Druid Mystic: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 10)

by M. D. Massey

  I parked the Gremlin and headed for the front entrance, chuckling at the name on the door. “O+” had been etched into the glass in a subtle, art deco font reminiscent of the roaring 20s. The door was unlocked so I let myself in, instinctively heading through the foyer and reception area, across the lounge, then straight to the back where I knew there’d be a stairwell leading to a private area upstairs or a storage area down.

  The VIP and management areas upstairs were unfinished, so I headed through the kitchen until I found the storage cellar. The word “cellar” was a bit of an understatement, as it was a floor unto itself, complete with walk-in freezers and coolers, copious stainless-steel counters and shelving, glass-front refrigerators, and the like. I headed to a door marked “Private,” where I paused and knocked three times.

  The door opened and a tall, lithe blonde with a pole vaulter’s shoulders and hips to match appeared in the doorway. She wore designer jeans over black alligator-skin boots, a fitted black t-shirt, and a black leather corset jacket that was the perfect fit for her athletic figure. Her brow creased over her heterochromatic eyes—one blue, the other hazel—and she tsked loudly while ushering me through the doorway into a long hall with concrete floors and walls.

  “Did you drive from Dallas, chudovishche, or take scenic route? Come, Luther awaits.”

  “At your service, Sophia, as always. That jacket suits you, by the way.”

  “Is to cover weapons.” She pulled her jacket back to show me the 9mm Scorpion machine pistol slung under one arm, and a short, heavy machete slung handle down under the other. “Have been carrying these since fight at nuclear plant. Is too difficult to hide shaska.”

  “I like your style, Doroshenko,” I said with a nod at the machine pistol. “Think you can get me one of those?”

  Her dour expression softened momentarily, and a smile teased at the corner of her lips. “I will see what I can do. But you will owe me.”

  I gave a slight nod and said nothing more, following her a short distance until we reached an unfinished doorway at the end of the hall. This led to an older and much larger underground passage—more of a cave, really. From the age on the brick walls and archways, it looked to be a leftover from the days of prohibition, or something that had been built by the vamps long before. They were notorious for digging tunnels and escape routes under the homes and neighborhoods they inhabited, although I hadn’t realized that Luther upheld the tradition.

  There were at least two dozen vampires in the space, surrounding three who stood alone in the center, hands and ankles constrained in what were certainly silver cuffs and shackles. Their apparent leader was a young black man with a bodybuilder’s muscles, a neatly-trimmed fade and wave, a full, close-cropped beard, and a scar over his right eye. He was sharply dressed in Italian loafers worn bare, a three-piece burgundy suit, a light-blue dress shirt worn untucked without a tie, and a matching pocket square.

  Standing behind him was a male Asian vamp dressed like your typical frat house jock, down to the too-big football jersey and snapback cap. He was joined by a female Anglo vamp with short, spiky pink hair who barely looked seventeen. She wore a white lace corset under an over-size biker jacket, with a black denim mini-skirt, torn fishnet stockings, and suede high-heel ankle boots.

  My gaze swept over each in turn, then my eyes darted back to the female. She looked a bit less timeworn, but it was her. Her brown eyes locked with mine and she shot me the bird.

  Yep, that’s Clara alright. Fancy meeting you here.

  Luther stood a few yards away from them, quietly contemplating each, although none returned his stare. Being a fairly old and powerful vamp, he could be very intimidating when he deemed it necessary. His flamboyant gay persona took a backseat when he acted in his official capacity, and the stoic, powerful vampire side of him took centerstage.

  The leader of the Austin vampire coven was tall and lean, with a dancer’s build and the bearing to match. With his unblemished chocolate skin, chiseled features, and steel gray eyes, most humans would peg him for a model, or perhaps an actor. But anyone clued in on The World Beneath would make him for a vampire in short order. Nobody except the vamps looked that good all the time, at least not without resorting to a glamour spell or other illusory magic.

