Junkyard Druid: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 1)

by Massey,M. D.

  Sabine and the girl appraised each other warily as she waited for me to acknowledge her presence. I sized her up in my peripheral vision as I packed my books into my bag. Her bright green eyes, high cheek bones, and button nose made her pretty, if a little too doll-like. Despite being pulled back in a ponytail, her long blonde hair would have put any girl on a shampoo commercial to shame. She was wearing a collared shirt under a skin-tight elbow-length sweater, a flared skirt that hit about mid-thigh, knee socks, and a pair of Jimmy Choos that cost more than my tuition this semester.

  Yes, I spent a lot of time on Pinterest.

  “Siobhán,” Sabine said icily.

  “Sabine,” she replied. “Love what you’ve done with that glamour. I can’t decide whether you’re going for homeless, or criminally insane. But I have to say, that rat’s nest on your head tops off the whole look for you.”

  Sabine cocked a hip and crossed her arms. “Thanks. Nice stripper outfit, by the way,” she deadpanned. She made a megaphone with her hands and called out loudly in the general direction of the podium in an impression of a D.J.’s voice.

  “Siobhán, calling Siobhán to the center stage! Get those dollar bills ready, boys, because this girl’s grinding her way through a pre-law degree, and mama needs a new pair of shoes!”

  I actually thought her outfit was in good taste, but then again I was a guy; we thought thong bikinis were in good taste, too.

  She scowled at Sabine, who was looking pretty smug after that comeback. I cleared my throat to draw her attention from my friend and addressed her directly.

  “Whatever ball, dinner party, or other gastronomic function Maeve has planned, please tell her that I am indisposed and I apologize but I won’t be attending.”

  Siobhán shook her head slightly. “Sorry cutie, but you’re not getting off that easily. Maeve said that she requests your presence immediately. Meaning, this is not an invitation, but a command appearance. I suggest that you head straight over, because unlike most older fae, she’s not known to be a patient queen.”

  I happened to look over and stifled a laugh, because Sabine was mimicking her as she spoke. She graced Sabine with a haughty glance and then turned to address me again.

  “I suggest that you be on your best behavior. Something has her all worked up, and the last time I saw her like this she turned the gardener into a toad. The poor guy lived in the garden pond for a year until she relented and changed him back.” Siobhán leaned close to whisper in my ear. “And honestly, you are way too cute to be turned into a frog.”

  I might have blushed and smiled a little as she walked away. Sabine just rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Men. You’re all governed by your reproductive glands. All it takes is a cute girl in a short skirt or a pair of yoga pants, and you lose every last bit of dignity and sense you possess.”

  I looked at her and smiled. “Oh, you know you’re the only girl for me, Sabine.”

  She snickered. “Right. And you’re not still in love with your dead girlfriend, either.” The timbre in her voice said she might not be happy with that fact, but we were just friends. I figured she was just concerned that I hadn’t moved on after Jesse.

  Sabine took my arm in hers and began walking me down the lecture hall steps. “C’mon, we still have time to grab a cup of coffee at the student union before your next class. I’ll take notes and cover for you, while you head off to see what the wicked witch of the Southwest wants.”

  8

  Journal Entry—Eight Months, Twenty-Five Days A.J.

  It’s all in my head. I’m going to talk to Dr. Jansen about increasing my meds.

  -McC

  Austin, Texas—Present Day

  After finally getting some caffeine in me, I thanked Sabine for agreeing to take notes in my midday class and headed over to Maeve’s home. You’d think that the faery queen of Austin would live in a palatial mansion in the hills somewhere, but not Maeve. She preferred to be in the thick of things, so her impressive but not quite ostentatious Victorian was located on the cliffs above Riverside Drive, just west of I-35 in a tiny and expensive neighborhood next to Ladybird Lake and close to Zilker Park.

