Druid Blood: A Junkyard Druid Prequel Novel

by M. D. Massey

  The little man pointed at the plate. “Elves can’t make them this good, not by a long shot. Help yourself, and by my beard and barrow, this is a gift freely given, with no ill meant toward you or yours in the gift, nor debt accrued in the acceptance.” Colin looked at him strangely. “Means you can eat it without worrying about being spelled by me. You can never trust the fae, boy. Always remember that.”

  Colin nodded and began to say “thank you” when Brogan clapped a hand over his mouth.

  “And never, ever, ever thank one of us. Ever. To you, what seems to be a simple thanks may be construed as incurring a debt to the fair folk—and that’s something you never want to owe any of the aes sídhe.”

  Colin looked perplexed. “Did you say ‘a he-she’?”

  Brogan scowled. “Not a ‘he-she,’ although the pronunciation’s close enough. It’s an old name for the fair folk, known as faeries to most people. Some people have called us ‘the good folk,’ but I’d say that’s a misnomer if ever there was one.”

  “You seem to be an okay guy,” Colin said.

  Brogan smiled. “As I said, you’re a good lad,” the leprechaun replied as he stirred his tea. “But some would say your trust would be misplaced, since deception and mischief are in our very nature. A capricious lot we are, to the very last one of us. One moment we’re helping you—the next, we’re leading you off a cliff. It’s only by outsmarting us that you’ll have our help, in most cases.” He nodded and sipped his tea. “No hard feelings about the alley, by the way. You caught me, fair and square. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I was telling you about when I was disturbed from my retirement, and when he showed up.”

  “And who is this ‘he’ you keep referring to? I take it he’s the cause of all this?”

  “He is the Avartagh, the foulest dwarf you ever did see. And, he’s here to destroy every last thing you hold dear. Every. Last. Thing.”

  4

  Colin continued munching on cookies, enrapt as Brogan continued his tale. “Years ago, good Fionn MacCumhaill defeated a terrible vampire dwarf known as the Avartagh, staking his heart and burying him upside down so he’d never return. But somehow, he found a way to escape his prison and follow me here.”

  “How’d he find you, Brogan? I mean, all the way from Scotland?”

  Brogan scowled again. “Ireland, not Scotland. They really don’t teach you much in school, do they?” Colin shrugged and nodded, since he thought school was mostly a waste of time. “In any case, he likely found what he was looking for by asking around among the remaining faery folk. A sad day it would be for the poor brownie or spriggan who was forced by the Avartagh to tell him what he wanted to know.” Brogan shuddered visibly, and took a sip of tea. “Ah, that’s the stuff. Barry’s brand, hard to get over here—finally found it online.”

  Colin sipped his tea and found it much too strong and hot for his liking, so he stuffed a few macaroons in his mouth instead. “Whmmpph mmpphks thmmpph Avarmmphh suh bmmph?”

  Brogan wiggled his eyebrows. “Good cookies, right? Love those macaroons, harder to get in Ireland than good Irish tea is to get here in the States.” He took a sip and continued. “Well, to answer your question, what makes the Avartagh so bad is who he is. Are you familiar with the story of Vlad Tepes?”

  “He’s the real life version of Count Dracula, right? I wrote a report on him last year. He was the guy they based the Dracula story on, and he did some really gross stuff.” Colin paused and shook his head in disbelief. “Wait a minute—you’re telling me this Avartagh guy is a vampire?”

  “Of sorts—and likely the first, actually. Many historians believe that modern vampire legends are based on the Avartagh. However, it’s not blood he craves so much, but misery. And, whether the good people of your town are aware of it or not, he’s preparing them for a huge heap of misery that he’ll harvest and feast on for quite some time.”

  “But everyone seems so happy the way they are right now. I don’t get it.”

  Brogan nodded and touched his finger to his nose. “Exactly! Think about how much of a shock that was to you earlier today, when you saw the town for what it’s become over the last month or so. This morning, you were living your dreams. Everyone’s local sports hero, spiffy motorbike, nearly perfect home life—how’d it feel to have it all yanked out from under you, all at once?”

