The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

  “I don’t get what you’re saying.”

  Jesse waved my comment off. “It’s nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”

  Since I wasn’t getting answers from Jess, I sent a message to the Druid Oak.

  What’s wrong with her?

  The Oak sent me an image of a seed, green and glowing, nestled inside Jesse’s chest, alongside something dark and hazy. I took the seed image as a figurative message, an indication that some of the Grove’s magic remained inside of her. As for the darkness, I had no clue.

  “The Oak agrees that a bit of the nature magic remained inside of you.”

  She glanced up at me, and for the first time I noticed that her hair had changed. Jesse had taken to dyeing her straight, auburn locks a combination of plum purple and black in the months before she died. Now it really was black as midnight, save for a bright silver mallen streak at her widow’s peak, where her hair naturally parted down the middle.

  But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Jesse’s moss-green eyes—thankfully now very human-looking—shone like two emeralds, bright and filled with light and life. Yet she’d paled considerably, leaving her formerly-freckled skin an ivory expanse free of any mark or blemish. And standing in stark contrast to her milky white complexion, her lips were the color of dark cherries—or blood, take your pick.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d have pegged her for a vampire, but her skin was warm and she had a heartbeat. Clearly, death and the Grove’s magic had left its mark on her, in more ways than one.

  “It talks to you now?”

  I nodded. “It does, the Oak and the Grove both.”

  She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “Feels weird, not having it inside my head. Like something is missing, you know?”

  “I can only imagine. We were stuck in the Void for a while—although it’s only been a few hours here—and I’ve already grown accustomed to it myself.”

  Jesse pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “The Grove was falling apart, and had been for some time. What I did, it was desperation—you realize that, right?”

  “Did you know what would happen?”

  Her eyes darted away as she replied. “No. Back in Underhill, the Dagda had told me that if the Grove was ever in danger, and if you hadn’t yet mastered its magic, then I was to seduce you. All I knew at the time was that he wanted you to claim the Grove. Obviously, he’s a god and Tuath Dé, so I initially suspected he wasn’t telling me the whole truth. But after I became part of the Grove, I acted entirely on instinct. Logic never factored into my decisions.”

  She’s hiding something—but what?

  Despite her transformation, I still didn’t fully trust her. I chose to respond with a nod, because I was emotionally conflicted and didn’t want to say anything I might regret. I’d done more than enough of that over the last few months, that was for certain. A quick glance at her bare feet reminded me that she was still a mess. Jesse had dirt between her toes and in her hair, and smudges here and there on her arms and face.

  I clapped my hands on my thighs and stood. “Well, what’s done is done. We can unpack all our baggage later, but for now we need to get you cleaned up and dressed. Then, we’ll figure out how we’re going to explain or hide the fact that you’ve come back from the dead—this time for real, it seems.”

  “For a time,” she whispered, choking up and burying her face in her hands. Before I could ask her what she meant by that, she continued. “Do you know what? That whole time after I came back, I never once thought about seeing my family. Not once! You can’t let them know, Colin—promise me that, please.”

  “Hey, don’t cry now, we’ll figure this all out.” I reached out for her, hesitating for an instant before I laid a hand on her shoulder. “I promise, alright? Nobody has to know you’re back.”

  Before I knew it, she’d wrapped her arms around my waist and laid her head against my stomach, at which point she began to cry in huge wracking sobs. For lack of any other option I held her close, rubbing her back and whispering that everything would be alright. But that’s not how I felt.

  Jesse’s human again, the Druid Grove is repaired, and we’re all back on Earth. This should be a time for celebration. So why does everything feel so wrong?

  A few hours later, Jesse had cleaned up and gotten dressed in some clothes Maureen brought for her. While Jess had been showering, I’d called Maureen and then Finnegas, catching them up on all that had happened while simultaneously asking for their assistance. It didn’t take long for the two of them to appear, Maureen fussing over the girl while Finnegas cried like a baby. Jesse had been like a daughter to him, so I gave them their privacy while they enjoyed their reunion.

