The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

  “Fine. I mean, I was going to do it anyway,” I said. “But since you’re offering to hire me, I suppose we need to discuss the manner and terms of compensation.”

  “Payment will be in the way of knowledge—magical knowledge, in fact, of a sort you covet. My magic.”

  “You’re going to teach me your magic? In exchange for hunting Jeretta’s killer down?”

  “I will and I am, and I suppose there’s no better time than the present to begin.” Then, with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared.

  “I’d like to know how you do that,” I muttered.

  “And you will, eventually,” Click’s disembodied voice replied from nearby. “But we must walk before we run. So, here’s your first lesson: the tactical offensive use of temporal fields, and methods of escaping said constructs.”

  I stood up quickly, spilling my coffee. “Huh? Wait, I never—”

  My protest came too late. I heard Click snap his fingers, and suddenly I was paralyzed, frozen in place like a fly in amber.

  What the hell has he done to me? I wondered. I could see things moving around me, but I couldn’t move a muscle. I watched as a dragonfly flew toward me.

  Obviously, this spell isn’t affecting anything else in my vicinity. Or so I thought. As the dragonfly sped closer to me, it suddenly froze like it had hit a wall of peanut butter. No more than eighteen inches in front of my face, the dragonfly was suspended in midair.

  But on closer inspection, I noticed something peculiar. The dragonfly’s wings were still beating, albeit in slow motion.

  Temporal fields—of course. He told me what he was doing before he did it. Obviously, Click had locked me in some sort of temporal stasis field—the dragonfly was evidence of that. And if it could still move, so could I.

  I observed the dragonfly for a few moments, doing some rough calculations in my head. Dragonflies beat their wings about thirty times a second, and it was taking about three seconds per wing beat… so, time was moving approximately one hundred times slower inside Click’s stasis field.

  Funny that I should be able to think at normal speed. I supposed it must have something to do with the metaphysical nature of the mind-body-spirit connection. Perhaps the spirit interacted with the mind and body to process thought, and that precluded the influence of time manipulation on thought patterns. Or maybe the brain processed information so quickly that a stasis field barely affected its functions.

  I decided that I could think about it all day and still be no closer to an answer, so I turned my thoughts toward finding a way to escape the spell. Obviously, I possessed a means or method of doing so, else Click wouldn’t have cast the spell on me. I supposed I should’ve been upset about it, but after years of training with Finnegas, I’d gotten used to shitty surprises like this one.

  So, how do I escape this spell?

  First off, I had to assume that it was a stationary spell. I also had to assume that it had a limited radius, based on how the dragonfly had been caught within it. So, all I needed to do was figure out a way to move out of the spell. Walking out of the spell would take forever—and besides, that wasn’t the point. For all I knew, Click was watching somewhere close by, and if I cheated he’d just trap me again.

  That meant I needed to think like a magic user to escape. I considered calling up a strong wind, but the air molecules would simply slow down the second they hit the stasis field. What I needed was something to push me out of the field—something large enough so that most of its mass would reside outside the field’s influence.

  I couldn’t move my eyeballs—at least, not very fast—so I used Finnegas’ druid trick to relax, allowing my mind to take in everything in my field of vision. Up there. A truck hood was resting atop some junked cars nearby. It’d have to do.

  I tried to think of a spell or cantrip that required few words and minimal gestures. Truth be told, the phrases and gestures that I used when doing spell work were merely devices to help me focus, like training wheels for beginners. Advanced practitioners of druidry could cast simple spells with a thought, a single word, or a twitch of their fingers.

  But me? I was more or less a beginner who still needed training wheels to cast magic. I finally settled on a wind summoning that I thought I could cast with only a word and a gesture. Even though a microburst of wind wouldn’t push me out of the stasis field, it could send the hood flying into me. I focused intently so I could cast the spell with the bare minimum of audible and physical cues.

