The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

  I landed on the surprised ’thrope, our bodies crashing into each other as I bowled him over. We rolled and tussled like two badgers fighting over a comb of honey, biting and ripping and clawing at each other faster than the human eye could see. I was fresh and he was not, but that didn’t matter since the werewolf healed from each wound I caused almost as soon I injured him.

  Equally frustrating was that the beast gave as good as he got, and I didn’t heal near as quickly. I’d fought giants, fae, vamps, ’thropes, and more in this form, and to my recollection nothing had given me this much trouble—not even close. The werewolf was cutting me to pieces, and even with Odilon circling us and snapping at him here and there, I feared the battle would rage on until my magic ran out and I transformed back into my human state.

  Then, I’ll be well and truly fucked. Time to find this thing’s weakness, and fast.

  I fended off a particularly nasty swipe at my eyes, ducking under the ’thrope’s arms as I went for a double-leg takedown. It wasn’t the smartest of moves to attempt against a humanoid creature with claws that could rip even my hardened flesh. But I needed to be close enough to protect my eyes from the thing’s razor-tipped fingers while I looked at it in the magical spectrum.

  I grappled with the Rougarou as he shredded my torso and back, my arms in a death grip around his waist and my head tucked up under his right armpit so he couldn’t reach my eyes. I shifted the focus of my sight, switching my vision so I saw only magic and not natural light. At first, all I picked up was his life force, a swirl of color dominated by the silver-grey glow that all ’thropes possessed.

  But on closer inspection, I realized his aura was streaked with small black lines, almost like a spider’s web. It was clear that each of those lines were connected to a central hub, a small sphere that looked like an inky black ball of twigs. It beat like a heart at the center of the wolf man’s aura.

  That’s the spell—the source of the bokor’s magic.

  The question was, was it only made of magic? Or did it have a physical component that existed in our world, a focus that contained the magic of the spell?

  One way to find out.

  I released my left hand from my right, loosening my grip significantly so I could attack with that hand. Driving my fingertips like a spear, I stabbed my hand into the Rougarou’s side, splitting his hide and slicing through organs and muscle. The beast howled, renewing his attacks on my body with a vengeance, but I kept on, burrowing my hand deep into its body while I used my magic sight to guide it home.

  And while I tried to find the source of the spell, the Rougarou ripped me to pieces, weakening me as I kept digging around in his body—all in a desperate gamble to end the fight against this seemingly invincible creature.

  There.

  I felt my hand brush up against something—an object that felt like it was made of thorns and bramble, but pulsed like a heart beating in someone’s chest. I spread my fingers wide and grabbed at it, clutching it like a monkey grabbing a ball of rice inside a coconut trap. And just like the monkey, my hand felt stuck as the magic inside the Rougarou resisted my attempts to dislodge it from the ’thrope’s body.

  Hot, slick blood ran down my waist and legs, leaking my life out on the ground with every second I grappled with the creature. Odilon had one of the Rougarou’s arms trapped in his jaws, pulling it away so the ’thrope could only tear at me with one clawed hand. But his efforts had come too late. I was weakened by blood loss and was losing my grip on the ’thrope.

  Once I bled out, it’d be over. The Rougarou would trample me underfoot, then he’d rip me to bloody shreds, probably while I transformed back into my human self.

  No way I’m going down like this. I refuse to be killed by a fucking werewolf.

  With one last Herculean effort, I pulled with all my might at the source of the spell. I felt a tearing sensation as something gave inside my opponent. Filled with rage and pain, the lycan let out a terrifying howl, and suddenly, the thing I held tore free. My hand slipped out of the ’thrope’s innards, and I shoved him away as he fell limp to the ground.

  Stepping back on shaky legs, I slipped in my own blood and fell to my knees. My gaze dropped to the thing in my hand—an effigy of a heart, not a human one, but similar. A wolf’s heart, maybe? It had been made from tatters of cloth and string wrapped around a heart-shaped mass of black, thorny vines.

