The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

I held it overhead for all to see. It was an M-26 frag grenade, one of several I’d purchased at an Army surplus store. I’d wrapped this one in a necklace made of sterling silver beads, and the beads shone in the neon light as I displayed it to everyone in the room, along with the pin that dangled from my pinkie finger.

  Of course, the grenade was inert, but the vamps didn’t know that. I fully intended to pack them with explosives and rig new fuses later, but for now, this one would have to serve as a bluff to prevent an all-out fight with a bar full of vamps.

  A hiss went up from the bar’s patrons as they caught the scent of silver. I’d learned from Luther that the distinct metallic tang could be detected by his kind from dozens of feet away. To them, it was like the smell of death, and they tended to react poorly to its presence.

  You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. All the bar’s patrons were up and on the move now. Some gauged whether they could take me out and keep me from triggering the grenade, while others looked for an escape route. Truth was, most of these bloodsuckers could clear the bar before the grenade went off—that is, if they made an orderly exit. The only problem was that I was blocking the only public entrance, so they’d have to file past me to leave. And if they rushed the door, not all of them could make it out in time.

  Suddenly, someone began clapping, ever so slowly, in the very back of the bar.

  “Why, I do declare—if it isn’t Colin McCool in the flesh,” a deep, sultry male voice with a mild French-Caribbean accent said. The crowd parted, though none of them took their eyes off me. As they did, Remy DeCoudreaux strutted his way through their midst.

  Remy was of mixed African and European descent, with dusky skin, dark brown eyes, and dark, close-cropped hair that hugged his scalp in tight curls. His facial features reminded me of a young Lenny Kravitz, and he had the swagger to match. As at our last meeting, he was dressed to the nines in a white silk dress shirt, an Egyptian blue double-breasted suit, matching Berluti crocodile loafers, diamond stud earrings, and enough gold jewelry to make a statement without being gaudy.

  “You’re looking well, Remy,” I said, meaning it. Every ginger wishes they had more melanin in their skin, after all.

  He laughed—a full, rich guffaw that echoed to every corner of the now eerily silent room. “I should say the same of you, but I’d be lyin’ now, wouldn’t I? You been missing sleep lately, cher? Looks like t’em folks down in Austin are runnin’ you ragged, no?”

  “Something like that,” I replied with a crooked smile. “Now that I have your attention, you mind if I put the pin back in this thing? Normally I wouldn’t make such a scene, but I figured my chances of walking into this place without someone trying to snack on me were slim to none.”

  Remy tilted his head slightly. “You come to square up wit’ ol’ Remy, den?”

  “Let’s just say I needed a break from my duties back in Austin, and figured I’d take a long weekend in your town to kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Hmpf. Maybe you won’t get much relaxin’ done this weekend, no? But I do have work for you, and that’s a fact.” He beckoned to me. “Come, no one will harm you. Now they know we have business to attend.”

  Just like that, every vamp in the bar went back to doing, well, vampire stuff. One second I was on the menu, and the next I was invisible. I slipped the pin back in my dummy grenade and followed Remy to the back of the bar.

  Remy led me through a small maze of halls and corridors, quickly covering enough distance so that the music and chatter of the bar faded behind us. As we walked through the building, my enhanced senses picked up the scent of fresh blood and sounds of vampires feeding. This was obviously where they kept their Renfields and Lucys.

  It took a supreme act of self-control to restrain myself from killing the vamps who were feeding on humans just feet away from me. But the truth was, I had no right to interfere. For all I knew, the people behind those doors were volunteers, humans who had willingly offered themselves up as blood donors. It wasn’t unheard of for my kind to do so, and some crazies even thought it was an honor to be bled out by a leech.

  Keep your eyes on the prize, McCool, and just keep walking.

  We stopped at a metal door that opened seemingly of its own accord to reveal a lean, dangerous-looking vampire standing guard behind it. Apparently, it was invitation-only beyond this point, even for the bar’s patrons. The sentry’s mouth tightened at the sight of me, and he shared an inquisitive look with his boss.

