Rebels and Realms: A Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Heather Marie Adkins

  “Aren’t sirens carnivorous?” Elias asked.

  That could have just been his ex. Kal was an Old World siren, and there were some distinct similarities from New World sirens like Tyler. For starters, the Old World sirens were more vicious and bloodthirsty. Definitely Elias’ type.

  Tyler rolled his eyes and flipped Elias off like the charmer he was.

  “I don’t know that one,” Elias said, not even trying to keep the grin off his face. “Ow! Did you kick me? Jackass.”

  They hardly seemed like the bigshot, monster-hunting RCMP team they pretended to to be sometimes. The harmless bickering was why they worked so well together. Elias hadn’t been with the Mounties very long compared to some officers, but he’d been around long enough to see agents hold in the bickering until it broke into an actual fight. In some branches, that might be able to fly. Not so much in M-Division. There were a lot of things out there that could mess with emotions and that did not mix well with tension.

  Elias dropped the tea bag into the cup. The little tea pot that came with it had enough water for two cups. He let the water turn dark with tea, then pulled the tea bag out to let it rest on the saucer before all the flavour left.

  Tyler's foot tapped against his calf again to get his attention. His hands flew almost too quickly for Elias to catch.

  WE HAVE A FEW MORE HOURS OF SUNLIGHT TO FIGURE OUT WHAT WE’RE GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS W-E-N-D-I-G-O.

  There was no word in ASL for wendigo, so Tyler had to spell it out: three fingers in a W, his fingers curled in over his thumb for the E, a fist with his thumb tucked over his index and middle finger making an N, D formed with his index up, a raised pinky for I, pointing his index to the side and supporting it for G, and a simple O with his fingers touching his thumb. Wendigo.

  “Come on, man. How many times we ever get to visit Cottage Country? We can’t enjoy the view for a few minutes?”

  Tyler's unimpressed scowl said no, they most certainly could not. Which was fair. They had higher priorities.

  “Yeah, yeah. Catch the face-eating monster, then we can enjoy nature. I know the drill.”

  Elias reached into his bag and pulled out his tablet. He was a technosorcerer, did anyone think he wasn’t going to have one of everything? This was his travel tablet. It was smaller than his good one, but it did the trick. He kept it on the side of the table closest to the wall to prevent Stephanie from catching a glimpse of Nikola Kristina’s half-eaten innards. Or it was Julia Paul or Sammy Jacobine or one of the other near-dozen people allegedly eaten by this thing. He tapped the picture again, so the header became visible again. Yup, Nikola Kristina.

  There were almost twenty campers missing this year. Only eleven bodies had been recovered. Wendigo were hoarders, but Elias doubted the rest were still alive. The search-and-rescue dogs sent to find them never came back, either. No wonder the OPP wanted help.

  “Looks like everyone went missing from the same two kilometer radius in Arrowhead Park. I’m betting buddy is right in the middle of this.”

  SOUNDS REASONABLE.

  Reasonable and obvious. Wendigo weren’t smart enough to do something to deliberately throw them off, were they? Nah, that was his paranoia talking. Granted, his paranoia was usually right. He had surprisingly good instincts for being borderline bipolar.

  ISN’T THAT A BIG RADIUS? THAT’S TWO AND A HALF MILES.

  “I don’t know how big a mile is.”

  Why the hell would he? He was Canadian, and the imperial system was

  arbitrary and meant nothing.

  A MILE IS 1.6 KILOMETERS.

  “Yeah, thanks Google.”

  Did Tyler's eyes ever hurt from how much he rolled them? The slight implication of a smile on his lips kept Elias from taking it personally.

  “I dunno what's normal here. Wendigo ain't exactly common enough for us to have textbooks on, and they ain't exactly the easiest things to study. Usually, anyone who gets close enough gets their face eaten off.”

  CHARMING.

  “You didn't bring me in for my charm.”

  Tyler conceded with a slight tip of his head. He’d brought Elias in for his weird mix of Irish and Ojibwe magic that nobody really understood, not even them, and his tenacity.

