Blood Bound: A Junkyard Druid Urban Fantasy Short Story Collection (Junkyard Druid Novellas Book 4)

by M. D. Massey

  Larry’s presence puzzled the shit out of me, but I decided to chalk it up to the fact that the chupacabra was anything but your typical supernatural creature. According to him, he was a hodgepodge of various natural and magical beings, cooked up in a government lab on Plum Island for who knew what purpose. Larry claimed they’d been trying to create battle Wargs, but from the look of him, I doubted very seriously that was his makers’ intent when they created him.

  “You think?” I said as I struggled to get my pants back on. “Don’t take it personally, Larry. The Grove is very orthodox when it comes to the natural order. Gene-splicing and other forms of genetic tampering rub it the wrong way.”

  “Hmph, like it has the right to point its branches at me. I don’t know if you’re aware, but your Grove is a flippin’ amalgam of nature, deific magic, and a lot of other stuff that I still haven’t figured out.”

  I considered Larry’s words for a moment, quickly concluding that his observations were probably right on the money. The Dagda had gifted me with a magical acorn that had grown into the Druid Oak when I planted it in the junkyard. After what I’d seen since that fateful day, I was positive that he and Goibniu, and possibly Lugh as well, had used massive amounts of magic to create it.

  Both the Oak and Grove possessed god-like powers that dwarfed those of any mage, human and fae included. That alone made the nature of its creation suspect. You didn’t get a magical plane-hopping, pocket-dimension-creating, sentient tree by leaving its DNA alone, that was for sure.

  “Larry, I’d be the last person to argue that point with you. But what I really want to know is, why are you here instead of tracking down your ex?”

  “Right. Well, there’s something you need to know about Kiki.”

  I bit back a sigh. “Okay… but can’t it wait until I have a bath and take a nap? Time moves so slowly here, and Kiki will still be there when I’m done.”

  “This is important, druid. Trust me, I wouldn’t have risked coming here and pissing off your magic mutant tree if it wasn’t.”

  Something told me this would take a while, so I grabbed my shirt and started pulling it back on. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret what you’re about to tell me?”

  “Yeah, well—I probably shoulda’ told you, and I meant to, but—”

  “But the timing wasn’t right, the stars weren’t in alignment, and Nostradamus hadn’t written a stanza mentioning what you should’ve told me. Does that about sum it up?”

  “Geez, druid. If I knew you was going to be an ass about it—”

  “Oh, please. Don’t act all wounded,” I said with sarcasm in my voice. “Now, tell me what you came to say.”

  Larry was still invisible, but I could hear him scratching nervously nearby. “You see, druid, it’s like this. You know how I told you Kiki is a zombie corgi and all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, she’s actually more than that. Like, a lot more.”

  “A lot more, how?”

  Larry scratched some more before he answered, a nervous tell if there ever was one. “She’s… I mean to say Kiki is… er, what I’m trying to say is that—”

  “Cripes’ sakes, Larry, I’m not getting any younger. Spit it out already.”

  The chupacabra sighed loudly. “Alright, it’s like this. Kiki is a—”

  At that moment, the air directly in front of me spun into a vortex that stretched away into the distance—a long, narrow tunnel made up of wind, dirt, grass, and leaves. And Larry, who I was able to see because he displaced so much of the detritus that got sucked into the vortex. In less than a second, the chupacabra’s shimmering outline had disappeared from sight, and the disturbance dissipated as if it had never been there.

  Like a turd in the wind, the Grove had just flushed Larry from its system.

  29

  “Damn it!” I hissed under my breath. “Okay, where did you send him?”

  The Grove sent me an image of a stallion shaking horse shit from its hoof, followed by another image of the junkyard, adjacent to the Druid Oak’s spot.

  “Send me there, please, if you don’t mind.”

  The sentient pocket dimension sent me another image, one that was me, but not me. This me had pale, gray-green skin, black teeth, chapped lips, and torn, peeling flesh that oozed maggots and pus.

  Well—I could’ve gone my whole life without seeing that and never lost a night of sleep. I will now, though.

