by M. D. Massey
Blood Bound
A Junkyard Druid Urban Fantasy Short Story Collection
M.D. Massey
Copyright © 2019 by M.D. Massey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Author’s Note
Voodoo Ball
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Author’s Note
Prince Mark’s Price
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Author’s Note
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Author’s Note
The events of Voodoo Ball occur just before the final chapter of Druid Vengeance. If you haven’t read that far in the main series yet, beware… spoilers ahead!
Voodoo Ball
In which Colin attempts to escort Maman Brigitte’s granddaughter to a grand ball, resulting in unexpected consequences…
1
I pulled into the parking lot at Madame Rousseau’s Palm and Tarot Readings a few minutes after eight in the evening, as requested. Actually I was a few minutes early, because I didn’t want to take any chances on being late. After all, this date was payment in kind for a favor from a voodoo goddess… one who also belonged to the Celtic pantheon.
Don’t screw this up, Colin.
Despite my nervousness, I thought I was winning in the “good date” department so far. Rather than picking Janice up in the Druidmobile—my vintage Gremlin—I’d instead borrowed a late-model Caddy from the resale lot at the junkyard. I’d even paid one of the guys in the shop to detail it for me, and I was wearing a matching pair of slacks and dinner jacket as well. Hell, I’d even foregone my customary black combat boots in favor of a pair of honest-to-goodness Italian dress shoes.
No tie, though—can’t look like I’m trying too hard.
Janice’s shop was closed for the evening, so I walked around back to her private residence. Her business was located in a rather nice limestone two-story that was conveniently located right along IH-35. After local residential zoning restrictions had been lifted, the home had been converted into a palmistry and tarot reading shop, with living quarters in the back and on the second floor. It was the perfect place for Janice—or Madame Rousseau, as she was professionally known—to ply her trade, disseminating half-truths and outright lies to the mundanes, keeping them securely in the dark regarding The World Beneath.
I opened the gate that led to the back entrance, checking the wrought-iron and stone fence for wards before I touched it. Janice had a nice little lawn back here, hidden behind some tall shrubbery and a six-foot limestone privacy partition. Why it wasn’t warded was beyond me, but I figured it was probably part of her whole “I’m not a real voodoo priestess” schtick.
Ironically, just as I was contemplating the lack of magical protection on her home, the back door opened of its own accord. I cautiously peeked inside, scanning the small but tidy kitchen beyond with a frown.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
A mild and pleasant woman’s voice with an ever-so-slight Yat accent echoed down from the nearby stairwell.
“Be down in a minute! Feel free to grab a cold drink or beer from the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
With nothing better to do, I walked in and took a seat at the kitchen table—a mid-century modern affair done in chrome and plastic laminate, with padded vinyl chairs to match. After waiting patiently for a good fifteen minutes, I pulled out my phone and started clearing out old messages. Twenty minutes after that and halfway through my task, I heard light footsteps on the stairs. Being a gentleman, I stood to greet my date for the evening.
As Janice walked into the room, a low, almost silent whistle escaped my lips. I’d never seen my friend dressed in anything other than t-shirts, jeans, and low-heeled sandals, and she always wore her hair down straight and parted in the middle. If she’d used makeup before I hadn’t noticed, and if I’d previously been asked to describe her, I’d have said she was fit and pleasant-looking in a sort of ordinary, girl-next-door kind of way.
But now—geez. She wore a knee-length skater dress in emerald green, with a lace-bordered V-neck that showed off just the slightest bit of cleavage, a feature that hadn’t drawn my attention in meetings past. Speaking of things I hadn’t noticed, she had just enough makeup covering her cream-colored skin to accentuate her narrow but not overly-long face, high cheekbones, heart-shaped mouth, and pale grey-green eyes.
In addition, her hair had been pinned up and partially braided, with the braids artfully arranged behind her head. This had the effect of showing off her graceful, slender neck, which was adorned by a stunning silver Victorian choker with a rather large emerald set in the center.
