Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Believe it, Pop. When are you going to start having a little faith in me?”

  “When you stop losing things.” Charles dropped the pen and sat back, crossing his arms and favoring her with a stern look. His tone was a thundercloud.

  Great, Aerie thought. He really was in that mood again. “Pop, that was one thing, like, forever ago. You make it sound like I lose everything all the time.”

  “You lost the one thing that was more valuable than anything else.”

  “I was a kid.” She bit each word off. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “And I’ve paid the price for your accident every day since.”

  Aerie pinched her lips together, damning her fair skin. She was probably red as a sunburn and he’d see her loss of composure—just another thing for him to criticize. The thought only made her heart pound against her ribs. At least it was too dry in here for her to break a sweat.

  If she stayed here a second longer, things would escalate into yet another argument. She wasn’t in the mood.

  She consciously slowed her breathing, counting backwards from ten, and willed herself to stay calm. After a few moments, when it had gotten as good as it was going to get, she circled her fingers and unzipped the air to reveal her Holding Plane.

  “Here.” She pulled out the crystal ball with one hand and sealed the hole eyeblink-fast. Without meeting his stare, she carefully set it onto a brass rest on his desk. “I collected the repo. I delivered the other contract terms. I didn’t lose anything. Now, I’m off the clock and I’m going out.”

  “Exactly where?”

  “Someplace warmer.” She avoided looking at his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the disappointment that was surely in them. Pulling the pieces of the Help Wanted sign out of her pocket, she dumped them into the wastebasket near the desk, on top of the remnants of the last three signs she’d taken down, with the same intent and the same failed outcome. “It’s way too cold in here for me.”

  Twenty minutes later, she banged her head against the headrest of a silver Jetta, watching the trees blur by. Thank goodness for friends with cars.

  And thank goodness for summer breaks. But those ended, always too soon. Mid-August always felt like the end of the world was coming.

  “Just once, Cara,” Aerie said. “I’d like to hear thanks or good job. Something more than I can’t believe you didn’t lose it. Turn here.”

  Cara dutifully pulled into the parking lot of the Vanguard Strip, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she backed into a spot. A wave of black curls tumbled and crashed mid-waist when she left it loose, a color so black it gleamed blue, like the ocean under the moonlight. Her olive-green eyes, just as dark and twice as deep, held secrets known only two types of folk: the dead who were buried at sea, and the Undine maidens who guarded them.

  Soulless creatures, Paracelsus described them; female water elementals confine to waterfall and forest pools, their beautiful singing voices ensnaring mortals. Hardly. The Undine clan weren’t mermaids, or sirens, or exclusively female at all. The Water Elementals had clan names that were impossible to pronounce above water, so the entire race went through a renaming process once they’d arrived from the Otherworld.

  Although the Undine race was vastly different than the mythos glorified by the ancient philosophers, Cara would probably end up with stories written about her. That girl’s temper was legendary.

  “Ice cream?” Cara shifted into park and turned off the engine, letting the keys dangle from the ignition. “Again?”

  “I really need it right now.”

  “Why’s he been so tough on you lately?”

  “He’s always been.” Aerie fooled with the window button, rather than look at her friend. “I’m not the easiest kid in the world.”

  Cara snorted. “That’s not true. You had the misfortune of growing up with my brothers. You need a definition for trouble child? There’s two, right there.”

  Aerie smiled. She and Cara had been best friends as long as she could remember, ever since the day they cast off their right names and adopted their nicknames. Aeryn was too unique for people to spell correctly, and teachers could never get it right. “Aerie” was easier. Even kids could say it.

  Cara, on the other hand, hated her given name. Few people could pull a name like Charybdis off.

  All things considered, Cara could pull it off, with power to spare, but she didn’t like attracting unnecessary attention. People in a small town like Vanguard still harbored ridiculous prejudices against Elemental folk.

  Prejudices that made Aerie’s blood boil. So what, if Cara’s mom was Undine? Every culture had something to share. Not only was she descended from one of the great Greek Houses, she was a freaking culinary genius.

