The Junkyard Druid Box Set 2

by M. D. Massey

  As I brought her up to speed, Fallyn’s eyes grew hard, her mouth went taut, and her hands balled up at her sides. As I finished the story, she slammed a fist against the wall of the cave, sending bits of stone flying in all directions. Then, she exhaled slowly before walking over to gently brush a stray lock of hair from Jesse’s face.

  Fallyn craned her neck, arching her back as she pointed her face to the ceiling to let out a long, high, keening howl that seemed to go on forever. It struck a chord deep within me when she did it, nascent Pack bonds exerting whatever meager effect they could on a misfit Pack member like me. Her howl was like a note plucked on a guitar string inside my chest, vibrating in tune to my own pain, letting me know I was not alone.

  Then, something curious happened. At a distance far removed from where I mourned my recent loss, a stronger, deeper voice joined in, harmonizing with Fallyn’s howl. It wasn’t anything I could hear normally, but instead it resonated inside me in a tone that was clear as a bell to my inner beast. Soon, dozens of other voices joined in, crying a soulful, longing chorus that sang of loss and love, of family and pain, of mates lost and children gone, and of bonds that even death could not break or erase.

  Hemi couldn’t hear it, but based on the astonished look on his face, I knew that he felt the mourning song of the Pack wash over him as well. The bond between us was deep enough for him to sense the Pack’s presence, not because of a bond of blood, but one of brotherly love. I was glad to have him by my side at such a dark and terrible time.

  Finally, the beast within me answered the call of the Pack in the only way it could. Fomorians were never creatures of family, hearth, or home. Neither were they prone to sentiment, mercy, or frailty. Cú Chulainn’s curse, a remnant of interbreeding between Tuath Dé, Fomori, and humans, made that side of me incapable of experiencing such emotions. So, the beast inside me could not cry with what my human side felt—the deep, remorseful pain of love and loss and death.

  No, that part of me—my other, darker half—could only cry out for one thing.

  Blood.

  I answered the Pack with a battle cry, a roar of primal rage that echoed off the cave walls, down the tunnels, and out into the basin below. It reverberated through the Pack bonds, bridging the distance between us in a heartbeat. And their answer was clear. Despite our differences, the Pack would back my play.

  Because I was going to war with the Dark Druid.

  We buried Jesse inside the Grove, in a small meadow that appeared of its own accord when I showed up with Jesse’s corpse. Hemi and Fallyn were there, but that was the extent of the funeral party, as I couldn’t safely return to the junkyard or even Éire Imports to fetch Maureen and Finnegas.

  At the moment, the last thing I wanted was for Mendoza and his goons to show up in the park. Still, I thought they might be of use to me yet, so I dug the tracker out of Jesse’s arm before we buried her. The damned thing had gone deep, so it was messy and felt like a desecration, and the experience was way too reminiscent of when my Hyde-side had killed her. When I finished, I tucked the tracker in my Bag for safekeeping and tried not to think about what I’d just done.

  Each of us said a few words, then we laid her to rest. The Grove gently swallowed her up at my command, but first it sent me a series of images in response. A seed planted in the ground, a sprout poking up through moist earth, and flowers spreading out over rich, dark soil in all directions.

  Sure, some flowers would be nice. I think she’d like that.

  The Grove sent me an image of a rock, but I didn’t know what to make of that. Maybe it wanted to leave a grave marker or something. It seemed an unnecessary gesture, so I decided to leave it to its own devices.

  Fallyn wrapped her arm in mine, leaning close as we silently stood over the grave.

  “You think Samson will let Finn and Maureen know?” I asked.

  “Probably, although with the whole Pack heading here, he might want to keep things on the down-low until this Dark Druid issue is resolved.” She squeezed my arm a little tighter. “You do have a plan for that, right? The Pack is behind you, one-hundred percent—we owe you that much after what you did during the whole Sonny thing. But these people have families, Colin. I don’t want to lead them into a death trap.”

  “I have a plan, and when it comes to it I’ll be facing him down alone,” I replied, grim determination in my voice. “He killed my dad, he nearly killed Bells, and now Jesse...” My voice cracked, and I struggled to keep my emotions in check.

