Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Djinn Rising: Part One

  She wants to escape a life of slavery. He wants the truth.

  In an alternate Los Angeles where djinn are enslaved for their magic, Adira is accused of murdering her owner and faces a terrible punishment. Despite her repeated claims of innocence, no one believes her story.

  But her owner’s nephew and sole heir, Nick Morgan, isn’t convinced she’s the killer. When the authorities refuse to investigate further, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

  Nick makes Adira an offer she can’t refuse: help him find the real killer in exchange for her freedom. She leaps at the chance to be master of her own magic, going on the run to help Nick get justice.

  But with the police hunting them and a sinister force moving behind the scenes, can they find the real killer before Adira’s fate catches up with her?

  Author’s Note

  Circumstances beyond our control forced us to publish this set earlier than originally planned, and Djinn Rising wasn’t quite ready. So this is Part One of the novel. You can get Part Two for free when you join my newsletter—just follow the link at the end of Chapter 17!

  1

  There’s no such thing as a good day for a slave.

  The penthouse elevator pinged behind me and I knew the evening was about to get worse. Other than my master, only one human ever came up to Morgan Music Studios at night.

  Forcing my frown into a neutral mask, I turned from the front desk to the elevator as the doors slid open. Two hulking bodyguards filled the small space, their cheap dark suits straining against their chests. Between them, Sebastian Maguire lounged against the back wall of the elevator in a cream-colored linen suit, a gold cross hanging on a thick golden chain around his neck and golden rings on every finger. Yellow-tinted sunglasses completed the look of overdone opulence and did nothing to hide the leer in his eyes when he saw me.

  “Adira, baby,” he said as he strutted into the lobby, his arms wide like he was God’s gift to the world. “You look fine as always, girl.”

  I held back a sneer. Punishment for disrespecting one of my master’s clients would be severe.

  The body guards followed him as he approached the desk, leaning on it to look me up and down. His gaze skipped over the slave cuffs on my wrists and hovered on my chest and hips. He practically licked his lips as he said, “You ready to make music with me tonight, Adira?”

  “I will do whatever my master requires of me,” I said, my voice cold. I turned my back on him to stride down the hall to my master’s office, gritting my teeth as I went. It was bad enough to be owned like property, bad enough to have my magic leached from me without my consent. But the worst by far was knowing my power made that creep wealthy and famous.

  Stopping at the oak door, I knocked three times before opening it. Inside, John Morgan sat behind his desk littered with papers, a ledger open on top. Floor to ceiling shelves behind him were filled with CDs and awards, and posters of the stars he’d made lined the walls. His computer screen cast his face in blue light, silent speakers on either side. For a man who produced music for a living, he rarely listened to it.

  “Sebastian Maguire is here,” I said from the door.

  Morgan glanced at the clock on the wall and growled. His brows furrowed as he shut off the computer and stalked around the desk. I backed out into the hall, head down, and waited for him to pass before following him into the lobby.

  “You’re late,” he snapped as he approached Sebastian. “How many times do I have to tell you to be on time?”

  “You know how it is, Morgan,” Sebastian said, still lounging against the high counter of the front desk. “Paparazzi following me everywhere. Girls, photo shoots, parties. I gotta appease my fans.”

  Morgan stalked right into Sebastian’s personal space, jamming a finger in his chest. “Last warning, Sebastian. If you’re late next week, don’t even bother getting out of the elevator.”

  Never seeing Sebastian again? The corners of my mouth tugged into a tiny smile. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

  Something ugly flitted across the singer’s features. “Don’t you know what I’m worth, Morgan? You can’t just ditch me.”

  “You need me, not the other way around. Without my magic-enhanced recording, you’d be singing in bars on the weekend and flipping burgers to pay your rent.”

  Sebastian’s eyes met mine over my master’s shoulder. I must have still been smiling, because his eyes narrowed. I resumed my neutral mask as he looked back at Morgan.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice light and amiable as he clapped Morgan on the shoulder. “I’ll be on time next week. I don’t want to lose Adira’s special touch.” He gestured to his bodyguards as his eyes met mine again. “You boys wait out here. Adira and I are gonna make some sweet, sweet music.”

  I had to clench my fists to keep from shuddering as he smiled at me, his perfect white teeth gleaming under leering amber eyes. Then he spun on his heel and jaunted down the second hall toward the studio.

  Morgan stared after him, his shoulders still tense. He glanced back at me. “Let’s go.”

  I followed him down the hall to the control room, where an extensive audio mixing console with computers, speakers, and headphones waited under a glass window. Through the window was the live room, the studio proper where Sebastian was already waiting. He had pulled on his own headphones and stood caressing the microphone with his eyes closed. His lips moved slightly, like he was rehearsing his lines.

  I hung back while Morgan moved to the console, turning on the computer and adjusting the settings for the song Sebastian was recording tonight. He gestured to the far end of the console, where instead of buttons and levers there were only a pair of holes the diameter of my biceps. “Come on, Adira. You know the drill.”

