Shade Cursed: A Druidverse Urban Fantasy Novel (The Shadow Changeling Series Book 1)

by M. D. Massey

  I knew there was no way I could pierce that shield with conventional magic in my current state. Likewise, my shadow tentacles weren’t quick enough to reach inside and grab him between spells. And even if I was able to do so, he would sever my spell as soon as he locked down the anti-magic shield again. So, I had to use another means to attack him.

  Among the spells my adoptive stepfather taught me were those once used by the druids of old. Not those tawdry spells that relied on gently coercing nature’s energies to do one’s bidding. No, I had no need to understand how to make plants grow or to heal an imbalanced ecosystem—not for the work that Mother would have me do. Instead, I was taught the rudiments of druid battle magic by the Dark Druid himself.

  The spell I needed to use was one that was rather advanced—not to a battle druid, of course, as they trained specifically in the use of druidic magic for combat. However, for a conventional magic-user, this sort of spell was considered high-level, simply because the average wizard did not have a druid’s knowledge and experience in working within the laws of nature when casting their spells.

  Wizards broke the laws of nature, empowering their spells with their own magic, while druids harmonized with nature’s energies to coerce it to do their will. It was the difference between wearing a boulder into sand with wind, water, and time or using dynamite to blast it into bits in seconds. I preferred the latter approach, but in this case, the former was what I needed, as it took much less magical power to cast druidic magic. This particular spell had been created by a rather devious druid by the name of Mogh, many centuries before I was born. This druid, while purporting to be a lover and protector of nature, was suspiciously ingenious at creating spells that could wreak havoc on human and nature alike.

  Mogh’s Scythe was a spell that consisted of nothing more than a hyper-thin layer of compressed air shot out at a target at supersonic speeds. I had seen my adoptive father use it many times to make quick work of his enemies. While I hadn’t cast it in some time, I was fairly certain I could pull it off. The only problem was the timing, as such spells required a short period of preparation before being cast. Therefore, I’d be forced to cast it and leave it hovering in the air just outside Griff’s cordon of protection, ready to let it fly when he lowered his shield to attack.

  I did exactly that, sneaking around the room avoiding his spells while I waited patiently for the opportunity to strike. And strike I did, basing my timing on the rhythm of attack he had established over the course of the previous minutes of combat. That I could time his attacks said much about Griff’s training. Powerful as he was, predictability was the sign of a subpar wizard—one who did not disguise their intentions in every way possible.

  Falling into familiar patterns was a critical mistake that many magic-users made. Certainly, adopting a rhythm made it much more comfortable to cast magic. But a truly well-trained and self-disciplined wizard always cast magic in broken rhythms, so their opponents could not anticipate their next move.

  Griff had made that fatal mistake, and he paid for it dearly. Although my timing was somewhat off, Mogh’s Scythe did the work I required of it. The invisible blade of compressed air deflected off the edge of Griff’s descending shield, angling downward and cutting off his left hand and left leg, just below the knee.

  As would happen with any mage, mortal, or otherwise, the wizard’s concentration broke upon suffering such a critical, life-threatening injury. Griff’s shield collapsed as he fell to the cobblestone floor, his lifeblood spilling out across the flagstones. I sauntered over to him in no particular hurry, secure in my safety due to concealment and the fact that Griff was frantically trying to stem the flow of blood from his leg with his remaining hand.

  He must’ve heard my footsteps—or perhaps, close as he was to death, he sensed my presence in the darkness. Even as he clamped his hand over the bloodied stump of his leg in a vain attempt to stave off death, he begged for his life.

  “Don’t kill me, Crowley. There are things I can tell you—things about your family. Your real family, not those bastards who turned you into their attack dog.”

  “My family is dead, and that’s all I need to know,” I said, gathering shadow energies that would end his miserable existence.

  “No, no, no,” he gasped. “They’re still alive, and I can tell you how to find them.”