  Her home would have been the envy of any well-to-do heiress or newly minted millionaire, if they wished to put their wealth on display while keeping up the false pretense of being absolutely in tune with the proletariat. Her home was easily worth ten million; homes like it in and near downtown Austin sold at a hefty premium. Still, because it was an older home that had been renovated and updated, it came across as being quaint and tasteful rather than evincing the gauche excesses that homes in the hills along Loop 360 were known to boast.

  As I walked past the white picket fence and picture perfect front lawn, I admired the gingerbread house trim and handsome Victorian architecture of her home. Victorians were a rarity in Austin, not only because the style had never been popular there, but also because older homes in tony neighborhoods were so often torn down and replaced by modern monstrosities that detracted from the atmosphere of those formerly staid communities. I had to hand it to Maeve; she had an appreciation for all things old and beautiful, and by preserving this home she’d done a favor to her surrounding neighbors.

  Interestingly, though, this neighborhood bordered on one of the less desirable areas in Austin. East Riverside drive wasn’t exactly known for its lack of crime, and while Austin had a relatively low violent crime rate, we boasted one of the highest property crime rates in Texas. Yet the local meth heads and gang-bangers had learned to stay away from Maeve’s place, as well as those of her neighbors. Things lurked here in the shadows and shrubbery that would best be avoided late at night… or any time, for that matter. I made it a point to pretend I didn’t notice the troll watching me from within the limbs of a large crepe myrtle, and headed up the steps onto the wraparound porch to ring the doorbell.

  Just as my finger touched the buzzer, the front door opened and Siobhán stepped into view. “Surprise, surprise. The druid actually took my advice. Maeve will be pleased.”

  I let out a long, slow sigh. “I keep telling you folk, I’m not a druid.”

  She sniffed and turned on heel, heading past the parlor and into the depths of the house. “Whatever. Come, she’s expecting you.”

  I followed close on the heels of the fae girl, not wanting to risk getting turned around inside the place. Unlike a mundane home, the homes of the fae were known to unexpectedly connect to the lands of the sidhe, those places in the Underrealms where mortals were never meant to tread. Take one wrong turn in a home such as this one, and you might lose a few decades wandering aimlessly or being fed faery cakes and honey mead, only to later exit the place an old man.

  Siobhán took me to the rear half of the house, where Maeve was busy baking. My nose told me she’d been preparing currant scones and cooking up a batch of blackberry jelly. The kitchen itself was massive, with commercial appliances and a huge center island that was currently occupied by mixing bowls and small glass bowls containing every ingredient necessary for whatever Maeve would be preparing next, all lined up in neat little rows. Despite the culinary activity, the counters and appliances were absolutely spotless, and beyond the delicious odors emanating from the oven and range, there remained little evidence she’d been mixing or cooking anything in here at all.

  Maeve herself was dressed simply yet elegantly, and could’ve been a stand-in for any cable food show hostess, even the Martha herself. And just like Martha Stewart in her pre-prison days, her glamour was designed to radiate a subtle vibe that made her the ultimate MILF. Of course, it was intentional and part of how she drew mortals into her web of deceit and manipulation. To mortal men, she appeared to be at once both sexually desirable and motherly, a combination that few males could resist.

  Maeve floated from behind the kitchen island and over to the range as I walked in the room. She didn’t literally float, because that would be passé; but she moved with such an easy grace and confidence that she may as well have been walki
ng on air. She flipped her flaxen, tastefully highlighted shoulder-length hair back and leaned in as she stirred a pot on the stove, taking a whiff and fanning the steam back to her nose with an elegant wave of her hand.

  “Colin, come here and tell me if this looks done to you.” I froze for a moment, unsure if she was trying to throw me off balance. Off course she is, silly. I decided to play along. She frowned at my hesitation and beckoned me with the wooden spoon in her hand. “Come on now, you know I don’t bite guests. Let’s put those famous druid senses to the test, and you tell me if I’ve overcooked this blackberry jam.”