  Although the Grove didn’t know it—because no one did, except for Fallyn—I’d had nightmares for months after coming back from the Hellpocalypse. Once I’d readjusted to life in this timeline, they’d slowly faded away. But there wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t think about Anna, Mickey, and the group of kids I’d left behind in that other, post-apocalyptic timeline.

  Click had assured me that eventually I’d be able to go back to the exact time and place he’d yanked me out of in that world. Even so, it still felt like I had abandoned them. Months later, I occasionally woke up screaming with visions of undead children in my head.

  Enough of that—focus on the now, Colin.

  “Look, I know you don’t like Larry. But he has his uses, and right now I need him to stop an undead outbreak from happening.”

  Which apparently is a weekly occurrence in Austin these days.

  The Grove sent another image, this one of me being pulled down under a horde of deaders.

  “Yes, it’s dangerous, but it’s also my job. Nobody else gives a shit. The factions are too caught up in their own affairs, and they’re each way too insular to give a damn about what happens to the humans on a day-to-day basis. Let’s face it, they prefer to clean up after a disaster happens rather than bothering to avert a crisis beforehand. And with the Cold Iron Circle gone to ground, it falls to me to avert shit like this.”

  Which brought up an interesting question—what was going to happen to the city after I was gone? Seriously, it made me wonder who’d taken care of stuff like this before I came on the scene.

  Certainly the Circle had done their part, if only out of self-preservation and self-interest, and the city had a healthy population of freelance hunters. But would it be enough? Sometimes, I couldn’t help but think that things had been a lot quieter on the supernatural front before I’d gotten clued into The World Beneath.

  World-class shit magnet—that’s me, alright. Speaking of which, I still need to find out what Larry was going to tell me.

  The Grove sent a few more images of me in dire straits, until I’d finally had enough. “Look, would you cut it out already? Just send me where Larry is and stop worrying about me so much. I can take care of myself.”

  With those words, my pet pocket dimension went radio-silent. A split-second later, I found myself standing in the junkyard, right next to Roscoe and Rufus. The two dobie-bully mixes were jumping up and down as they barked at something hidden atop a stack of crushed cars. The dogs howled and growled, never taking their eyes off their invisible prey, like a couple of hounds treeing a mountain lion.

  “Roscoe, Rufus, hush!” I said in a calm but firm voice. Immediately, the two sat on their haunches, tongues lolling with their eyes still focused at the top of the stack. “Good boys. Okay, I got this—you guys go find Finnegas and bug him for a treat.”

  As soon as they heard “Finnegas” and “treat,” the pair took off at a run. Back when Finn was still hooked on heroin and living in the junkyard, the pups had discovered he was a sucker for puppy dog eyes and an expertly-timed whine. That probably had a lot to do with the fact that the dogs didn’t judge him for being a junkie, and thus they’d been his only companions for a time. The old man still spoiled them, and it was rare that he didn’t have a dog biscuit or liver treat at hand these days.

  When the dogs were gone, I cupped my hands to shout at the top of the stack of cars. “You can come down now, Larry—they’re gone.”

  A disembodied, nearly hairless, rat-like dog’s head shimmered into view fifteen feet abo
ve me. “You sure?”

  “Positive. Now, come down and finish what you were telling me back in the Grove.”

  Larry’s head slowly swiveled back and forth as he verified my claim. “Nope, no can do. As soon as those mutts scarf down a Scooby snack, they’ll be right back here giving me grief. Meet me in the parking lot and I’ll tell you what’s up.”

  “Arrgh! Fine, I’ll be there in a second.”

  A minute later, I was standing outside the front gate, waiting for the chupacabra to come into view. Say what you would about Larry—he was a survivor. And that meant he was smart enough to avoid popping into view out in the open, because the last thing he wanted was to draw attention. Soon, he came trotting out from behind a customer’s car looking like a cross between a mangy coyote and a large, hairless Chihuahua.

  “Let’s take a walk, druid,” he said as he loped off toward the street.