  Elias tapped his nail against the table. There was something off about this whole thing — aside from the obvious face-eating monster running around — but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “I want to see where this all happened, during the day before we have to worry about shit. Can we get the OPP to keep everyone out? Last thing we need is to be attracting anything we don't want to be attracting.”

  There was a firm certainty in Tyler's hands when he said it would make it happen that made Elias have to resist the urge to shudder.

  Elias had dated an Old World siren for a while back before he'd met his husband. Kal was a tattoo artist in Kitchener-Waterloo, where Elias had moved after his grandfather death. He had a strong code when it came to when he could and couldn't use his abilities on people. Most sirens did, especially the Old World types. They valued rules and structure and all that crap Elias didn't. Maybe that was why they’d liked each other. Point was, the only time Elias could remember Kal using his powers on him was when he inked some more sensitive places on Elias’s body. Inside his wrists, behind his ear, beneath his breasts. Kal would tell him to relax in that low cello-sounding voice, his vowels rolling over his accent, and Elias would without hesitation.

  The commands became less effective over time. Elias had assumed for the longest time that he had simply built up a tolerance to siren songs the same way he had to the needle drilling against his skin. Turned out Kal was afraid of other sirens trying to fuck with him and infused his own blood into the ink. Because Elias wasn't ridiculously overpowered as it was. A strong enough siren might have been able to boss him around, assuming anybody could boss Elias Harper around, but he hadn’t met one yet. Most of the time, the only thing he heard was a whiny buzzing, like when he listened to music through earphones for too long. Sirens didn't really worry him, not for himself, not when he knew most of them couldn't do shit to him. But the reminder of what their powers could do? That terrified him a little.

  Tyler seemed to catch his train of thought, and his hands moved before Elias could get too worried.

  I WILL ASK CALLAHAN TO SPEAK WITH THE OPP STAFF SEARGENT. A pause, a quick of his lips somewhere between understanding and sarcastic. I WILL EMAIL HIM.

  Elias tried to keep Tyler from seeing his relief, though he couldn't stop a crooked grin from forming on his mouth.

  On paper, the case was simple enough. Find the wendigo den inside this two kilometres radius and set it on fire with the one small flamethrower Callahan had let them have, under strict orders to keep it away from Elias and his pyromaniac tendencies. Setting any kind of fire in the middle of the woods was dangerous enough; the last thing they needed was to set the whole goddamn forest in flames.

  TYLER'S FOOT AGAINST ELIAS'S CALF PULLED HIS ATTENTION FROM THE PHOTOGRAPHS. WHAT’S WRONG?

  Elias rubbed a hand over his mouth, frowning. There was something wrong about this case, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

  “I don't know yet. See if we can check out the site. I'm going to need to find a place to get herbs.”

  As it turned out, there were not many places in Huntsville, Ontario to get the

  kind of specialty herbs Elias needed. And by not many, he meant none. There was one place downtown, not far from where they’d eaten, he thought would be a good bet, but he was mistaken. So he'd had to go all the way to Bracebridge, half an hour away. Not like he had anywhere more important to be. He was back at one of the hotels off Highway 11 within a couple hours with his supplies. Tyler was still at the OPP office trying to at least shut down the wendigo’s suspected radius, if not the entire park.

  The lights hummed to life as Elias stepped into the room. A flicker of his eyes and the TV turned on, too. Too much quiet got to him. It always caught hi
m off guard how much PTSD he had from this job, even after only a few years. Noise made it harder to think too much. He dropped his things on the bed closest to the window, effectively claiming it for himself, and made his way to the bathroom. It was a million degrees out and he needed a shower. Never mind that he'd probably need to take another one after he worked out later tonight. He was one of those bastards who was naturally skinny — magic burned a lot of calories — but he liked to keep in shape. There was something very satisfying about being able to chase down whatever the hell needed chasing down. Deep down, Elias had a fear of becoming like Callahan, too out of shape for the sort of field work he lived for.

  Tyler still wasn't back when Elias finished in the shower. He changed into a pair of sweats and a sports bra, and fired off a text to bring dinner. By the time Tyler finished with the OPP, they would probably need to eat again, or at least he would. Plus, he needed the time alone to prepare.

