Extracts from “Most Wanted” urban fantasy collection
Extract from A Spell to Find a Hidden Witch by C.N. Rowan
The day I learned she lived was the day I knew I would die.
I sat at my desk, holding a missive in trembling hands. Words from a private detective – a normal human. After years of failure where I’d got used to wiring him money every month with never a hope of a result, as a penance payment and nothing more, he’d finally done it.
He’d found news of my daughter. Suzie was dead; she’d passed years ago. He couldn’t tell me how long it’d been, only that he was certain she was dead. A car accident, of all the ridiculous ways for a witch to go.
But my granddaughter was alive.
Bryar lived.
I held on to that above the sea of grief. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been a giggling ball of energy flashing around the House, playing tag with Shugmonkey, having never realised it was unusual for a giant dog-shaped animal to have a wizened monkey head because she’d lived in a world of wonder. And she’d made the House ring with the sound of her laughter.
It had been so quiet since the two of them had left. I wondered what Bryar was like now that she was grown. Suzie had locked away her memories, needing to in order to keep her magic dormant. All part of her plan to keep Bryar safe. She’d run away from here, from the magic world. Then she’d hidden her daughter behind a final working of her own.
A working that was now unravelling. Because Suzie was dead.
But Bryar still lived.
‘Liliane.’ The voice of the man in front of me brought me back to the here and now. He was tall, well over six foot, and he towered over me. I was convinced I’d shrunk with age, mind, but he was large enough to loom over most people, both in height and presence. As always, he was dressed in sombre black from head to toe, his hair matching as it fell in waves down to his broad shoulders. It all stood in contrast to his alabaster skin and his winter-blue eyes, now crinkled as he stared at me in concern.
I waved those concerns away. ‘I’m fine, Silas. Better than fine, my old friend. Bryar is alive.’
Silas drew in a sharp breath. ‘Do you know where?’
There were few, if any, more capable of keeping someone safe than the vampire in front of me. But someone had killed Bryar’s father and sent my daughter on the run. They might’ve killed her too. So I wasn’t convinced anyone could keep Bryar safe now that Suzie’s spell was fading. Especially not out in the world, alone, which is what Silas would do. He’d watch her from a distance for the rest of her life. An eternal invisible guardian keeping her safe from threats. Honouring what he saw as his unpaid debts to her mother and father.
Which meant I needed him out of the way.
Extract from Wilding Escape by Jilleen Dolbeare
I leaned low over the stallion’s neck. They were close behind me, too close. The big black animal beneath me gulped down the miles. Flying. I knew that Deimos and his wolves were fast, but no animal had ever beaten Seerwind in a race. The feel of Deimos’s metaphorical breath on the back of my neck and the panic I felt wouldn’t let me slow down for even a moment.
I urged the big stallion to go faster. If they caught me, I was done for. Deimos would order his wolves to tear me apart.
I usually wouldn’t treat a horse like this, even the special Sherian horses. But it was my life at stake. I should probably stop and let the animal go, but first I had to get enough distance between myself and the hunting party behind me so I could disappear and make my way to the portal.
Thinking of parting from Seerwind nearly ripped my heart out. Not only was he the last link to my past, but his specialized hooves would be welcome for swift movement when we reached the mountains—his hooves were built for sheer cliffs and rugged terrain. Still, he’d be easy to track by Deimos and his wolves.
I spared a glance behind me. We’d left the foothills where Sherian Keep lay. The road stretched long and open before us. I looked up. An ergyle circled above us. Those particular birds of prey had been twisted by magic and were used by my cousin for surveillance. I shivered. Deimos knew where I was.
There was no time to leave Seerwind. I needed him to make it to the portal.
Magic was mostly hidden in the realm beyond, but the veil between my realm and the Earth realm was thin in the hills of my home and consequently thin around the rugged Uinta mountains of Earth. If I made it through the portal I’d get breathing space, Deimos would need to find a wilding witch to let him through. It would give me time to escape and rest.
