The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

  “The other factions,” I said, finally realizing the implications of my actions. I leaned back in my chair, downing my whiskey. “Shit.”

  Samson raised his glass to me. “You got that right, kid. And a whole mess of it.” He poured himself another three fingers, offering me the same. I declined. “So, again, what are you going to do about it?”

  I thought for a moment, knowing that Samson was steering me toward a conclusion that I hadn’t yet reached. “Samson, if you were in my shoes, who would you finger for these killings?”

  A smiled played at the corner of the old alpha’s mouth. “Well, first, I’d ask who stands to gain the most from taking over Maeve’s shit. It ain’t us, that’s for sure. What the hell are a bunch of werewolves going to do with fae artifacts?”

  I swirled the last remaining drops of whiskey in my empty glass. “And it’s probably not Luther. He tends to discourage his coven members from practicing magic.”

  “That’s right,” the old alpha replied, “because he wants to keep the balance of power—maintain the status quo. If the fae or the Circle got wind that he was training up a bunch of vampire mages, well—that shit just would not stand.”

  “So what you’re saying is, The Cold Iron Circle is probably behind this.”

  Samson frowned unconvincingly. “Now did I say that? I distinctly recall not saying anything about who might be behind this whole mess. I only said who likely wasn’t behind it. The difference is subtle, but important… especially when you’re trying to stay neutral and keep your Pack out of a shit storm like this one.”

  “Right, I understand.” I set my glass down on his desk and stood. “I think it’s time I went to speak with Luther.”

  “Hell, he’d have been the first person I’d gone to if I were in your shoes. Anyway, while you’re there tell him I’m running low on coffee beans.”

  “Um, okay. But, uh—can’t you just pick up the phone and tell him yourself?”

  “For once in your life, Colin, just do as your told.”

  “Alright, anything else?”

  “Nope. Except don’t go starting a war with the Circle without speaking with me or Luther first. Chances are good that there are just a few people involved here, and not the whole bunch.”

  “Roger that, Samson. And thanks for the whiskey.”

  “Anytime,” he said, tilting his glass to me as he kicked back even further in his chair, until his face was hidden in shadow once more. He was staring at the ceiling again by the time I reached the exit. “Shut the door behind you as you go, kid.”

  9

  It was late, so I called Luther’s before heading over. Not that Luther ever answered his phone; he was so old he was a virtual Luddite when it came to modern technology like cell phones and the like. But someone always checked his messages, either a member of his coven or a human assistant, so my most important voicemails and texts always got through.

  Now, you’d think that a vampire who owned a coffee shop would keep it open 24/7, but not Luther. He was all about keeping up appearances, and these days he closed at 9 pm sharp, opening at 5:30 am every day of the week. He liked to be present whenever the shop was open, but he also thought people would start to get suspicious if he was behind the counter twenty-four hours a day. So he took nights off, just to be safe.

  Honestly, I didn’t think that Luther slept all that much. From what I understood, older vampires didn’t need much rest, and Luther was likely the oldest vamp in the Austin area. I’d never seen him anywhere but at the coffee shop or his apartment on the second and third floors of the building, except in the days after I’d first met him. We’d teamed up to deal with an ancient Nosferatu back then, one that had been older than Luther by many degrees. Since then, I’d only ever met Luther at his shop or home, so I assumed that’s where he’d be.

  I was about five minutes out from the coffeehouse when I got a call from an unknown number. “Colin’s Mortuary. You stab ’em, we slab ’em,” I answered.

  A woman with a very proper-sounding Boston Brahmin accent responded. “Ahem. Luther is not at home. However, he requests your presence at the following location, at your earliest convenience.” She rattled off an address that I recognized as being in a stylish upper-crust neighborhood on the west side.

  “I can be there in twenty minutes,” I replied.

  “And, Mr. McCool?” she said with her Tuesday Weld voice. “Do come armed.”

  The caller hung up without another word. I drove the rest of the way to the address she’d given me, humming Lesley Gore’s “You Don’t Own Me.” It seemed appropriate, for more than one reason.