  Deep breath, Colin.

  “Fallyn, thousands of people died in Austin because of him. And why? Because of a vendetta between his family and ours that goes back thousands of years. It has to stop.”

  Hemi cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are the particulars of this feud? You never have told me the full story.”

  “I never told you two all this?”

  Both shook their heads.

  “Okay, then—back when Finnegas was still young, the Fear Doirich was infatuated by Sadhbh, daughter of Bodb Derg. When she refused his advances, he turned her into a doe. Fionn MacCumhaill found her, somehow they broke the spell, and the two fell in love. The Fear Doirich never forgave either of them, and he later turned her back into a deer when Fionn wasn’t around. MacCumhaill’s son Oisín was found wandering in the forest years later, but Fionn never reunited with his wife.”

  “That’s harsh,” Hemi remarked.

  “And not the end of it,” I said. “Later on, Fionn—with Finnegas’ guidance—put an end to the horrific reign of the Avartagh, the Dark Druid’s son. The Avartagh was a vampiric dwarf, and a powerful magician to boot, trained by his dad. Supposedly he died young, so the Fear Doirich learned necromancy to raise his son from the dead, which is how he became an undead menace in the first place. Anyway, Fionn was more than happy to smite his ass, and that deepened the enmity between him and the Dark Druid.”

  “And you’re related to Fionn, right?” Fallyn asked.

  “Yup, direct lineage, in fact. Somewhere along the way, Cú Chulainn’s line got mixed in, but I’ve never been clear on how that happened. Anyway, after Fionn died, the Dark Druid couldn’t take revenge on him anymore, so he decided to take his beef up with Fionn’s offspring.”

  “Your fam,” Hemi remarked.

  “Yes,” I said, scratching my head. “You sure I never told you guys this story?”

  “Nope,” they said in unison.

  “Okay, sorry. Well, since Fionn died, the Dark Druid has been using necromancy to steal the bodies of Fionn’s descendants.”

  The Maori warrior snapped his fingers. “The body snatching thing.”

  “Right,” I replied. “He tried it on my dad, but pops wouldn’t let him. I think he killed himself before the Dark Druid could complete the ritual. Anyway, he tried the same thing with me, but I had Balor’s Eye in my skull at the time and it made me more or less immune to necromantic magic. So, Finnegas and I put the whammy on him, the Dark Druid got trapped in a decaying corpse of a body, and he’s been pissed at me ever since.”

  “Are you still immune to necromancy?” Fallyn asked. “That’s a trick that could come in handy, considering who you’re going up against.”

  I shrugged. “Finnegas seems to think so, and hopefully it hasn’t worn off yet. Guess I’ll find out if I still have that superpower when I face him.”

  Fallyn pulled me around to face her. “Colin, if he’s not locked in that body anymore—he’ll be after yours, right?”

  “Affirmative,” I nodded.

  “Then isn’t it kind of a suicide mission for you to face him?”

  “Only if the Eye’s effects have worn off.”

  Hemi grunted. “This guy is ancient, right? And he probably thinks like a god, which means he plays the long game.”

  “So?” I asked.

  Hemi arched an eyebrow. “What if the magic he stole from Jesse lets him trump your immunity to necromancy?”

  I rubbed a hand across my face
before I responded. “Well, then I guess I might be fucked. That being said, I have a contingency plan—a sort of ‘break glass in case of emergency’ thing.”

  Fallyn’s lips curled into a half-frown. “Ri-i-ight. Because your plans always work out the way you intend.”

  Back at camp, I sat under the Oak on top of the plateau, meditating while I sorted things out in my head.

  Everything in my life always seemed to be spiraling out of my control. No matter how much I tried to contain it, constant chaos and trouble had become my new normal. It started with the attack on my hometown by the Avartagh, when I’d asked Jesse to help me take him out. After that, she and I had lived a few short years of relative happiness, training under Finnegas and killing the occasional super-nastical creature.

  Then, my ríastrad had surfaced and Jesse died—the first time around—at my hands. Following that tragedy, I’d dropped out of the hunter life until Maeve had dragged me back in, and boy did she ever. Everything after that had been one big shit storm—the battle at the graveyard, Sonny trying to take over the Pack, Underhill, Gunnarson, Hideie tricking me out of the Eye, and then the disaster in Austin—with no breaks and no end in sight.

