Druid Bond

by Brad Magnarella

  Off to the left, a line of soldiers was filing into the prison. The soldier I’d just deprived of the cane grumbled and patted me down roughly. Though he encountered the pouch Osgood had given me, he didn’t stop to remove it. I suspected some sort of protective fae enchantment. He did, however, find and seize my remaining potions. He opened one, sniffed it, and scrunched up his red face.

  “Looks like ’e’s got poisons here, Captain!” Then to me, “Maybe I should save the Crown the rope and force one down yer bloody throat.”

  Unfortunately, none of the potions would have done my team much good: a few stealth potions and a single slick wizard. When murmurs broke through the ranks, I looked over to find a soldier emerging from the prison carrying the rector’s headless body. Though I knew the actual rector had probably lived to old age, seeing this echo of him reduced to a mutilated corpse kicked me in the gut.

  “The rest of the prison’s empty!” a soldier behind him shouted.

  “What of the prisoners?” Captain Saxby called.

  “Gone, sir!” the soldier answered.

  I relaxed slightly. Seay, Gorgantha, and the others had gotten out in time, probably by virtue of a glamour. I looked over and found Malachi peering back at me, his eyes asking what the plan was. The captain shouldered his way through the pointed bayonets encircling me. He looked at the stoppered potions in the soldier’s hand before glaring back at me. “What sort of devilry have you done this night?”

  “None, sir,” I replied. “May we go now?”

  He leaned down. “A wiseass, eh? You’ll burn for this.”

  A musket cracked in the distance, and then several more. I craned my neck but couldn’t see anything past the mass of men.

  “Rebels!” one of them cried.

  The captain looked over. “Fighting formation!” he called.

  The Redcoats shifted and began aiming their muskets down Broadway. Past their bowed heads, I could now see the distant figures of disheveled men entering from side streets. Some had taken positions at building corners and begun firing. Demon X must have ordered them after us for wasting one of his Strangers. Musket balls whizzed past. A Redcoat to my right cried out. Soon, cracks began sounding from our end.

  “Guard them!” the captain called over his shoulder, referring to Malachi and me, then hurried away. But eager for action, several of the soldiers had already abandoned the rings around us and now only a handful remained, including the boy who was still holding my cane. Unfortunately, the soldier who had threatened to make me gag on my own potions was still here as well. He leered up at me.

  “Oh, we’ll guard ’em all right,” he said, drawing a short sword from his belt. “What a shame this one tried to run.”

  “Any time!” I called out.

  A glimmering bolt enveloped the sword-wielding soldier and dropped him like a bag of dirt. The bolt had been transparent, barely visible—like the glamoured half-fae who had shot it. The remaining guards looked around in confusion. One by one, they began dropping too. I knelt to recover my potions, but all the vials had shattered except for a stealth potion. I pocketed it, then remembering the boy soldier, stepped beside him.

  “Not this one!” I shouted. “He’s coming with us.”

  The rest of the soldiers were too engaged with the rebels to notice what was happening behind them. Barely anything could be heard above the shooting anyway. As gunsmoke covered us in a light fog, Seay and the half-fae remained busy dispensing bolts.

  When the final soldier in Malachi’s ring collapsed, he stepped over the man’s enchanted body and faded from view. I felt myself being glamoured too. The sensation was pleasant, like slipping into a warm bath on a cold day. Most importantly, it would cover our escape. I gripped the upper arm of the boy soldier.

  “Him too,” I called.

  “Wh-whut’s goin’ on?” he asked as he began to fade.

  “We’re taking a little trip,” I said, reclaiming my cane from him.

  Still under the influence of my wizard’s voice, he nodded. As the glamour finished cloaking me, the rest of our group came into clearer view. Most of the half-fae were moving under their own power, though Seay was supporting Darian around the waist and Gorgantha bore two over her shoulders. I led them up Broadway at a fast walk, away from the action. By the time the city turned to countryside, the shooting had faded.

  “Thanks for the assist,” I told Seay.