  Once I was certain that I’d worked out the spell sequence in my head, it was merely a matter of exerting my will. I began to shape my fingers into the proper form, forcing air out of my lungs to say the command word for the spell.

  Damn it if it didn’t take forever, but a minute or so later, the spell released. A huge gust of wind lifted the truck hood, sending it hurtling down toward me at the speed of gravity.

  This is going to hurt.

  As I suspected, the fact that most of the hood’s mass remained outside the stasis field meant that it exerted its inertia on objects inside the field—namely, me—at normal speed. The edge of the hood struck me in the very same shoulder that Elmo had injured, and the force of that collision pushed me toward the ground. As soon as I felt my body escape the stasis field, I rolled away to avoid being completely crushed by the hood.

  Strangely, that never happened. I landed on my side, rubbing my shoulder as I looked at the hood, which was now suspended in midair. I guess enough of its mass got caught in the stasis field to keep it there. Interesting.

  I pulled my sleeve up to look at the spot where the hood had hit me. Nothing was broken, but between the bruise I’d soon have and the leftover aches from my previous injury, I was going to be on the gimp list for a while yet.

  I sat up, leaning against an ugly brown Pinto that rested close to the ground on flat tires. “Fucking fae,” I muttered, to no one in particular.

  6

  After a liberal application of one of Finnegas’ healing poultices, I took some time to rest and heal, and then I called my girlfriend, Belladonna. Bells was one of the best hunters the Cold Iron Circle had on their payroll. I valued her opinion, and I figured getting a sharp set of eyes on the evidence might help me move the case forward.

  As much as I loved and respected Bells, I didn’t think much of her employers. The Circle was a centuries-old organization, created by humans to protect the human race from supernatural threats. Or, at least, that’s what they claimed to do. In reality, they allowed a lot of supernatural harm to come to average everyday humans, and typically only took an interest in high-profile cases… when they felt like it.

  I suspected there were powerful people at the highest levels of the Circle who had a vested interest in the cases they chose to work. But all that shit was above my pay grade; my business actually was with the little people. I left the Circle to their intrigues, minding my own business so long as the Circle jerks left me alone as well.

  I met Bells in the back room at Luther’s coffeehouse. The place was close to Circle headquarters, which made it convenient. Plus, Luther headed up the local vampire coven, and he never missed a beat. If anyone decided to eavesdrop on us, he’d know about it and give us the heads up.

  I could’ve met Belladonna at my place or at hers, but she’d been avoiding close contact lately. I suspected it had something to do with her recent trip to visit her family in Spain, but I was trying to respect her desire for “space” while I avoided looking desperate and clingy—so I didn’t ask. She’d spent considerable time on that trip with my favorite frenemy, Crowley, who happened to be her ex. I could’ve kicked myself for sending Crowley to look for her, but I’d been caught between a rock and a hard place at the time.

  See, my buddy Hemi had died during our trip to Underhill. I’d blamed myself for his death, and had promised him I’d return his body to his mom in New Zealand. So, as soon as I’d recovered from nearly starving to death, that’s the first place I went. I might not have necessari
ly trusted Crowley with Bells, but I did trust him, so I’d sent him to track her down in my place.

  Stupid, I know. But then again, I’d never claimed to be wise in the ways of love. The one good thing that came out of it was finding out that Hemi’s mother was a Maori deity, and she was able to bring his spirit back from the land of the dead. He was still recovering, but at least he wasn’t gone for good.

  Anyway, I was an idiot and deserved whatever fallout came from sending Bells’ ex to track her down, instead of going myself. So there.

  All that nonsense bounced around my skull as I waited for her to show, but it all faded into the background when she walked in the room. Bells was an absolute stunner. It was a mystery to me why she’d worked me so long and hard after my ex-girlfriend Jesse passed on—but she had, and eventually I’d fallen for her.