  Colin felt a pang of guilt, because for the first time in a month he could clearly remember his dad. And he felt the huge gaping hole his dad’s absence had left his life. “Awful. I can hardly think of a worse feeling.”

  Brogan clapped a warm hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “Aye, me boy—I know. And had I never have come here, I wouldn’t have played a part in your misery.”

  “But why, Brogan? I know you said most of the he-sh… fair folk are mean. But you seem pretty nice. Why would you do that?”

  “And that’s the billion-dollar question! Let me ask you, how much gold do you think a leprechaun of my age could amass over the centuries? Never mind, I’ll answer that question for you, as it seems that the public school system isn’t concerned with teaching you children to do maths in your head. The answer is, a lot. But just why do you think we do it? Obviously, we don’t care to spend all that gold. My home is a nice place, but do you think it cost billions? Hardly.”

  “So what is the reason?” Colin’s eyes lit up. “Wait a minute—a leprechaun’s power is somehow connected to their gold?”

  Brogan smiled like a school teacher proud of his favorite pupil. “In fact, not just power, but a leprechaun’s life. A leprechaun is as connected to their gold as you are to the warm red stuff that flows in your veins. Without it, they’ll wither away and die. A leprechaun needs his gold to survive.”

  “And the Avartagh stole yours—that’s why you said you couldn’t give me any gold if you wanted to.”

  Brogan smiled again. “Well now, me boy, I’m starting to think there’s more to you than meets the eye. Got any Irish blood in you?”

  “On my dad’s side, yeah. But I have no idea how much. My dad passed away a few years ago, and my mom doesn’t like to talk about him these days.”

  Brogan got a concerned look. “Far be it from me to bring up old wounds. But I have a feeling your father left you something important that may be the key to solving our mutual problem.”

  “I don’t understand, Brogan.”

  “Well, it’s not just anyone who can see through fairy magic. Remember the adder stone I mentioned? It’s a special kind of rock with a natural hole in it that allows normal people to see through fairy magic and illusions. Granted, the Blarney stone triggered your release from the spell, but you must be unique for the stone to have reacted as it did. And for you to see me after? That’s really something rare.”

  Colin sat back to take it all in while Brogan sipped his tea. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you may have the ability or resources to stop the Avartagh, and lift this spell so things can be set right again.”

  “But how?”

  Brogan paused and looked up while tapping his chin. “I’m not sure exactly, but certainly there are forces at work here you don’t yet understand. For one, what were the odds of you crashing your bike and flying into me at that exact moment? And, what are the chances it would happen with the one person in the whole town who can see me?”

  “So, what you’re saying is that this is fate?”

  “Not fate. Something more. Destiny. And if I have my guesses right, it’s your destiny to save this town and get rid of the Avartagh, once and for all.”

  “All I know is that I want to free my friends and my mom before they get hurt.”

  The leprechaun wore a grim expression as he replied. “And hurt they’ll be if you don’t find a way to stop the Avartagh. It’s not just bad feelings he wants, but the desperation, desolation, and destruction of everyone in this town. Imagine the turmoil it will cause when the whole community suddenly discovers their dreams were nothing more than a ruse. The
utter hopelessness will divide families, destroy lives, and tear this town apart. Just imagine what suffering it will cause when the Avartagh lifts the spell from the town.”

  “Then I need to find a way to stop him. And I’m going to need some help. What can you do to help me?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. I can do nothing against the Avartagh. I’m sure you can guess at the reasons behind my reluctance to do so.”

  “So why hasn’t he lifted the spell already? It seems like he could have done it at any time.”

  The little man sighed, and slumped his shoulders a bit. “Because he wants to inflict the maximum pain he can, and the longer the good folk of this town live under this illusion, the worse it’ll be when it lifts and they see it was all a dream. But the time is getting close, so now is the time to act.”

  “Well, if you can’t help me then I’m going to have to recruit some help of my own. But right now everyone is under the spell of the Blarney stone, right? So how do I get anyone to help me?”