  I was sitting on the front steps of the warehouse nursing a beer when Finnegas finally came out to join me.

  “So, what do you think?” I asked.

  The old man shook his head. “Incredible, never seen anything like it. She’s definitely been touched by the Oak’s magic. Yet it seems that dying and being brought back to life—twice—has changed in her ways that I don’t think we’ll understand for some time yet. At least, not until those changes manifest completely.”

  “It doesn’t seem like she retained much of the Grove’s magic. Is she still a threat?”

  Finnegas patted his pockets absentmindedly. “To us? No, not at all. As far as I can tell, her former personality has reemerged fully. But to herself?” He sighed. “She’s been traumatized, my boy. We’ll need to keep a close eye on her over the coming weeks, to ensure that she safely readjusts to life as a human.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to her,” I said, softly.

  “I know you won’t.”

  He sat next to me, patting my knee before carefully packing his pipe. I arched an eyebrow and suppressed a grin as I watched him complete the ritual.

  “Back to the pipe? I thought cigarettes were your chosen poison these days.”

  He lit up and puffed on it a while. “Seemed appropriate.”

  It occurred to me that the last time I’d seen him smoke that pipe had been when Jesse was still alive. “Are you going to go back to dressing like a college professor, too?”

  He frowned. “Pfah, I only dressed like that because it was good for business. No point anymore, now that Éire Imports is shut down.” He had a twinkle in his eye I’d rarely seen in recent days. “I’m glad to know that everything turned out well. Jesse is more or less back to her old self, and you’ve claimed the Grove. Healed it up good as new from what I can tell.”

  “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you.” I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You think Jesse will be alright?”

  Finnegas tsked. “She’s a tough one, always has been. The girl will pull through, with our support. The more pressing concern is how we’re going to hide her, now that she’s back.”

  “Hmm… yeah, I thought about that. Don’t you think it should be her decision, who she tells and who she doesn’t?”

  The old man scratched his forehead. “Maureen seems to think—”

  The loud screech of tires cut him off mid-sentence. We both stood, watching with interest as three large black SUVs with dark limo tint and government plates squealed to a halt in the junkyard parking lot. No sooner had they stopped than over a dozen men and women in black tactical gear poured out, guns drawn as they took cover behind the vehicles. Every barrel was trained on us.

  “Fecking Cerberus. I was afraid this would happen,” he hissed.

  “Afraid what would happen?” I asked. “Finnegas, what’s going on?”

  He spat and dumped the cherry from his pipe bowl, tucking the pipe away as he leaned against a rusty metal support pillar. “We drew the attention of the wrong people, son.” He turned his head and gave me a look that brooked no argument. “Whatever happens, leave the talking to me.”

  An athletic man with olive skin and dark, crew cut hair stepped out of the lead vehicle. He wore a Kevlar vest over a white dress shirt and black su
it pants, a walking cliché if I ever saw one. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored aviators, and instead of a pistol he held a document in his hand. He swaggered up to the gates as if he owned the place, disdain written across his face.

  I already hate this guy, and we haven’t even been introduced.

  The place was still locked up, which meant he was locked out. On seeing the lock and chain, the agent held his papers up like a cleric presenting a talisman against the forces of evil.

  “Colin McCool! My name is Special Agent Mendoza. I’m from the Department of Homeland Security, and we have a warrant to search these premises. Open the gates and allow us to search the facility, or we’ll cut the locks off and enter by force.”

  I looked over at Finnegas. “Should I warn Maureen?”

  “Trust me, she knows. Probably on the phone with Borovitz and Feldstein as we speak.”

  “Finn, why is DHS here?”

  He chuckled humorlessly. “They’re not DHS, although that’s what their badges and identification will say. You’d best let them in—and drop your wards, too. They’re bound to have a few non-humans in the mix. No sense getting them riled up more than they already are.”

  Agent Mendoza called to us from the other side of the gate. “I’m running out of patience, Mr. McCool. Trust me, you do not want to do this the hard way.”

