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Dirty Deeds: An Urban Fantasy Collection
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Dirty Deeds
An Urban Fantasy Collection
Devon Monk
Faith Hunter
Diana Pharaoh Francis
R.J. Blain
Dirty Deeds
An Urban Fantasy Collection
With Stories by Devon Monk, Faith Hunter, Diana Pharaoh Francis, and R.J. Blain
When the going gets tough, the tough get their hands dirty. Join NY Times Bestselling author Faith Hunter, USA Today Bestselling author R.J. Blain, and National Bestselling authors Diana Pharaoh Francis and Devon Monk on a wild romp where the damsels bring the distress and what can go wrong will go wrong.
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Venture into a thrilling spinoff tale from the world of Jane Yellowrock, join vacationing gods in what appears to be a quiet, ordinary town, visit a supernatural hotel where the bedbugs could very well eat you, and dive into the zany, deadly world of the Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count) series.
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In this collection of all-new urban fantasy novellas and other stories, no job is too big or too small—if the price is right.
Sealed with a Tryst Copyright © 2021 by Devon Monk
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At Death’s Door Copyright © 2021 by Devon Monk
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Bound into Darkness Copyright © 2021 by Faith Hunter
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At The Ties that Bind Copyright © 2021 by Faith Hunter
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The Pixie Job Copyright © 2021 by Diana Pharaoh Francis
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Doggone Mess Copyright © 2021 by R.J. Blain
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Rebecca Frank of Bewitching Book Covers by Rebecca Frank.
Contents
Sealed with a Tryst by Devon Monk
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
At Death’s Door by Devon Monk
Bound into Darkness by Faith Hunter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Ties that Bind by Faith Hunter
The Pixie Job by Diana Pharaoh Francis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Doggone Mess by R.J. Blain
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Sealed with a Tryst
Devon Monk
Copyright © 2021 by Devon Monk
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Devon Monk is a national bestselling fantasy author. She writes urban fantasy, hockey fantasy, future fantasy, horror, science fiction, humor, noir, and steampunk magical westerns (among other things). She has twenty-nine novels, several novellas, multiple short stories, and one short story collection on the shelves.
Devon lives beneath the beautiful cloudy skies of Oregon, has one husband, two sons, and a dog that may or may not be a vampire in disguise. When not writing she can be found drinking too much coffee, designing ridiculous knitted toys, and shouting at hockey games. For free stories, knitted whimsies, and her infrequent newsletter, please visit: www.devonmonk.com
Chapter One
I parked the Jeep and stared through the rain at my almost-uncle, Crow, who was actually the trickster god Raven. He was waiting just inside the mouth of the tent he’d set up in front of his glassblowing studio. As if he’d been expecting us.
“Ten bucks it’s all stolen.” My youngest sister, Jean, wore a beanie over her blue hair, the bangs across her forehead making her eyes sky bright. She had on a puffy jacket with her badge on it, just like me. Although my badge said Chief Reed and hers just said Officer Reed.
Crow wiggled his fingers at both of us. His smile was white against his russet-tan skin, and his dark hair hung past his shoulders. He’d braided that hair and added a feather earring to his outfit today. Crow feather, of course.
“I mean, sure,” I said. “At least some of that stuff must be hot. This is Crow we’re talking about. But what I can’t figure out is the whale.”
We both leaned forward to better see out the windshield.
The January wind buffeted the Jeep hard, rocking it on its springs. Rain hammered down on the metal roof like rocks thrown from the heavens. A storm front was pushing in off the Pacific. Torrential rain would hit by tonight. Then we’d see winds clocking in at sixty miles an hour and gusting to eighty.
Just another wet, windy, possibly deadly January day in Ordinary, Oregon.
“The whale I understand,” Jean said, as we stared at the tent. “It’s a tent, we’re a beach town. Matchy-match. But why is it that… color?”
“Lurid pink?” I suggested.
She nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, I love me some color, but there’s something about that thing that makes me want to stab it.”
The hot pink whale flapped its obscenely large mouth, flailed its flippers, and flipped its tail like it’d just heard Jean’s threat and was trying to swim away.
But no matter what Jean or I thought about the thing, there were people moving around inside that ridiculous tent. Shoppers couldn’t resist a bargain, even in this weather.