  Cara pulled the keys out with a sigh and jingled them in her hand. “Your job went off without a hitch, right?”

  Aerie lifted her shoulder in a non-committal shrug.

  “Didn’t it?” Cara persisted.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Aerie said. “But…I had to slug an old lady.”

  “You what!” Her friend covered her mouth to stifle an inappropriate laugh.

  “In my defense, she was a dragon, okay? No, a real dragon. Wings. Talons. Almost breathed fire on me. And anyway, I only bashed her with a coffee tray. But still.” Aerie hung her head in unfeigned attrition. “She smelled like soap and baked cakes. I bet she played bingo. I feel a little bad about it.”

  “You’re the repo man,” Cara said. “You aren’t supposed to see little old lady playing bingo. You’re supposed to be the bad guy coming to take back the big screen TV.”

  Aerie rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “I know. I just like teasing you.” Cara reached into the back seat and grabbed her purse. She was way into designer bags with proper names and more cargo space than a mid-sized sedan. At least Aerie didn’t have to fight that purse for shotgun. Proof of a true friendship, right there. “But why is he so down on you? It seems worse every time.”

  “That’s just it. Since my magic went adult-strength, he’s gotten worse. And—I don’t even suck at it.”

  “You’re a Natch,” Cara said. “It would be hard to suck.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Every time I bust a new move or pull something out of my magical butt, it’s like, he gets madder. Then he starts on about the thing I lost when I was, like, three and then everything goes duck-and-cover time. He’s ready to blow.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know things were that bad.” Cara squeezed her friend’s hand in sympathy. “My folks were thrilled. I got a party when my power came out.”

  “Your parents aren’t jerks. Pop is—well, let’s just say, for as much a pain he says my mother was, she couldn’t have been anywhere as bad as him.” Aerie sighed. “Anyway. Yes. It’s another ice cream day. Colossal Sundae sound good?”

  Cara pushed open her door. “Things will get better. Promise. And hey, look at it this way. At least it’s not bad enough for the Mountain of Freeze. There’s still hope.”

  “Hey, Aerie.” A deep voice sing-songed her name, the tone dripping with the exact opposite of friendliness. A quiet round of mean laughter followed it. “Come on, sit back here with us.”

  She rolled her eyes, biting her lips together, feeling a flash of impotence wash through her. Staying still and silent didn’t help once you’d been spotted. The back of her neck crawled. Her mouth soured. Ice cream curdled into a tight lump in her stomach.

  “Leave us alone, Jels.” Cara stared over Aerie’s shoulder, her eyes muddy with disdain.

  Aerie groaned. Responding to him would only keep it going. She widened her eyes and mouthed a warning to ignore it.

  Don’t come over. Don’t come over. Please oh please just don’t come over.

  Too late.

  “Wasn’t talking to you, Chicken of the Sea.” The scrape of a chair along the floor raised goose bumps on Aerie’s arms. “I was talking to my girl, Aerie.”

  Catcalls and whistles fro
m the group at the back table. The sound of his work boots clomping as he approached. The pulse in her ears as her vision tunneled and the adrenaline flooded through her.

  She was hyperaware of his presence, and little else. The spoon dangled in her fingers. She dreaded the inevitable, her breath catching in her throat because it felt like she’d swallowed a huge wad of gum and he was only a step behind—

  “Aren’t you even going to say hello? That’s rude. You know that? That’s what makes you such a bitch.” A chair rattled behind hers, and her hair stirred from his breath as he leaned closer. “You know that, Pathering? You’re a total bitch. And that’s why you’re never gonna get anywhere.”

  Aerie went rigid. She didn’t have to turn around to see him. He’d be straddled on a chair, muscled arms crossed over the back, probably wearing cut-off sweats and a faded Vanguard High shirt, his cap twisted backwards. She knew because she’d lived through this a thousand times before and it never changed.