  And now this. Oh, Jesse, I wish I’d never asked you to come with me that day.

  As for the shit storm, I had no idea how to escape it. According to Finnegas, the gods of the Celtic pantheon had taken notice of me, and not in a good way. I’d also made enemies of gods from other realms and regions by killing their offspring and avatars. Obviously, that hadn’t improved my standing with the Tuatha Dé Danann at all, as it made me appear more of a threat than a nuisance.

  Sure, I had a few Celtic gods on my side. The Dagda for one, Lugh on a good day, and maybe Niamh—also known as Maeve, Austin’s faery queen. Although I had pissed her off but good when I’d screwed up all the gateways to Underhill, so that was no sure bet. And the problem with having the Tuath Dé for allies was they were so damned fickle. One minute they’d be doing you favors; the next, they’d be cheering your impending doom.

  But there was one thing I thought I could get right, and that was taking care of the Dark Druid for good. It wouldn’t be easy, that was for sure. This was the guy the Tuatha Dé Danann had once tapped as their very own druid, after all. Sheesh, if ever there was proof that the Tuath Dé were a fucked-up bunch of immortals, it was that. But it also spoke to just how damned dangerous the guy could be.

  He’d been weakened at our last meeting, stuck in that decaying body. Plus, he’d been relying on the Eye to do his heavy lifting. No way he’d let me get the drop on him this time, no sir. If Hemi’s hunch was right, he’d be coming at me with both barrels blazing from the get-go, aiming to take me out so he could jump from his old busted body into mine.

  And then he’d have my powers, too—Fomorian abilities. Combine that with the Fear Doirich’s druid magic and necromancy, and he’d be a force that would likely make some of the lesser gods shit their pants. He had to be stopped.

  After that? I was going to take a break, far away from the junkyard where I couldn’t be found. Maybe I’d focus on my magical studies under Finnegas, or get some sword lessons from Hideie, or learn to play slide guitar. Or, I could always finish my training with Click and head back to the Hellpocalypse for a while. At least there, things were simpler—if not crazy as fuck.

  Hell, I had no idea what I planned to do after this was done. All I did know was that I was going to end the Fear Doirich at any cost, and then I’d take a nice, long vacation. If I was still alive, that was.

  Either way, I had to locate the bastard first. And to do that, I needed some very specific help. If there was one person who knew everything that went on in this park, it was La Onza. I’d learned that much from my meeting with her, although the other revelations she’d shared had been a dollar short and a day late.

  For holding out on me until it was too late, I figured she owed me—and I intended to collect. I opened my mental link to the Druid Oak.

  Take me to La Onza’s hideout.

  We arrived at the hidden slot canyon instantly, the Oak somehow fitting its massive bulk between the canyon’s walls. But when I exited the Grove and climbed up to the cave entrance, no one was there. Heck, there wasn’t even a trace of the fire from the night before.

  She keeps a tidy house, that’s for sure. I looked around, just to be certain she wasn’t hiding in cat form on a ledge above me. Alright, let’s draw her out.

  “La Onza! I know you’re keeping an eye on this place. Show yourself, damn it!”

  Nothing.

  “Fine,” I yelled. “Since you won’t come talk to me, I’m going to let Camazotz loose. Then you’ll be good and fucked,” I said, turning in a slow circle. “I’d like to see you deal with Ernesto then—”

  As I completed a full circle, the diminutive bruja stood at the mouth of her cave, right where she hadn’t been standing a moment before.

  “Um, hey.”

  She glared at me. “So much power, in one so young and foolish. Speak, then.”

  “Okay, I’ll get right to it. I’m looking for a showdown with the Dark Druid, and you know where to find him.”

  “I suppose you want my help fighting him, too,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Think about this for a minute. If I lose, the Dark Druid is going to help Ernesto take you out, either by direct intervention or magical assistance. Camazotz can easily handle the Bylillys, but once the Fear Doirich has possession of my body, he’ll chew through the bat god like a goat in a field of clover. Then, he’ll give Ernesto possession of your gateway to the underworld, and set him up to terrorize this entire region. You want that on your conscience?”