Crow, still watching us, pointed upward with both hands.
The whale’s head was topped with a blow hole, and out of that sprayed blood red streamers. An additional banner near the startled whale eye declared: whale of a sale
“Is this an exploding whale thing?” Jean asked. “Because we weren’t the town that blew up that rotting whale in the seventies.”
“I think this is a Crow thing. Which means it’s nothing but trouble. Let’s see what he conveniently ‘found lying around’ to sell.” I flipped up my hood and pulled it tight under my chin.
“Think we’ll need cuffs?” Jean asked.
“Only if he won’t show us where he stashed the stolen traffic light.”
We both pushed out of the Jeep, muscling against the wind.
Ordinary was a little beach town created by gods who wanted to put their powers down and vacation as humans. The Reeds had been chosen ages ago to be the guardians of the town, to uphold the laws, both supernatural and human.
Being the eldest Reed sister meant I was not only the police chief, I was also the Bridge—the one w
ho let gods into the town and helped them put their power to rest. I also kicked them out when necessary and kept all the supernaturals and humans who lived here safe.
It was hard work, sometimes 24/7 work. Even though I loved it, I’d found myself a little more worn out lately. Things had not been calm the last few years.
“Delaney!” Crow called out over the wind and rattle of rain on the tent. “Jean. What brings you two out here today?”
“Where’s the traffic light?” I ducked into the mouth of the whale and quickly scanned the tables and shelves that filled its belly.
It looked like a regular rummage sale: kitchen items, small furnishings, little piles of tools, and folded clothing. Other things like jewelry boxes, vases, and carvings were scattered throughout. Pretty little red and gold cardboard boxes had been tucked in the corners and out-of-the-way spots.
“Traffic light,” Crow mused. “Hmmm. I’m gonna say… above the intersection.”
“We know you took it,” Jean said. “Hey, are those brownies?”
“Help yourself. There’s coffee, too.”
She threw me a look, and I nodded.
It was wet and cold and had been wet and cold for months. Coffee was the only way to get through Oregon’s never-ending season of gloom, otherwise known as October to June. July couldn’t get here fast enough.
“I thought you weren’t going to do a sidewalk sale in January. In the middle of a storm,” I said.
“And I thought you were going on vacation.” He looked me over from head to foot, his clever eyes missing nothing. “Boo Boo. Are you okay? Are you and Ryder fighting? You got the pre-wedding blues? Talk to Uncle Crow.”
Nope. No way. Not going to discuss my love life with a trickster god.
“How about Uncle Crow tells me what he did with the traffic light?”
The corner of his mouth rose, and his eyes curved into crescents. “Why do you think I did anything with it?”
I waved a finger at the impromptu garage sale we were standing in the middle of. “You have a thing for selling off bits of Ordinary any chance you get.”
He made a sound and slapped his hand over his heart. “Wounded. You know I do just fine with the glass shop. This is only to drive traffic to my Blow Your Own Balls class.”
“Really wish you’d rename that thing.”
“No, you don’t.” He waggled his eyebrows, and he was so much my uncle in that moment, so much the man I’d known since I was a kid, that it was everything I could do not to laugh.
“Nice record collection.” Jean strolled over, balancing two Styrofoam cups and a brownie wrapped in a napkin. “Anything valuable?”
“Couple of them,” Crow said, much to the interest of the gray-haired woman who was following Jean back from the snack station and obviously eavesdropping. “If someone had a good eBay shop, they could turn a tidy profit.”
The woman stilled, then hurried back to retrieve her companion, a woman who could have been her sister.
“You sly dog, you,” Jean said, as she handed me one of the coffees. “Look at you driving up sales. Now I know why you put up a whale tent.”
“Oh?” Crow asked, all innocence.
Jean nodded. “They’re buying this stuff hook, line, and sinker.”
“Delaney,” Crow said, “your sister is making me look bad in front of customers.”
“By telling the truth?” I said sweetly. “Also, we’re not customers.”
Crow scoffed, but I was paying more attention to the ladies who had pounced on the boxes of records and started flipping.
“Jim Croce!” the eavesdropper shouted to the other.
“What?”
“Bad Bad Leroy Brown!”
“I have cream for that!”
“Time in a Bottle!”
“Oh, no, dear. You don’t want to put it down there!”