  Jels was the typical high school quarterback, scholar athlete, student of the year, class president, prom king, all around Mr. Popular. His sandy blond bangs often tumbled over one eye, momentarily smoothed back by a swipe of his fingers. Hazelnut eyes and laugh lines that crinkled at the edges, always with a joke or a smile. And he was a total dirtball.

  She thought so, anyway. When he looked at her, the hazelnut eyes with their champagne glints dulled to the color of cold mud, laugh lines vanished, mouth gone slack. He just went all dead-faced when she was around. Everything that made him the most likeable became the things that made him most despicable to her.

  Because she knew him better than anyone else. She knew his voice, she knew his favorite movie, and she knew the bulge in his front pocket wasn’t his car keys.

  “No one wants you,” he stage-whispered. “No one needs you. When are you gonna just accept it?”

  Aerie swallowed hard and stared straight ahead. A sudden movement jerked her gaze. Cara. Cara stood and hefted the sundae dish a moment before hurling it past Aerie’s head, hitting Jels in the shoulder.

  The dish shattered when it hit the floor. The shouts erupted around it.

  He grabbed a fistful of Aerie’s hair and twisted her neck so he could kiss her, hard, on the cheek.

  “Too bad you’re the one who’s gonna pay for that, sweetheart. And you…” Jels raised a finger at Cara. “You better cut that shit out right now, you slimy bitch.”

  Cara’s appearance had begun to change. Her hair looked bigger, swimming around in slow-mo tendrils. And her eyes—

  Her eyes were electric blue, swirls of a whirlpool, drowning-deep.

  Oh, no. Aerie squeezed her eyes shut. This is gonna get real bad.

  “Hands off, Jels.” Cara’s voice sounded like the rush of a hollow roar. “You’re in over your head.”

  A couple scurried out the door, herding their children before them.

  “Ain’t your fight, Marin.” Jels tensed, pulling Aerie closer. “So just dry up.”

  “No elemental magic allowed!” The ice cream clerk rushed toward the table, his wand aloft, its tip glowing a menacing shade of green. “You know the rules, Undine!”

  “And he knows the consequences.” Cara’s voice went deeper, the thunder of a waterfall.

  “Final warning!” The clerk pointed the wand toward the floor. A shower of ice pellets sputtered out, freezing the tiles. A freeze bomb spell. Not exactly a water Elemental’s best friend.

  He raised his arm, aiming the live end of the wand at Cara’s chest.

  Cara slowly swiveled her head toward the clerk. The look in her charged-up eyes and her blood-thirsty smile said if she was going out, she’d take Jels with her. And maybe the clerk, too.

  Time slowed to a near-stop. Aerie’s heart jack-hammered against her ribcage. If Cara blew her spout, people would get hurt. A lot of people. And it would be her fault.

  “You.” Jels whispered, his mouth next to Aerie’s ear. His hot breath scalded her neck. “You are so lucky I can’t do what I want to do right now.”

  He released Aerie with a shake that nearly shoved her out of her chair. “You both are.”

  He stood, knocking the chair over, and sauntered around their table toward the door. His jackal buddies raced to keep up with him, mercifully blocking him from view.

  The pack stopped at the door and Jels gave her one last leering look. “Good thing we’ll be seeing so much of each other, Pathering. Later, babe.”

  The door closed on their laughter.

  By the time her vision normalized and her pulse eased up, he was gone and Cara was cleaning up the glass. The clerk had stowed the wand, returning instead with a dust pan and broom. Aerie numbly watched him scoop up the mess, while Cara blasted him, hand on her hip, attitude rolling off in waves.

  “Undine?” Cara dead-eyed the guy. “Really?”

  “It’s posted,” he said sheepishly. Gone was the self-righteous racism now that it was just them. “You know better.”

  “You need another sign. Maybe No Assault. Or, at least, No Neanderthals.”

  “I’ll talk to the manager,” he mumbled.

  “Mmm, hmm. Right, whatever. Come on, sweetie.” Cara wiped her hands on a napkin and patted Aerie’s shoulder. “We can go now.”

  Aerie allowed her friend to guide her out to the car and settle her into the passenger side. Neither one said a word the entire drive back to the shop. There was nothing to say, really, and in moments like these, silence was the only thing that made sense anyway.