  He might have been lying, but there were ways to determine if he spoke the truth. Intrigued, I cast the same tar-like shadow magic I’d used to suffocate the giant to stop the bleeding from Griff’s leg and arm. Likewise, I cast the same magic over his other hand to prevent him from attempting to attack or escape. Then, I squatted down next to him, looking him in the eye as I allowed the shade’s power to darken my own.

  “You will tell me everything you know, down to the very last detail. Leave nothing out, or else you will wish it was Fuamnach’s wrath you were facing.”

  26

  By the time I made it back to the dungeon where I had left Hemi and Ollie, I could sense that Mother was on her way. It wasn’t so much a physical warning or anything my mundane senses could detect. Instead, it was a growing feeling of dread deep within my gut, a sixth sense I had developed over many years under Fuamnach’s cruel hand. It had saved my life more than once, those times when it told me to flee and wait for her anger to diminish.

  This time, there’d be no waiting her out.

  “We have to leave, now,” I said as I entered the dungeon by lowering myself through the hole Griff had made in the roof.

  “Oi, mate, I thought you were dead or something. I was about to get out of here with the dragon and head back to Earth, but I didn’t want to leave you behind. Glad to see you’re okay.”

  The Maori warrior, honorable as he was, perhaps would not have been so happy to see me had he known what I had just done to Grythelias. The old Norse had a practice they called the blood eagle, a method of torturing their enemies and leaving them behind as a warning for others who opposed them. Once I had learned all I could from the wizard, I did much the same to him, leaving him as an example for Mother’s people and the Black Sorceress herself.

  Such displays would have no impact on her, other than to anger her even more. However, it would make her underlings less eager to pursue me. That made it worth the effort, not to mention the fact that Griff had been abducting children for Fuamnach.

  “Wyvern,” I replied.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. My mother is on her way, and we certainly do not want to be here when she arrives. Have you seen to the children yet?”

  “Yep. Hounds have been ferrying ’em back to the cavern.”

  After a pregnant pause, I cleared my throat. “Hemi, did it ever occur to you that we just watched those beasts devour a couple of fae a few hours ago?”

  He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Exactly. Their bellies are full. Anyway, they won’t disobey me.”

  “Are you certain?” I asked, considering the potential consequences.

  “Positive. I got this, yeah?”

  Shaking my head, I looked to my wyvern, to whom my Maori companion had attended in my absence. “Ollie, what’s the quickest way out of here?”

  He answered me in a series of growls, clicks, whines, and grunts. The gist of it was that he knew a way of escape, one they used to bring him in when he first arrived.

  “Good, then let’s go—lead the way, old friend.”

  I looked over my shoulder to make sure Hemi followed close behind. When he met my gaze, I saw a certain wariness there. That’s when I realized he knew something was amiss.

  “Ya’ good, Crowley?”

  “As well as could be expected. Although, I must admit I was forced to kill the wizard.”

  He glanced away as if scanning for threats that weren’t there. “Forced, you say? Killing’s always a choice, mate. Always.”

  I said nothing more, because his tone told me everything I needed to know. Hemi knew I had murdered the wizard in cold blood. The Maori
warrior was most certainly a better man than me when it came to moral boundaries and lines he would not cross. Still, I knew that his jovial demeanor was merely a front for the pain he kept deep down inside. For that reason, I felt a kinship with Hemi Waara, and I knew he would not betray me by sharing what he had seen here today.

  “Ollie, are you strong enough to carry us?” I asked, receiving an answer in the affirmative. “We’d best hop on, Hemi, if we wish to escape before Mother gets here. Ollie might look like he’s a big lumbering beast, but he’s actually quite fleet of foot. He can easily get us to the cave before Mother’s forces arrive.”

  Hemi nodded. “What about the hellhounds? Can’t just leave them here.”

  “If they’re still waiting at the cave, they’re welcome to come along—so long as you can control them. I’m sure the last thing Maeve wants is for a pair of hellhounds to be running helter-skelter through her city, eating mundanes and getting filmed by every moron with a smartphone.”