  “Now that I can help you with.” He handed Colin a small leather bag. “This is dust taken from the Blarney stone—‘fairy dust,’ if you will. Blow a pinch in the face of anyone under my spell, and they’ll wake up immediately. Just make sure you do it somewhere safe.”

  “So they don’t freak out when they see what’s really going on.”

  “I say, you are a smart lad. By the way, Colin—what was your father’s last name?”

  “McCool. Why?”

  A smile crossed Brogan’s face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’d rather not say just yet. But trust me when I tell you, your part in these events is likely more important than you know.”

  5

  As Colin was leaving Brogan’s place, he suddenly remembered a very important detail that had been left out of their conversation. “Brogan, how do I find the Avartagh?”

  “Oh, did I forget to mention that? He’ll be easy to find, to be sure. He’s pretending to be the mayor.”

  “You mean he’s been posing as the mayor this whole time?”

  “Since he arrived in this town. I suppose I should warn you about what you’re up against, although admittedly your forebears might have dashed off to battle without asking the same.”

  “My fore-what?”

  “Never mind. The Avartagh’s powers include illusion and deception, although not on the level of a master druid. Even so, he can call upon numerous of the unseelie host to assist him, so expect fierce opposition in his allies. Also he’s incredibly strong, fairly quick, and he’ll play dirty, that’s for certain.”

  “Great. What’s an unseelie?”

  Brogan sighed. “There’s so much you don’t know, and I wish I had more time to prepare you, but I believe time is short. Suffice it to say that the unseelie are the bad guys, although the lines tend to blur where Irish fae are concerned. In this case, you’ll know them when you see them.”

  Colin nodded, started to say thanks again, but then caught himself at the last moment and instead held out his hand. “You’ve been a great help.”

  Brogan winked as he shook his hand. “You’re a fast learner, me boy. I hazard to say that you’ll prove to be of worth to me yet.”

  Colin climbed out of Brogan’s manhole with a mission in mind. Brogan had told him that the best place to locate the Avartagh would be at the mayor’s office, which seemed common-sense enough to him. But first, he needed to get help—starting with Jesse. If he was lucky, they’d still be at the ball field, but he had to hurry.

  As he jogged along back streets and alleys, he wondered if he should drop off his lucky bat at home and find a better weapon. He wished he had a sword, or a machine gun, or even a machete, but finally decided it was as good a weapon as he could find on short notice. Fact was that he’d never get rid of it anyway, since it was one of the last gifts he’d received from his father before he’d passed away.

  Colin’s dad had given him the bat on his eighth birthday, telling him it was a family heirloom. Despite the fact that it looked like an old, beat up ash bat, he still cherished it and took it with him to every game. Even before the spell had fallen over the town, he’d hit his first home run with it—a miracle in itself, since he’d never had much success in sports.

  Once he picked his way out of the downtown area, he stuck to the alleys as he ran through familiar neighborhoods on his way to the ball field. Even from behind the houses he could see how weeks of neglect had taken a toll on the formerly beautiful neighborhoods where he and his friends had grown up. Trash littered the yards and streets, and neglected landscapes gave everything a slightly sinister appearance.

  But the scariest things he saw were what others couldn’t see. Several times since he’d left Brogan’s manhole, he’d seen things roaming the streets and sidewalks of his town. Once, he saw a terrible white horse dripping with water and seaweed, and its breath looked like green mist blowing out of its nostrils and mouth. On another street, he saw some little men wearing red Santa Claus hats that dripped with blood. They carried long knives and cleavers, and played cruel tricks on the townsfolk. There were other creatures that, while not as frightening, still spooked him with their bizarre otherworldliness.

  Colin simply acted as if he couldn’t see any of them, because he suspected that if they knew he could, he’d be in a heap of trouble. He pulled his hoodie over his head and kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, only stealing glances here and there when he thought the creatures weren’t looking.