  “I could have taken care of the soldiers sooner, but I’ve never gotten to see you squirm.”

  “Satisfied?”

  She grinned. “Totally.”

  I gave her a deadpan look before turning serious. “How is everyone?”

  Seay appraised her friends. Though some had taken on mild glamours to enhance their appearances, they all looked around with gaunt faces and shocked eyes. “They’ll be all right,” she said. “But they need somewhere to recover.” Her gaze hesitated on the boy soldier. “What’s with baby Redcoat?”

  He had stopped beside me at stiff attention, but his face couldn’t have looked more perplexed.

  “I wasn’t able to interrogate Mistral like I did Finn,” I explained, “but I realized something back there. Demon X had his Strangers possess the soldiers for soul fuel and to act as spies, right? That much we’d guessed. But he also stashed your friends in an emptied prison.”

  “And if he did that with the half-fae,” Seay said, catching on, “he probably did the same with the possessed druids.”

  Gorgantha nodded. “Just a matter of learning where else soldiers were released.”

  We all turned to the boy soldier now. “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “D-Daniel,” he replied.

  “You weren’t happy about the American soldiers being turned out from the sugar house, were you?”

  Defiance grew in his young eyes. “No, sir. And ye saw what ’appened just now. Damned rebels have reorganized right ’ere in the city. They won’ be happy till all of our heads are lookin’ back at ’em from pikes.”

  “Where else were they released?” I asked.

  “Up in Wallabout Bay, from that old warship. You can tell those from their smell. They really stink.”

  Under different circumstances I might have chuckled, but I was pulling up my mental map. I knew Wallabout Bay. It was an inlet between the modern-day Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges on the Long Island side.

  “That’s right up the river from where you took your swim,” I told Gorgantha.

  “And where I smelled mercreatures,” she agreed darkly. “They’re probably guarding that ship.”

  I nodded. It sounded like we’d found the possessed druids, which meant the Stranger responsible for them wouldn’t be far.

  “Anywhere else?” I asked Daniel.

  He stared back at me, incredulous. “That’s not enough for ye? How many more ’re ye wantin’ turned out?”

  With his anger burning through the remaining effects of my wizard’s voice, I dosed him one final time. “Return to your company,” I ordered, power thrumming through the words. “You never met us.”

  Daniel’s face flattened immediately, and he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He gave me a crisp salute before taking off south at a run, his five-foot musket bouncing awkwardly against his right shoulder.

  “All right,” I said, turning back to the team. “We have our intel, but we need somewhere for Seay’s friends to recover and for the rest of us to assemble a plan. I also want to attempt to reach Jordan again.”

  “I suppose the chapel is out,” Malachi said.

  “Even if there wasn’t a major battle happening right in front of it, I’m not sure how much protection it affords us anymore,” I agreed. Whether the immunity Mistral spoke of would allow the remaining Strangers or possessed soldiers to penetrate a holy sanctuary, I didn’t know and wasn’t up for testing.

  “Where does that leave?” Gorgantha asked.

  I didn’t even have to think about it. “My grandfather’s farm.”


  A small wrinkle formed between Seay’s glamoured eyebrows. “Your whose what?”

  “Malachi will explain. It’s a two-mile hike northeast of here.”

  33

  I led the team across pastureland and around a sizable lake that would be drained, filled in, and paved over long before our time. A cool wind rippled its surface and sent clouds scudding past a quarter moon. The stars were out in brilliant force. In the silvery glow of the night sky, our glamoured bodies looked like specters.

  We accessed Bowery Lane and continued north on the dirt road, through what would become Chinatown and Little Italy, the domains of mob bosses like Bashi and Mr. Moretti. In 1776, though, we were in the countryside, where common farmers ruled. Instead of fish sauce and garlic, the smells of barn animals and plowed earth dominated. Candlelight glowed in the windows of distant houses. Though the crackling of musket fire continued, it remained in the city, which was falling farther and farther behind us.

  Malachi hustled to catch up to me.