  Without taking his eyes off the prisoners, Luther addressed me as I neared their circle. “Ah, just in time. Justiciar McCool, I’d like to introduce you to the three unfortunate bloodkin who thought it a good idea to encroach on my territory.”

  “Luther,” I said, giving him an informal salute as I looked at his captives. “I know you didn’t call me down here just to watch you off these clowns. So, what gives?”

  “Coven tradition states that, when one of our kind is sentenced to death, the party in question is allowed to choose their manner of death.” He gave a grim smile. “And for some strange reason, these three have requested that you be the one to execute their sentences.”

  “Um, can I speak to you for a minute—in private?”

  Luther gave the barest nod, watching me as I walked back into the hallway. Although he’d been a good twenty paces behind me, he was standing in the doorway when I turned around. Vampire speed was weird.

  “You’re aware they can still hear us?” he asked.

  “Oops, almost forgot.” I made a few arcane gestures and said a single word. “Ciúnas.”

  Immediately all background sounds vanished, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat and the shuffling of my feet. Luther made nary a sound as he looked at me appraisingly.

  “You’ve been practicing.”

  “Lots, actually,” I replied. “Seemed like the thing to do, having attracted the attention of the wrong gods and all.”

  “Can’t say I disagree.” His brow furrowed, and I noticed just the slightest tension in his jaw muscles. That was like a full-on tantrum for a vamp as old as Luther. “Should they come, you’ll have the full support of the coven. And the Pack, I suspect.”

  “And risk upsetting the balance between the factions?”

  Luther frowned, obviously peeved that I doubted his sincerity. I gestured placatingly as I continued. “I appreciate you saying that, really I do. But this is my fight, and I’ll feel better knowing my friends aren’t involved.”

  “You may not have that luxury. Gods tend to be ruthless, and they’re not above burning the countryside to cull the herd.”

  “Yeah, Finnegas reminded me of that earlier.” I nodded toward the room where the coven and the three non-coven vamps waited. “I take it they’re Saint Germain’s?”

  “In a manner of speaking. After Remy died, most of his brood wisely decided to get behind their new leader. But not all. Those three represent a few of the ones who thought they’d be better off on their own. They took over a night club in College Station, using it as a front to prey on co-eds and build their own coven. Thought they’d be beneath my notice. They were wrong.”

  “Okay, so what does this have to do with me?”

  Luther blinked once, but otherwise he was a statue. He sometimes forgot to display human affectations when he was angry, and this was one of those times. It was damned creepy.

  “I’ve sentenced them to death for preying on humankind in my territory and they’ve chosen to have you carry out their sentences. Although it is within their rights to choose the manner in which they are executed, nothing in our laws states that a vampire may choose a method of execution that involves non-coven entities. You’re free to ignore their requests, in which case I’ll mete out justice in your stead.”

  I crossed my arms, rubbing my chin as I contemplated the situation. “Honestly, I’m fairly curious as to why they made that request. Can I speak with them first?”

  Luther tilted his head slightly. “As you wish.”

  We walked back into the tunnel chamber, and the coven parted to allow us to enter their circle. I strolled up to the trio’s leader, readying a spell and keeping enough distance to cast it should he choose to attack. Luther
stood a few steps behind and to my left, so I wasn’t really concerned. If they made a move, he’d make hamburger of all three of them before they could blink.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Fabrice,” he said in a slight Creole accent. He nodded over his shoulder. “That’s Jūn and Clara.”

  “Why’d you ask for me, Fabrice?”

  He tsked. “Because you started this whole fouillis. We were doing fine up until you showed up an’ took Remy out. Left Le Boucher in charge, and here we are. Figured I’d ask you to help what’s left of the coven, since it’s your mess to clean up an’ all.”

  I glanced at Clara. “What’s she got to do with it?”

  Fabrice spat on the floor. “Just some street kid who got turned, right before all that shit went down. When Jūn and I decided to bail on Le Boucher, she tagged along. End of story.”

