Graveyard Druid: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 2)

by M. D. Massey

  “Everyone knows who the Fear Doirich is—so what? No one has seen him since he turned Fionn’s wife into a deer. Nobody ever saw Sadhbh again either. Are you going to tell me you have a file on her, too?”

  Gunnarson frowned so deeply that the ends of his prodigious mustache nearly met.

  “And I thought you were at least halfway sharp, McCool. You really think the Circle keeps files on entities that are long dead? The Dark Druid is as alive and well as you and I. In fact, we’ve been keeping tabs on him for centuries, mainly because every couple hundred years or so his work shows up in connection to some calamity or tragedy. We can connect him to several plagues and natural disasters over the years, and to many of the worst serial killings throughout history.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Next you’re going to tell me that the Fear Doirich was Jack the Ripper.”

  “And maybe worse.”

  I had a hard time believing that there was another two-thousand-year-old druid running around. For one, Finnegas never mentioned him except in the context of myth and legend. Which were, of course, history to us. Second, if a druidic serial killer had been running around for the last two millennia, it seemed like Finnegas and the fianna wouldn’t have found a way to bump him off.

  Still, I couldn’t just write it off. Gunnarson might have been a dick, but he was a dick who cared about protecting the populace from supernatural threats. He probably had selfish reasons, but he still had an interest in keeping supernatural entities from preying on humans.

  “So, the Circle thinks this guy is behind all the necromancy?”

  Gunnarson nodded. “Bingo. Give the druid a cookie.”

  I ignored the jab. “But what makes you think it’s him?”

  Gunnarson spat tobacco juice on the wall, near my feet. “Because it fits his past M.O., that’s why. Far as we can tell, his hobbies are necromancy, spreading death and destruction wherever he goes, and being really fucking vindictive when he gets turned down for a date. In every instance where he’s shown up in the past, necromancy was involved. And based on the photos you showed me, we think he’s our guy—the runes and symbols match records we have in our archives of his past work.”

  “If that’s the case, what’s his motive? I mean, why just turn up in town and start making ghouls all over the place?”

  Gunnarson tucked the file back into his briefcase and made a show of avoiding my gaze while looking smug.

  “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it, McCool? What would make a nearly immortal, evil druidic magic-user just pop up in Austin and start sacrificing kittens and unicorns? Seems like an awful waste of time, unless there was something here he wanted.”

  He looked at me and smirked. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? No, you’re just as ignorant and innocent as a newborn babe. Anyway, now you know. What you do with this info is up to you.”

  “I’m damned sure not going to sit on it. And if the Fear Doirich is our guy, I’ll still need back up when I track him down.”

  Gunnarson looked at me with a half-squint and exhaled heavily through his nose. “You’ll have it, much as it pains me to agree to it. I can’t have this fucker running around my city killing civilians and turning them into the undead. Just don’t get any more of my people injured. Becerra’s a loose cannon and a cowboy, but she’s ours. And we don’t like losing our own.”

  I felt bad enough about Bells as it was, but I wasn’t going to share any of that with Gunnarson. “I can’t promise anything. Especially not if it’s really the Dark Druid. He was bad news two thousand years ago. I can’t imagine he’s mellowed much in all that time.”

  “Fair enough. My people know the score, and no one in the Circle thinks it’s going to be puppy dogs and rainbows when they hit the streets. But if you make a mistake that gets any of my people hurt, I swear I’ll lock you up in a dungeon so deep, they’ll need to call to China to bring you back.”

  I chewed my lip. “Um, China’s not—never mind. You got a picture of what this guy looks like now?”

  “Might not do any good—we suspect he’s a body jumper. Last time he showed up was in Nazi Germany, and he wasn’t doing photo ops. One of our operatives got a glimpse and drew this.” He dug around in the briefcase and handed me a photo of a charcoal drawing on a yellowed page. “Here.”

  I took the photo and flipped it around to get a good look.

