Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  I’m not sure anymore. Time feels like it is off, speeding up and slowing down. Sounds aren’t normal. I hear chants, cries, voices, and drums in my head—all bending to rhythms that aren’t predictable. I pull myself up and unsteadiness takes over.

  “I feel weird.”

  “There’s something wrong,” says Layne, looking at Stuart. “Her eyes look strange.”

  “It’s an endorphin rush, that’s all. It’s normal,” says Stuart as he snaps off his gloves and pulls the machine back and away from me.

  Layne whips his head around; his dreadlocks surrounds him like a halo as the sun shines through them. He knows Stuart is lying, but he says nothing. I can tell. The hum remains in my veins and I feel strangely euphoric.

  13

  I go home alone. I want to be free of all this—to have a normal life. The stairs to my room feel like they are tilting and bending, as if they are an amusement ride. The carpet moves under my feet. I run to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face.

  The mirror twists and my reflection contorts back at me. It feels like fangs are sinking into my skin and a humming of fear rings in my ears. I feel a strange grasping clutch of fingers wrapping tight around my wrists. My face feels flame-red and my back is tight and raw.

  “Let go of me,” I say to whatever is holding my arms. My voice isn’t strong, but I hear it softly echo in the closed room. I blink and try to focus.

  Eyes flash behind me.

  “It’s me.”

  “Winona,” I gasp. She stands in front of me, her profile glowing in the moonlight shooting through my window. She rubs her arms and neck with her bony hands; her fingers reach up and stroke her disheveled hair. “What do you want?”

  “What I’ve always wanted. You. You are in my place.”

  “What are you talking about?” I look at the inside of her arms and see streaks of scars and fresh cuts. “Do you cut yourself?” I step back, tripping over the carpet’s edge, knocking over my toothbrush and body lotion. I try to balance myself on the edge of the sink, holding on to the cool granite.

  If you are gone, I will be unbound and free. No longer a shadow.

  “You have no authority over her,” Mateo’s voice shouts from the other side of the door. “Sparrow, look at her. Look at her face!”

  “Why Mateo? What am I looking for?” I plead, biting my lip and flinching under Winona’s hot gaze. “Come in, help me!”

  “Blind girl.”

  “I can’t. You must do this yourself. Use your strength.”

  I spin around and am pushed to my knees. Winona pulls a razor from her mouth and hands it to me. I accept it. She smiles.

  “Sparrow! Don’t do anything!” Mateo yells from the other side. “Look at her, please.”

  I pull my head up, the razor still sitting in my hand. The edges of Winona’s form seem to fade and blur.

  “You think you’ll wear the perfect art across your back. But it will never be right. It’s mine. I’ll have it before you.”

  “Listen to your instincts. Don’t listen to her,” Mateo whispers through the door. I reach for the doorknob but it burns my skin. “You’re stronger than her. You have more power. She can’t touch you. Find it. It’s inside you.”

  I struggle to stand, while my eyes are closed. I feel like I am waiting for the world to end.

  “Look at me now, Sparrow. You will give up because you are weak.”

  “Why?”

  “You will get your answer. I am no stranger.”

  I open my eyes, hearing a cacophony of loud voices and wind.

  “Look at her,” says Mateo again.

  I stare into her eyes; a gentle buzz hums in my ear. Familiarity. I reach out, squinting through the darkness. I gasp. Her face is my face. I am Winona.

  “If you are gone, then I take your place. Get out of my way.”

  14

  The door kicks open and its Mateo. Layne is next to him. They both stand in my doorway, two young men whom I have come to care for—one dark and one pale. They fill its space, side by side. Layne pulls back his blonde dreadlocks and twists them into a makeshift ponytail. He rubs the scruff on his chin and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Tired, black circles hang under his eyes, and his high cheekbones look gaunt.

  “You need a cavalry against me? Weak girl.”

  I turn to her again. Her eyes match mine – the almond shape, the caramel color. The wide bridge of her nose is mine too, and even her lips. Her nose has the same tiny bump, and she has the same dimple on her cheek, just one, not two. Even the tiny freckles on our cheeks match. “What is going on?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? It’s me, or more accurately, it’s you. We are one in the same . . . but I won’t keep fighting you for the power. I will take it.”