  Looking at her now, I couldn’t understand for the life of me how I’d resisted her for so long. She was maybe five-six on a good day, but she always wore boots with heels so high they could double as stilts. Bells once told me that all her cousins were built like models, so I figured that was why she wore the heels. Of course, you wouldn’t catch me complaining.

  As for her cousins’ looks, Belladonna was nothing like them—she was all lean, hungry, graceful power, muscled like a Crossfitter with the balance and reflexes of a cat. With her long dark hair, full pouty lips, smoky eyes, and smile that always seemed to promise more, she was every guy’s dream. And considering how she could fight and shoot, she was also every monster’s nightmare.

  I stood and wiped my hands on my jeans as she sashayed over to my table, a dork move that elicited a giggle from her. I leaned in, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss me lightly on the cheek.

  “Sit down, silly. You’re acting like one of those ’thropes or vamps who grew up a century or two ago, all manners and chivalry. Except you’re not smooth enough to pull it off, so it just makes you seem awkward.”

  “Ouch,” I replied with a frown.

  She smacked my arm lightly. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive. It’s perfectly endearing, actually.”

  “Um… thanks, I guess,” I said, frowning. I’d known Bells for a few years, and we’d been dating for a couple months now, but she was still a mystery to me. I was pretty sure that it was in her nature to keep men on their toes, but sometimes I wished her intentions and feelings were more transparent.

  Like I said, I’d never claimed to be an expert on matters of the heart.

  I waited for Bells to sit down before I took my seat, even though she rolled her eyes slightly and shook her head for my doing so. Luther came by and dropped off a frap for her—he enjoyed anticipating his customer’s requests—and after a few pleasantries, we had the space to ourselves.

  “It’s, uh, good to see you, Bells.”

  She screwed her mouth to one side as she regarded me through slitted eyes. “Alright, let’s just get this right in the open.”

  “Okay…”

  “First off, nothing happened between Crowley and I—nothing. Second, I am still head over heels for you, lover boy, and frankly it’s nice to see you with your undies all in a wad, thinking you might have lost your mojo. And third, even though we haven’t made out since I got back from Spain, I do in fact have a strong desire to jump your bones.”

  My eyebrows nearly touched my hairline, and I blinked several times in surprise before gathering my thoughts. “Honestly, that’s a relief. But about the bones-jumping thing—”

  She cut me off, and her response was curt and to the point. “Girl stuff.”

  That shut me down. I cleared my throat as I awkwardly changed the subject. “Um, alright then. So—about the reason I asked you here.”

  A smile played across her lips as Belladonna crossed her legs. She interlaced her fingers, resting them on her knee as she leaned forward slightly. The position she’d taken put her cleavage on full display. I looked, and she noticed.

  “Consider me to be at your disposal, handsome,” she said, batting her eyes coquettishly.

  I had to laugh despite myself. Bells was pushing all the right buttons, and she knew it. I figured there had to be some sort of payoff for putting up with her games, and decided to allow myself to be played.

  “Okay, first up…” I reached into my Craneskin Bag, pulling out the arrow I’d plucked from Elmo’s calf. “The arrowhead has been poisoned, so watch your fingers.”

  Bells picked the arrow up, turning it over in her hands and examining each end, looking down the shaft. She set it down on the table, shaking her head. “That’s not a normal arrow. Look at it carefully—where’s the nock?”

  She was referring to the part of the arrow that had a notch to hold it in place on the bowstring. “I don’t know… I figured it was broken off in the battle.”

  “Nope. Look carefully at the butt end. That arrow never had a nock mounted on it. It was left hollow for a reason, and that’s because it was designed to be shot from an airbow.”

  “An air-what?” I asked, truly perplexed.

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “An airbow. It’s relatively old tech, applied in a new and unusual way. Think of a high-compression airgun, designed to shoot arrows instead of lead pellets. It’ll shoot a 375-grain arrow at 450 feet per second, or about twice the speed of your typical recurve bow. You can put down a bison with one of those things, which is probably why they chose it.”