  “Son of a bitch.” I folded the photo and tucked it into my jacket. “Gunnarson, have a strike team or SWAT team or whatever the hell you call them ready to go. I think I know who our mysterious necromancer is, and where to find him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I took the stairs two at a time on my way up to Belladonna’s room, gasping for breath by the time I staggered in. Sabine was sitting in a chair facing Bells, and they were both laughing about something. Well, Sabine was laughing. Bells looked like she was resisting the urge, and failing miserably.

  “Oh, don’t make me laugh, you bitch—it hurts too much!”

  I stumbled to the foot of the bed, hunched over with my hands on my knees. Whatever conversation they’d been having stopped the moment I walked in. Sabine sat prim and proper, looking like the cat that ate the mouse. Bells wiped her eyes, holding a pillow to her side.

  “Damn it, but that hurts. Hi, Colin.”

  I looked between them as I caught my breath, because this was not how I’d pictured this going down. In fact, part of the reason I’d sprinted the whole way up was to intercede in what I thought would be an awkward situation.

  “You two—but I thought—aw, forget it. Just got some big news on the necromancer front.”

  Sabine fixed me with a scowl. “That’s it? Basically, your girlfriend just woke up from coma, and that’s how you greet her?”

  “Um—” I didn’t know what to say. What I’d wanted to do was walk right up and kiss Bells, but I didn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable… including me. It’s not that I was a coward; I just didn’t have a grip on how all this stuff worked.

  Sabine looked at me expectantly, then her jaw dropped open with a tsk. “For goodness sakes, kiss the girl already!”

  Bells just laid there, staring at me with a beatific expression. While she looked a bit groggy, her eyes were bright, and she was smiling at me like a dope. So I walked up and kissed her, full on the lips.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head in to gently touch hers. “You really scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “But I wasn’t about to puss out after that ghoul tried to kill us.”

  “Bells, you almost died. Did die, in fact, briefly.”

  “Merely a flesh wound. I’ve had worse, you pansy.”

  Sabine snickered. I sat down on the bed, apoplectic.

  “Bells! Your heart stopped beating—I watched them pump your chest.”

  “Jealous?”

  I tried to stammer a reply and failed. Sabine tittered and wiped her eyes again.

  “Colin, she’s on drugs. Heavy duty drugs. You couldn’t get a serious answer out of her right now if you tried.”

  Bells narrowed her eyes at me. “He’s being overly sensitive. Don’t know if I like it.”

  Sabine chuckled. “You’d best get used to it. Manly man that he is, he has to be the weepiest guy I know.”

  “Okay, I get it. Bells is high and you two just formed the newest chapter of TheSisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Now that I’m up to speed, why don’t I fill you in on the latest shocking news?”

  Bells wrinkled her nose at me. “Now he’s just being surly.” She reached up to pinch my cheek, and missed so she pinched my arm. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” She looked at Sabine and grinned. “Sabine, tell him he’s cute when he’s angry.”

  Sabine raised both hands in protest. “Don’t look at me—I got him to kiss you, my work is done.”

  Bells stuck her tongue out and gave Sabine the raspberries.

  I clapped my hands on m
y knees. “Okay, so—I think I know who the necromancer is.”

  Sabine sat up straight. “Commander Gunnarson dropped you a tip, did he? Do tell.”

  “That prick,” Bells mumbled.

  “No arguments here, but he did just provide some info that suggests our necromancer is—get this—the Fear Doirich.”

  Belladonna’s eyes snapped open. She’d been drifting off a little, but that woke her up. Sabine covered her mouth with one hand.

  “Tell me you’re not going after him, Colin.”

  “Sabine, honestly—”

  She stood up, livid. “Damn it, Colin, look at Belladonna. Look at her! If it’s true, he did this to her. Legend says back in the day even the fae gave him a wide berth. You’ll end up like Belladonna, or worse, if you confront him.”

  Bells nodded in an exaggerated manner, slurring her response slightly. “She s’right, you know. Don’t do it.”

  “Gunnarson says he’ll provide me with back up.”