  Sighing, I crossed the room and took my place on the stool in front of the holes. Goosebumps erupted on skin, and I glanced up to see Sebastian watching through the glass with a smile. Morgan lifted a grate on the top of the console. Taking a deep breath, I plunged my arms into the holes. For the moment before Morgan pushed the grate down, locking me into the console, I could feel my magic, a delicious warmth that tingled in my blood. The copper and iron of my slave cuffs blocked my access to my own magic while the grate in the console accessed the power for the recording. But for that moment in between, I could glimpse what I truly was. A djinn, born of magic and smokeless flame, more powerful than anything these puny humans could imagine.

  Morgan closed the grate, locking me into the console and cutting off the warmth of my power, leaving me cold and empty. He flipped a switch and my cuffs tightened painfully around my wrists, cutting into my circulation and nearly numbing my fingers. I gasped as the mechanism that harvested my magic turned on and began sucking my magic through my cuffs, like two giant leeches draining my arms of blood.

  I lived for the first moment of power. But it was small compensation for the hours of exhaustion and pain to follow.

  On the console near the grate was a dial that controlled how much of my magic was harvested and applied to the recording. Morgan turned it from the usual 50—half of the magical energy I had on any given day—down to 35. The sucking sensation eased a bit and I took a shaky breath.

  “Less than normal,” I murmured.

  “Quiet.” Morgan pulled up his rolling leather chair and pressed the intercom button. “You ready?”

  “Always,” Sebastian replied, his voice coming through the speakers perfectly as if there wasn’t a sound-proofed wall between us.

  Morgan hit another of the myriad buttons on the console, and pre-recorded music filled the live room, coming into the control room through the speakers. After the first few measures Sebastian began to sing, his na
tural voice scratching on the higher notes, his vibratos uneven. He wasn’t a terrible singer on his own—but this certainly wasn’t the voice that made him famous. As he belted his lyrics into the microphone, oblivious to his mediocre talent, Morgan studied the computer screen that showed the sound in undulating waves and tight spikes, pushing buttons and sliding levers and twisting dials to apply my magic to the music. The energy blended with the symphony of sounds like its own instrument, smoothing roughness in his voice, making the tones more true, and weaving in another layer altogether, not of sound but pure energy. Sebastian might not have a lot of natural talent, but he loved his music, and the magic being sucked out of me matched that intent as it merged with the song. His fans would love this song as much he did, be attracted to play it over and over, sing along with all their energy when they did.

  Or at least they would if the dial was set to 50.

  “Why did you turn the dial down to 35?” I asked as Sebastian sang the chorus again.

  Morgan didn’t so much as glance at me. At first I thought he wasn’t going to answer, or that he hadn’t heard me, but after a minute he muttered, “Because that’s the minimum in our contract.”

  A grin tugged at my lips again, despite the growing weakness from the magic being sucked out of me. I wasn’t the only one who hated him.

  The song ended a few minutes later. When the last note faded, Morgan stopped recording and lifted the grate. The pressure on my cuffs eased and I gratefully pulled my trembling arms out of the console.

  “We good, Morgan?” Sebastian asked through the microphone.

  Morgan gave a thumbs up instead of pressing the intercom to answer. He sat back down to listen to the recording we’d just made to look for any spots that needed digital improvement. My magic might make Sebastian’s voice perfect, but it couldn’t soften an overpowering bass.

  Sebastian pulled off his headphones and started toward the door into the control room. Eager to not be in the same room with him, I stood on shaky legs and made a beeline for the hallway.

  Both bodyguards looked up as I entered the lobby, the chairs looking ridiculously fragile under their mass. When a third face looked at me, I stopped short. A man I’d never seen before lounged opposite the bodyguards. Dark jeans and a black fitted t-shirt emphasized the toned muscles of his thighs and arms. Warm brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a mouth that looked well used to smiling made my pulse jump. His hair matched his eyes, just long enough to give him a rogue sort of look. Inexplicably, my fingers itched to smooth back the lock of hair slashing across his forehead.

  I clenched my hands and looked away, crossing the lobby to the water cooler. He was probably here for my master. Not my problem.

  I filled a paper cup with water and gulped it down, then filled it again. It didn’t do much for the empty feeling after a harvesting, but it helped with the weakness. I put a hand on top of the water cooler to steady myself and closed my eyes, just breathing. Usually after a recording session I wasn’t required to harvest again for twelve hours—but that was for 50 percent. I breathed deep, pushing through the weakness. I should be ready for anything.

  Sudden pressure along my back and legs made me jump, but a pair of hands gripped my sides, holding me in place.

  “Did you enjoy that as much as I did, Adira?” Sebastian murmured, his breath hot on my neck.

  I tried to pull away, but his fingers dug into my hips as he pushed me against the water cooler. “Where you going, baby?” he whispered, grinding against me. “We’re just getting this party started.”

  “Let. Me. Go.” I spoke loud and clear, emphasizing each syllable, but I might as well have groaned in pleasure judging by the increasing hardness pressing against me. One of his hands tightened around my belly as his lips touched my neck.

  “Hey,” said a voice I didn’t recognize. “Leave the lady alone.”