  I pulled up to the address, a sprawling mid-century modern that had obviously been patterned after a Frank Lloyd Wright design. I recognized the design cues because I’d done a paper on Wright in high school. This home bore more than a passing similarity to the Marshall Erdman Prefab homes, some of my favorites among the smaller houses he’d designed.

  “Oh, to be well-heeled and immortal,” I mumbled as I turned off the ignition and scanned the scene.

  From where I’d parked I could see that the backyard had been lit with paper lanterns, and my hyper-sensitive hearing told me there were people milling around on the other side of the backyard fence. Some coffeehouse pop artist’s latest ditty played softly in the background, and the sounds of pleasant conversation and glasses clinking echoed across the finely manicured front lawn.

  I looked down at what I was wearing and sighed. Not wanting to embarrass Luther, I pulled my combat boots off, then dug around in my Craneskin Bag for something to change into that looked less careworn.

  I ducked behind the truck and stripped out of my t-shirt and grease-stained Levi’s, exchanging them for a clean pair of jeans, a plain white V-neck t-shirt, a newish pair of Doc Martens, and a fitted leather jacket that I saved for special occasions. I clipped my Glock’s holster and a spare magazine carrier behind my back, then strapped the flaming sword over my shoulder, just to be safe.

  Of course, I grabbed my Craneskin Bag… no way I was leaving it behind, uh-uh. It had a habit of letting things out that were better kept locked away—sentient magical items and such. I could only imagine what it might toss out at a vampire’s soirée.

  I walked up to the door and rang the doorbell, hoping this was indeed a vampire’s home and not some society debutante’s dinner party. If it was, I was about to play hell explaining why I had a sword strapped across my back.

  Thankfully, the person who answered the door was most definitely a vampire. He was a bit shorter than me, maybe five-ten, and Latino, with a dancer’s build and a model’s good looks. He wore a Jacquard silk dinner jacket and a pleated white dress shirt like he’d invented the term “black-tie-optional.” The man looked me up and down with more than a professional interest before greeting me.

  “Well, Luther said he had a plus-one coming, but in your case, I’d say you’re a plus two-point-oh.” He spoke in a very manly voice, yet his mannerisms had just a touch of the laissez-gay flair I’d come to expect from Luther’s male friends. The man flashed me a grin filled with perfect white teeth, including a set of canines that extended ever-so-slightly as he smiled. “This way, please.”

  I pointed over my shoulder at the sword hilt. “Is this okay?”

  The vamp stepped back, crossing his arms elbow-to-hand as he cupped his chin with his left finger and thumb. He looked me up and down again.

  “Hmm…” The vampire reached out, almost too quick for me to react, straightening my clothes here and tucking them there. “That’s better. Definitely keep the sword. The guests will love it.”

  Suddenly remembering my manners, I extended my hand. “I’m Colin, by the way.”

  “Mateo. Now, come, before they all wonder where I ran off to.” He began walking away, looking back over his shoulder to serve me a friendly warning. “And do keep that sword handy. I have a feeling you’ll need it before the night is done.”

  I loosened my sword in its scabbard as
I followed after him, wondering just what in the hell Luther was getting me into.

  There were several party guests scattered throughout the house. Most displayed the unsettling affectations of young vampires, a kind of lack of natural movement that put them just on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. Older vamps learned to make themselves look human, most going so far as to breathe like normal humans, even though vampires required very little oxygen to survive. But the young ones, well—let’s just say they were more than a little creepy to look at.

  As Mateo led me through the house, conversations stopped and heads turned as I passed. Once we were gone, those conversations recommenced in hushed tones. I strained to pick up snippets of what the party guests were discussing, and soon realized they were talking about me.

  Mateo gave me a knowing smile as we entered the industrial-sized kitchen, which was devoid of guests. “Don’t let that concern you. Vampires tend to enjoy a bit of gossip and intrigue, and this crowd is no exception.”

  “I still don’t quite get why I’m here,” I said.