  “He’s not here to cause trouble.” Remy glanced over his shoulder at me. “Are you, druid?”

  I shrugged in response to the question, noting that Remy’s accent had faded now that we were alone. “As long as no one causes trouble for me.”

  “See?” Remy purred. “Tame as a newborn kitten.”

  The doorman stepped aside, but he never took his eyes off me despite his coven leader’s admonishment. I winked at him as I passed his guard post, earning a silent snarl behind Remy’s back. Not that he didn’t catch it, of course.

  “Manners, Silvère, manners.”

  Silvère, huh? Well, ain’t I just a lucky fucker.

  The wiry, dark-skinned vamp pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at me. Message delivered, he went back to guarding the entrance to Remy DeCoudreaux’s lair. With an amused chuckle, I followed the coven leader further down the arched, stone-lined corridor, which seemed to stretch on into infinity.

  “I take it we’re not in the bar anymore?”

  Remy gestured broadly at the expanse of stone and mortar around us. “I own the entire block, and much more of the city beyond. For our convenience—my own, and those chosen few of the coven I trust, that is—nearly every building I own in New Orleans proper is connected by private corridors and tunnels. Some of them date back to prohibition days, some are even older, and still others I had built in my time as coven leader.”

  As we walked, I noticed that arrow slits lined the corridors at ten-yard intervals. There were also holes perforating the ceiling above, where I assumed vats of acid or other surprises might be hidden and ready to trigger at a moment’s notice. It felt more like I was walking inside the walls and ramparts of a fortress than through an underground access tunnel. I took it as an indication that Remy was both paranoid and a much more careful leader than I’d originally thought.

  I gave a grudging nod. “Impressive, considering the engineering required to build anything underground in this city.”

  “And necessary. I tend to work at all hours and can’t have the sunlight get in the way of running New Orleans.” He made a casual gesture over his shoulder. “My apologies for Silvère, by the way. He’s rather protective, to the point of inconvenience at times. I saved him from a slave owner’s posse back before your Civil War. He’d been shot and infection had set in, but the Dark Gift took care of that. He’s looked out for me ever since.”

  “Doesn’t talk much,” I proffered.

  “His former owners cut out his tongue long before I met him.”

  Well, shit. There goes my plan to interrogate the sumbitch. “How awful,” I said, meaning it.

  “Indeed. After he was turned, I allowed Silvère to go back to their plantation so he might return the favor. The plantation’s ownership reverted to the bank shortly after, so I purchased it and gifted it to him, as a memento of sorts.”

  I didn’t need the details to understand what Remy was getting at, because I’d seen the ruthlessness and wanton violence of predatory vamps firsthand. My mind flashed back to the bone pile at the supermarket where I’d questioned Clara, and my heart began to beat faster in my chest.

  Silvère must’ve passed his habits down.

  “Are you alright, cher? You seem a bit… distracted.” Remy eyed me with interest, obviously noting that something he’d said had upset me.

  Damn it, get your shit together already.

  Although the slip in self-control had been a rookie mistake, shaking it off was easy; all it took was a little druid br
eath control to calm my nerves. After I’d settled down, I realized I’d been unconsciously reaching for the silver-plated knife at my back. I allowed my hand to drift back to my side under Remy’s watchful gaze.

  “I’m fine. Just not a fan of slavery, in any time period.”

  The vamp shrugged. “We do it all the time to humans who volunteer for such treatment. I suppose it is the way of things, for the predator to subjugate its prey. But to do it to one’s own kind, or perhaps even to an entire species, well—that would be an unconscionable act, no?”

  I kept my dark thoughts to myself. I was here for intel, not to start a war—although I was here to prevent one. If I had to kill Remy’s entire coven to achieve my goal, I would. Yet I had no idea who the key players were. Even if I killed every vamp in New Orleans, it wouldn’t necessarily bring me closer to my goal.

  I’ll play it cool, for now. But once I get what I came for, all bets are off.