  Sebastian peeled his lips from my skin, still grinding against me. “Back off, pal. The lady and I are having a moment. If you object to that, take it up with my boys.”

  Movement flashed in the corner of my eye as his bodyguards stood up. This had to end. Now.

  “I object to that,” I said. My hand was still on top of the water cooler, which meant my elbow was bent and high. I brought it down and back, jamming it hard into Sebastian’s gut. Air whooshed out of him and he stumbled. I spun around to face him and slammed the butt of my other hand into his nose. It crunched and he collapsed on the floor, blood spurting down his face and staining his suit crimson.

  The closest bodyguard surged toward me. The stranger jumped between us as the other bodyguard dropped to help Sebastian.

  “Bitch!” Sebastian yelled.

  “What the hell is going on?” Morgan roared from the hall.

  All four men shouted at once, an unintelligible racket assaulting my ears. One of the bodyguards grappled with the stranger to get to me.

  “ENOUGH!”

  The sudden silence was deafening. Morgan stalked toward me as the other bodyguard helped Sebastian to his feet. My heart thudded in my chest. I had done the unthinkable, disrespecting a client in an extremely visible way. Would Morgan punish me or take my side?

  He grabbed my wrists, his rings clicking against my cuffs. “I compel you to speak the truth,” he intoned, his voice ringing with the power that bound me. “What happened here?”

  My mouth opened and words tumbled out. “Sebastian groped me. He didn’t stop when I told him to let me go. I elbowed him in the gut and broke his nose.” The compulsion to speak faded, but I looked Morgan in the eye and kept going. “I’m a slave for my magic, not my body. I wasn’t going to stand here and let him do whatever he wanted to me. And I gave him fair warning.”

  “Djinn bitch,” Sebastian spat. “You think you’re special because you work in the studio? You’re nothing but what we make you. You are property to be used any way humans see fit.”

  “Yes,” Morgan said. “She is property.”

  My eyes darted back to him, but he turned to face Sebastian. “My property. Keep your hands to yourself on your way out, Sebastian.”

  His eyes bulged. “Do you see what she did to me? You have to punish her. I can’t sing sounding like this!”

  “You should have thought of that before you tried to take what doesn’t belong to you,” Morgan said. “And I don’t care if you can’t sing for a while. Adira is ten times more valuable than you. Touch her again and I will destroy you.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping dangerously. “Now get out.”

  Sebastian glared at Morgan, then at me, one hand holding his nose. He gritted his teeth and then marched into the elevator, his men following after him. The doors closed behind them and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  Morgan had defended me.

  “Master,” I said. “Tha—

  Morgan’s hand shot to my throat and squeezed, cutting off my air. “You are a slave, Adira,” he hissed. “You have to keep your head down. Just because I value you more than him doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences.”

  My lungs burned with the need to breathe. I tugged and scratched at his hand, but it only tightened more painfully around my throat.

  “He probably won’t report this to the authorities, but if he does, they will take you to the farm. There won’t be anything I can do to stop them.”

  Black spots appeared in my vision as my body screamed for air.

  “Uncle,” a voice chided.

  The stranger. Was he still here?

  “Never again,” Morgan said. “Understand?”

  My eyelids fluttered as my vision went dark. My heart thumped wildly in my chest even as my limbs went slack. This was it, the final moment of cold truth for every slave.

  My master was killing me.

  2

  The pressure on my neck disappeared and I collapsed to the floor, gulping air like water and coughing it back up again. My throat and lungs burned in a searing agony that made me want to curl in ball and weep.
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br />   Footsteps slapped the tile floor as Morgan and the other man walked away. I lifted my head and glared at their backs as they disappeared down the hall to his office as if nothing were wrong.

  Of course they thought nothing was wrong. The slave had been punished for her crime. Why should they care if she coughed her throat raw, blood dripping from her lips as she struggled to breathe?

  Eventually the raging fire in my throat subsided to a throbbing ache, my lungs tender with each breath. I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled to the door next to the water cooler. Inside was a tiny powder room with barely enough room to stand between the toilet and the sink. But it had a lock on the door. At least I could have a few moments of privacy.

  I gripped the edges of the sink and looked in the mirror. Ugly purple bruises bloomed around my neck, thicker on one side where my master’s fingers had nearly squeezed the life out of me. My dark eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, matching the blood drying on my lips and chin. Tear tracks marred my normally smooth olive skin. I hadn’t even realized I had cried.

  I ripped paper towels from the dispenser, wet them in the sink, and began to clean myself up. The cool wet felt good on my cheeks and under my eyes, but as soon as I wiped the tears away, more fell. Seeing that woman staring back at me, abused and weak, made my arms shake. My quiet tears built into sobs, a terrible sorrow and rage twisting together in my chest and clawing at my throat. The sounds of my pain echoed harshly off the tile floor and walls of the tiny chamber. With a single step I retreated to sit on the toilet, unable to stand looking in the mirror anymore, my arms wrapped around my ribs as the tears forced their way out.

  I had been so stupid. Not for defending myself—there were some things I would never take lying down. My parents had raised me on the stories of great djinn kings and heroes before I’d been sold to Morgan. They would have been proud of me.