  3

  Mercifully, the “Help Wanted” sign wasn’t in the window when she got back to the shop.

  Maybe Pop was actually considering her request. It was a tiny hope, but a hope nonetheless.

  She was not eager to go upstairs yet, in the chance she’d trigger one of those moods and change his mind before she had a chance. Instead, she killed time by helping Greysen restock the shelves.

  Every time someone came in, the bells over the door would ring. The sound reminded her to put on her Customer Service Face and get to work. The shop did pretty good business. Not just the artifacts contracting, which brought in the biggest profits. There was plenty of small magics to be purchased: candles, incense, herbs, chalks and pendulums.

  Aerie loved their archaic packaging, their intricate wrappings. Pretty trinkets, all; she had no need for magic augmentation, and so to her these things were nothing more than pretty trinkets. She’d never tell that to a customer, though. She’d been raised on this sales floor, helping out under Greysen’s watchful eyes since elementary school. This shop, and all its magical wonders, were her life.

  She was setting up a pre-pack display of enchanted Hamsa keyrings (“42 Percent More Effective Than Faith Alone!”), lingering over the stylized sterling silver palms, listening to the echoes of memories than often swept her up in this shop. She didn’t notice that Greysen came down the aisle.

  His seemingly-sudden appearance startled her back into the present. He set down a carton, slicing open the tape and pulling open the cardboard flaps for her. “You seem troubled more so than usual, child. What is on your mind?”

  “Just remembering last Christmas, when Trevor came back from Morocco. It’s so weird without him. Every time I hear the bells go, I think it might be him.”

  “He was truly a unique man.”

  Unique. That was a word. Trevor had been the Acquisitioner. The Indiana Jones of Vanguard: adventurous, smart, a real hero to Aerie. When he came home from a quest, he always brought incredible stories along with the artifacts he’d located, as well as a special treat for Aerie. He’d been family.

  She remembered the day she first told Pop she wanted to be an Acquisitioner one day. He laughed at her, saying you can’t. He finds things. You lose them.

  Eleven years old. That was how old a kid was when she realized the world had no place for dreamers.

  At least, back then she had Trevor’s visits to look forward to. “I don’t know how Pop can hope to replace him. No one
can ever hold a candle to him, not even one of your homemade rosemary ones. At least, if it were me, I’d do him honor.”

  “It is a dangerous occupation, Aerie. You know your father does not wish that life for you.”

  “But it’s not his life, is it? It’s mine. I’m not some ingenue. I learned from the best. Every trip, every tale—I know them all. I studied his journals. I learned every single one of Trevor’s specialty spells. You can blindfold me and stick me in the vault. I know every detail, every trick of every artifact in there. Who can Pop possibly hire that would be more prepared to do this job than me?”

  Greysen didn’t reply. She turned toward him for confirmation but he wasn’t standing there.

  Pop was.

  She rubbed her palms over the backs of her pant legs, feeling self-conscious. How long had he been standing there? How bad was he going to blast her for what she’d just said?

  “That’s why you’re doing it,” he said.

  “I am?” A brief jaw-drop of a moment passed before the words sunk in. She wanted to sing out with a whoop of victory. Sudden elation hit her chest like a sunrise. None of this had been in vain, after all.

  “Sure. You know every item on these shelves. You’ve educated more wizards than Professor Marin, I’d wager.”

  Wait. Aerie’s gaze slid sideways. These shelves. Not in the vault.

  They weren’t on the same page, after all. They weren’t even in the same business.

  “You mean…” Hope waning, she waved a listless hand toward the sales floor. “This job?”

  “And Reacquisitions, of course. No one is better prepared to do that job than you.”

  This was praise, coming from him. And it was awful because it wasn’t at all what she most dearly wished to hear.

  “Let me know when my appointment arrives.” Pop smiled a tight, perfunctory smile and walked back toward the stairs, leaving her standing awkwardly, wallowing in her customary puddle of never good enough.