  The coven leader was still looking at me, waiting for an answer. “I’m a druid, Remy. We tend to look at events in terms of centuries instead of years, secure in the knowledge that the tide always turns, eventually.” It was bullshit of course, at least as far as I was concerned, but I needed to maintain an air of neutrality to quash any suspicions Remy might have about me.

  He nodded. “The implication being you wouldn’t care to involve yourself in such matters. Interesting. But as I understand it, there aren’t that many of you left—druids, I mean. Seems like that approach is not working out so well, no?”

  “One druid, one riot,” I said, bastardizing the unofficial motto of the famed Texas Rangers—the law enforcement agency, not the baseball team—to make a point. “You know as well as I that if we started multiplying it’d make the faction leaders in Austin nervous.”

  “I doubt very much that Luther is concerned with druid affairs.”

  “It’s not Luther I’m referring to.”

  The vampire gave a tilt of his head. “You make a fair point. I forget that in Austin you have a truce between the factions, and that the vampires don’t rule the city.”

  I thought it unlikely that Remy ever forgot anything, but I was curious as to how the vamp felt about the contrasts between his city and mine.

  “Do you think Luther should seize power, Remy?”

  The vampire’s voice grew deadly serious. “I think he’s weak, to abdicate power for the sake of peace. He should have chased the fae, the wolves, and those wizards from his city long ago. Vampires should not share power—with anyone.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass that along,” I replied disinterestedly, despite the intensity and nature of his response. Congrats, leech—you just moved up on my shit list.

  Remy chuckled humorlessly, then remained silent for the rest of our short journey. Perhaps a minute later, we stopped in front of another metal door.

  “Ah, here we are,” he said. “My own personal retreat, right in the heart of the city.”

  “No guards?” I asked.

  “None needed—at least, not at this time of night.” The coven leader opened the door, gesturing for me to enter. “Come, let me show you around.”

  We exited the dark, gloomy, stifling confines of the private corridor into a large garden courtyard lit by candles and old-fashioned gas street lamps. Rather than a single barren expanse of stone or concrete, the space was instead broken up by koi ponds and vegetation, with meandering walkways connecting individual patio areas paved with intricate patterns of bricks and tiles. Marble and bronze statues adorned Remy’s garden, and even my untrained eye deduced that many of them could easily have been museum pieces.

  Flowering plants and vines grew all around, covering the walls, overhead lattices, and archways, but all were carefully trimmed and manicured so as not to obscure a view or present an obstacle to passage. In the pale moonlight and fire-lit glow of the candles and lanterns, the place was stunning and almost magical in its charm and elegance. But more than the sheer beauty and opulence of the place, I was struck by the activities that engaged its current inhabitants.

  The place looked like a scene from a Roman bacchanalia, complete with naked bodies, scantily-clad servants of both sexes, and the occasional ménage à trois or orgy happening on over-sized beds, couches, and the odd divan all around the garden. Yonder laid a naked man, easily handsome enough to have strutted the catwalks in Paris or Milan, and at each wrist and one inner thigh, a vampire eagerly lapped the lifeblood from his veins while he writhed in ecstasy.

  I suppressed a shiver and forced my eyes to wander on.

  Over there was a model-thin woman performing an oral act on a vamp, all while a female vampire with a strap-on drilled her from behind at warp speed. And there, a naked older man was restrained in velvet-padded stocks, his head and arms trapped while a female vampire in a black Naugahyde getup tore strips of flesh from his back with a cat o’ nine tails, pausing to lick the blood off between each swing. Everywhere I turned, the most violent and ribald scenes played out like Caligula adapted and reenacted for modern times.

  I stood stunned for a moment, as I’d never before seen the like outside of watching Spartacus or Game of Thrones on cable television. Of course, I knew such things happened, and I also knew that certain members of the supernatural community engaged in X-rated acts on a regular basis. But I’d never realized just how visceral and revolting an experience it might be to witness such depravities firsthand. Combined with the psychological aftereffects of my recent apocalyptic jaunt, the scene before me was almost too much to take.

