Underground Druid: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 4)

by M. D. Massey

  As we progressed ever upward, I reflected on how horrible Crowley’s childhood must have been for him to have braved these tunnels as a young kid. We’d run across numerous rats that would’ve given a German Shepherd a run for its money in the size department, and it was dark as hell in here. Plus, the creep factor was a ten-plus. I knew every geek’s dream was to do a real-life dungeon crawl, but I had to say that the reality of it sucked.

  And that was before we ran into the wights.

  We were crawling through another narrow tunnel when Crowley hissed a warning to me.

  “Back up, back up, back up, damn it!”

  I heard him muttering a spell, and knew whatever was happening wasn’t good. I scrambled in reverse as fast as I could, with Crowley kicking me in the face as he followed. I barely caught a glimpse of a thin dark membrane covering the tunnel ahead of the wizard, obviously a temporary magical barrier to facilitate our retreat. Something was trying desperately to punch through it, and I doubted it would hold for long.

  I fell backward out of the tunnel due to a frenzied kick in the face from Crowley’s booted foot, landing in a pile of something cold and mushy. My olfactory nerves had long since shut down from sensory overload, a fact for which I was grateful beyond belief at the moment.

  “Stand and fight, or run?” I asked as I stood up and shook the shit, mud, and algae from my hands.

  “Wights,” he said, as he exited the tunnel. “No time to run, so ready yourself.”

  I pulled my Glock and screwed the suppressor to the barrel, just in time to greet the first wight as it exited the tunnel. It was albino white—hairless, eyeless, and crawling like a spider on limbs that bent at impossible angles. Despite those empty eye sockets, it “looked” straight at me and screeched as it exited the tunnel, baring a mouth full of sharp, crooked teeth.

  I shot it between where its eyes should have been, and it fell limp with its upper torso hanging out of the tunnel.

  “More coming!” Crowley exclaimed.

  I moved into position directly in front of the tunnel and began blasting away, figuring I’d hit a few of them while they were lined up. Despite the suppressor on my pistol’s barrel, the muzzle flash still did a number on my eyesight. I was seeing spots by the time I ran empty and switched out the magazine.

  “How many?” I asked.

  “Six… no, seven more. You killed another and injured two of them.”

  I blinked to clear my vision as I holstered my pistol and drew my sword. Shooting in random directions in these tight quarters might result in a friendly-fire injury, so it was swordplay from here on out.

  I still couldn’t see shit.

  “Fuck it,” I said, reaching into my pocket to grab a light stick. I cracked it on the wall and tossed it into the center of the chamber. “Aw, hell.”

  Two of them were closing in on me, while two more were engaged with Crowley. He was ripping them limb from limb with those shadow tentacles of his, but it was anyone’s guess how long it would be before he got overrun. I needed to take my two out fast to give Crowley an assist.

  I ducked a swipe at my head, stepping off the line as I cut one wight’s leg off at the knee. I kicked it into the other wight’s way, stabbing it through the eye while it was entangled with its companion’s limbs. I beheaded the first wight as they both fell, then turned to help Crowley.

  He was backed up into a corner, holding four of the bastards off. The wizard was working with at least eight shadow arms, two to each wight, but he appeared to be weakening. I took a step toward him, wondering where the other wight was, just as I got blindsided and tackled to the floor of the chamber.

  Something blurred past me as I tumbled to the ground with a wight on top of me. It was clutching my bare wrist, which was already going numb. I shoved a forearm under its chin to keep it from biting me, because wight bites were bad news. The resulting infection could only be cured by a skilled healer, and failing that, you’d end up as one of the living dead within hours of being bitten. No bueno.

  I looked past the wight’s snapping jaws to see how Crowley was faring. That’s when I realized that the blonde, furry blur that had run past was Sabine. She flanked Crowley’s attackers, making quick work of two of them with that elven sword I’d loaned her. Once the pressure was off him, Crowley had no trouble dealing with the last two wights. He tore the head off one with a whiplash swipe of a shadow tentacle, and bashed the other into the ceiling a few times until it stopped moving.