  I grabbed Finnegas by the shirt sleeve. “Who are these people?”

  He rubbed his chin and scowled. “Lotta folks think the PATRIOT Act was written to fight terrorists. It wasn’t. It was penned so people like Agent Mendoza and his crew could rendition good folks like Maureen and Jesse.”

  “Wait—you mean they’re clued in?”

  “Yes.” He leaned in and whispered to me. “We’re human, and so long as we don’t show any sign of magical ability, we’re safe. Do not work any magic, other than quietly releasing your wards—and definitely don’t let them near Maureen or Jesse, you hear me? Whatever it takes, keep them out of sight, or we might never see either of them again!”

  5

  Mendoza and his agents split into teams of four, with two teams searching the warehouse and yard while he and the remainder of his people tore through our offices with a vengeance. They tossed papers everywhere, overturned desks, rifled through file cabinets, and ripped posters and pictures off the wall. Nothing was sacrosanct to them, and they took what they wanted, which was pretty much every written record and receipt. Finally, they shoved it all in boxes along with our computers, and packed them in their vehicles.

  I sat to the side, fuming but saying nothing. Finn had warned me to keep my mouth shut until someone from Borovitz and Feldstein arrived. Mendoza stood in front of me, communicating on a walkie-talkie with his other teams. Apparently, they had yet to find Maureen and Jesse, so that was a plus. But something told me they weren’t going to leave until they found whatever it was they’d come for—which I assumed was evidence of supernatural activity or involvement.

  Mendoza marched up and hovered over me, hands on his hips. He was obviously trying to intimidate me, but it wasn’t working. The agent whipped off his aviators, then he glared at me for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he spoke in a low voice.

  “Three major terrorist events in the span of two weeks, and you know what they all have in common?”

  Finnegas smirked. “Don’t say a word, boy.”

  Mendoza ignored the old man. “No? I’ll tell you. A certain college student and junkyard owner was spotted by eyewitnesses at each scene. First, we have you on camera at a convenience store on the east side of Bastrop. You were in a late model Corvette with a tall, blonde female we have yet to identify. However, we have reason to believe she has ties to the Russian government.” He showed me a picture on his phone of me, standing in line at the counter waiting to buy a slushy, a bag of caramel corn, and a pecan log. “This was just a few hours before that medical research facility got blown sky-high.”

  I did my best to appear disinterested. Mendoza swiped to another photo on his phone. It was of me again, this time barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt, running down West Avenue toward the collapse.

  “This is a photo of you, taken by a bystander, at the scene of the building collapse in downtown Austin. You know, the one where eight hundred and fifty-seven lives were lost?”

  “I thought the official number was eight hundred and forty-nine,” Finnegas interjected, stone-faced.

  The agent kept his eyes on me. “Yes, that was the official count.” He swiped one more time. “And this is a photo of you, taken by a traffic camera in Glen Rose, the day of the meltdown at the nuclear reactor outside town.”

  The photo was blurry, but it was definitely me, running a red light in a rental car registered in my name. I silently cursed myself for needlessly being in a hurry that day.

  Agent Mendoza leaned forward, hands on his knees, as he got in my face. “So tell me, McCool—how is it that you just happened to be at the scene of three major disasters that happened at three different locations, all over the state of Texas?”

  About that time, a very well-dressed blonde with a very expensive haircut and highlights walked through our front gates. She wore a pencil skirt and matching suit jacket, a silk blouse, sensible pumps, and she carried a Burberry briefcase in her left hand. In her right she held a business card, which she extended to Agent Mendoza.

  “Are you the special agent in charge?” she asked Mendoza.

  “I am,” he replied frostily.

  “Kenzie Kupert of Borovitz and Feldstein, Attorneys at Law. Mr. McCool and Mr. Murphy have both retained the services of our firm. Are my clients being detained?”

  “Not yet,” Mendoza said with a curious gleam in his eye.