  Mateo narrowed his eyes and his smile faded as he reached for the door. “I’ll let Luther explain that to you.” His face immediately lit up again as we exited the house, but I could tell it was for show. “And there he is!”

  I followed Mateo across a flagstone patio, around a built-in fire pit where Luther stood conversing with a few other guests. I tried to avoid rubber-necking as I approached, but I couldn’t help it—the backyard was huge, and it looked like it had been recently remodeled by the crew from Yard Crashers.

  The guests who’d been talking to Luther slipped away as we approached. Luther half-scowled and half-smiled as I greeted him. “Oh, don’t look so impressed, Colin. Mateo’s boyfriend runs a landscaping company—it’s not as if he did all this himself.”

  “Please,” Mateo remarked. “You’re just jealous because you had your eye on Tom before I did. It’s not my fault you were slow to make your move.”

  “Luther, slow to make a move? Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” I said.

  Mateo laughed. “Believe it. He talks a good game, but he’s way too old-fashioned at heart. It’s put a cramp in his dating life since the sixties, at least.”

  I chuckled at the thought, much to Luther’s chagrin. His scowl became genuine as he spoke. “Watch it now, young man, or I’ll start telling stories about you and that sweet young thing you’ve been seeing.”

  “Do tell,” Mateo said, as he snagged a glass of champagne from an attractive human server passing nearby. He sipped it and looked over the rim at Luther expectantly.

  I cleared my throat nervously. “Um, not to change the subject—”

  “Although you are,” Luther interjected.

  “—but does anyone want to tell me why I’m strapped for a fight at a vampire party?”

  Mateo smirked. “Gets right to the point, doesn’t he?”

  Luther gave a small eye roll. “Alas, there’s no sense for the dramatic in this one. He’s all punch and no panache, I’m afraid.”

  “Sorry,” I replied. “It’s been an interesting day, and it has my hackles up.”

  “Should we tell him?” Mateo asked.

  “I believe we should,” Luther said. He turned to me with a casual smile. “We need you to referee a small dispute. It’s nothing major—just a little spat between old friends.”

  I pointed my finger back and forth between them. “You two?”

  Mateo chuckled. “Oh, heavens no. Actually, there’s a vampire coming in from out of town. He’s old—not as old as Luther here, but old.”

  “You wound me, Mateo,” Luther said.

  “As if you looked your age,” Mateo replied. “Anyway, this vampire is very unpleasant, and he has a grudge of sorts against Luther.”

  “Should I know the source of this grudge?” I asked.

  Mateo looked to Luther. “Oh, vaunted coven leader, would you care to divulge the cause of this long-standing feud?” he asked with a wicked grin.

  “I slept with his wife,” Luther replied. “It was during one of my hetero phases. Sue me.”

  Mateo gave Luther a sideways glance, then continued. “So, this rather unseemly person is coming here tonight, to challenge Luther. He intends to take Luther’s coven away from him—”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Luther interjected.

  “—and we need you to referee the duel, as a neutral party,” Mateo finished.

  I pursed my lips as I looked at them both and nodded. “Okay. Right. So, I’m supposed to referee a death match between two master vampires, and what? If you guys get out of hand, I’m supposed to break it up?”

  Luther examined his fingernails. “Actually, your job is to make certain no one cheats, and that’s it. You’re not to get involved physically at all, else it will void the results of the match.”

  “What if someone else jumps in?” I asked.

  Mateo waved off my concern as he sipped his champagne. “Oh, that won’t happen. Both Luther and Cornelius will have their seconds on hand, to ensure that it’s a fair fight—but if a second jumps in they forfeit the match.”

  “Cornelius?” I said. “Really?”

  Luther smiled slightly. “It was a different time. Now, will you referee this duel, or do we need to call someone else in?”

  I thought about it for a split-second, then shrugged. “Aw, what the hell—yeah, I’ll do it. But I’m going to need some caffeine first, because I’m dead on my feet.”