  She frowned and shrugged. “I’ll be dead and gone if that happens, so what does it matter?”

  “I think you care a lot more for the fate of the people you protect than you let on. And I think you know there are things worse than death—things the Dark Druid would do to you simply for opposing him.”

  La Onza stood statue-still as she glowered at me for several uncomfortable seconds. Finally, she spoke. “If I help you, you must promise to leave Camazotz locked in his cage to protect my cave.”

  “I promise that old Camazotzes will remain to protect your cave after we’re done dealing with the Dark Druid,” I replied, stone-faced.

  La Onza’s brow furrowed, then she turned and walked off into her lair. “Larry will be at your camp when you return, and he will help you find the place where the Dark One resides. I will join you at the battle. Now, go—I must prepare.”

  17

  “You guys ever been to the Mariscal Mine?” Larry asked as we snuck up the backside of a ridge that overlooked the mine from the south.

  It was late in the afternoon, and the sun would be setting soon. The sky was overcast, so we’d have darkness on our side at least. Or course, it wasn’t the ideal time to take on a necromancer, a specter, and a couple of skinwalkers, but I had my reasons for hitting them at night.

  “No, Larry,” I groused, signaling everyone to stop. “It’s not like we’ve been doing a lot of sight-seeing since we got here.”

  Undaunted, the chupacabra continued to run his mouth. “Oh man, you guys have really missed out. It’s one of the most popular tourist attractions in the park. They used to mine cinnabar here, and turn it into mercury. You can still see the smelting pits, some of the buildings, the whole bit. Lots of miners died here—I guess mercury poisoning is a sorry way to go.”

  “Meaning, there’ll be tons of unmarked graves and a lot of angry ghosts nearby,” Fallyn remarked.

  “Plus, the cinnabar acts as a sort of magical heat sink,” I said. “That’s likely why the Dark Druid chose this as a hideout, because no one would ever notice him here.”

  “That’s true,” Larry said as he licked his anus. “La Onza woulda never guessed he was here, unless I’d overhead Stanley mention it.”

  “Oi, do that somewhere else, wouldja?” Hemi protested, hi
ding his line of sight with one hand.

  Larry stopped and looked around at everyone, hunched over with one leg splayed in the air. “Oh, like you guys wouldn’t do this if you could.”

  “Sshh! Enough,” I said. “We’re damned close, and I’d like to scope the place out without being discovered. Fallyn, let’s go take a peek. Larry, you stay here with Hemi.”

  “Why do I have to babysit the cur?” he asked.

  “Cur? I’m not even a dog, you poor man’s excuse for Dwayne Johnson,” Larry replied between licks. “You’re like a reject from a Disney movie, a walking cliché if I ever saw one. Can’t even tell if you’re Hawaiian, Maori, or ‘other’ the way you talk and dress. I—”

  Hemi had the chupacabra by the throat, squeezing just hard enough to cut off his air. “One more word, and we’re gonna see if cursed mutts can die,” he growled.

  “Hemi, please put him down. Larry, shut up or I’ll be the one cursing you.” I turned to Fallyn, who, despite the general mood, was trying hard not to laugh. “Let’s go do some recon before we get caught.”

  Fallyn pinched my cheek, giving it a little shake as if I were a child. “Oh, you’re so cute when you get all bossy and stuff.”

  “No respect,” I mumbled as we crawled the rest of the way to the peak of the ridge. Right before we reached the top, I cast a “look away” cantrip on us, then we popped our heads over to see what we were up against.

  “That’s not good,” Fallyn said, so softly that only I could hear her.

  “Nope, it’s not,” I whispered back.

  Below, the ruins of the mine swarmed with animated skeletons and undead tourists. Some were obviously the shambling kind, while others moved with a bit more pep in their step. I counted at least three-dozen zombies and skeletons, that many more ghouls, and a few dozen revenants.

  “There has to be at least a hundred of them,” Fallyn whispered.

  “They aren’t the only things we have to worry about. Look,” I said, pointing at the mine entrances. There, dark ethereal shapes flitted about in the shadows. “What do you want to bet La Llorona is hiding down there, too?”