The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

  Two big vamps were standing guard at the door, looking like matching extras in an Elmore Leonard movie adaptation. They sported black, skin-tight V-neck t-shirts, color-coordinated sport coats and slacks, dark sunglasses, slicked back hair, and muscles that probably came from a needle long before they were turned. The smaller of the two halted us with a raised hand as we approached.

  “’Dis here is a private pawty,” he said in a thick Yat accent. It sounded like he was from Brooklyn, but with just a touch of a Southern drawl. “You an’ your dawlin’ awda move along now. Dis ain’t no place for y’all to be.”

  I held my hand out, palm up, and triggered a fire spell. A ball of yellow-orange flame appeared an inch above my skin, hovering for a few seconds before winking out of existence.

  “I’m sure we’ll be just fine in there,” I assured him. “Now, if you two don’t mind, Charlotte and I are just dying to meet the host. As we hear it, his parties are to die for,” I said, finishing with a knowing wink.

  I winced inwardly for overplaying it, but it seemed to do the trick. Thing One looked at Thing Two, and the larger bouncer shrugged. Thing One looked back at me with a frown.

  “I s’pose y’all can enter. But don’cha go gettin’ stupit, else I’ll be shooing y’all out da doah.”

  “I’ll certainly take that under consideration,” I replied. Thing Two held the door for us, and we marched right into the dragon’s lair.

  Inside, well-dressed, model-thin vampires mingled and chatted quietly in small groups and trios while classical music played softly in the background. I recognized a couple of vamps I’d killed in my previous, future life. Fallyn must’ve felt me tense up at the sight of them, because she squeezed my arm a bit harder than necessary.

  “Smile, champ,” she whispered. “Remember, we’re supposed to be blending in—not glaring at the guests.”

  “Uh, right,” I said, taking a few breaths to calm myself before I continued to scan the room.

  Servers stood at strategic positions all around the house, some holding trays of hors d'oeuvres while others served champagne. Contrary to portrayals in popular fiction, vampires didn’t serve plain blood in glasses unless it was fresh from the vein due to coagulation. Luther’s coven seemed to prefer mixing it with alcohol to keep it from clotting, but at a fancy party like this, I doubted they’d serve bloody Bloody Mary’s.

  “By the way—Charlotte?” Fallyn grumbled, drawing my attention back to her and away from my scan of the party guests. “Seriously? Do I look like a Charlotte dressed like this?”

  “Hey, it was the best I could think of on short notice.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me, then smiled like the cat who ate the canary. At that moment, a tall, pale couple approached us. The man wore an almost Victorian-style get-up—a regency tailcoat over a blood red paisley double-breasted vest, with a matching satin puff tie over a high-collared dress shirt. His face was partially obscured by a silver and gold half-mask with an obscenely large nose. The man’s companion wore a maroon and silver vintage dress in a baroque, Rococo style, with a bustle, ruffled sleeves, and a velvet choker.

  “Oh, you must be the service!” the man said in a nasally, somewhat effeminate voice. “How wonderful. Mitzy and I are fit to be famished.”

  His—wife? lover?—Mitzy nodded in agreement while fanning herself with a lace collapsible fan, which she snapped open and closed every few seconds. “George, be so kind as to drain me a few ounces in a champagne glass, would you? I don’t want to ruin my lipstick on the young man’s neck, and he utterly reeks of grease and gasoline.”

  I was just about to straighten them out when Fallyn jumped into the conversation ahead of me. “I hate to disappoint you, but Beauregard and I are here at the request of the host.”

  Mitzy looked down her nose at us. “And what, pray tell, do you do?” she asked, aiming the question at me more than Fallyn.

  “Oh, he runs a wizardry practice out of Houston. Does exorcisms and luck charms for NASA, mostly. Rather droll, but it pays handsomely.” She pinched my cheek so hard it hurt. “Quite the little earner, my Beauregard is. Aren’t you, dear?”

  A booming man’s voice with just a trace of an Eastern European accent echoed from the upper landing of the grand staircase above. “How interesting. I don’t recall inviting any wizards from Houston. Vampyr, yes—but wizards?”