I felt terrible for using Seerwind like this, but I pushed him faster. Deimos might try to retrieve the mighty stallion, but he also might just slaughter him for the help he’d rendered to me. Deimos had serious issues with loyalty. Funny since his loyalty was shit.
I patted the horse on the neck, both of us missed my father, which was why the great steed was helping me. I hadn’t even attempted to bond with him. He’d been my father’s stallion, and I’d been bonded to another Sherian, Seraphim, until the accident had taken her from me.
I opened my mind and tried to reach the great stallion. He listened, but his grief was too intense to want to bond with another. Deep sadness filled him but also determination to save me, his master’s only living offspring. His strides went from an easy gallop to an extended one as I encouraged him. It was a race to the portal and its forest on the other world. I could hide there, and the life force of a forest would fill me with strength. I couldn’t wait to revel in magic. I’d been in Deimos’s dungeon for so long I was drained.
Seerwind gave his all, but eventually he stumbled, tiring. I whispered to him, lending him the little strength I had. I’d been separated from the wild heart of the world for too long, and I had little to offer.
His great heart propelled his legs faster until the ground was a blur, and my face stung. When I looked behind us, the pack was visible on the road but falling back. I figured we had a mile or more lead on them, although the portal and the alien forest beyond were still four miles away. It would be close, Seerwind was slowing again. Even his great will wasn’t going to be enough. I tried to get through to him, but he wasn’t responding. I’d have to dismount and use the Change.
Extract from Wyld Witch Storm by Janna Ruth
“Have you decided when you’re going to tell Alexej the truth about witches?”
The question bothers me almost as much as the cold drops of water that fall on my sun-kissed chest. For a fire witch, Ilona sure loves swimming.
It’s the summer of 1996 and I’m enjoying a rare moment of peace on the shores of the Vltava River in the centre of Prague. I wipe the offending droplets off my warm skin before folding my arms behind my head and seeking the sun once more. It’s a hot June day and I intend to take full advantage of it before finals ruin the rest of summer. “When he can handle it.”
“Jarek…” Despite having only been at university for a year, she’s got the teacher voice down. “Shouldn’t you be honest with your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Alexej is too chicken for that. Kissing in his dorm room at the Wyld Lands Academy? Yes. Holding hands in public? What would the people say? I roll my eyes just thinking of his scandalised, pretty face. Anything that doesn’t play by the rules scares the shit out of him.
Ilona snorts and takes out her drink bottle. “What is he then?”
“A mage,” I say, unable to keep the disdain out of my voice. As much as I adore Alexej, he’s one of them.
Mages and witches both control the elements, yet we’re fundamentally different. Witches like Ilona and I are so deeply connected to our elements that the slightest height of emotion can summon our magic. Any sort of meltdown could cause a natural disaster, so we always have to keep our emotions in check. Mages, on the other hand, throw around fireballs and lightning bolts. What they lack in power, they make up for with perfect control.
Control. It’s a word as ingrained into a mage’s DNA as a witch’s elemental connection. They control who gets to learn magic, who gets to access the portals leading to our ancestral homeland, and who deserves to live. Spoiler alert: it’s them. As for us witches, we’re the bane of their existence—criminals by birth, and most importantly, something that needs to be controlled.
People at school don’t know I’m not an air mage. Alexej certainly doesn’t or he’d throw a hissy fit. The only reason I put up with the aggravating mage propaganda in class is they’ve got the key to the Wyld Lands, a magical dimension where the elements run wild, creating a world that’s as dangerous as it is beautiful. So far, I’ve taken part in four field trips, each more exhilarating than the last. While the mages cower in fear, desperate to erect shelters, I’ve run on crumbling cliffs, jumped into thundering rivers, and tasted the storm on my lips. As soon as I graduate next month, I’ll find a way to explore more. I’ll join an expedition, study Wyld Lands Geography—a ridiculous subject when the maps are erased with each change of the tide—or simply pack my things and move there indefinitely. Maybe I’ll even convince Alexej to come with me. As if.