  “Don’t worry about the dogs—I got it handled.” He chewed his lip for a second or two, narrowing his eyes as he seemed to consider whether he should speak.

  “Hemi, you might as well tell me what concerns you. Come now, out with it.”

  His brow furrowed, and he raised an eyebrow almost high enough to touch his hairline. “Oi, mate—you think they eat kibble?”

  A short while later, we arrived at the portal cavern. After dismounting, I checked Ollie’s wounds to ensure none had ruptured, while Hemi entered the cave to check on the children. He returned minutes later to find me grooming Ollie.

  “How are they?” I asked, keeping my eyes on my task.

  “All good, and eager to get back to their folks.” He gave me an appraising look. “You’re not coming, are you?”

  I shook my head in the negative. “No. Ollie will never fit through that portal, and I can’t leave him here alone. When last we were here, I left him with the Dagda. You were—”

  “Indisposed?” he said with a wry grin on his face.

  “Ahem. Yes, exactly. Apparently, that did not take, as Ollie would not have been captured while on the Dagda’s lands. I have to find a better place for him, a safer place until I can return and retrieve him from this realm where he belongs, but does not belong at all.”

  Hemi gave me a look that held both respect and an unspoken understanding. “You be safe now, Crowley. Next time you need backup, come find me. Especially if it’s to kill more traffickers.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  I stood watch at the entrance to the cavern, waiting until I was certain that the Maori warrior, the children, and the hellhounds had crossed over. Then, I collapsed the cavern’s entrance and leapt on Ollie’s back.

  “Come on, old friend,” I said as I patted his neck firmly. “You know where we need to go—back to where this all started.”

  Ollie growled his disapproval.

  “I know, but it’s the only place I can be sure you’ll be safe. And besides, you’ll have a friend there to play with as well.”

  With a few clicks and grunts of acquiescence, the wyvern loped off through the forest and into the darkness, making time to avoid running into any of Mother’s patrols. Hours later, we arrived at our destination. Although we had traveled all the way across Mother’s territory—many hundreds of miles by human measurement—the trip took us almost no time at all. Time and space were different here, and if you knew how to identify the ebb and flow of their patterns, distance was no obstacle at all.

  Ollie was a strong swimmer, so the terrain ahead presented no threat or hindrance. Shortly thereafter we arrived at Peg Powler’s island, which sat miles beneath Fuamnach’s cliffside castle, concealed by the mists that rose from the murky waters below. As Ollie marched up on the island shore, a voice called out from within the cabin.

  “Ho, what’s this now? Is it an old familiar face I see with my wizened eyes, or is it a trick of my imagination?”

  “No, Peg, your eyes do not deceive you,” I said as I dismounted Ollie. “It is Crowley, come back to ask yet another favor.”

  “And is it a favor to you now that you allow me to be a thorn in the side of the Black Sorceress? She who looks down on ol’ Peg Powler from on high? No, boy—’tis no favor at all.”

  “I’d almost forgotten how you enjoy getting under her skin,” I said as a smile played at the corners of my lips. “But wait until you know what I ask before you agree.”

  “I already know, boy. The wyvern—he’s been treated poorly by your mother’s people.”

  I nodded without looking her way. Peg knew how much the beast meant to me. She’d discouraged me from sheltering and feeding Ollie when I had first come across him in the forest, after he’d been orphaned by a high fae hunting party. Despite her warnings, I’d taken Ollie in and nursed him back to health, all the while fearing what would happen if Mother discovered my pet.

  So, I brought him to the one place where I thought he might be safe—to Peg Powler’s swamp. She might’ve threatened to eat me daily, but she never did, and I took that as a sign that there was more to the old hag than met the eye. As luck or fate would have it, I was right.

  “Indeed. He was captured, even though I left him in the Dagda’s supposedly caring hands.”

