreasing, while the frog population takes over." Glynn lathered soap all over my back. I blew out a deep sigh as intense pleasure filled my body. "I'll take a gamble that particular skill is not one you’re hiding."

  What I'd give to be able to read minds right now. I blew a handful of suds into his face.

  He laughed again and blew the suds back. "Lean forward and I'll wash your hair."

  He massaged my shoulders and neck, kneading out the knots and tightness in my muscles.

  Soap washed off, I rearranged my legs to take the weight off my still twanging ankle. I squashed the plug in place and filled the bath with clean, slightly metallic-smelling water.

  "You haven't healed the sprain?" Glynn grabbed another towel from the cupboard and folded it under my ankle.

  "I'm not sure I can heal myself." I let my eyes drift shut. "Never tried."

  He found some bath salts in the cupboard, swirled them into the water and folded a towel under my head. The delicate scent of geranium and lavender fought off the last of the dusty odors. Glynn stood at the sink and washed my clothes while I soaked.

  "I'll wake you before dinner." Glynn's voice sounded close. He kissed my cheek and left me enveloped in the soft water.

  I must have drifted to sleep. I woke groggily, enveloped in cool water, barely remembering where I was.

  I shook my head like a shaggy dog and scattered drops of water across the room. Toweled dry, I felt cleaner than I had done in days.

  "Damn." I cursed aloud. I'd forgotten to grab clean clothes. My previously dirty underwear was now dripping wet and hanging over the shower rail. My clean clothes were in my bag. No choice but to tiptoe back to my room with just the towel wrapped around me.

  Glynn and Del argued in the kitchen. I couldn't see them, but they didn’t keep their voices low.

  "If Asher finds out he'll blow a fuse." Del hissed out the words. "You know how he feels about magic."

  "He’ll know she's here by now. Flint would have told him as soon as he got back to base. A few of the guys are from Winterhurst originally, they'll know who she is and her position on the council."

  "You're kidding me. What kind of an idiot lets a witch onto a town Council?" Del drew in a deep breath. "How would anybody know what they were up to? How could you trust one?"

  "Leave it, Del." Glynn gave an impatient snort.

  I didn't know if he was bone tired, or defending me from Del's not so subtle accusations. What would she think if she knew the truth? That her visitor wasn't a half-decent witch, but instead managed to communicate with the dead. I clasped my hand against my mouth to hold in a giggle. It wasn't exactly a glowing résumé.

  Hugging the wall, I tiptoed back to the spare bedroom. Missy let out a soft bark and thumped her tail again. I quickly dressed in lightweight linen pants and a clean camisole, and hung my head upside down to scrunch my hair dry.

  "Dinner in half an hour." Glynn sidled into the room and sat on the bed. He patted a spot next to him.

  I grabbed my satchel, kneeled next to him, withdrew the amulet, and lifted it over his head. "This is for you."

  He ducked his head to one side. "I don't do necklaces, sweetheart."

  "It's not a necklace." I showed him the engraved crystal. "It will protect you. But you need to wear it, so it attunes to you."

  "Is that what you used my blood for?"

  "And mine. Mingled together."

  He pulled a face. "Has anyone told you lately, you are quite crazy?"

  "Who me? Never."

  "Protect me from what?"

  "Whatever's trying to hurt you."

  He kissed me. "It's very sweet of you, but I'm not about to wear a necklace."

  I’d get it on to him one way or another. "I'd really like an explanation. You know this is right up my alley. I would have come with you in a heartbeat."

  "I know it." He stood and stared through the window into the slowly darkening sky. "I don't know what's happening. But something is. And it's not anything I want you near."

  "Since I'm here, I might as well help."

  He gripped his wrists behind his back. I couldn't see his face, but it wasn’t hard to imagine his pinched lips and clenched jaw, the lines around his eyes tightening. I could almost hear his brain working, he had enough problems, and now he had to work out how to get me back home.

  A sharp rap sounded at the front door. Glynn spun around and glanced at his watch. "Who the hell..."

  Missy barked, a low ominous warning. She dashed through the bedroom and to the door. Glynn strode after Missy, I darted after him.

  Del Tanner stood stiffly at her open front door. "Sir."

  Glynn waved a crisp salute.