  I crushed it in my hand, then spoke a single word in Gaelic.

  “Losgadh.”

  The focus for the bokor’s curse burst into flames. I heard someone cry out, a human’s voice. When I looked up, the Rougarou had turned back into a man—small of stature and thin, with short, close-cropped black hair, a scholar’s soft hands, and a poet’s soulful brown eyes. The gaping hole I’d left in his side was still there, leaking blood like a sieve and pouring his life out into the swamp.

  “Merci, Monsieur,” he gasped, “for breaking my curse. Who could have guessed it would take a monster to stop a monster, eh?” He spoke English in the way only the French can, making my rather ugly language sound prosaic.

  I was already shifting back to my semi-human form as I leapt to his side, my own wounds healing as I attempted to staunch the bleeding from his wound with my hands. For the first time, I fully realized I hadn’t fought a monster, but a man cursed. The weight of it only hit me now that I could see him for what he truly was—just another poor schmuck fucked by magic.

  “Ah,” Jean-Michel said sagely, “I see I am not the only one who is cursed.”

  “Shit, it wasn’t supposed to go down this way. We’ll get you to a doctor—just hang on.” I looked around the clearing, frantic. “Odilon. Odilon!”

  Jean-Michel gripped my hand. “Even if you could save me, I have no desire to live. I remember every innocent life I’ve taken. The things I’ve done—merde, but it is too much too bear.”

  “I—I guess I can relate.” His eyes closed, and they began to flutter behind his eyelids. I shook him gently until they popped back open. “Jean-Michel! Hey, don’t die on me yet, man. I need to know where Germain went. Please, tell me where he’s hiding.”

  “Germain….” he whispered. “He tried to cure me—didn’t know how.”

  “Where is he, Jean-Michel? Where has he gone?”

  “Back—to Texas, to the town named for that bâtard, Austin. War—war is coming.”

  Don’t I know it.

  Jean-Michel’s grip on my hand grew weak, then he gave a death rattle and was no more. Although he’d thanked me for killing him, it wasn’t exactly the kind of mercy I cared to give. I said a silent prayer for the man before standing on still-shaky legs.

  “You gave him peace, druid,” Odilon said as he clapped his hand on my shoulder. The man damned sure could move quietly when he wanted. I simply nodded in response, deciding it wasn’t worth debating.

  “Can you help me bury him?”

  “But of course.”

  I found a shovel in a small shed behind Jean-Michel’s cabin. I probably could have coaxed the earth to swallow him whole, but doing it the hard way seemed somehow—right, for lack of a better word. When it was done, I said another prayer while Odilon stood silent. Then, I nodded again, signaling it was time to go.

  “I have to get back to the city, and quickly, Odilon.”

  “We’ll go as fast as the boat can carry us. I assume Jean-Michel revealed where Germain ran off to?”

  I frowned. “Jean-Michel said he went to Austin. There’s only one thing he could be going there to do, and believe me, it’s not good. I have to stop him.”

  “Come, then, let’s get back to the boat. I can get you to your car before the sun rises.” He took off into the trees, back the way we came, and I followed close behind. As we walked, he spoke without looking at me. “And, druid?”

  “Yes?” I had a feeling I knew what was coming, but I didn’t want to make assumptions.

  “I’d prefer it if you told no one about what you saw tonight. Maman Brigitte’s mag
ic protects me from discovery, but if word got out—”

  “—Remy and his coven would chase you out of town.” I paused. “Odilon, when someone saves my life, I’m not the type to forget it. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  The old man said nothing, because he was a man of few words and there was nothing else to say.

  On the long hike back to the boat, I thought about how he hadn’t had to help me fight Jean-Michel. The more I considered it, the more I doubted he’d done it at Maman Brigitte’s behest. Despite his silence on the matter, I vowed that if Odilon ever needed my help, I’d repay the debt in kind—and then some.

