Blood Scent: A Junkyard Druid Urban Fantasy Novella (Junkyard Druid Novellas Book 1)

by M. D. Massey

  Cold-iron pellets embedded in hollow points. Silver-tipped rounds. Rowan wood bullets that were only accurate at close range, but played hell when they hit certain creatures. And tracer rounds, because vamps and some other types of undead were susceptible to fire.

  I’d hit him with all four.

  I heard a grunt escape his lips, then the vamp tossed me like a ragdoll across the alleyway. I collided with a wall, struck my head against a metal gutter drain, and fell to the pavement below.

  Shaking it off, I rolled over and pointed the gun toward where I’d been standing just moments before. But the vamp was gone. And I had a splitting headache.

  “Damn it,” I cursed. “I need another drink.”

  3

  I stormed into Luther’s place with a bad attitude and violence on my mind. I walked up to the coffee bar, shouldering an office jockey with a cheap haircut and expensive suit out of the way.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed. I glanced over my shoulder and locked eyes with him, briefly. He must’ve seen murder there, because he decided to grab a seat and wait his turn.

  Luther was behind the bar, arms crossed. He eyed me with amused interest. Like most higher vamps, he was unnaturally good-looking, self-assured, and not at all concerned at my entrance. That just pissed me off.

  I mean, sure—walking into a higher vampire’s place of work and calling him out in front of all and sundry was suicide. Especially when the vamp in question headed up the local vampire population, and a good number of his people worked in said establishment.

  But then again, I hadn’t been very concerned with my own safety lately.

  I slammed the lab report down on the counter. “I thought you and your brood were supposed to be different,” I growled. My voice was icy-calm but filled with venom, and I scowled as I stared at him across the counter. “I’m here to tell you that you aren’t going to do this shit in my town. Not while I’m around.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two patrons and a barista tense. Luther’s bodyguards, I thought. Missed the one by the door. I must be slipping.

  His eyes narrowed, but the amused smile never left his face. “If it’s death you’re looking for, that can be arranged,” he whispered, too low for mundane ears to hear. He spoke with an accent that was one part flamboyant gay and two parts New Orleans old money. “But before you act rashly, you might consider whether this all might be a terrible misunderstanding.”

  “Read the report,” I seethed. “There’s no misunderstanding at all.”

  I’d stolen the lab report from Charlene’s chart the night before, when I’d snuck into the hospital to check on her. It had cost me my last twenty bucks to get the bartender to tell me where they’d transported her, but the proof and peace of mind had been worth it. I pushed the sheet of paper across the bar at Luther, an accusation in black and white.

  He ignored the gesture, and instead maintained eye contact with me. “I already did, the moment you set it down. Now, before you embarrass yourself further—and do something you’ll regret—let’s retire to my office so we can discuss this matter in a more civil and less public fashion.”

  I breathed heavily. My body vibrated with barely restrained anger, balanced on the edge of violent action. I watched him carefully for a few seconds, looking for just a hint of guile or deception. I wanted any excuse to fall off the precipice into the cauldron of bloodlust that constantly roiled inside me of late.

  I saw nothing in him but sincerity. Slightly disappointed, I took a deep breath, let it out, and nodded.

  “This way, please,” he said as he took the bar towel from his shoulder and laid it neatly on the counter. He looked at a barista who had been cleaning tables while pointedly ignoring our conversation. “Orlando, see to our customers. And please, get the man in the Armani with the hairpiece a free coffee, would you?”

  “Hey!” the man protested again, touching his hair self-consciously.

  “It is a lovely suit, sir.” The vampire stared at him with the same smile he’d used on me, but his eyes held something more—something primal, and not altogether friendly.

  I sensed a slight push of magic from Luther, then the man nodded, his expression vacant. “A latte will be fine.”

  So he wasn’t just your average vamp. Good to know.