“He might be a mage, but he loves you,” Ilona harps on. “I mean, you’ve been not-boyfriends for months now.”
I recall the stormy winter night we were stuck in that little shed on campus. If it had been up to me, I would’ve braved the storm and relished the cold gusts, but Alexej has always been the more sensible one. So, instead, we made ourselves comfortable on the mattress cart, burnt some old P.E. records nobody was going to miss, and had long deep conversations until the fire was out, the words had run out, and all we could hear was the storm outside and the sound of our breath in the dark. I still don’t know who started it—me probably—but suddenly, his lips were on mine and the cold was no longer an issue.
A cloud passes overhead and I push myself up on my elbows. “None of which will matter if he finds out what I really am.”
Extract from Most Wanted: Mordred by G Clatworthy
I lined up my shot. This dzraker had led my team on a wild goose chase around South Wales for months, stealing and assaulting his way across the country. And now I had him.
The perp – a witch named Gus Snattergum – specialised in weather magic with an emphasis on rain and water. He’d started off as a petty thief, making it rain and picking the pockets of people rushing home to avoid the bad weather. But sometime last year he’d realised he could manipulate water in a different way, and he’d turned nastier. The latest victims had almost died from drowning, waking up coughing up water and gasping for their lives before realising they’d been robbed. The cul had even got some of my team with the same trick. And that made it personal.
No one laid into my team except me.
We’d searched for him for weeks. I’d led the investigation myself, something I did less and less these days; promotions weren’t all they were cracked up to be. They looked good on paper, a few extra pounds in the bank account, more responsibility. What no one mentioned was the endless hours stuck indoors, shuffling paperwork and attending pointless meetings.
I relished the breeze blowing in my face. There’d be reports to write up afterwards. There were always reports to write up. But, for now, I was outside, on the hunt.
I sniffed the air. Downwind, the scent of wet human and copper drifted towards me. The same scent that hung over all the previous victims. This was definitely our guy.
I’d made the call that no one was to approach the water witch; we’d engage from afar, take him down before he could cast any magic. All the relevant forms had been completed – not by me. Sometimes I got to delegate the damned paperwork; that was one of the perks of heading a department – so all that was left to do was take the shot.
And that was on me. If anyone got into trouble for shooting first, asking questions later, it would be me. One shot and we could take in this dzraker and I could have a weekend away with my mate at our farm getaway. My lips curved in a smile at that thought and I lifted my repeater crossbow – a custom-made job from my tech guy, Maxi – and took a breath.
The air beside me distorted, pressing against me.
“Agent Jones,” came a soft voice. Madam Mim, the sorcerer, had materialised nearby, her long dress fluttering in the breeze.
“Not now,” I replied, keeping my gaze on my target.
I sighted along the bolt of my crossbow. I’d get one shot. If I missed, Gus would call down the clouds, effectively making himself invisible. I needed to get a part of his body that would incapacitate him – or his magic, at least – without killing him. I wanted that witch alive to face a trial and give his victims some closure. If he would just turn a little, I’d have a perfect view of several areas I could hit: his shoulder, or somewhere lower.
“I need to speak with you.”
“In a minute.” My finger rested against the trigger. Patience. I just had to be patient. My eyes narrowed. He turned and scratched his nose. Perfect.
I readied to pull the trigger.
“Mordred has escaped.”
Extract from Runing With The Wolves by C. Thomas Lafollette
Ragnar stepped through the door from the backroom onto the stage. He stopped, a smile spreading across his face as he ran his hand through his shaggy red hair. It was perfect.
A thick crowd wearing more flannel and plaid and leather than he’d ever seen laughed raucously, bashing thick glass mugs together or slamming empty shot glasses on the tabletops. The room was dimly lit except for the backbar and a few neon beer signs belching their gregarious advertisements for all to see. And best of all…
A wall of chicken wire separated the room from the stage. This place was pure roadside dive gold.