  A tall, rangy officer stepped inside, the badge name Col. Asher clear on his chest pocket. His uniform hung a little loose against his body, dark circles under his eyes suggested he wasn’t sleeping well. Del pointed toward the kitchen at the end of the hall. He barked at a young soldier to guard the door and marched, his back rigid, to the kitchen. Del, Glynn and I traipsed down the hall after him.

  In the kitchen, Del gripped the edge of the bench. "You've news, sir?"

  He scratched a small scab on his chin. "No news. No bodies."

  Del trembled at the sharp words. A tremor crossed her face. With no body found, at least she could keep hope alive.

  Col, Asher turned to face Glynn. "It's time to move. You will lead a raid in the morning. I'll send a car at 4am." He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Glynn. "Your orders."

  Glynn quickly scanned the single sheet of paper. "A full squad? The old underground rail lines?"

  "Is this the witch from Winterhurst?" Col. Asher glanced at me. "Get rid of her."

  I moved forward to speak, but Glynn lifted his palm to silence me. The colonel's hands shook, a quiver seemed to climb his arm and twitch in his shoulder.

  "On second thoughts bring her to base after the raid. You have your orders." Col. Asher returned Glynn's quick salute before striding back down the hall to where his driver waited for him silently and stiffly at the front door.

  Del hurried after him. At the door, he stopped. He rested his hand on Del's shoulder. He spoke too softly, I couldn't hear his words, but Del's face crumpled. The door bolt rammed into place and resonated unnaturally loud in the silence in the kitchen. Del returned to the kitchen, her face white.

  "What did he say about Ed?" Glynn asked.

  Del opened her mouth as if to speak, but shrugged instead.

  "What's happening in the old underground rail lines?" I curled my hand around Glynn’s elbow.

  "The undead are somewhere in the tunnels under the city," Glynn answered.

  "And we also believe that the missing soldiers might be held captive down there." Del slumped onto a stool. "So far, every attempt to rescue them has failed."

  Finally. Useful information. All I needed now, was to find out how to get there. Preferably without anyone else finding out.

  "It's almost dinner time. I'm surprised Aidan hasn't come out to see what's going on." Del stood. "I'll check on him."

  I waited until her footsteps disappeared down the hall. "Why does he want you to take me to the base?"

  "I have no idea." Glynn rubbed his hand across his forehead.

  "You don't like it?" I didn't much like the sound of it myself. I knew Asher’s type. His confident stance hid a cruel arrogance.

  "Not one bit." Glynn smacked the thick sheet of paper against the kitchen bench. "Damn it. You shouldn't be here."

  Del ran back into the kitchen. She lifted a shaking hand to her shoulder and dropped it again. "He's missing."

  8

  Del’s face sho
ne white. She sagged at her kitchen bench.

  Glynn spun around to face her. "Missing? What are you talking about?"

  "He's gone. So is his backpack. And he left this." She thrust a neatly folded piece of paper into Glynn's hands. I read a deftly hand-printed note over Glynn's shoulder 'I'm going to find Dad'.

  Glynn stared at the paper and stiffened.

  Several seconds passed in silence, I had no idea how old this boy was, what sort of danger he was in. "When—"

  Glynn pushed against the small of my back. "Let's sit, stay calm."

  Del slumped onto a stool and dropped her face into her hands. "How the hell do you expect me to stay calm?" She lifted her head to look at me. "He's fourteen, and..." She swallowed, stood, and paced to a glass door. "Missy, stop that barking."

  "He's autistic," Glynn whispered to me. "Once he's made up his mind, he's as stubborn as a mule."

  "You know what he's like." Del lifted her hands as if in prayer. "He can't cope with the outside world. What was he thinking? If his routine is broken, he will ... You know, he'll only eat toast and jam for breakfast. He won't cope. He needs his pills. You know he needs his pills. What will he do..."

  Glynn squeezed her hands. "He'll be back before you know it."

  Del yanked her hands away. "He could have been gone for hours. I thought he was reading, like he usually does every afternoon after school."

  "It's not your fault, Del. We'll find him."

  "Damn right we will." She strode across the kitchen. "You helping? Or sticking around here with your mouth hanging open?"

  Glynn darted after her and grabbed her arm. "Racing out without knowing where he is won't help. You could both end up lost. We aren't sure what's out there, remember."

  Her eyes glistened. "I can't sit around here—"

  "We'll work out a plan first. Have you any idea where he’s headed?"

  "Does he know you think the captives are in the old underground tunnels?" I asked. "Could he be headed there?"