  As for me, I was having major difficulties. I couldn’t shift yet, and didn’t want to because I’d need it later if we ran into Fuamnach. I had one arm shoved under the wight’s chin, and the other was numb to the elbow and locked in the wight’s death grip. I kept trying to hook its leg so I could bridge my hips up and roll it off me. The damned thing must’ve been a collegiate wrestler in its previous existence, because it was maintaining top mounted position like a champ.

  “Um, guys—a little help here?”

  Sabine did a quick pivot and sliced the top of the wight’s head off, just above the nostrils. It struggled for a few more seconds, still trying to take a bite out of me. Then, it seemed to lose steam, just before it collapsed in a heap on top of me, leaking brain fluid and gore all over my chest.

  “Ugh. Well, it’s not like any of this is going to wash out of these clothes anyway.” I threw the thing off me, just as Sabine leaned over to offer me a hand.

  “Miss me?”

  “How in the hell did you find us so fast?”

  She smirked. “Sympathetic magic, and a bit of the Dagda’s traveling magic. I stole a lock of your hair while you were sleeping. I’m fae, remember? We’re sneaky as all hell.”

  “And they say I’m a creeper,” Crowley muttered, probably louder than he intended. Sabine blushed slightly, acting as if she hadn’t heard. I wisely did the same.

  We spent the next few minutes making sure no more wights were coming, then Sabine insisted that I explain how Hemi had been killed. Apparently, Guts had tried to tell the tale and failed. His interpretation had been more an attempt at immortalizing Hemi for all eternity in a poetic troll epic than an accurate depiction of events. So, we rested for a few minutes while I shared the story with her.

  I only choked up twice telling it.

  Sabine rested a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Don’t give up hope yet. You have two Celtic deities pulling for you. And besides that, don’t you think there’s a reason why Hemi insisted you bring him back from Underhill?”

  I shrugged. “I just figured he wanted me to return his body to his family, so he could be buried with his ancestors.”

  Sabine stroked her chin. “Maybe… but Hemi has never been very forthcoming about his family roots. Call it a woman’s intuition, but I suspect there’s more there than anyone realizes.”

  I scratched the back of my head, scraping off something slimy and solid and tossing it away without bothering to see what it was. I didn’t really want to know; some things were better left a mystery.

  “I can’t think about that right now, Sabine. I just need to focus on getting the final two Treasures and sneaking them back to Maeve.”

  “I understand.” She gave me a concerned look, then turned to Crowley. “You know a way to sneak past all Fuamnach’s security, that’ll march us right into her treasure chamber?”

  “I do. If it’s where I left it.”

  Sabine crossed her arms, which only served to create a shelf for her ample cleavage. I gave points to Crowley for not tilting his head to look. Of course, he had the advantage of his hood and shadow magic to hide where his eyes went.

  The half-fae girl arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s convenient. And please share with us, Crowley, just how you managed to build a tunnel to your adoptive mother’s treasure room, right under her nose?”

  “Hey, Sabine—ease up already. The guy has already saved my life more than once on this trip. He’s earned our trust.”

  She turned and poked me in the che
st, using her finger to emphasize each sentence. “You, Colin McCool, are way too trusting. I’m simply asking the questions you should be asking. Isn’t losing one friend on this lunatic suicide mission enough?”

  Sabine spun to face Crowley again. “So, mister—care to explain yourself?”

  I was pretty sure I actually heard the guy sigh. “For starters, it’s not a tunnel. And secondly, there were many times when I’d be left by myself in that great big castle, while Fuamnach ran off to who knows where. Believe me, I had plenty of time to scheme and plan my escape.”

  The fae girl narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of which, if your life was so horrible with Fuamnach, why didn’t you escape?”

  “I tried. I was beaten and starved. After a few cycles of that, I realized it was futile.”

  She tapped her cloven foot. “Convenient. Colin, I don’t like this.”

  “You may not like it, but at the moment I’m your best bet for getting the Treasures and getting out of here alive,” Crowley said.