  “How’s everyone doing?” I asked. The pace I’d set was fast, and we’d spread out into a line, Seay watching the rear.

  “Fine.” Malachi fell silent.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Look, I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone,” he whispered, “but are you sure about this?”

  “Going to my grandfather’s?”

  “That’s the thing. We still don’t know—”

  “C’mon, Malachi,” I said with a flash of irritation. “We’ve been over this.”

  “There are two more Strangers out there,” he argued. “One possessed the druids, but we have no idea who the other one is. I overheard what Mistral said back there. She and the other demons knew we were here. So why didn’t they come after us? Why didn’t they lay siege to the chapel? Maybe they set a trap instead.”

  I drew a calming breath before responding. “One of the senior members of my Order, Arianna, told me that our magic is always talking to us and that it’s our job to listen. Even when the message seems to defy logic. That’s what separates the competent magic-users from the masters. And you’re right—bumping into my grandfather does seem a little too convenient. If I overthought it, I’d probably have the same doubts as you. But my magic led me to him for a reason, and until it tells me otherwise, I’m listening.”

  I braced for another round of debate, but Malachi nodded. “Sounds a little like my visions. I don’t always understand them, but I have faith that I need to act on them. Assembling our group, for instance. Reaching out to you.” He went silent for several paces. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

  He was thinking of the demon apocalypse.

  “Not gonna happen,” I said. “We’re the Upholders, dammit.”

  When I nudged him with my elbow, he allowed a small smile.

  “Now keep your eyes peeled for a rooster,” I said.

  “A rooster?”

  “That’s how we’re supposed to find his farmhouse. By ‘the rooster in the road.’”

  “An actual rooster?”

  “You can never tell with wizards.”

  I pulled ahead of Malachi and scanned the road, hoping to hell my magic was right about this.

  The rooster in the road turned out to be a staked piece of metal forged into the shape of a chicken with a pronounced comb and sickle feathers. It stood at an intersection with a dirt track that cut through a grove of trees. I opened my wizard’s senses. A warding spell glimmered into view around the rooster’s head. But the spell was basic, meant only to send an alert that someone was coming.

  “This is it,” I said as Seay and Gorgantha joined us. Darian, whom Seay had been supporting, was walking under his own power now. Gorgantha was still carrying two of them, one apiece cradled in each of her bulging arms. The remaining half-fae continued to move silently, their faces shell shocked.

  Seay peered down the dirt drive. “You sure he’s home?”

  At the end of the drive stood the silhouette of a two-story farmhouse. No lights flickered in the windows, and no smoke issued from the brick chimney. A strange silence wrapped the entire property.

  “No offense,” Gorgantha said, “but your grandpa’s place looks creepy as fuck.”

  “Probably a minor veiling,” I said.

  I stepped closer to the rooster. Not wanting to just trip the ward, I aligned my mind to it and sent out four gentle pulses: a mage’s knock. A moment later, deep barks erupted from the farmhouse. A pair of large dogs bounded from the shadows.

  “Oh, hell no,” Gorgantha said, backing up.

  They were mastiffs. The same breed the Order in Exile had used in the Refuge as an outer ring of security.

  “They’re just going to check us out,” I assured her.

  “You don’t understand, Everson. I don’t do dogs.”

  The pair of mastiffs slowed to a trot at the end of the drive. Their barks descended to rumbling growls as they padded around us on their giant paws. Gorgantha squeezed her eyes closed as they circled her.

  We were no longer glamoured, but I doubted that would have fooled the mastiffs. Hot breaths snuffed my crotch and then my cane. The one sniffing Malachi’s neck was almost as big as him. For their part, the half-fae appeared unconcerned. Seay even held a hand out for one of the dogs to inspect.

  At last the mastiffs let out low grunting barks and took off back down the driveway. After several paces, they stopped and turned, eyes bright, tongues lolling. A look that said, Aren’t you coming?

  I waved to the others. “We’ve been cleared.”