  Luther inclined his head at Orlando, who was already heading for the espresso machine. The lackey gave me a look as he passed that said I’d better not try anything. I ignored him, keeping my eyes on Luther. The old vampire smoothly sashayed from behind the counter, gliding with a dancer’s grace and a runway model’s flair in tight white pants, a dark silk shirt, and two-tone Corthay shoes that cost more than I made in a season.

  I might not have been able to afford that kind of style, but I knew it when I saw it.

  We entered a room marked “Employees Only,” and Luther took a seat in a rather mundane office chair behind an equally boring desk. The office looked like any other, with stacks of invoices, a computer humming quietly in the background, and coffee stains on the desk calendar. I had taken Luther for a neat freak, and suspected this was all for show. Normal business owners were rarely neat and tidy; my uncle Ed was a testament to that fact.

  “Please, sit,” Luther said as he gestured toward a metal and vinyl chair that sat in front of the desk. I obeyed, clutching the lab report tightly in my hand. He sat back in his chair and regarded me with his eyebrow slightly raised. I decided to let him speak first.

  “Generally speaking, I wouldn’t normally allow someone to barge into my place in such a rude and unsettling manner.” He steepled his fingers and tapped them together slowly as he spoke. “However, I believe you’re operating under a grave misunderstanding, so I’m willing to give you a pass.”

  “You’re saying it wasn’t one of your people I caught slipping a roofie to some unsuspecting human woman last night?”

  He pursed his lips as his eyes narrowed. “I can assure you, it was not. Are you certain it was a vampire?”

  “As certain as I can be, without letting it take a chunk out of my neck. Sure moved like one, and smelled of blood and vyrus. And when I shot it with silver, wood, and fire, it seemed to have the desired effect.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’d prefer that you didn’t hunt my kind without asking me first. We have our own methods of dealing with such things in the coven.” His eyes snapped back open and zeroed in on me in a dead, unblinking stare that sent a chill down my spine. “But alas, in this case, I believe the situation calls for outside help.”

  He pulled a file folder from a nearby cabinet and laid it open in front of me. It held newspaper clippings, dated over the past several months. The headlines told a familiar tale, one that I’d seen played out in towns and cities across Texas during my brief yet illustrious career as a hunter.

  SUSPECT SOUGHT IN GRUESOME KILLING; VICTIM’S IDENTITY UNKNOWN

  80-YEAR-OLD MAN FOUND DEAD IN S. AUSTIN HOME, FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED

  POLICE DECLARE WOMAN’S DEATH A HOMICIDE

  AUSTIN POLICE ASK FOR TIPS IN WEEKEND HOMICIDE CASE

  Roughly one killing, every few weeks. I stared at the clippings and headlines, wondering how I’d missed the pattern. I’d been out of the loop for too long, and let one slip by me. Granted, I’d sworn off hunting for good. But if there was a supernatural serial killer in Austin, someone needed to do something about it. Maybe not me, but someone.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  He blinked—once, twice—then stared at the newspaper clippings and sighed. Not for the first time, I realized he was good at blending in. Vampires didn’t sigh or blink; not involuntarily, anyway.

  “Several months now.”

  “And you swear he’s not one of yours?” I was fairly certain Raffy wasn’t, just based on the fact that Luther was connecting a whole lot of murders for me. If it was one of his, he damned sure wouldn’t be telling a hunter about it.

  He shook his head. “No, of course not. We aren’t like the New Orlea
ns coven. Savages, one and all.” He shuddered, which I knew was pure theatrics. Still, I liked him for it despite myself.

  “No, my people only feed on the willing—and their donors are well-compensated for the services they provide. We are very happy to live among the humans of this city, blending in and enjoying a relatively peaceful existence. To be hunted, or to start a war with the Circle, is the last thing we want. And besides that, I’d kill any of mine who broke my edict against killing humans.”

  The Cold Iron Circle was a private and powerful organization that consisted of human mages and hunters. They hated monsters and fae both, and had appointed themselves protectors of humanity against all supernatural threats. I was quite certain they’d use any excuse to run Luther and his coven out of town.

  “Then you know what I’m going to ask next.”