  Magic was all about energy. It could become explosive, dangerous if not handled right. But when channelled properly, it could be useful as hell.

  The funny thing about magic was how specialized it was. Witches, at least the European sorts, could usually only do one type. Elias’ father and uncle were kitchen witches. In theory, Elias should have been one too. But having a medicine man for a grandfather might have skewed something in him. As far as he knew, he was the only person with more than one genre of witchcraft, so to speak. Hex witchery and technosorcery were an odd combination, even to him, but he made it work.

  Even with hex witchery, which was more general to begin with, there were specialities, and Elias’ was protection spells. He’d made his name as the Hex Witch selling them out of his computer repair shop, before the RCMP had bugged it to scope him out as a potential recruit. He missed that little shop. Sure, he still did some freelance programming on the side, which paid for his second horse and a third dog, but it wasn’t the same.

  Elias pushed the furniture around to clear space in the middle of the room. Would have been nice if they could have sprung for a suite so he’d have more room to work, but this wasn’t Toronto. Their options were a little limited. Elias had made do with worse.

  Normally, he would have liked to cleanse the space by burning incense or herbs, but he didn't want to set off smoke detectors again. He had to settle for a more Irish tradition. He didn't often bother with ritualized spell work. Given he had no idea what kind of influence might have lingered in this room, or even in the hotel, it was better to be safe than sorry. His work was an odd mesh of Ojibwa and Celtic. Sticking to strictly one path had never worked for him. He was Ojibwa and Irish, and hex witch and a technosorcerer. There was no separating it.

  He pulled a dagger from his suitcase. It was dull and mostly for show, but he could probably do some damage with it if push came to shove. The Harper crest was carved into the hilt, a knight’s helmet atop a shield bearing a lion on hind legs. He walked a circle through the room around his supplies, starting at the East end and walking in a clockwise direction. The dagger stayed pointed at the floor and as he walked, a pale green circle formed beneath the tip.

  “I, the Hex Witch, politely request that any and all spirits and energies vacate the premises so that I may work away from external influence.”

  He reached the starting point and walking the same path, going counterclockwise this time to close the circle and repeating himself. As far as he could tell, there were no spirits here. Spirits usually messed with his powers, but he felt a clear, strong connection to the electronics in the room. Still, there was no harm in setting his space. When he finished closing the circle, he stood in the middle and spoke in a horribly accented Irish Gaelic:

  “I call to the East. Raise my arms, hear my voice, that your Winds will blow forever through me.

  “I call to the South. Raise my arms, hear my voice, that your Fires will burn forever in me.

  “I call to the West. Raise my arms, hear my voice, that your Waters will flow forever through me.

  “I call to the North. Raise my arms, hear my voice, that your Earth will ground forever for me.”

  He pointed to each corner with the dagger as he called it. Power raced through his body, rushing in from the electric sockets. The circle and his eyes glowed bright green, the quaternary knot representing the four directions tattooed on his spine burning as energy flowed through it. It raced through his nerves, the surge of electricity, as it threatened to overwhelm him. He screamed soundlessly. The dagger fell to the carpet with a dull thud, and the power left his body to rest in the circle. “Fuck me...”

  This was what he got for not grounding himself before calling the corners. He didn't usually bother doing either, and he would have thought of it if not for the generic excuses he couldn’t even be assed to fully form. He told himself he would start with a grounding next time, knowing damn well he probably wouldn’t.

  Elias settled in the middle of the circle with his legs crossed and dumped the contents of his shopping bags in front of him. A faint buzz ran through his wrist. He turned it over and glanced at the notification that flashed across his skin. There was a text message. He tapped at the folded envelope. The air in front of him rippled into a duplicate of his cell phone screen. The message was from Tyler, asking if he was ready for him to come back.

  “Not yet,” Elias said, watching the words appear in the text box beneath the messages. “I need about an hour. Call if you end up needing a ride.”