  He figured the quickest route was to take a shortcut through the park, since it’d save him considerable walking time and cut a good thirty minutes off his trip. As he neared the edge of town, the trees of the park appeared in the distance, but like the rest of the town they’d taken on a decidedly darker appearance since he’d touched Brogan’s stone. The trees now seemed gnarled and twisted, and what he once considered to be a friendly and welcoming forest presently appeared to have sinister intentions. Nothing to do but go through it, he said to himself, remembering that he needed his best friend’s help if he was to get back Brogan’s gold.

  As he entered the woods of the park, he noticed the light starting to dim. He looked up to see if the sun had been blocked by clouds, but instead saw tree limbs reaching for each other, almost as if they were trying to block out every last bit of sun. Colin shivered just a bit, then broke into a jog so he could make his time in this place as short as possible.

  Coming around a bend in the path, he saw a patch of black and white fur from the corner of his vision. As he turned to look the way he’d come, nothing was visible; yet, he still knew that something had been back there, and possibly following him. He clutched his bat closer with both hands and continued jogging on.

  Soon he heard movement in the woods, but the culprit remained concealed. Colin decided to pretend he didn’t notice, but occasionally caught a flash of black fur in the trees several yards off the trail. Whatever it was, it moved with barely a sound, and yet every so often he could hear a rustle in the leaves, or a twig cracking. Finally, he decided that he was being trailed… or hunted.

  He hurried along as his heart beat faster and faster, and the shadows grew longer the further he moved into the woods, even though it was barely after lunchtime. As he ran, the trail narrowed and tree limbs seemed to be reaching out to grab him—although he never actually saw them move. Twice he tripped over a tree root that he swore hadn’t been there the moment before, and his face bled from scratches he’d suffered from errant tree limbs. Each time he fell, he picked himself up and ran as fast as he could manage toward the end of the trail.

  Then, off in the distance behind him, he heard a terrible sound—like steam escaping a teapot—and the rapid clippity-clopping of a galloping horse. Looking over his shoulder, he spied a pitch black pony with eyes of yellow fire and chains clanking around its neck. It was moving fast, and from what he could tell the thing was bearing down on him as if to run him over. Colin’s nerve left him and he made a break for it, veeri
ng off the trail in the hopes that he’d be able to avoid his pursuers by dodging through the trees.

  As he turned off the trail, another tree branch tripped him and he fell into a thorn bush by the trailside. Landing in an awkward position, he could barely see the equine nightmare barreling toward him at a breakneck pace. At the last moment, he closed his eyes and covered his face with his bat and arms, in a futile attempt to protect himself from the horse’s charge.

  But instead of trampling him, the terrible beast leapt past him into the trees. When the horse landed, Colin heard the hiss of an alley cat preparing to fight, except it was much louder and lower. As he pulled himself out of the bush he saw the dark colt in a clearing, squaring off with the biggest cat he’d ever seen. The cat was pitch black, like the horse, except for a white blaze of fur on its chest.

  Colin stood mesmerized, half-hiding behind a tree as his hands sought to crush the handle of his lucky bat. The cat arched its back and hissed once more, its eyes glowing yellow-green in the shadows. In response the colt danced and neighed, and it sounded like thunder and lightning all rolled into one to Colin’s ears. The big feline arched its back again and pounced at the colt. Colin thought the horse was a goner, since the cat was nearly as large as the horse and had sharp claws and teeth.

  But instead, the horse spun and lashed out with its rear hooves, and the cat was thrown across the clearing into a thick tree trunk. As the cat struggled back to its feet, the colt turned to Colin, and it spoke in a voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

  “Leave it to a fool human to stick around, when he should’ve been running. Hop on my back now, boy, if you want to make it out of these woods alive.”

  6

  Colin hesitated, and the cat used the opportunity to leap around the fae colt and lunge at him. Purely based on instinct, he lashed out at the big cat with a backhanded stroke of his bat that caught the overgrown feline across the nose. Instead of the familiar crack he typically heard when making a home run or a nice line drive, it was more like the sound of a church bell tolling. TOOOONNNNGG!!!