  I chopped my hand between them. “Enough with the arguing! What I want to know is, how are we getting into Fuamnach’s treasure room?”

  Crowley laughed. “It’s simple, really. We’re going to use a portal to get in and back out again… and no one will be the wiser.”

  16

  Portal magic was serious, hardcore spell craft that was the sole territory of magic users who were either immortal or in possession of highly powerful magical artifacts. And not just any trinket would do. Such artifacts had to be specifically designed to create portals.

  The only magic users I knew who could open portals to other places and dimensions were Finnegas, Maeve, The Dark Druid, and possibly Fuamnach. I’d seen Finnegas pull one off once, when he’d saved my ass by sending a headless horseman named the Dullahan to some random place in the Underrealms. That spell had wiped him out for days. Maeve cast portal spells like they were going out of style, but then again she could tap into Underhill’s magic, so theoretically her power was pretty much limitless.

  And the only time I’d seen the Dark Druid cast a portal spell was under duress. I’d gotten the impression that it took a lot out of him to pull one off. What Crowley had said, about his trip from Underhill to earth being a one-way ticket, only reinforced that assessment. As for Fuamnach, I had no idea. That being said, she was a sorceress both ancient and powerful, so I assumed it was within her purview.

  But a mortal human, casting a portal spell? No way.

  Crowley was a talented magician, that was a fact, and a hell of a lot better at using magic than I was. But he was human and not much older than me. There was no way he could cast a spell like that without help.

  And, because of that, the whole thing sounded like a trap.

  Crowley recognized our skepticism, and he began explaining himself with vigor. “I know this seems suspect, but hear me out. I didn’t cast the portal myself. Instead, I bargained with Peg Powler for help. She provided the spell craft and wove it into a physical anchor for me. The idea was that I could use the portal to make my escape from Fuamnach’s castle.”

  I looked at Sabine to gauge her reaction. She was testing the edge of her blade with her thumbnail. Not good. I turned back to Crowley.

  “What went wrong?” I asked. “I mean, why didn’t you just get the hell out of Dodge once the spell was in place?”

  Crowley sat down on a nearby ledge that was mostly sewage-free. “Unfortunately, Fuamnach has her castle spelled and warded against entry or exit by portal. I suppose she’s paranoid, after so many years of enmity with the more powerful of the Tuath Dé. And, Peg being Peg, she knew about it. She made it so that once I activated the portal, it couldn’t be moved.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Typical fae, always giving people the raw end of the deal.”

  “Indeed,” Crowley replied. “I set up the portal spell in my quarters, but quickly abandoned it after I discovered it was useless for its intended purpose. Admittedly, I failed to see the utility of the thing until much later. While the spell couldn’t help me escape from Fuamnach, it can transport us anywhere within the castle walls. We just have to get to it.”

  Sabine sheathed her blade as she glanced in my direction. “I still don’t like it, but what choice do you have?”

  “Not much, at this point,” I muttered. “How are the kids holding up?”

  Her face lit up at the mere mention of the children. “Oh, they’re having a grand old time. The Dagda is an old softy, as it turns out. Says it’s been centuries since he heard the laughter of children in his lands. He’s set up the world’s biggest petting zoo on his farm to keep them entertained, and I think he’s enjoying it as much as they are.”

  “Good to know. I guess that means we have some time to think this through?”

  Sabine shook her head and grimaced. “Not so much. That’s one of the reasons I hauled ass after you two. The Dagda says the longer the kids stay here, the more likely they are to suffer ill effects when they go back to earth.”

  I rubbed my temples and growled. “Damn it… can’t anything go smoothly for a change? Alright, so how long do we have?”

  “Depends. He told me he’d use his magical influence to keep them from acclimating to Underhill, but that we should get them back as soon as possible.”

  I looked at Crowley. “Why didn’t you suffer any side effects when you left here? After spending your childhood in Underhill, it seems like going back to earth would’ve messed you up royal.”

