Hexes & HandcuffsA limited edition collection of supernatural prison stories
Handcuffs & Hexes © 2020 Margo Bond Collins, Dangerous Words Publishing
All copyrights remain in control of the individual authors over their own works: Copyright © 2020 Maggie Alabaster, Tabitha Barret, Margo Bond Collins, Bokerah Brumley, Quirah Casey, M.M. Chabot, Tiegan Clyne, Emma Cole, May Dawson, Elizabeth Dunlap, Cyndi Faria, LA Fox, Tina Glasneck, Jen Grey, Leigh Kelsey, Dana Lyons, Niobe Marsh, AJ Mullican, Bee Murray, Jen Ponce, D.A. Stein, Khardine Gray, Nicole Zoltack
Cover Design by Pixie Covers.
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
These are works of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Contents
Clockwork Felon
Blood Cursed
Broken Chains
Abducted
Before The Storm
Elemental Beginnings
Cellblock Sorcery
Nicked
The Freed
Freak
Vampire Uncaged
Fugitive Demon
Captive Souls
Chosen
Kiss And Lock Up
Bind his wings
The Black Garden
Conjuring Asylum
Reporting For Duty
Rock, Meet Hard Place
The Prison of Despair
Bounded
Paranormal Guard
Clockwork Felon
Clockwork Academy
Maggie Alabaster
About Clockwork Felon
Nate Bentley has a goal—attend university and make something of himself. The problem was, in order to go to the only school his family can afford, he needs to break the law.
Chapter One
Nate Bentley jumped aside as the horseless carriage trundled down the street.
"Oy, watch where you're walking!" the passenger called out.
Nate shot the man a smile and adjusted his top hat. It was too warm out for the accessory, but he wanted to stand out. Or he had when he'd left home this morning.
Now, he wanted to pull off his hat and tuck it under his arm like the other men who strolled the streets of the borough. Maybe if he was conspicuous, no one would realise what he'd done. He drew in an anxious breath but straightened at the exhale and tried to look cocky. With all of his freckles and tied-back blonde hair, he probably looked more nerdy than cocky. He would have to work on that.
He tugged on the hem of his waistcoat as he did when he was nervous, and nodded at a young woman wearing a red and gold corset and a huge red plume in her hat.
"Good day, miss," he said politely.
She smiled back, and opened her mouth to reply. Her eyes widened. She looked past his shoulder and stepped away hurriedly.
Nate licked his lips. This was it. He schooled his mouth into an uncharacteristic sneer and turned around.
Just as he suspected, two members of the borough constabulary bore down on him. Both wore identical expressions—wary, but firm. They knew what he'd done, but weren't certain if he was a danger to them or anyone else.
"Stop right there," one snapped, as if Nate hadn't already. "You'll need to show us the contents of your pockets."
"Of course," Nate replied easily. At least the police in the borough were polite. Outside, in the rest of London, he would probably have been sworn at or tackled to the ground by now. They certainly would have had tasers trained on him while he put his hands in his pockets.
He drew out several chronographs, each with the price tags still attached. Exorbitant price tags, that was the point.
"What does one young man need with so many chronographs?" the first constable asked.
"I like to tell the time," Nate replied. "A lot." He smiled winningly, but on the inside his heart raced like an airship engine.
"You'll have to come with us," the constable gestured for him to hand over the watches and walk in front of them.
"Certainly." Nate did as they asked, but his eyes dropped to the ground. A crowd had started to gather. The chance he knew some of them, at least by sight, was likely. The borough a tight knit community. The constabulary was rarely needed for more than the occasional intoxicated person, or to find a lost cat. Theft was relatively rare. Of course people would stand around and gawk.
Nate was ushered toward the constabulary station and the door closed firmly behind them.
"In here, please." The second constable waved a hand toward a door.
A cell. Shit. This was just a bit too real.
Nate turned and licked his lips. Maybe if he apologised profusely…
The constable's face was hard as stone. He gave Nate a look of utter contempt.
"Get inside," he snapped. "Save your blubbering for court."
"I'm not—" But tears prickled at the corners of Nate's eyes. He blinked them away. Some kind of badass he was.
He stepped inside the cell and sat on the bench in front of the wall.
The door clanged shut. The sound echoed through his mind for several minutes afterward.
He was in trouble. Big, fucking trouble. That had been the idea, but yet…
He chewed at his fingernail and watched the cell door. It stayed firmly shut. The air seemed to get thinner and thinner. His head swam. He leaned back against the wall behind him and sucked in a few rapid breaths.
His father was going to be devastated. A man who had worked hard all his life and was proudly in charge of the team who serviced the horseless carriages, he had raised his son better than this.
"This is all for you, Dad," Nate muttered.
The door clanged open. Nate shot to his feet.
Looking both weary and wary, Nate's father stepped inside. Gerald Bentley was an older, taller version of Nate, but with much less hair.
He eyed Nate, the