  My eyes locked on Clara, who was pointedly avoiding looking at Luther and me. Her eyes were glossy and her lips were pulled into a thin line. The tiny vamp was scared, but she hid it well.

  By the time I’d run into her back in the Hellpocalypse, she was already a practiced and hardened killer. But this Clara? She looked like nothing more than a scared kid who’d ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Despite myself, I felt a twinge of regret for torturing and killing her back then, and no small amount of sympathy for her current plight.

  “Look at me, Clara.” Her brown eyes swept up, narrowing as they locked on mine. “Did you kill anyone?”

  The girl gave me a puzzled sneer. “Did I—? What’s it to you, if I did?”

  “Answer the question,” Luther said in a flat, low voice that was much scarier than if he’d yelled.

  Clara winced. “No.”

  Jūn chuckled without mirth. “Little shit can’t even bring herself to feed. All she ever did was hang around the club like a weirdo. Waste of the gift, if you ask me.”

  I addressed Fabrice once more. “Is that true?”

  He tsked in obvious disapproval. “It is. The girl was useless to us, dead weight. Jūn and I had to kill for her and feed her like a baby.”

  “Hmm. You mentioned Le Boucher. Who is he?” I asked.

  “Seriously?” Fabrice’s eyes widened. “You have no idea, do you? Quel choc, non? You’re the one who left him in charge, after all.” I shrugged, still clueless. “Saint Germain, druid. He is the one we call The Butcher. You thought you were ridding N’Awlins of a monster, but you replaced that one with le Diable himself.”

  My eyes drifted over my shoulder to Luther. The blank look on his face told me everything I needed to know.

  Fucking hell, Luther. What have you been hiding from me?

  It didn’t matter because I didn’t have time for this shit. I slipped my hand into my Bag, resting it on a familiar object. I drew Dyrnwyn from my Craneskin Bag, igniting it with a thought as I swept it through Fabrice and Jūn’s necks in a single stroke.

  Two heads rolled as their bodies crumpled to the concrete. Stopping the cut just inches from Clara’s thin, pale throat, I paused to observe her wide-as-saucers eyes and trembling lower lip. If she could’ve pissed her pants, I was certain she’d be standing in a puddle by now.

  Good.

  Sheathing my sword in my Bag, I turned to face Luther. “I take it that, as designated executioner for the guilty parties, said time of execution is at my discretion?”

  A wry grin played across his lips, but the slight crinkle in his forehead told me he was not altogether pleased. “It is.”

  “I’ll have need of the girl for a time. She’ll stay with me and be my responsibility, until I dispose of her.”

  The coven looked on as Luther gave a short, stiff nod. “So be it. The Justiciar has spoken.”

  Luther and I were sitting in a rather barren private office off the basement hall, holding drinks that neither of us enjoyed while looking anywhere but at each other. I had a bourbon, neat, and he was drinking a bloody Cosmopolitan.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” he remarked drily, staring at the wall. “Care to enlighten me as to why you let the youngling live?”

  I set my whiskey down on the desk. “Care to tell me about Saint Germain?”

  He swirled his drink, staring at the depths of the glass as if it were an oracle. “It’s bloodkin business, Colin. Such things are best left alone by humans—and druids.”

  “You knew he was a monster,” I said, disbelieving my own words even as I spoke them. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Why didn’t you ask?” he replied as he stared at me without blinking—a clear sign he was upset. Luther sighed, resuming his “I’m a human, really I am” act despite his obvious distress. “Most vampires are, Colin. You know this. And there was no guarantee that someone just as bad or worse wouldn’t take over once Remy was deposed.”

  I chewed my lip, considering his words. With a sigh, I grabbed my drink again, taking a slug and savoring the fiery burn as it went down. “I suppose you’re right, although I assumed that my friend would warn me in the event I allowed a serial killer to take over the New Orleans coven.” I took another sip of my whiskey. “Is he as bad as Fabrice made out?”

  The coven leader’s shoulders slumped. “Yes—but he’s not all bad.”