  Strolling down the stairs toward us was a robust-looking middle-aged man of average height, muscular with a slight paunch and a full shock of wavy brown hair. The vampire—because he was a vamp, that much was evident from the way he moved—had a prominent, aquiline nose and dark eyes that peeked out from behind a black leather domino. He wore a light-grey, double-breasted, V-neck vest and matching trousers. His white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves to bare his thick, pale forearms, while a black, grey, and pink striped tie adorned his neck. A pink satin pocket square, gold Rolex Oyster, and expensive Italian dress shoes finished off his understated ensemble.

  Better recover quickly, Colin—else this is going to become a shit show a lot faster than you anticipated.

  “I’m afraid you have my wife and I at a loss, Monsieur Saint Germain. In all honesty, I’ve been trying to get a magician’s contract with Remy DeCoudreaux for years, but to no avail. When I heard someone might be challenging him for the position of coven leader, well—I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to introduce myself.”

  “Oh, how gauche,” Mitzy said under her breath from behind her fan.

  The host’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment his eyes seemed to look right through me. I felt a quick touch of something—other—brushing against my skin and wards, and then it was gone.

  Magic. The fucker is using magic on us.

  Vampires and magic were bad news, because they could amass a great deal of knowledge and power over their very long lives. Most vampires frowned on its use, however, deeming it an unnecessary crutch in light of their innate supernatural abilities. When you ran into a vamp who deigned to use magic, you had to be careful.

  The vampire relaxed and flashed us a news anchor’s smile. “I go by Germain now, Jack Germain. You know how it is with the authorities who govern the mundane. When a citizen lives past one hundred and twenty years, they start to get suspicious.”

  “Just so, my good man,” George said. “Why, just the other day—”

  Germain ignored him, cutting him off with that booming, game show host voice. “Ah, that explains why you’re carrying that hideous bag,” the vamp said as he eyed my Craneskin Bag with contempt. His eyes met mine, and he flashed his smile again. “What’s your magic specialization, Beauregard? Once I’m in charge of the coven, I’m sure we’ll be looking for decent help.”

  “Exorcisms, wards, and charms,” I replied. “I, uh, mostly do contract work for the government.”

  Germain’s eyes tightened, revealing just the slightest hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Must’ve been turned late in life—or he’s even older than Remy suggested. Shit. The older the vamp, the more dangerous they could be. This job was turning out to be a lot more complicated than I expected.

  “Hmm. Be sure to leave your card with my second, Cornelius. I’m certain he’s around here somewhere—but if not, you can speak with one of his sons, Gaius or Lucius. Now, I must be off. Enjoy the party.”

  “We most certainly will,” Fallyn called after his retreating figure.

  After a pregnant pause, Mitzy huffed in indignation at the rebuff they’d received. The female vamp shot us a look that could curdle blood, then grabbed George by the arm and pulled him away. “If you’ll excuse us, my husband and I are going to go find someone to eat.”

  After they walked off, Fallyn smirked. “I guess that means we’re not getting invited to Mitzy and George’s next backyard barbecue. Oh, darn.”

  The girl spun like a flamenco dancer, deftly snatching three champagne glasses from a server who’d been passing behind her. She downed two and tossed the empty flutes
in a nearby potted plant while holding the third in reserve. “This party blows. Let’s go find your evidence so we can kill this dude, then we can go get hammered on Bourbon Street.”

  “I’m up for everything except the last part, but we need to move now. Those three vamps he mentioned—Cornelius, Gaius, and Lucius? I kind of cut Lucius’ hand off, then helped Luther kick his dad’s ass.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “A while back at Mateo’s garden party. It was when I killed that Mayan god’s avatar.”

  “You what? Damn it, Colin, you really need to let me know when you’re going to do stupid crap.”

  “Hey, it had nothing to do with the Pack—”

  “I’m not upset because of that, dumbass. It’s because I hate missing all the fun.”

  “Well, now’s your chance to participate,” I said as I grabbed her hand. “Let’s pretend like we’re looking for a place to make out and sneak upstairs.”

  “Did you just say, ‘make out’? Fuck’s sakes, but you are a boy scout.”