  He fussed with his sleeve, covering up his scarred hand and arm as much as possible. “I was, for lack of a better term, ‘altered’ by Fuamnach’s experiments. She’s rather fond of using magic to experiment on human children. Since I was one of her successes, she allowed me to live.”

  Sabine snapped her fingers and pointed at Crowley. “That’s how you got your magic. Holy shit, Crowley… what did she do to you?”

  “I’d rather not discuss it. But I can assure you, the process was not pleasant.”

  Sabine’s eyes softened, and doubt registered on her face. She wanted to believe him, but being fae, she was naturally suspicious.

  “As far as I’m concerned, it’s settled. We do it Crowley’s way. Check your gear, and let’s get moving.” I turned my back on them and began to do an inventory of my equipment.

  Sabine walked around me and got right in my face. “I don’t trust him,” she whispered. “He’s spent too much time down here with that bitch of a sorceress, and there’s no telling what she did to him. He could be under a geas, he could be brainwashed—hell, he could be the world’s best con artist. We simply don’t know.”

  I shrugged, resigned to my fate. “I’ve already thought of all that, but our options are limited. It’s either this, or I go in there hulked out and guns blazing—and odds are I wouldn’t make it out alive if it came to that. You, Guts, and the kids would be stuck here and up shit creek. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

  She crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “Fine. But when this thing goes sideways, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  We made our way through the remainder of the sewer system mostly unmolested. As we ascended the tunnels that led higher into the complex, the walls gradually became less damp and lichen-covered, and wooden roof supports appeared at regular intervals. Soon, we saw torchlight in the distance.

  Crowley pulled us aside and whispered softly. “The next few levels are controlled by a very nasty clan of fear dearg who keep things from the lower levels from making their way up to the castle. The Grimknife Clan runs regular patrols, and while their technology is primitive, their fighting skills and tactics are not.”

  Fear dearg were red caps, nasty little dwarves with a fetish for using sharp pointy things on humans. “How do we get past them?” I asked.

  “We’ll wait for the first patrol to check the intersection ahead, then we’ll backtrack their patrol route until we make it upstairs. Stay here until I give the signal to move.”

  Shadows envel
oped Crowley, and he vanished into the dark of the tunnel ahead of us. Sabine and I crouched in a narrow alcove, peeking around the corner every now and again to make sure no one was coming.

  “I still don’t like this,” she whispered.

  “I still don’t care,” I whispered back.

  She stuck her tongue out at me playfully, but I was in no mood for games or jokes. Waiting only gave me time to think about recent events, and that made me both angry and churlish. I ignored her and busied myself by draining the water from my shoes and wringing out my socks.

  Minutes passed, then we heard footsteps and light chatter from down the tunnel. I peeked out, just as a group of maybe a half-dozen squat figures passed through the intersection ahead. They were easy to spot, since the first and last red cap carried torches to light their way. Knowing Crowley would return soon, I hurriedly put my shoes back on, hoping they wouldn’t squelch and give us away.

  Just as we were getting ready to bolt, Crowley’s form materialized out of the shadows, just outside the alcove.

  “That’s creepy, dude,” I whispered.

  I thought I heard a quiet laugh, but I couldn’t be sure. “Come. The patrol has passed and another won’t be by for some time. Still, we need to move quickly. If you stay close, I can conceal your passage somewhat.”

  Sabine grunted. “Give me a second to get rid of these goat hooves and put some shoes back on. Cloven feet are too loud on these dry flagstones.”

  We both stood there watching until she gave us “the look” and spun her finger in circles like she was stirring a drink. “Duh, turn around, you imbeciles. I have to put my pants back on, too.”

  I winced, and Crowley cleared his throat. We gave her the privacy she requested, looking elsewhere until she cleared her throat.

  “I’m done, knuckleheads. Now, let’s get this over with.”

  Wispy shadows congealed around us, covering us in velvet darkness. It made it hard to see more than a few feet, but we were following Crowley anyway, so I didn’t think it mattered. We headed down the hallway, moving swiftly and silently past every circle of torchlight. We paused in areas of darkness to listen for the approach of any patrols or lone wanderers.