  I sauntered over to the stove and leaned in to smell the mixture that was barely bubbling on the range. Taking a deep inhalation of the wisps of steam coming up from the pot, I detected that yes, she’d cooked the mixture just to the point where it would set perfectly. I also noticed that she’d somehow managed to get it to the right consistency without adding pectin to the mixture. I closed my eyes and focused on the magical spectrum and “saw” the fine, airy weaves of magic that had been used to bind the whole process together, taking note of the skill, power, and effort that had been invested in such a commonplace task. It was clear that Maeve didn’t really want my opinion on her jam. She simply wanted to remind me of how much magical power she commanded, and how expertly she could wield it. It was a subtle, but effective, message.

  That was the thing about the fae. Sure, mortals could command magic, just as the fae could. But we mortals were limited in our ability to generate magical power, and without an external power source or reservoir, we would very quickly expend any endogenous magical energies we possessed. And it took a very long time to restore those magical reserves, which was why most magicians, witches, and wizards could be seen wearing various trinkets and medallions, and carrying wands, staves, and other objects of power. Such inanimate objects were used to collect and store magical energies, and could be drawn from so the mage would not need to draw on their own power to perform magic.

  But the fae had no such need. Their native lands were fashioned purely of magic, and therefore there were few limits to their power. As long as they had a connection to the Underrealms, they had access to unlimited reserves of magical energy. In fact, there were really only three ways for a mortal to defeat a powerful fae:

  You could destroy their physical body, or physically overpower them;

  You could trick them into agreeing not to harm you;

  Or you could cut off their connection to the Underrealms, thereby leveling the playing field and making it a fair fight.

  Either way, if you had to fight a powerful fae you were screwed. Ages ago the Milesians discovered the secret to defeating the fae, a development that eventually led to the defeat of the Tuatha Dé Danann and their subsequent banishment to Underhill. As it turns out, every fae magic user’s Achilles heel is this: while in the human realm, they must connect to the magic of the Underrealms through nature, namely the earth, rocks, trees, and wildlife. Amergin the druid revealed this vulnerability when he called upon the spirit of Ireland to turn against the Tuatha Dé Danann, an act which robbed them of much of their magical power. Once the land turned against the fae, they were forced to rely on their own magical reserves as any mortal would, and eventually they had to concede defeat to their human conquerors. This was, in part, why the fae both respected and feared druids and the druid-trained like me.

  Why couldn’t the fae use magical reservoirs like humans did? Because the best conductors and conduits for magical energies were anathema to the fae: iron, rowan wood, and mystical symbols. The fae were also known to be fascinated by glittering gems, and while they held no particular aversion to them, having such an object on their person could cause a distraction that might have disastrous results in battle. Thus, the fae avoided using inanimate objects as a source of power, preferring instead to rely on their connection to Underhill for their magical might. That was more than enough to make any fae magic user a challenge for even the most powerful human magician, witch, or wizard to defeat.

  Wisely, I avoided bringing any of this up with Maeve. Instead, I minded my manners and responded exactly as Finn had taught me to when dealing with the fae, by using flattery while never thanking them or committing to any promise or oath.

  “It smells lovely, and you’ve cooked it to perfection. The Queen of the Austin Sidhe must be the epitome of gastronomic expertise, and a more charming and graceful hostess could never be found in Underhill or above.”

  She smiled sweetly and removed her apron, hanging it neatly on a hook in the corner of the kitchen. As she did, I noted that her figure these days was more Giada than Martha Stewart, and that the simple yet classy blouse she wore over designer jeans and Valentino flats was left unbuttoned at the top to display an ample amount of cleavage. Her facial features were fine, with slightly upturned eyes, high cheek bones, and lips that succeeded at exuding sensuousness without being overkill. Her face and skin possessed an agelessness that was almost unsettling. She could have been 29, or 59; it was anyone’s guess. It was all glamour, of course, and yet her magic was such that I was unable to see what she really looked like beneath her façade. My guess was that she was like most of the High Court fae—slightly alien in appearance, yet ethereally and unnaturally beautiful as well.