  I held two fingers up while leading her up the stairs. “Guilty as charged.”

  Fallyn giggled. Normally, I’d blame it on the alcohol, but it took a lot to get a ’thrope drunk. I didn’t know whether to hope I was right about her having a crush on me, or hope I was wrong. My luck with women hadn’t been the best of late. And I sure as hell didn’t want to screw up our friendship—and have her dad on my ass to boot.

  When we reached the top of the grand stairway, I looked right and left. In both directions, the blood-red carpet trailed off toward identical, bifurcating halls.

  “Eeny, meeny, miny—oh fuck!” I exclaimed as Lucius and Gaius appeared around a corner and headed toward us from the left hall. They were deep in discussion with a buxom, dark-skinned female vampire who seemed to be enjoying their combined attentions.

  “Fuck what?” Fallyn asked.

  “That’s Lucius and Gaius,” I whispered.

  Hearing their names, the brothers looked up at us. Gaius took a quick glance and went straight back to working game on the female vamp, but Lucius’ eyes lingered. Damn it, he’s going to recognize me, I thought as I began to prepare a spell.

  Before I knew it, Fallyn had me pressed up against the wall, her lips locked on mine, one leg hitched up as she ground her pelvis against mine. The female wolf smelled of “Fucking Fabulous” Tom Ford perfume, champagne, and musk. She kissed me hungrily as her hands clutched my ass and lower back.

  After an enforced six-month dry spell, my body responded as expected, and I felt a growing, throbbing ache in my nether regions. Certain I was blushing furiously, I maintained the deception until Gaius and Lucius had gone downstairs. Fallyn held the ruse for a moment longer than necessary, then she backed away, allowing her hand to trail across my chest.

  “I knew you were hung in your other form, but damn, son—I do believe you’ve been holding out on me. No wonder that little Spanish girl has it so bad for you,” she said with a lascivious smile.

  “Fallyn, I’m fully aware that Pack members are fairly casual about sex, nudity, and such, but—”

  “I know, I know—this is where you tell me you’re a one-woman man and all that crap.” Fallyn winked, clutching my hand as she dragged me down the hall with her werewolf strength. “I do believe you—but every man has his limits.”

  Once we’d snuck around a corner and were safely out of sight of the guests below, Fallyn released my hand. Instantly, she transformed from a giggly, drunk party girl to a deadly ’thrope on the hunt. She raised her nose in the air, sniffing like a wolf on the scent.

  “I smell blood,” she said.

  “It’s a vampire’s home, Fallyn. There’s bound to be blood scent everywhere.”

  “True, but this is both fresh and old, and from the same person.” She tapped the side of her nose with one slender finger. “You might be able to cast a spell to help those weak human senses out, but I was born with a sense of smell that’s one thousand times more sensitive than yours. Trust me, we need to check this out.”

  “Lead the way, then,” I replied as I swept my arm toward the other end of the hall. I was trying to play it casual, but my eyes darted everywhere. Being around so many vampires was making me jumpy.

  “You sure you’re alright?” Fallyn asked as she sniffed her way down the hall. “You seem awful, I don’t know—skittish lately. Plus, you look like you’ve lost weight, and those dark circles under your eyes say you’re not sleeping right. Besides that, I could hear your heart start beating faster as soon as we saw those bouncers earlier.”

  I shrugged, still scanning up and down the hallway as I followed her. “So?”

  “So, the Colin I know has ice water running through his veins. Or at least he did the last time I worked with him. Nothing ever seems to get you rattled. It used to be that you almost had a death wish or something. Now, you’re about as jumpy as spit on a hot skillet. What’s the deal?”

  I scratched my nose with a knuckle and kept watching out for stray party guests. So far, we were the only ones up here, but that could change at any moment. I sensed Fallyn looking at me in anticipation of an answer.

  “Fallyn, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Suffice it to say that helping me with this job is probably the most important thing you could be doing right now. So, let’s stay focused on the task, because there’s a lot riding on us tonight.”

  Fallyn’s shoulders stiffened as she replied. “Have it your way then, druid. You’re not the only one who can keep secrets.”