  “Not all bad? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Luther put on his poker face. “It’s complicated. And Saint Germain’s story is not mine to share.”

  “The way those vamps spoke, you’d think Saint Germain was the devil.”

  “He can be—brutal, at times. That’s why our ruling council sent him to New Orleans in the first place. It had already been decided that he would take over. Remy had become a liability, a risk they could no longer tolerate. They needed a master vampire with a firm hand, someone who could regain control of a splintered coven.”

  “Sheesh. The guy seemed pretty decent—for a vamp, I mean.” I tapped a fingernail on the fine crystal glass in my hand. “Had me fooled, that was for sure.”

  “He needed you to help him get DeCoudreaux out of the way. And he’d been ordered to get to the bottom of Remy’s schemes. You were merely a means to an end, in that regard.”

  “And now he has the run of the Big Easy.” I slammed a fist on my chair’s armrest. “Fuck!”

  Luther sat his drink down, steepling his hands in front of him as he looked at me. “While I understand how you might feel responsible for Saint Germain’s actions, I’d advise you not to get involved. He has the backing of the Vampyri Council—ancient ones who you shouldn’t annoy. The last thing you need right now is to have the full might of the Vampire Nations against you.”

  “And you approve of this? Of them putting Saint Germain in power?”

  “Correction—we put Saint Germain in power, while the council merely approved of the decision. And no, I do not. However, it’s all I can do to maintain control in my own territory, to hide our presence from the humans, and to keep the peace with the other factions. I simply don’t have the numbers or the clout to commit to a hostile takeover of a neighboring territory, especially not in opposition to the will of our ruling council.”

  “You really think I’m going to stay out of this?”

  “No, but I thought it was worth trying to dissuade you.” Luther sipped his drink. “What will you do with the girl?”

  “Clara? I have plans for her—let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Hmph. Word will travel about how you commuted her death sentence. That weakens my position, you know. If I were another coven leader, in charge of another coven, I would not have allowed her to live.”

  Meaning, you’d also have killed me if I objected. Or tried, anyway.

  “But you’re running the Austin coven, where vampires adopt stray puppies and help little old ladies cross the street.” I laughed at my own joke. Luther did not. “Oh, c’mon, Luther—no one is ever going to think you’ve gone soft. Not after what you did to Gaius and Cornelius.”

  He frowned, raising a finger in the air. �
�Ah, but they will think I’m soft where you’re concerned, and that’s another matter. Weakness is despised by my kind, Colin—any weakness. Don’t expect me to indulge you in this manner again.”

  I raised my hands in a mea culpa gesture. “Geez, alright already. But next time some vamp wants me to be their Jack Ketch, don’t bother calling.”

  Luther’s expression soured. “Ugh, Jack Ketch. I met him once and I don’t care to repeat the experience.”

  “Ketch is bloodkin?” I asked.

  “The bloodiest of, in fact. He was turned by the Council—apparently they needed someone to do their dirty work.” He paused, just long enough to make sure he had my attention. “You should know, they have dozens of Jack Ketches at their disposal, all powerful vampires loyal to the cause.”

  “The cause?”

  “Keeping vampire-kind hidden from the powers that be and ensuring the survival of our people.”

  I raised a fist in the air, then made two fangs with my index and middle fingers. “Blood power!”

  Luther frowned halfheartedly. “Oh, honey, you are way too pale to be making civil rights jokes. And the girl can’t remain here. If she stays, she’s likely to have a nasty accident. Give her whatever instructions she requires, then send her on her way.”

  I checked my phone as I stood to leave. “I have to leave town by midnight. I’ll take her with me to get her out of your hair.”

  Luther spoke up just as I reached the exit. “One last thing. If you interfere with Saint Germain, your actions will have consequences—consequences that I won’t be able to prevent. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  6

  Clara was waiting for me in the lounge upstairs, picking her nails with a steak knife while two of Luther’s people looked on. When I walked in, she sneered at me and stabbed the knife into the table.