  Regardless, my eyes remained level with hers at all times. Finn taught me that sexual predilections were a weakness that could and would be exploited by any fae, and showing weakness of any kind in the presence of an apex predator like Maeve could get you killed. Or worse.

  After taking a moment to size me up, she spoke, breaking me out of my momentary reverie.

  “Finnegas taught you well, and you do honor to the memory of the druid bards of old.”

  I bowed my head in appreciation of the compliment, acknowledging it without becoming indebted to her by verbally expressing my gratitude. For several seconds more she continued to appraise me, and finally her steel eyes flashed with amusement as well as a hint of ancient eldritch power held at bay.

  “Well, you’re no bumbling fool, that’s for sure,” she stated. “I must say, my spies did not exaggerate in the slightest when they reported that you were Finn’s finest pupil in an age. Walk with me, boy.”

  9

  Journal Entry—Eight Months, Twenty-Six Days A.J.

  It’s not all in my head. At least, I don’t think it is. Last night, I was having my usual nightmare, the one where I run into the cave and see myself killing Jesse. I scream, I beg, I fight myself, but nothing I do can stop me from killing her.

  I woke up in a cold sweat, and I swear she was standing at the foot of my bed. I mean, I couldn’t see her, but I could smell her perfume, and I sensed that she was there. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I’m starting to believe that Jesse’s ghost is haunting me.

  Oh man… what if she’s been around this whole time? Have I been keeping her from moving on? What if she’s been trying to talk to me and I haven’t been listening or paying attention? I don’t know what to think about all this, but Dr. Jansen will know what to do.

  Then again, I did just ask her to increase my meds. Maybe I’d better keep this all to myself. For now.

  -McC

  Austin, Texas—Present Day

  I did as Maeve asked and held out my arm to her. She casually took it in her own as she guided me where she wished to go, all while making it look as though it was my idea to lead her in that direction. Despite the danger I felt at her proximity, I had to admit that I found her old-school manners to be charming, if a little dated. But if I was enjoying Maeve’s matronly charms so much at the moment, then why did I have the nagging suspicion she was about to castrate me with a rusty knife? I finally decided to just enjoy the moment, but to be on my guard just the same.

  As we exited the kitchen, Maeve dismissed Siobhán, who’d been standing off to the side, statue-like, during our brief conversation.

  “Go find something to do, dear. Buy some new clothes, or find some man to ply
your charms with for a time. I’ll send for you again when you’re needed.”

  Siobhán curtsied and left the way we’d come in, sparing me an indecipherable look as she exited. Maeve gestured at her departing form.

  “My granddaughter, many generations removed. She’s a smart girl, but ambitious. I daresay I’ll have to watch that one in years to come.”

  She guided me through a grand archway and into a library with floor to ceiling bookshelves all around. The walls here, as in the rest of the house, were painted tastefully in an off-white color, and the midday sunlight lit the room up without being overpowering. Maeve patted my arm and released it, then walked up to a wall of books and chanted softly under her breath, too faintly for me to make out the words. With one wave of her hand, the wall disappeared before me to reveal a staircase leading down.

  I opened the adjacent door to peek into the room beyond. On the other side was a formal dining room, making it physically impossible for there to be a stairwell behind the shelves. This was a path to Underhill, and yet I’d not even sensed the presence of the glamour or doorway, nor the many wards that Maeve was busy releasing so I could pass through unharmed.

  She gestured at the doorway. “After you, my dear.”

  I hesitated. There were rules governing safe passage for mortals traveling the Underrealms at the behest of the fae. Maeve’s brow crinkled slightly, then she looked off to the side and rolled her eyes.

  “Fine. ‘No harm shall come to you by entering Underhill though my demesne, nor shall you be detained by me or mine.’ Happy?”

  I nodded, just barely stopping myself before thanking her. “Don’t slip up now, boy,” she quipped as I entered the doorway and began leading the way down. “I’m just beginning to fancy you.”