“Croce! Croce!”
“Well, what I do with my crotchy is none of your business.”
“No. The songs! Jim Croce!” She waved the album at her friend who gasped.
“The record player!” Two gray heads swiveled, their eyes glittering with Black Friday glee.
Crow cleared his throat to get their attention and pointed toward the tail of the tent.
“Get it!” one shouted.
“Over there, over there!” the other said.
They were off in a flash, zeroing in on an old suitcase-style record player that sat on a pile of crab traps and rusted Christmas tree stands.
For a second, just a flash, I thought the record player glowed with yellow light, but then the wind whipped, buckling the whale’s tail, and the yellow light—if it had even been there—was gone.
“So, seriously. Where did you get all this?” I asked.
“Is that an accusation I hear in your voice? It sounds like you’re trying to accuse me of something.”
“I can throw you in jail for annoying me, you know.”
“Like you would.”
There was that. I didn’t abuse my station here. None of us on the force did. Upholding Ordinary’s laws meant none of us were above those laws. We followed the rules—all of them, both supernatural and human.
“Theft is still a crime,” I said. “So… maybe you want to just tell the truth here.”
“Storage units.”
I took a drink of the coffee. It was good. Rich. “Whose storage?”
“No one’s.” At my look, he shook his head. “Abandoned. People move out of this town, you know. They stop paying storage bills then their units go up for sale. I’m surprised you didn’t know that’s how it worked. They made a whole TV show about it once.”
Jean snorted, even though her mouth was stuffed with brownie. “Fake TV show,” she mumbled.
“Totally staged,” he agreed. “But all this?” He raised his hands like a king displaying his land. “All of it purchased by me—legally,” he added. “Wanna look around? Maybe you’ll find something to remove that stick out of your—”
“—asshole!” A teen laughed.
Crow’s eyebrows rose, and he pointed over his shoulder at the kid, Keith, a werewolf.
He and the shapeshifter, Fernando, were around the same age. Fernando held a big, old hourglass up and away from the werewolf’s reach.
“I saw it first,” Fernando said. “But for the low, low price of three hundred dollars, I might be willing to part with it.”
Keith crossed his arms and scowled but could only hold it for a second before he smiled. “The sticker says ten bucks, doofus.” He shoved his friend.
Fernando lowered the hourglass. Once again, I thought I saw a glitter of gold, but it was gone so quickly, I was left blinking my eyes and wondering if it was just eyestrain.
“Toss me five,” Fernando said. “We can use it for game night.”
“Deal.” Keith dug in his back pocket for his wallet, and the two boys moved on to the next table, laughing about a collection of busted plastic lightsabers.
“All right,” I said. “So all this is legally yours.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all this time. Glad you finally caught up.”
Jean had finished the brownie. She wadded the napkin and stuck it in her coat pocket. “What about the traffic light?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“Did you steal it?” I asked.
He threw his hands up. “Why would I want a traffic light? They’re kind of hard to sell and heavy as hell, which means no one would want to pay shipping for it.”
That was true. “Then you won’t mind us looking around for a few minutes?” I asked.
“Knock yourself out. Buy something pretty for your boyfriend.”
“Fiancé,” I corrected.
“When’s that wedding, again?”
“We haven’t set a date.”
“Too bad you don’t have time for a little vacation. Sounds like a planning session is in order. But don’t let me give you any wild ideas.” He winked, then headed over to the count
er where he had an old-fashioned cash register and a very modern card reader set up to handle the purchases. The two record ladies were already in line, and the hourglass boys were right behind them.
Jean and I stood there a minute studying the crowd and the piles of junk.
“So,” she said.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“I can guess.”
“It could be anything.”
“All right,” I said. “Surprise me.”
“You were supposed to go on vacation today. You and Ryder. What happened?”
I glanced at the vampire in the corner who was studying a gold pocket watch through the jewelry loupe at his eye.
“He’s been leaving brochures everywhere,” I said.
“Ryder?”
I nodded and walked the perimeter of the place. “Tropical beaches, mountain cabins, cities, canyons.”
“You got in a fight over vacation brochures?”
“No.”
She picked up an old eggbeater. Waited.
“It’s just that he’s been planting them everywhere!”
“Here we go,” she muttered, turning the crank and making the beaters spin.