“Hey, you’re blocking the way, Red.” Melinda poked him in the back of the calf with the rubber-tipped support pole of her upright bass.
“Sorry.” He moved to a spot behind the center microphone and set up his guitar stand.
He inhaled deeply. “That’s the stuff.”
“What? Stale beer and trucker farts?” Melinda gently laid her bass down on its side. The tall, muscular blonde woman folded her arms over her chest. “You’re a weird fucker, Red.”
“Trucker farts? Gross.” Constance, his girlfriend and the band’s drummer, squeezed through the door with her bass drum. She set it down in the middle of the stage.
“Connie, I’d set that up as far back on the stage as you can.” Mississippi Pete, standing near the side of the stage, opened the legs to his steel pedal slide.
“But this is where I usually set up,” she replied.
“It’s the chicken wire,” Melinda said. “I used to work in a dive like this back in the day. I’m surprised this is the first wire we’ve seen on this tour. Right, Sippi?”
“Yup. I expected more on a roadhouse tour like this.” Mississippi Pete shook his head. ”Roadhouses are getting downright respectable these days. Shame.” Mississippi Pete picked up the drum and moved it back. “There. That should give you enough room for your seat. And I’m going to suggest the light kit today.”
“What’s the deal with the chicken wire?” Connie asked looking from band member to band member, her brow furrowed nervously.
“It’s to protect us from flying beer bottles. But when they hit the wire, they can break. If you’re in the middle of the stage, that puts us up against the wire. And you don’t want Ragnar taking glass shards to that pretty face of his, do you?” Sippi winked at her then exited through the door to grab more equipment.
“About fuckin’ time!” someone called from the tables. While the rest of the band set up the drums, Ragnar grabbed the bundled-up cables and began stringing them from the appropriate amps to the bass and guitars. He plugged the last one into his guitar and the amp squealed.
Extract from Night of the Wilding by TJ Green
There was only a razor-thin crescent of moon visible as Maverick Hale, alpha of the Storm Moon Pack and owner of Storm Moon, his club in Wimbledon, London, unleashed his wolf in the enormous grounds of Richmond Park.
He was accompanied by a select number of his pack members: Domino, his female Head of Security; Arlo, his Pack Second who managed the club; and Vlad, the club’s Deputy Manager. They were his inner circle, privy to the secrets and issues that he kept from the rest of the wolf-shifters. There were others in that select group, such as Grey, the human Deputy Head of Security, and Jet, his human spy, but they weren’t part of the hunt that night.
It was mid-June and hot, and London felt unsettled, as if something lurked beneath the blazing sun. The glare that daylight brought was almost too bright. It slanted into every corner, and the heat had made the ground hard and dry, and the grass brown. Dust rose around his pounding paws as he raced through the grounds, his three companions spread around him. It felt good to cut loose at night, and even better that it was just past the new moon. Darkness was welcome.
Without warning, half a dozen rabbits bolted into view, white tails bobbing as they bounded across the field, and rather than set off in pursuit, he waited, senses alert for what might have disturbed them. Even with his excellent night vision and acute sense of smell, he sensed nothing untoward, yet they raced away as if spooked by something. Maybe it was him they sensed. He was a predator after all, and as he wasn’t hunting, hadn’t bothered to disguise his approach.
And then a screech sundered the air, and a huge owl soared overhead, talons outstretched. Spotting Maverick, it swooped and headed directly for him. Even as Maverick sensed that something was wrong, because owls in general did not attack wolves, he still responded as his instincts demanded. He snarled, back legs bunching beneath him, ready to spring at the threat.
It was a Tawny Owl, larger than most, and its amber eyes blazed with a fiery orange light, much as Maverick’s probably were. They gleamed gold when threatened, and although an owl wasn’t really a threat to a creature of his size and speed, the fact that it was being blatantly aggressive was enough to provoke a reaction. As he leaped towards it, the owl turned swiftly, avoiding his snapping jaws, and its claws raked through the thick fur on his shoulder blade before rising on powerful wings and wheeling away.