  Peg Powler scoffed. “Ha! That old bastard only cares about himself, and those of his people who still heed his command. Nay, he was a poor choice for looking after old Ollie.” She went silent for several long minutes. I waited patiently for her to speak again, knowing that her age and temperament caused her to favor long silences in conversation. “I’ll look after him and tend to his wounds. But I can’t keep him hidden from Fuamnach for long. You’ll need to come back for him, sooner rather than later, as ol’ Peg Powler isn’t quite ready to face down the Black Sorceress… yet.”

  “I will, Peg. I give you my word.”

  Peg went quiet again, and again I waited for her to speak. “Well then, boy—you’d best be off. It won’t be long before the Sorceress figures out you didn’t head back to Earth straightaway, like you should have. Speaking of, how do you intend to get back?”

  “Not the same way I came, I assure you. Mother has certainly already closed that gateway off. No, I intend to return the way she least expects—through the portals in her own home.”

  Peg said nothing for several moments, then she erupted in raucous laughter. “Oh yes, you do just that, boy. She’ll be out looking for you as we speak. And when she comes home and finds that her sanctum has been disturbed by the one she seeks, well—I’ll probably hear her screaming all the way down here.”

  When I got back to Austin, the first thing I did was head to my farm, where I made sure that Xanthe, Nameless, and Culloden fared well in my absence. They seemed to be none the worse for the wear, although it appeared the wild hog population on the farm had been thinned considerably. Xanthe seemed particularly pleased to see me, rubbing up against me and nuzzling my stomach.

  After tending to my familiar and guardians, I headed up to my tower for meditation, a dose of my elixir, and some much-needed rest. However, the knowledge that Mother would be hunting me in earnest now, sending the full weight of her forces against me, led to a restless, uneasy sleep. When I awoke, I felt foggy and muzzy-headed, and I spent several hours in my meditation chamber getting my mind right before I went about the day’s tasks.

  The first order of business was dealing with Belladonna. She had risked her pride to ask for my help, and I did not want to ignore her any longer. Considering the problem for some time, I finally concluded that if I turned her away, I might lose what little chance I had of reconciling with her romantically.

  Besides that, I needed her friendship. Belladonna often served as the better part of my moral conscience, and I was a better person with her around, if only due to my own selfish need for her approval. Losing her was simply not an option.

  With my heart in my stomach, I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

  “Hey, Crowley,
” she said in a slightly groggy voice. “You know what time it is?”

  I did, in fact, know what time it was. However, I rarely paid heed to the solar cycle, having grown accustomed to working odd hours during my time in Underhill. “I’m sorry for calling so late, or early, as it were—but I didn’t think this could wait.”

  “All right, I’m listening. Shoot.”

  “Well, it’s about what you asked me when last we spoke.” I paused and took a deep breath, gathering myself and mustering the courage to say what had to be said.

  “Spit it out, Crowley, will you?” she said with a sigh of exasperation.

  “Right. Here’s what I think—and please let me finish before you say anything. I think we should work together, as we do make a good team. However, I’m dealing with some personal issues right now—family issues. I would not feel right having you in the middle of those sensitive matters. If something were to happen to you because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  “Crowley…”

  I cut her off. “Please, allow me to finish. So, what I am going to do is to dispense of these issues as quickly as humanly possible. Once I have dealt with the situation, then we can begin working together as a team in this agency of yours.”

  Silence hung in the air for several seconds—several awkward seconds. Finally, Belladonna spoke.

  “Are you done? Can I say something now?”

  “Um, yes. Certainly.”

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? That it’s fine?”

  She giggled like a child. “What do you expect me to say, Crowley? You have stuff you need to take care of, and I need to open an agency so I can make a living. You’ve agreed to help me after you take care of your situation. And that’s cool. What more can I expect from a friend?”

  “I—thank you for understanding. I don’t think it will take me long to conclude these matters, but meanwhile, I can help you financially—”