  Once I got back to my rental car, I used dry erase markers to place a look-away spell on it, praying I wouldn’t hit rain on the way back. After I was certain I wouldn’t get pulled over for speeding, I put my foot down and made record time back to Austin. My first stop was the junkyard, if only to get a quick shower and check in with Maureen.

  When I popped my head in the office, Maureen didn’t even look up. “The Seer is out back, waiting for you—and he doesn’t look happy.”

  “He’s old and cranky. What else is new?”

  Maureen continued to type as she glanced over the counter at me. “While that may be true, he seems a bit more peeved than usual.”

  “You think he found out?”

  “’Twas only a matter o’ time, was it not? Best you go appease him, afore he blows a gasket.”

  I hung my head, cursing under my breath. This was not a conversation I was looking forward to having. “Th—I mean, I’m glad you gave me a heads up.”

  “There ya’ go, slippin’ up again. Don’t forget yer coffee.”

  There was a steaming cup sitting on the counter that hadn’t been there moments before. I snagged it and headed for the yard, remembering that Finn still liked to sit in front of the van where he used to sleep back before he kicked his drug habit. I found him there, way in the back of the yard, sipping a can of Pearl beer. As usual, a roll-your-own cancer stick smoldered between his fingers, a long length of ash drooping from the end.

  “Have a seat,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a growl, but it was close.

  Didn’t even look my way when I walked up. Yeah, he’s pissed.

  “I take it you heard about what went down in New Orleans?” It was worth a shot, anyway.

  He flicked the ash off his coffin nail and took a long drag, exhaling as he spoke. “What you do as druid justiciar is your business. If you chose to help that bastard DeCoudreaux hold his territory, I’m sure you have a good reason for it.”

  “So—?”

  The old man flicked his ash again, unnecessarily. “So, why am I madder than a skillet full of rattlesnakes?” He looked off into the distance before fixing me with a stare. “Why’d you bring her back?”

  I glanced around nervously. “I don’t think this is the best place to discuss this.”

  Finnegas made a few gestures with his fingers, not even setting his beer can or cigarette down to cast the spell. Instantly, the world went silent. “She can’t hear a thing we’re saying. Now, explain yourself, because I’m about two steps away from putting a boot up your ass, just on principle.”

  “It wasn’t my idea, believe me. Jesse and the Dagda worked out that deal behind my back.” I sucked air through my teeth and scowled. “Anyway, aren’t you going to ask me why I didn’t tell you?”

  “I know damned well why you didn’t tell me!” he shouted, as the ground shook beneath us. It wasn’t a good idea to piss off Finnegas the Seer. I decided to remain calm, because escalating the argument would only make things worse.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled heavily. “After—after she died, you went off the deep end, just as badly as I did. Honestly, I was just trying to save you from having to lose her twice.”

  “Come again?”

  “Seriously, Finn? Have you spoken with her? The magic has driven her batshit crazy. You don’t know how many times I’ve had to talk her down from killing someone she thought was a threat to me. Or how many times I’ve stopped her from zapping customers for stepping on bugs or trampling wildflowers in the yard. She’s crazy, and she has way too much power. Eventually, I’m going to have to banish her, for everyone’s safety.”

  Finnegas pushed his artfully crumpled straw cowboy hat back on his head, scratching his hairline with a chuckle. “She only wields that power because you haven’t claimed the damned oak tree, and the grove within it. Didn’t I tell you that you needed to claim it, back when you planted the damned thing?”

  “Yes, but I’ve been busy—”

  “Busy avoiding her, eh?”

  “So what if I have?” I threw my hands up in the air. “For years, all I thought about day and night was changing what happened back in that cave. And all this time, I’ve wished we never went after the Caoránach—hell, I wished we’d never become hunters!”

  “And I’d have spared you from that if I could, but—”

  “Damn it, let me finish!” Without meaning to, I’d raised my voice. I took a few deep breaths before continuing in a quieter, somewhat calmer tone. “All I wanted was a chance to go back and make things right. And when Jesse showed up inside the grove, I thought my wishes had been answered. But I was wrong. She’s a menace, and she’s been making my life hell since the grove resurrected her in that dryad’s body. So yeah, I’ve been avoiding her.”