  Sabine stamped the floor. “Really? You’re going to trust him to have your back? Colin, for all you know he’s steering you toward this confrontation in hopes that the Dark Man takes you out. Have you considered that at all?”

  Belladonna’s hand slapped down on my wrist. “She’s totally right.” She turned her head lazily to look at Sabine. “Hey, you’re not all bad, Sabine. I totally take back what I said about your choice in clothing and that rat’s nest you call a hairstyle.”

  “It’s just her glamour,” I quipped.

  “It’s what she chooses to show the world. Fair game, in my book.”

  Sabine sighed, maintaining eye contact with me. “I’m going to ignore her right now. Colin, promise me you won’t go after him before you speak with Finnegas.”

  “Sabine, I can’t let him get away.”

  “And if you end up like her, or worse?” She gestured at Bells, who waved back at us lazily.

  “Still here, people. And I feel great.”

  I looked at Bells, who despite being three sheets to the wind and banged up looked more lovely to me than she ever had. I turned my eyes back to Sabine, making the effort to see through her glamour, past the frumpy illusion she presented. Her preternaturally beautiful, almond-shaped eyes pleaded with me, and the look on her face spoke of desperation and fear.

  But I was tired of playing defense. Doing so only put my friends in danger. It was time to go on the offense, and show this old bastard just who he was messing with.

  “I’ll talk to Finn, I promise. But then I’m going to kick this guy’s ass.”

  Sabine rolled her eyes. “Fine, do what you want. But just remember that it’s everyone else who’ll have to deal with the consequences if you get yourself killed.”

  Bells opened one eye and looked at me. “What she said. Don’t get killed.”

  I leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back.”

  She grinned, eyes closed. “I’ll be waiting. For you to take me to a good brawl, I mean. Once I’m out of this hospital bed. Being as I’m missing the fight, and all.”

  “Sure thing, Bells. It’s a date.”

  Sabine remained silent, mouth curled in disapproval as I headed to the door. I returned the look with a sheepish grin and a shrug, and hauled ass for the elevators as soon as my feet hit the hall.

  I looked at the artist’s rendering several times, both on the elevator and on my way to the parking lot. There was no mistaking it: the guy in the drawing was a dead ringer for the cemetery caretaker. If I was right, the necromancer had been right under my nose this whole time and I’d failed to see it. And, he’d been playing me for a fool since the moment I’d first set foot in that cemetery.

  I considered the implications and my next steps on the way back to the junkyard. My first question was fairly obvious: why hadn’t he crushed me like an insect the first time we’d met? If he was as powerful as everyone said, surely he could’ve prevented me from tracking down his ghouls and interfering with his plans. Instead, he’d let me discover his activities, leaving me a clear trail to follow at each and every turn.

  But to what end, I hadn’t a clue. I only knew I was tired of playing the unwitting pawn, and seeing my friends get hurt because they were useful for leverage or in the way. And, I was tired of playing the victim, of being a game piece instead of a player. The time had come for me to go on the offensive. I was ready and willing to dole out some consequences, and the Fear Doirich was currently at the top of my shit list.

  Problem was, I didn’t know how I was going to take him out. At least, not without hulking out on him. And I wasn’t just worried about the ríastrad; I was also worried about the Eye. I’d done quite a bit of reading up on it since the events at Crowley’s farm, and from what I understood it was capable of leveling a small city. I couldn’t imagine the amount of damage that could be done if I let my Hyde-side loose while in possession of a magical weapon of mass destruction.

  That meant I needed to figure out another way to catch or subdue him, one that didn’t involve a magical or physical confrontation. I had no idea whether he could harness powers that were equivalent to what I’d experienced when Crowley used the Eye on me. But if so, it could conceivably trigger my dark side to come out—and that was something to be avoided at all costs.

  When I got back to the junkyard I immediately ran to Finn’s van. I knocked and heard a muffled response from inside. I opened the door and found him bundled up on a bench seat, sipping a cup of tea in front of a Coleman stove.

  “Come in, and shut the door if you don’t mind. Takes forever to get this thing warm.”