  “Why haven’t I done anything about these killings?” He adjusted the cuffs on his shirt before answering. “Because I can’t catch the bastard. He’s too damned smart—knows what I’m going to do before I even know myself. And, he’s bringing a ton of heat down on us from the Circle. The last thing I want is for one of my people to be caught at the scene of one of these murders. It’s all Gunnarson would need to declare open season on my kind.”

  I had a feeling he was about to ask me to do something I didn’t want to do. I sat and stared at him, trying to maintain a poker face. It was rude, but I had to hide what I was feeling. Indifference seemed to be the best method.

  He waited for a response, and when I gave him nothing, he nodded and continued. “I suppose it’s your turn to guess my next question.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and let out a soft sigh. “I gave that part of my life up. Put it past me, so I could move on.”

  “Hmmm.” He rubbed his palms together. I noticed that his skin looked buttercream soft, although his flesh was likely hard as granite. Vampire physiology was weird that way. “Just out of curiosity, what would your fee be for something like this? You know, just in case I find another freelancer who can get the job done.”

  I shook my head. “You won’t. Most every hunter worth their salt ends up working for the Circle. Job security, medical, dental. Can’t blame them, really.”

  “But if I did, how much would it cost me?”

  I hitched my shoulders slightly. “Five hundred a day, plus expenses for a normal vamp. But I have a feeling this one is old. That’d push my fee to seven hundred fifty a day plus.”

  “I’ll double it.”

  “Luther, I—”

  “Fine, I’ll triple it then.” I looked down and covered my eyes. The offer was tempting. “Colin, someone has to deal with this… monster before he kills again. My hands are tied—but you? Well, you’re the perfect answer to this problem.”

  “I already have a job, Luther.” I came to my feet and extended my hand. “Thanks for not taking my head off when I stormed into your place.”

  He stood and shook my hand. I’d been right; his flesh was hard and cool. “Thanks for listening to reason. Damned shame I can’t hire you, though. The coven could really use your assistance.”

  “Yeah, sorry I can’t help you.” I turned toward the door, but Luther’s voice stopped me in mid-stride.

  “And, Colin? I hope I’m not being too forward, but I am aware of your recent loss. I realize this must be a very difficult time for you, and I want you to know that I don’t think less of you for refusing to help.”

  I nodded once and walked out the door.

  That night on the news, they announced that Charlene Thomas, thirty-four years of age, mother of two, had been murdered in her south-side apartment. Her children had been asleep in the next room when it happened. The news report indicated her oldest had found her. The girl was just seven years old.

  I called Luther’s cafe. Someone picked up on the other end, although all I heard was silence.

  “I’ll take the case.”

  I hung up before anyone could respond. Then I laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling for hours. The more I thought about whether I was making the right choice, the more muddled my thoughts became. Finally, I decided that the right choice would have been chasing that motherfucker down and cleaving his head from his shoulders when I’d had the chance. I said a prayer for Charlene’s kids, then turned the light off and fell into a restless sleep.

  4

  I had a serious problem. I’d taken the job and come to grips with my decision, so that moral dilemma had been mostly solved. And as far as the money went, I saw no ethical quandary in getting paid to end Raffy’s miserable existence. No, my current issues stemmed from other, more practical and immediate concerns.

  Namely, I was in piss-poor shape for hunting vampires. Especially old and powerful fangers who had a grudge against me, like this one probably did. Most vamps healed quickly, so long as they had an ample supply of blood. But healing after getting stabbed and shot with silver, then bullet-staked and burned? Well… that wasn’t going to be high on any bloodsucker’s list of fun ways to spend an evening.

  Chances were good that he’d tracked down and killed Charlene as a sort of “fuck you” message to me. I was still kicking myself over that one. The circumstances surrounding my return to hunting sucked—but the fact was, I had a fire in my belly that I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Only problem was, I’d gone soft during my absence from the game. And that would be a liability, one I needed to address immediately. The good news was, it wouldn’t take much time to get back in shape. Being a genetic anomaly, it’d only take a week or two to get me back up to snuff. Problem was, I needed to start tracking this vamp down now. That meant I’d have to get back in shape while I worked the job. It meant I’d also need backup—in case I got in too deep, too soon.