  “And I take it that it’s completely silent,” I stated.

  Bells nodded. “Oh yeah, definitely. All you’d hear is a whoosh of air, right before you got skewered by 26 inches of broadhead and aluminum. I’m sure it did quite a number on your friend. Heck, I’m surprised it didn’t go right through his leg.”

  “Nah, it got lodged in the bone. Had a hell of a time taking it out.”

  Bells must’ve read something on my face, because I soon felt her hand on mine. “Hey, I know this is upsetting you. Sorry for speaking about it in such a clinical manner.”

  I coughed in my other hand. “It’s alright. I really didn’t know Elmo that well, but he was such an innocent soul, you know? Anyway, the sooner you help me sort out the evidence, the sooner I can catch the creep who killed him.”

  Belladonna looked at me, her eyes showing just the slightest bit of sympathy—enough to let me know she cared without being unprofessional. She was deadly serious about her work, and I respected that. I packed away whatever I might be feeling about Elmo’s death, compartmentalizing my emotions so we could get to work.

  Bells ran her tongue across her lips—a gesture that I used to think was pure flirtation, but she actually did it whenever she was working out a problem in her head.

  “You say the arrow was poisoned?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, with something I can’t identify.”

  “Hmm… you mind if I take it, to have it analyzed?”

  “Be my guest.” I gestured at the arrow, lip curling with disgust at the knowledge that the weapon had been chosen specifically to take Elmo down. “Do you have any idea who might use one of those airbow things? Sounds like something that might stand out, if you saw that sort of thing in someone’s kit.”

  “If you’re asking what I think you’re asking—no, the Circle doesn’t use or issue them. But there are several independent hunter teams who work the central Texas area. I can ask around, to see if anyone at HQ knows of an indie outfit that might use that sort of weapon.” She looked at her phone. “Speaking of which, I need to get going.”

  “Thanks, Bells.” As she gathered her things, I stirred my coffee while pointedly avoiding eye contact. “So, when am I going to see you again?”

  She stopped what she was doing to flash me a wicked grin. “You mean to say, when are you going to get some nookie?”

  Luther laughed loud enough for us to hear him, even though he was manning the front counter. Nope, that vampire doesn’t miss a thing. My face flushed, even though no one else was listening to our conversation.

  Belladonna leaned in and pinched my ch
eek. “You are so cute when you’re embarrassed. And to answer your question—soon, very soon. I promise, your patience will be rewarded.”

  I nodded in acquiescence as I stood. “Hey, I can be patient. But just so you know…”

  Bells cocked her head at me. “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s not like we have to have sex to get together. I mean, I like being around you just because. So, if you have the time—”

  My girlfriend planted her hands on her hips. “Why, Colin McCool, are you asking me on a good old-fashioned date?”

  I drew myself up to my full height. “Why yes, Miss Becerra, I believe I am.”

  She stepped into kissing distance, grabbing my lapel as she tickled my bare chest with her finger. “I’m free tomorrow night.”

  “Then I’ll pick you up at seven, sharp.”

  “Mmm, I like it when you take charge.” She stood on tiptoe, planting a kiss on my mouth. I happily returned the gesture. “See ya tomorrow, druid boy.”

  “I look forward to it,” I replied as I watched her go.

  When I turned to sit back down and finish my coffee, Luther was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed with a bar towel draped over his shoulder and a sly grin on his face. The vampire was a bit of a queen, and like most queens, he enjoyed a touch of juicy romantic intrigue every now and again—even if it was by proxy.

  “You have it bad for her, don’t you?” he asked in his deep, yet slightly effeminate, voice.

  “Yeah, I think I do,” I replied.

  He laughed. “Oh, boyfriend, you have your hands full with her. But, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  “Indeed it’s not, Luther. Definitely not a bad thing at all.”

  I was on my way home doing fifty on South Lamar when my brakes failed.

  What the actual hell? I thought as depressed the brake pedal to the floor.