  “Hey, look—it’s not like I don’t want to tell you—”

  Fallyn stopped and held a hand up, causing me to stop as well. She wrinkled her nose like she’d smelled something sour, then waved a hand in front of her nose before pointing at a nearby door.

  “Whoever it is, they’re in there. Smells like they got put in timeout for about a week with suspended bathroom privileges. Nasty.” She tried the door. “Locked. We going in?”

  “Yup. Move back and give me a minute,” I said as I took a knee in front of the doorknob.

  I looked at the door in the magical spectrum, and it was warded as I’d expected. The ward was a simple alarm spell, but it told me that either Germain already had a mage on staff or was an adept himself. Earlier I couldn’t be sure, since some vamps had innate talents that mimicked magical spells. But now, I was almost certain of it.

  I picked apart the weaves with my own magic, which was child’s play since wards and traps really were my specialty—exorcisms, not so much. I cast another cantrip to unlock the door and caught Fallyn’s attention with my eyes as I stood.

  “Hear anyone coming?”

  She cocked her head, listening to the sounds around us. “Nope, everyone else is downstairs.”

  “Then we’d better hurry. I have a feeling Germain is going to wonder where we snuck off to. He doesn’t strike me as the trusting type.” I glanced at my companion. “You ready?”

  She flicked her fingers open in front of my face, and her nails extended into long, razor-sharp claws. “Always. Damned shame I have to mess up this manicure, though.”

  I chuckled despite myself as I readied a spell, realizing that I had missed working with Samson’s only daughter. Her scent still lingered on me, and notwithstanding my current case of the nerves, I found it to be a pleasant distraction.

  Focus, Colin—focus!

  Shaking off those stray thoughts, I drew the silver-plated Bowie knife from my Bag and burst into the room with Fallyn close on my heels.

  9

  As soon as I entered the room, the odor hit me like a tidal wave. The stench was a powerful combination of curdled blood, piss, shit, and the distinct miasma of human fear. I’d smelled a lot of nasty stuff during the time I’d spent in that future hell on Earth, so it didn’t even faze me, but Fallyn gagged softly behind me.

  The room, however, was clean. It was a bedroom, well-appointed with a large four-poster bed, side table, mirrored dresser, and tasteful
paintings on three of the four walls. A door to our left caught my attention, and I heard a small shuffling noise from the other side.

  Fallyn and I shared a glance and a nod, and I headed for that door. This one wasn’t warded, only locked. I opened it with a quick spell and swung it wide with my knife, another spell at the ready. Behind the door was a bathroom, complete with a pedestal sink, a toilet with a bidet—I mean, how often did you see those in America?— and a clawfoot tub.

  Inside the tub sat a thin, older black man tied to a kitchen chair, bound and gagged and bleeding from at least a dozen cuts. He was semi-conscious, possibly from blood loss, and it was apparent from the wounds on his neck and inner arms that he’d been fed on repeatedly. He’d also been badly beaten, because his face looked like fresh-ground hamburger. In short, the guy was a wreck—on the verge of death, even. And he was most definitely human.

  “Shee-it, golden boy. They worked this fucker over but good,” Fallyn exclaimed in a low voice. “What’s our move?”

  Rather than ice in my veins, I felt fire flowing through them—a slow, hot burn that spread from my gut out to my extremities, flushing my face and causing me to clench my fists in anger. I’d felt that same feeling many times over the past few months, on each occasion when I’d come across some vampire-caused atrocity. I wanted to shift and tear the place down to its foundations. But first, I needed to get this man to safety, if I could.

  I grunted. “Help me cut him free.”

  A few swipes of my knife and Fallyn’s claws, and the man collapsed in my arms. He mumbled incoherently, something about no more, he didn’t know anything, and so on. My rage built inside me as he bled all over my clean white shirt. I laid him gently on the bed and began cutting pieces of the bedspread and sheets to dress his wounds.

  “Colin…” Fallyn laid a hand on my arm, just a light touch. I ignored her and continued to apply first aid. “Colin!”

  Her voice was more insistent now, so I looked up at her.