  “And the druid grove.” Finnegas leaned forward, elbows on his knees and shoulders slumped. “Do you want to save her?” he asked plaintively.

  “Of course. But I don’t think she can be saved.”

  Finn sighed. “There is a way. You just have to claim the grove. Claiming the grove will bring her under your control, and it could possibly allow you to rectify the entire situation.”

  “Fucking hell, Finn, it’s not like the damned thing came with an instruction manual.” The old man cleared his throat and glared at me. “Okay, so I guess I should have come to you already. Sue me for wanting to spare you more pain.”

  “Colin, I’ve walked this Earth for two millennia. I can deal with a little heartache.”

  “Pfft. Could’ve fooled me.”

  He squinted, staring at me with one eye. “Do you want to know how to claim the druid grove or not?”

  “If it’ll help Jesse? Of course.”

  He took a long drink of his beer. “Then I’ll tell you how—but you’re not going to like it.”

  13

  Finnegas was hot on my tail as I stormed out the front gate and into the parking lot. I wasn’t even looking at him, intent on reaching my rental and getting the hell out of there.

  “Colin, just hear me out—”

  I gave Finn “the hand.” “Nope! Uh-uh, no fucking way. And, incidentally, that’s about the most barbaric, misogynistic, outdated, ass-backwards thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes—it’s no different in principle than tantric magic. And it’s not like the druid grove knows the difference anyway. Whatever intelligence the grove possesses simply sees it as a natural act, one that’s morally-neutral and necessary to complete the ritual.”

  “I already told you, my life is complicated enough as it is!”

  I got in my car and slammed the door. Unfortunately, I’d left the window open. My wet, muddy clothes were in a plastic bag in the back, and I hadn’t wanted them stinking up the car. Finnegas had his hands on the car door, and he was leaning down to look at me. I started the engine.

  “Colin, listen to me—”

  “For the last time, Finn—no!” I put the car in gear and waited for the old man to back up with his hands on his hips.

  “You damned silly fool. Fine, go! But don’t blame me when it all goes to shit.”

  I hit the gas, fishtailing out of the parking lot. Sure, it was juvenile, but somehow satisfying as well. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I fumed about what Finnegas had asked me to do.

  I am not sleeping with Jesse.

&nbs
p; When Finnegas had mentioned that the ritual for claiming the grove required that I have sexual relations with the “spirit” of the grove—in this case, dryad Jesse—I’d wigged out. Not only did the entire premise repulse me, but I also had no intentions of leading Jesse on in that way. Not to mention the fact that I’d essentially be subjugating her in the process.

  The whole thing just sounded way too much like rape to me, even if Jesse was a willing volunteer. What I didn’t understand was, why had Jesse been so eager to have sex with me in the first place? Didn’t she know she’d be giving up her personal agency and free will by doing so?

  Because she doesn’t know. Obviously, the Dagda, true to fae and Tuatha form, never mentioned that part.

  I wasn’t about to broach the topic with her, either. It was better she didn’t know. I’d find another way to separate her spirit from that of the druid oak, and then I could deal with “claiming” the grove. The idea of sleeping with what was essentially a golem definitely freaked me out. The whole thing reminded me a bit too much of those lifelike sex dolls, whose facial features still hadn’t bridged the uncanny valley—and probably never would.

  My very own Cherry 2000. Ugh, gross.

  Although I was still pretty pissed off and disgusted, I pushed the whole tawdry mess to the back of my mind. I had bigger problems, namely preventing the apocalypse from happening. Plus, I still needed a shower. A quick sniff of my shirt made me recoil. I smelled like swamp ass.

  I stopped at a convenience store and took a sink bath, stripping out of my clothes and grabbing fresh ones from my Bag. I set my phone on the soap dish and checked the time. Almost dark. I hit a number on speed dial and turned the speaker on while I dried off with paper towels.