  She turned her steel gray eyes on me. “Colin, you’re not required to answer any of his questions. My Audi is parked in front. Go wait for me inside and speak to no one until I join you.”

  I shrugged and stood, but Mendoza motioned for me to halt. “Not so fast. We have reason to believe your client is a material witness in a case involving domestic terrorists operating on U.S. soil. As such, I have the right to detain him if I believe he presents a flight risk. And, I do.”

  Finnegas laughed while Kupert glowered at Mendoza. “Preposterous. My client is a law-abiding college student and a hard-working business owner. To claim that he has knowledge of any terrorist activities is simply ludicrous.”

  “Nevertheless, I do have the right to detain him—indefinitely, if need be.” He motioned to a pair of agents who were standing by. “Grimes and Case, take Mr. McCool into custody.”

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed. Despite my concern, Finnegas seemingly found the situation to be very amusing. I decided it was likely an act, meant to keep Mendoza and his team focused on us.

  “You’re definitely too pretty to go to jail, that’s for sure,” the old man chortled.

  Kupert gave us each a hard look. “Please, not another word—from either of you.”

  Finn winked at the pretty young attorney. “Oh, I’ll be fine, ma’am. Just minding my own business.” He then nodded at me. “She’s right, you need to keep your mouth shut.”

  I made the universal sign for zipping my lips and throwing away the key. Then, I held my hands up to show I didn’t intend to fight being taken into custody. I figured it was better that I get arrested by these chumps instead of Maureen or Jesse, and I was pretty sure the old man would agree with me.

  Mendoza smirked. “Wise choice, kid.”

  I flipped him off with both barrels and a smile. Mendoza’s smirk turned into a snarl as he got up in my face, drill sergeant style.

  “You want me to put you in cuffs? Keep trying me, kid, and I’ll lock you in a hole so deep, every time you take a piss you’ll be watering flowers in China. I’m begging you, keep it up and I’ll show you how the Federal Government treats suspected terrorists.”

  Kupert was on her phone, and I overheard the words “U.S. Attorney” and “immediate
ly.” She covered the receiver as she addressed Agent Mendoza. “If that’s the case, then we’re going to need to see some formal charges. And, I want a copy of that search warrant.”

  Mendoza smiled at Kupert like a wolf eyeing a newborn lamb. “I’ll get right on that, your highness.” He turned to the same two agents he’d addressed earlier. “Didn’t I tell you to take McCool into custody? Cuff him, damn it!”

  I looked at my mentor. “Finnegas—”

  “Just go with it, son. They have jack squat, and Mendoza knows it. This whole damned thing is nothing more than one big fishing expedition. Keep quiet, do as your told, and Borovitz’s team will have you out in no time.”

  Meanwhile, the two agents had already jumped into action. Before Finnegas was through talking, they’d manhandled me out of my chair and slammed me facedown in the dirt and weeds. Soon I had my hands cuffed behind my back, and the bastards even zip-tied my ankles to the handcuffs. One of the agents continued to kneel on me, digging his knee into my spine. Kupert nearly had a fit.

  “This is an outrage, Agent Mendoza, and your superiors will be hearing about this—”

  “Agent Case, escort Ms. Kupert to her car. She can speak with her client when we’re damned good and ready. Grimes, ease up on the kid. We need him to cooperate.” Mendoza squatted next to me, leaning in close to whisper in my ear. “What your pretty little attorney doesn’t know is that we don’t answer to the Justice Department. Just wait, McCool—once I get you someplace private, the real fun will start.”

  “Why, Agent Mendoza,” I said aloud, “I’m flattered, but you’re just not my type.”

  Finnegas guffawed.

  “Shut it, old man,” Mendoza snapped, “or I’ll cuff you too.”

  The old druid gave an innocent smile and pulled out his tobacco pouch.

  Mendoza looked like he was about to say something else to me when one of his agents came in over the radio. At the same time, screams and gunfire erupted in the distance.

  “Sir, this is Agent Wurzel—we have a problem!”