  The message sent. Elias waved his hand, and the screen disappeared. He tapped the Bluetooth symbol behind his ear, severing his connection to his phone. It made him feel naked. It also made him more focused.

  Elias moved mechanically, humming to himself. Sandalwood oil, aniseed, acacia leaves, and black peppercorns went into a small bowl. Bits of leaves stuck to his fingers as he mixed them together. The oil felt warm, far warmer than it should have been even after sitting in the car all afternoon. He wiped his hand on a dollar store t-shirt and stuffed it into the bowl to soak up as much of the mixture as possible. Reaching for the scissors, he realized it would have been way easier to cut the shirt first. Too late now. The strips weren’t pretty, but it would have to do. He pushed a pulse of energy through them to dry, another sigil on his shoulder lighting up. He wrapped the strips around the two largest black tourmaline stones he’d found.

  Perfect.

  Elias set the wrapped stones down out of the way and wiped his still-sticky hands on his sweats. Gross.

  A glance at the clock showed he still had time before Tyler was expected to return, more if he realized Elias was working on spells.

  According to his grandfather’s notes, there was nothing but fire that would kill a wendigo, and not a lot that could protect them. The tourmaline spell probably wouldn’t do them any good, but it wouldn’t hurt to have, either.

  There was one more spell Elias wanted to do. If he wasn’t allowed to have a flamethrower, he wanted to have something, preferably a little more reliable than hair spray and a lighter. What were the odds of Tyler being the one in a convenient wendigo-torching position? Come on.

  This time, he cut the second shirt up into five more-or-less equally sized strips

  before doing anything else. The remainder was balled up behind him at the edge of the circle. He grabbed a second bowl, a small brass thing with three legs and char stains that showed its age. Red parilla leaves, cinnamon sticks, amaranth, and dragon’s blood — the plant — were dumped unceremoniously into the bowl. The stinging nettle was handled with a little more care. He actually managed to avoid stabbing himself with it this time. Stinging nettle and human blood could have some nasty side effects he wasn’t particularly looking forward to recreating. There was still a dead spot in his front yard at home covered with a flower pot nothing could grow in.

  Elias repositioned himself to face the south side of the room. He bunched up the strips of fabric on top of the mix of herbs and took the dagger in his left hand while he grabbed the lighter with his right.
After a pause, he shifted away from the bowl. Just to be safe. He spoke again in Irish while tracing a triangle in the air with the dagger.

  “I, the Hex Witch, call upon the Goddess Brigit to request a hand with this fire spell. By your blessing, I will not set this entire place on fire. Thanks.”

  It wasn’t the words that mattered so much as the intention. With a deep breath and the hope that Brigit wasn’t going to fuck him over, he lit the lighter and tossed it into the bowl. The whoosh of flame made him lean back with a grimace. It was gone as suddenly as it came with only the charred plants remaining as evidence. The strips of cloth were entirely undamaged, and the smoke detector stayed silent. He picked one up with the tips of his fingers.

  “Thank you, Brigit.”

  The door clicked open while Elias was wrapping the strips around arrow shafts. Between the horseback riding and the archery, he knew he was heading dangerously close to stereotype territory, but his grandfather had taught him both and he’d always found archery to be more reliable than guns. He’d never had a bow jam on him, and they were a hell of a lot quieter than a gun. Plus, it was way easier to carry around a bow and arrow than a riffle. It was also easier to guess which one Callahan let him have.

  His bow was the traditional type, no pulleys to make the draw easier. It was a simple longbow, made of Osage orange wood. The wood had cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. The better the wood, the better the bow, and this was the best one he’d made yet, if he did say so himself.

  “Watch the circle,” Elias said, keeping his eyes on his work. Tyler stopped, looking around for the boundary he couldn’t see.

  Elias finished wrapping the arrows and tucked them into his quiver. His joints cracked as he pushed himself to his feet, and he nearly fell over. Christ, had he really only been sitting for an hour? He nicked the circle with the dagger, his hand trembling from sudden exhaustion, and watched the light fade away.

  “Corners, I release you. Carry on.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss the corners while Tyler snorted. “Here, made this for you. Keep it in your pocket or something.”