  One thing at a time, though.

  At least I wasn’t worried about dying. What did worry me was getting nearly dead and unleashing that other part of me. The cursed side.

  I could not let that happen, under any circumstances. So, I needed to get my ass squared away A-S-A-fucking-P, to ensure that I wouldn’t visit widespread death and mass destruction on my city.

  Normally I’d go to my mentor, Finnegas. He was an older-than-dirt druid, maybe the last of his kind, and he knew more about killing fae and other creatures than anyone else I’d ever known. He’d trained me and my late girlfriend, Jesse, and had shown us how to hunt and kill everything from alps to wights, to barghests and weisse frauen.

  But since Jesse’s passing, he’d become a drunk and an addict—and he was the last person I wanted to go to now for help in knocking the rust off. So, I did the next best thing; I called his secretary, Maureen. She was old and half-fae—maybe not as old as Finnegas, but old enough to have helped the old man train a number of hunters over the years. She’d been one of our tutors, back when we’d been learning the ropes.

  And, she could fight. You’d never know it by looking at her—a tall, flame-haired knockout whose presence had sent my teenage hormones raging on more than one occasion. But she was no shrinking violet. Maureen was skilled in all manner of classical weaponry, and had stood in as our blade craft coach when Finnegas was otherwise engaged.

  More importantly, being half-fae, she was physically gifted and possessed certain athletic qualities similar to those of a vampire. Superhuman speed, stamina, reflexes, and so on. Plus, Maureen was good people—one of the few fae I trusted. I dialed the number for Eire Imports, the business Finnegas had used as a cover for our hunting activities. I half-expected there to be no answer.

  “Colin, what a pleasant surprise. Is Finn in trouble?”

  I smiled at the sound of her voice. While I’d gotten over my crush on Maureen some years past, she was still one of my favorite people. “Hi, Maureen. No, there’s nothing going on with the old man.”

  I listened to the sound of her breathing for the span of a few heartbeats. “I take it he’s still off the wagon, then?”

  “I think the wagon has left the outpost for g
ood, Maureen. Sorry.”

  “Well, I’ve known him for much longer than you’ve been on this earth. I’ve seen him come back from worse. Relative immortality has a way of either breaking a person or making them incredibly resilient. Don’t count him out yet.”

  I chose to remain silent. Sometimes it was better to not say anything at all.

  “You obviously didn’t call to talk about the Seer. Tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation?”

  “I need your help, Maureen.”

  “How so?”

  I cleared my throat, stalling. After a pause, I finally just spit it out. “I’ve… taken on a hunting contract.”

  “Ah, I see. Must be serious, for you to take up arms again and deal with the world beneath.” I heard a dull thrumming in the background as she considered what I’d told her. Maureen had always been a fidgeter. “What do you need? Weapons? A support team? I’ve frozen all of Finn’s assets, but I can get to some funds if necessary.”

  “Not right now. What I actually need is someone to whip me back into shape, and fast.”

  “And I’m the first person you thought of? Really?”

  “Oh, come on, Maureen. Like you didn’t have a hand in transforming two kids into stone killers.” My voice sounded bitter as I said it, and I regretted it. I blamed Finnegas for Jesse’s death, and in that moment I realized that I also felt some anger toward Maureen as well.

  She sniffed disdainfully. “And I was branded a traitor to my own kind, for the role I played in teaching you two how to survive. I’d remind you to show a bit of gratitude, or at least some respect for what I gave up for you.”

  After word had gotten out that she had assisted Finn in producing a team of druid-trained hunters, Maureen had been marked as somewhat of an outcast among local fae society. Still, I got the impression that she’d been at odds with her own kind long before Jesse and I had arrived on the scene. I figured it was because she wasn’t entirely fae—or perhaps something else had turned her against the People of the Mounds. Whatever it was, it had made her bitter enemies with certain of her kind.