  We followed the dogs through the grove. The approaching farmhouse was slightly weathered. A few outbuildings stood in back beside an overgrown pasture. The place was unremarkable—which was the point. Through a combo of basic magic and neglect, Grandpa had designed a sanctuary for himself that was sufficiently guarded but wouldn’t raise eyebrows, especially if Lich decided to drop in.

  When we arrived at the farmhouse, one of the mastiffs faced the front door and let out a sharp bark. A moment later, a candle flickered to life in a front window, suffusing the porch in an enchanting glow. The door opened, and a tall figure emerged wearing trousers and a work shirt. Smoke rose from a pipe cupped in his right hand. Though I couldn’t see his stern blue eyes, I felt them.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  I stepped forward. “I met you earlier today, Mr. Croft. You invited me here.”

  “You have brought friends.” It wasn’t a question but an observation. In his German accent, it came out hard, almost accusatory. Malachi shuffled over until he was standing behind me.

  “Some are recovering from possession,” I said. “We need your help.”

  He took a puff from his pipe. For a moment I thought he was going to send us away. We were a group of over twenty, several of us humming with magic. And here he was, posing as a man who’d lost his connection to that world.

  “Come inside, then,” he said.

  I waved the others forward before he could change his mind, and they filed inside. Malachi stayed close to my side, I noticed.

  Asmus turned as I passed him. Though our rings hummed with the same resonance as earlier, his eyes never left mine. In them, I saw the man I’d grown up under. My memory placed gaunt lines over his lean face and thinned and silvered his fair hair. But though that man had been emotionally distant, my heart ached with the memory of him. He would ultimately sacrifice his life in order to protect the Order in Exile, to protect me. But right now his gaze lacked even the barest recognition, and that shook me.

  Is Malachi right to be worried? I thought.

  A curtain of defensive energy rippled through me as Asmus closed the door behind us. Like the ward in the rooster, his defenses were modest. But he was a grand mage who wielded powers far beyond mine.

  Everyone gathered in a main room where a fire now crackled in a large cast-iron stove. Gorgantha set her two half-fae on a thick bearskin rug, and Seay and others went back to work on them. I di
dn’t realize the dogs had come in too until they trotted past and took sentry positions near the doorways of the crowded room. Though Gorgantha eyed them warily, she appeared less bothered by their presence.

  “There is a water pump in the kitchen and salted meats in the pantry,” Asmus announced.

  Gorgantha perked up at the mention of meats.

  “A word, please,” Asmus spoke in my ear.

  “Yes, of course.”

  I followed him through another curtain of defensive energy and into a back room. Though I’d never seen the room, it spoke to some part of my memory. A lone candle flickered on a wooden desk. To the right, bookshelves had been built into the wall, the shelves holding classical works of literature. I didn’t have to access my wizard’s senses to know they were in fact magical tomes and grimoires. My eyes fell to a black steamer trunk, one I would see more than two hundred years later.

  This was Grandpa’s study.

  When the door clicked closed, I turned and was seized by a dizzying wave of déjà vu. A long blade glinted in the candlelight, and it was aimed at me. Asmus’s looming stance, the way he glared, sent me back to the night I’d turned thirteen. Though this wasn’t the same sword—he wouldn’t find the Banebrand until years later—a ghost pain flashed through my first finger. I pulled the hand to my chest.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  He angled the blade up under my chin. Power vibrated the air around the tip.

  “My name is Everson Croft,” I replied, showing my hands, “and I’m your grandson. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but hear me out. We’re in a time catch. This time, this place—it’s an echo. It’s not the real thing. A demon master is using it as some sort of staging area. We came here from the twenty-first century to track his minions and recover the possessed, the ones in the other room.”

  His firm eyes betrayed nothing. I tried to put myself in his place, in his head:

  A young man turns up whose energy shows familial patterns. He seems to know I’m a magic-user. He asks for my help. And then he tells me he’s from the future and I’m his grandfather. An elaborate ploy to expose my deception and reveal my true power? Or is he actually who he claims to be?