  Remy turned to me with a tsk. “Oh, cher, you are upset, no? I thought maybe a young strapping man like you might want to sample the wares, eh? But perhaps I misjudged the situation. My mistake.”

  His expression told me there had been no mistake; Remy had brought me here on purpose to see how I’d react. He wanted to know for certain whether I could be trusted to handle coven matters without interference on my part. I quickly considered what I was willing to put up with and how far I’d go in compromising my values and morals to prevent the hell I’d seen from coming to pass.

  “I don’t care what you and your people do behind closed doors, Remy. Just as long as there aren’t any kids involved, I’ll choose to look the other way.” For now.

  “What, you want a child? That can be arranged,” he teased with a sly grin on his face.

  I clenched my fists. “Remy—”

  The old vamp laughed. “Oh, lighten up, you! We’re vampires, not savages. Do you see any children round here? No? O’ course not, because even old Remy has rules he lives by.” The vampire’s expression became subdued. “But enough with these distractions. Come, I take you away from this place, and we discuss what Remy needs from you to settle your debt.”

  “Fine, but no more games, Remy. My ability to deal with silly bullshit only extends so far.”

  “Then let us retire to—less lascivious environs. There, I’ll explain the task at hand.”

  Without another word, Remy headed back through the door from which we’d exited. I forced myself to take one last long look at the courtyard, committing the scene to memory. Once finished, I swallowed the rising bile in my throat and followed the coven leader back inside.

  7

  A short walk down the passageway led us to a cleverly-hidden door in the wall. Remy pulled out his phone and dialed in a passcode, and an electronic whirring noise came from just on the other side of the concrete. When the sound stopped, he pushed on a section of wall, causing it to pivot as smoothly as the lazy Susan on my mother’s kitchen table.

  Beyond was a well-lit lounge complete with large, comfortable-looking couches, a wide-screen television, and a wet bar stocked with an assortment of expensive liquors. Soft jazz played in the background at low volume from wireless speakers, and a second large-screen television displayed peaceful, sunny outdoor scenes like some larger-than-life screen saver made into nouveau art.

  “What’s with the pictures?” I asked.

  The vamp
gestured at the screen. “For those who were gifted with the second life, we often wish to see scenes such as these again. Does that surprise you, that a predator could enjoy such beauty—even long for it?”

  I shrugged. “I hear sunscreen and UV-blocking window tint goes a long way.”

  “True, but the colors are always muted, and it never looks quite the same.” He paused before nodding toward the bar. “Would you care for a drink?”

  I shook my head with a grunt. “Enough pleasantries, Remy. Tell me what you need so I can square this debt and be done with it.”

  “Of course. Sit, please.”

  He sat on one of the couches and tilted his head at the adjoining love seat. I stood for a moment, then took a seat. As I did, I wondered if I was going to lose my cool and kill him before he explained the job.

  “This matter I would have you take care of, it is a delicate thing,” he stated without preamble. “Not delicate work—no. But a matter that must be handled discreetly and with the utmost haste.”

  I pinched the skin on my forehead with my fingers. “I find it difficult to believe that this ‘delicate matter’ just so happened to pop up right before I did. Seems a bit convenient, and damned obvious.”

  “I prefer to view this as propitious timing. In fact, I had considered contacting you to call in that favor. But here you are, offering to pay me back just when I have an issue that requires someone of your unique talents.” He paused to rub his chin. “Perhaps it is I who should be suspicious, no? But I believe in the hand of fate, and when you’ve lived as long as I, you learn to see through people.”

  I kept my face blank, but it took some effort. “Just tell me who you need killed, and I’ll tell you if I’m willing to do it.”

  “Oh, you’ll be willing to kill this one, for certain. Have you ever heard the legend of Jacques Saint Germain?”

  I lifted a hand off the arm of the couch, wavering it back and forth. “It vaguely rings a bell. Enlighten me.”