  “Now, that we can take care of,” Mateo said, snapping his fingers to get a nearby server’s attention. “Charmaine, darling, could you bring me a double-shot cappuccino and some warm towels for our sword-bearing friend here? Thank you, dear.”

  The pretty girl scuttled off and returned in record time. Soon, I was fully-caffeinated and enjoying a hot towel facial and shoulder rub from the lovely Charmaine herself.

  “I could get used to this, you guys,” I mumbled from beneath the towel.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, druid,” Mateo replied. “Here comes Cornelius.”

  I pulled the towel off and stood, handing it to Charmaine. “Thank you,” I said with a smile.

  “My pleasure,” she replied with a wink. “If you require further attention later, you have only to ask Mateo.” I stared after her as she left.

  “Is he blushing?” Mateo asked.

  “Oh yes, he does that often,” Luther replied. “I haven’t decided if it’s charming or droll, but the ladies seem to think the former of him.”

  “Ah, the fleeting innocence of youth,” Mateo observed.

  I cleared my throat, waving my hand to catch their attention. “Um, guys? Please tell me she’s not…?” I let the uncomfortable question hang in the air, unwilling to offend the two vampires standing beside me by stating it out loud.

  Mateo scowled. “Oh, of course not. We’re not savages here. Besides, Luther outlawed the practice of keeping human slaves shortly after he established his rule in central Texas. No, Charmaine is a paid employee, and she’s simply taken a shine to you, is all. Now, tuck your prick in your pants and attend the task at hand.”

  He inclined his head to a spot across the yard, where three shadowy figures were floating down to the ground from the dark night sky beyond. Mateo’s yard backed up to a green belt, but I still wondered whether the neighbors might have seen.

  “Well, that’s a damned impressive entrance,” I remarked.

  Luther rolled his eyes. “Oh, good heavens. He always was a show-off.”

  “And the neighbors?” I asked.

  Mateo waved my question away. “I own both houses to either side of this one—my staff members occupy them, currently. Besides, we have an illusionist on hand to ensure no prying eyes or cell phones catch anything untoward.”

  I shifted into the magical spectrum for a moment, just to spot the magic user. She was a goth-looking girl, sitting off by herself sipping a beer while she scrolled through her phone. When I spotted her, she gla
nced up from her phone long enough to flip me off.

  “Fae, I presume,” I said, failing to hide the distaste in my voice.

  “She’s talented. She works cheap, and still has some magic,” Luther said. “So don’t go starting any fights with the hired help, alright? I personally don’t care to go looking for another illusionist who doesn’t mind working with vampires. Good help is so hard to find.”

  “Shhh,” Mateo whispered, nearly inaudibly. “Here he comes.”

  A gruff voice full of pretension and Southern charm called from across the yard. “Luther, I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Luther ignored the jibe, barely registering the other vampire’s presence. “It is my territory, after all, and Mateo is one of my oldest friends. Why would I not attend a party held in my honor?”

  “Dying is hardly an honor, although at my hands, your death may qualify,” Cornelius replied. Again, Luther ignored the barb.

  Luther’s challenger stepped into the light as he approached, allowing me to get a good look at him. He was short—Napoleon short, in fact—but he carried himself like a lion, despite being rather rotund as well. He had a long, flowing mane of golden hair, reminiscent of Custer in his final days, and wore a finely-tailored three-piece suit, bespoke leather shoes, and a pocket watch and gold chain to top off the ensemble.

  The suit was cut in a style that was modern, yet reminiscent of a bygone era—like something you’d expect Rich Uncle Pennybags to wear, were he a real person. If he’d been carrying a cane, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all. Instead, he held a small, black, winged serpent, no larger than a small dog, which he stroked and petted as he spoke.

  Well, that’s interesting.

  The reptile had its body wrapped around Cornelius’ forearm, and it seemed to enjoy his ministrations. The vampire whispered to the creature before handing it off to one of the vamps who’d arrived with him. His companions were twins, and they looked like taller, thinner versions of their master. His sons, perhaps? I noted that the serpent obediently slithered onto one of the twin’s arms, as though obeying its master’s commands.