  I clambered in and sat on the floor across from him. “Don’t you think it’s time to move into an apartment or something?”

  “Maureen is trying to find me a place outside the city, somewhere with some space to stretch my legs. All this concrete and metal—bah, don’t know how you can stand it.”

  “You get used to it.” Finn looked gaunt and pale. “Are you alright?”

  “Magic,” he replied, between sips of tea. “Takes it out of me these days.”

  “Sabine seemed to think it was dangerous for you to perform those healing spells. Maybe even suicidal.”

  “Pah! She can’t be more than a few decades old. Still a child. What does she know about magic, and especially druid magic? I’ll be fine. Just need some time to recharge my batteries, is all.”

  I turned the flame up slightly on the camping stove. “I thought that’s what you were supposed to be doing in the first place. You know, after going cold turkey?”

  “Like I said, I’ll be fine.”

  I left it at that. Finnegas was two thousand years old. If he said he knew what he was doing, I believed him.

  “Fair enough.” I waited for a moment before jumping into the next topic of discussion. “Finn, why didn’t you tell me about the Dark Druid?”

  He pursed his lips into a wry grimace. “It’s him, huh? Hmph. Should’ve known.”

  I nodded, watching him to see if I could spot any sign of deception. He’d lied to me, again. Or at least withheld information. And that was pretty much what had gotten Jesse killed, which was why I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to make this a regular thing again.

  He pondered the depths of his tea cup, averting his gaze. “I suspected he might be involved the moment I walked in that room. Magic looked like his work, but it’s been centuries. That prick always did favor brute force over finesse though. His spell work was ugly, harsh stuff. We ought to have known he was a bad seed, by the way he expressed himself in his magic.”

  “Wait a minute—you knew him?”

  “Sure I knew him. Hell, I taught him, for Lugh’s sake. He was my first student, before I met Fionn. Smart, but headstrong and prone to anger and violence. Him and Cúchulainn were cut from the same mold, I think, ’cept the Hound wasn’t near as mean. Even so, I always said Cathbad should never have trained him.”

  He poured the dregs of his tea out in a nearby coffee can. “Bu
t I guess we both made our mistakes. Only problem is, mine is still running around killing people.”

  “He hurt Belladonna, Finn. And he’s been pulling my strings this whole time. The least you could have done is warn me about him.”

  He glowered at me and gestured animatedly with his tea cup. “And what, have you go chase him down like you’re going to do now? He’ll kill you—or worse, trigger your ríastrad and let you go on a rampage, a real killing spree. And he’ll use the death and destruction you cause to further his powers.”

  “Or I’ll kill him.”

  “Boy, you’re about as likely to kill the Fear Doirich as you are to sprout wings and fly. Colin, hear me out. You’re smart, and a damned good fighter. And you have a greater talent for magic than I’ve ever let on, although I steered you away from it for fear you’d turn out like me. Or worse, like him. A little magic, a man can stand. But great power? It changes you, in more ways than I care to admit. I was never meant to walk this earth for as long as I have, and someday I’ll pay for it—for all my crimes.”

  “Crimes? What are you talking about?”

  “Stolen power, boy! The greatest temptation of all—to steal for oneself a power that mortal men should not possess. When I was young, I was a fool. I wanted wisdom, knowledge, and a lifetime to acquire it. But a lifetime wasn’t enough, so I began extending my years a little at a time. Oh, there are various ways to do it—all great wizards and druids know what they are. But they all come at a price. And I’ve been paying that price for the last two thousand years.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t see what the downside is to being nearly immortal.”

  He laughed bitterly. “That’s because you’re young. Life is still new and wonderful to you, despite the pain you’ve experienced. But me? I’m old, and tired. I grew weary of life centuries ago. But yet, I can’t move on.”

  “And the Fear Doirich? What’s his deal? Did he use the same magics you used to extend your life?”

  “No, he took a much darker path. He’s a body thief.”

  “Gunnarson mentioned something about that,” I said. “Is that like possession?”