  Cursing under my breath, I paused for a second before following. All impatience aside, it’d be easier to talk with him away from the junkyard anyway. No matter how hippyish Austin was, folks still gave the side-eye to people who had full-blown conversations with stray dogs, after all.

  Soon we were walking down South Congress, just another a college kid taking his pound pup for a walk. After twenty steps or so, I cleared my throat imploringly.

  “You sick or somethin’? Sounds like you’re comin’ down with a cold.”

  “Quit being a smartass and tell me what the deal is with Kiki.”

  “Sheesh, who pissed in your cornflakes this morning? It’s not like this is easy for me to talk about, you know.”

  “Larry…” I said threateningly.

  “Alright, alright—I can take a hint.” He loped ahead a few steps, stopping and tilting his head as he looked up at me. “You know how you kicked that necromancer’s ass back at Big Bend?”

  “Yes, Larry, I remember it well. Seeing how I almost died and all. What’s that have to do with Kiki? Did the Dark Druid create her or something?”

  “Um, sort of. But it’s worse than that.”

  I scratched my head and scowled. “Worse than—? Aw, hell—just spit it out, already.”

  “Ya’ see, it’s like this… Kiki learned necromancy from that Darkwing Druid prick.”

  30

  “Say what? Whoa, now, back up. How’s a freaking zombified corgi learn necromancy from an evil, semi-immortal druid?”

  “Ya’ see, that’s just the thing—she ain’t no normal corgi.”

  I knuckled my forehead, because I had a headache coming on. “Well, duh—she’s a freaking zombie, Larry.”

  The chupacabra absently scratched at his neck with his hind paw. “Sure, there’s that. But the kicker is that she wasn’t always a corgi. Kiki used to be human.”

  I covered my eyes with my hand and exhaled, counting to ten in my mind. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

  “Would I bullshit a bullshitter? No, I’m not kidding. Sheesh, did you think I was slapping cheeks with a freaking dog? I got better taste than that. And besides, what would we talk about?”

  “Okay, that bit of imagery is now burned into my memory for all time, so thanks for that. Now, you mind telling me how this happened?”

  “Oh, you know how it goes. A devastatingly handsome and utterly dashing chupacabra meets an undead corgi with an ass that just won’t quit, they have a few drinks, and then bam! Romance strikes. How was I supposed to know she was a complete nutcase?”

  “First off, the fact that she was a human trapped inside a zombie corgi’s body should have been your first clue. And second, I wasn’t asking about how you hooked up with her. I want to know how in the hell a human’s consciousness ended up inside an undead animal.”

  “Oh, that.” Larry belched loudly. “Sorry, this whole thing with my ex is giving me gas like you wouldn’t believe. Anyhow, Kiki was some sort of hedge witch or something a hundred years ago, or thereabouts. She met your former nemesis, the two had a fling—what she saw in that douchebag, who can say—and he taught her some necromancy. Although, I think he mixed up the spells or something, just to be a dick.”

  Just then, a car full of teens passed us by as the driver laid on the horn. A round-faced guy about my age leaned out the rear window, beer can in hand as he hollered at me. “Get a job, you fucking freak!”

  I flipped him off without looking, chewing my lip as I considered Larry’s story. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he did. The Fear Doirich was a druid to the Tuatha De Danann. In his mind, he’s a god—and the gods love nothing more than playing nasty tricks on mortals. Especially when they think they’re getting uppity, grasping for things like deific levels of power and immortality.”

  “Yeah, exactly. So anyway, the dick up and leaves her one day, and Kiki starts blaming herself. Checking herself in the mirror looking for wrinkles, cellulite, that sort of thing. Pretty soon, she decides he split because she was getting long in the tooth, and she hatches a plan to turn the clock back.”

  Tires squealed in the distance. I glanced up, noting that the car full of college kids was turning around. Silently, I cussed under my breath, because I did not have the time or patience for any bullshit today.

  Larry looked over his shoulder. “Um, druid? I think you pissed ’em off.”

  “Ignore that, and finish your story.”