  “I’m not fighting for anything. I just want to be . . .” I struggle to answer between tightened breaths, “normal.”

  Mateo stands behind me, patting my back, making small soothing circles between my shoulders. “It’s okay. You will get through this. Just breathe.”

  “It’s not okay.” My voice sounds pinched. “I don’t understand! Am I her?” Nausea rips through me and I close my eyes.

  “Stay calm. She is a part of you. She reflects your fear, your guilt, and your misplaced anger. Use your mind and let it all go. Let her go.” Layne moves closer. “She will disappear when you find your center.” His voice comforts me in the same way it always has. “Find peace, Sparrow. It’s inside you. Forgive yourself for living after the accident. Let go of the guilt of your mother’s death. Live. You have the power to free yourself.”

  “I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “You do. Don’t let the worst parts of you win.” Mateo pulls me into the hallway, while Layne remains leaning in the bathroom doorway. Winona stares at me through the bluish light coming in the window. She smiles; her teeth are not like mine at all, that is the only difference between the two of us. Hers are hungry and feral looking.

  “I don’t know . . .” I watch Winona grow taller and stretch out, her limbs elongating and twisting. She almost becomes transparent.

  “She has always been a part of you. She is the opposing side of you. Be strong; feel your own grace and her power will shift. She’ll be gone.”

  “Will she always be a threat to me?”

  “She is always a possibility to you,” answered Mateo. “We all have a dark and unhealthy version of ourselves lurking in the shadows. You are able to look yours in the face.”

  Layne steps in front of me and leans down onto my shoulder. The longer strands of his hair fall like a web over me. “I’m here with you. You aren’t alone. You are better than her. She finds you in weakness. She gains power when you cut yourself. End it and end her. Then move on. Move on with me.”

  I look down into my hand. The razor Winona handed me sits in my palm.

  “You can’t give that up. You need it. You have too much pain to be rid of it. Or me.”

  I throw it at her violently. “No, I don’t.” I feel stronger for giving her back this pain and for not hurting myself.

  “Your mother would want you to let go,” says Layne. His hands are on my skin, under the edge of my shirt.

  “Do I have a choice?” My voice wavers and I see a glint of fear in Layne’s eyes. I look at Mateo, his eyes are confident.

  “Do it,” he says. Mateo bends and whispers into my ear. “Do it. You can.”

  The sound of a tornado blows in my ears. I gasp and close my eyes.

  I see my mother smiling, she waves and nods at me. I see myself as a toddler, learning to walk. My mother is clapping as I walk closer to her. Her eyes dart to a shadow behind me as she pulls an arrow from her pocket. She stabs the shadow. It is gone. Nothing remains. She hands me the arrow. I do the same. I stab at Winona but she is a mere shadow. The more I fight her, the less of her remains.

  My mother walks backward, becoming smaller in the distance. She waves and shouts to me to go back, so I do. I feel like I wa
lk through a pane of shattering glass. I turn back and she is gone. The skin on my back no longer burns.

  15

  I shift from foot to foot, looking at Layne and Mateo. “I’m ready to finish my tattoo.”

  Mateo walks away as Layne pushes himself from the wall. I see the shadowy bruises on my arms, as he gathers both of my hands in his. He seems so breakable. I pull away gently to trace my fingertips over his shoulders as he moves closer. Mateo tosses his arm around my shoulder, interrupting my movements, and pulls and directs me down the sidewalk. “Let’s go,” he says.

  “We’ll both go,” Layne says. “After she gets inked, she’ll figure out what she wants to do from there.”

  We walk down to The Black Line, and watch a group of skaters across the street doing tail-slides on the curb.

  Peace washes over me. I am no longer chased by the past.

  There is nothing for me but the future.

  I let go of thoughts and words, while a small, white feather blows ahead of us.

  In the wind, I hear my mother. “All will be good, my brave Sparrow. You have crossed the bridge. All will be good.”