  “Ah, right. So Kiki hires this young, beautiful maid, drugs her, and tries to transfer her consciousness into the girl. Only problem is—”

  “—Double D gave her the wrong incantations, or he transversed the symbology in the runes and wards.”

  The car roared toward us, screeching to a halt at the curb. The same mouthy fat kid who yelled at me pulled himself out of the window, poking his head and shoulders over the top of the cab. “Hey, fuckface, did you flip me off?”

  I kept my eyes on Larry as I replied. “Yup. Here it is again, in case you missed it.” I shot him the bird before addressing Larry. “Hang on a sec.”

  “Oh, this ought to be good,” Larry muttered under his breath.

  Car doors slammed as half a dozen college-aged jocks climbed out of the vehicle, a late-model Mercedes AMG C-class. Nice car, actually—we’d salvaged one for parts a while back, and as I recalled it was pretty swank. I turned to face the lot of them as the loudmouth stalked around the car toward me, pushing his sleeves up.

  “You think you’re funny, don’cha, hipster?” he asked as he got up in my face.

  The guy was about six-foot-three—a bit taller than me—and built like a defensive lineman. It was a good bet he’d spent most of his high school and college years throwing his weight around and intimidating the people around him. Guys like that were all blow and no go, in my experience. Sure, I could beat him down, but it’d be better to humiliate him in front of his friends. The lesson would last longer that way.

  “Listen, slick—if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to having an in-depth discussion with my dog on the perils of necromancy,” I said as I turned to face him. “So, if you’re going to take a swing, hurry it up. I don’t have all day.”

  “The perils of necro-what?” The guy’s face broke into a haughty grin as he turned to look at his friends. “Can you believe this guy? What a fucking nutjob.”

  “He’s just being a smartass, Owen. Teach him a lesson so we can get out of here already. Those girls from Zeta house aren’t going to wait forever.”

  “Fuck it,” Owen said as he clenched his fists.

  I saw the punch coming from a mile away, especially since he telegraphed it by scrunching his face into a sneering grimace. Even without my Fomorian reactions, it looked like he was moving in slow motion as he pivoted behind the punch. With time to spare, I side-stepped and bitch-slapped him faster than he could react, but not so fast that he wouldn’t know what happened.

  My hand landed with a smack that echoed off the buildings across the street. Owen stumbled, both from the force of the slap and because he’d expected to make contact with that wide haymaker he’d t
hrown at me. I stood to the side as he recovered, hands behind my back as I whistled softly.

  “Ooh, that looks like it hurt,” I said in a low, calm voice. “Maybe you’d better go and drink that off, yeah?”

  Owen’s face turned red as he looked at me with incredulity, and then at his friends. Not quite as red as the handprint on the right side of his face, but still. Between the stunned looks on his friend’s faces and the fact that his fists were balling up, I knew he’d take another swing. So, I smacked him again—lighter this time, but hard enough to sting.

  Then, I smacked him again and again, until his facial expression transitioned from abject anger to utter confusion, and he was forced to raise his hands in a vain attempt to fend me off.

  “Owen—it is Owen, right?” Smack! “Listen to me very carefully.” Smack! “While this won’t sink through your thick skull immediately, you’re learning a valuable lesson today.” Smack, smack! “That lesson is, there is always someone out there who is bigger, stronger, and tougher than you.” Smack! “Frankly speaking, you’re damned lucky you learned that truth from a guy like me, rather than some random violent sociopath who’d sooner kill you than spit on you.”

  Owen dropped to the ground, and that’s when I stopped hitting him. He curled up in a ball on the curb, hands covering his head as he cried crocodile tears. His friends stood aside, dumbstruck, although I counted it as sheer luck that they didn’t have the balls to come to their buddy’s rescue. Once I was certain they weren’t going to jump in, I squatted next to their friend, balancing on the balls of my feet.

  “Listen to me carefully,” I said, reaching for him slowly. He flinched and cowered, and for a moment I felt really, really shitty. But only for a moment. “Relax—I’m not going to hit you anymore. But I want you and your gaggle of rich, entitled friends to get back in your car, stop harassing random people, and never darken this side of town again. You feel me, Owen?”