My eyes were momentarily drawn to the stone. It had been cut and shaped en cabochon, so it looked almost like a giant mood-stone, of the type used in mood rings from the 70s and 80s. Except there was something mystical about this stone, something magical and mysterious. I couldn’t define what it might be—not without offending my date by examining her jewelry instead of admiring the effort she’d put into her makeup and attire.
“Wow, Janice. You look amazing.”
She blushed, demurring slightly as she did a quick pirouette. “You like my dress? Gran always said green was my color.”
“She was right. The dress and that choker really set off your eyes.”
Janice smiled. “You’re sweet, Colin. You know, I…” Her eyes glanced over my shoulder at the clock on her kitchen wall. “Crap, we’re going to be late!”
Janice grabbed my hand, yanking me toward the exit. Using not a small amount of semi-supernatural alacrity, I managed to slip around her in time to open the door. She passed by me, scurrying along at a decent clip despite the matching emerald-green heels she wore.
“Gah, Gran’ll kill me if I miss the formal announcements. How fast is your car?” she asked as she descended her back steps.
I thought about it for a moment. “Very? It’s a late-model Caddy, more sports car than luxury vehicle.”
Janice stopped and turned, raising one hand to her cheek. “Damn it, I forgot my purse. Can you grab it off the table for me? I don’t want to risk breaking a heel walking up those steps again.”
“No problem, can do.” I ducked back inside, grabbing the small clutch and assuming that since it was the only on
e on the table, it was the right one. Just as I turned to leave, I heard Janice scream.
I was out the back door and in the yard faster than you could say, “screaming voodoo priestess.” When I landed at the bottom of the steps, Janice was sitting on the ground, clutching at her neck and staring at the back wall to her yard. I knelt down beside her, assessing the situation.
“Are you hurt?” She looked at me, stunned. “Janice, are you injured?”
“No, but—that’s not supposed to be possible.”
“What’s not supposed to be possible?” I asked.
“Help me up,” she ordered, suddenly all business. I did so, allowing Janice a moment to dust herself off. She scowled, and a dangerous gleam flashed in her eyes. “Gran’s necklace, Colin—no one’s supposed to be able to touch it but me. And that damned revenant just stole it, right off my neck!”
2
“Wait a minute—that necklace belongs to Maman Brigitte?”
She nodded. “She gave it to me, but really it’s just on loan. Colin, we have to get it back.”
“What exactly does it do?”
Janice swept her arms in a wide arc around us. “See for yourself. Notice anything different now that the necklace is gone?”
I looked around, shifting my eyesight to observe the magical spectrum. Where before there had been no magical wards or spells protecting Janice’s home and business, I now saw it was warded nine ways to Sunday.
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of protective magic. The necklace hides it?”
She nodded. “It can be used to either hide the wearer from magic, or to hide magic from others. Gran used it for centuries, back when she split off from the Celtic gods. It kept her relatives from hunting her down when she defected to the Guede.”
“I can see how something like that could be dangerous, should it fall into the wrong hands. But wasn’t it warded against theft?”
“And against anyone knowing what it is. But apparently, the thief knew what it was after.”
Janice paused, leaning on me just long enough to slip off her heels. She spoke a quick spell in French Creole, rubbing a hand along the sole of each foot in turn.
“Sure you don’t just want to run upstairs and change? That rev can’t have gone far, and I can track one through a rainstorm with my eyes closed. I’ve… uh… had practice.”
“Come on, we’re wasting time,” she said, ignoring my suggestion as she took off at a sprint. “Gran’ll kill me if I lose that thing!”
We ran out Janice’s back gate into an alley that was more of a dirt path. She was a lot faster than I might’ve expected, and I soon found myself losing ground on her, despite being in peak physical condition for a human. Out of curiosity, I assessed the effects of the spell she’d cast on her feet, examining her rather shapely legs in the magical spectrum.
Tricky, tricky. Janice is just full of surprises tonight.
The weaves were refined and efficient, just what I’d expect from someone who’d learned magic directly from a Celtic goddess. Or so I had previously assumed—and seeing her spell work cinched it. Curiously, the casting was a mixture of voodoo and fae magic, a combination of energies that should have been patchwork, but instead appeared to be a rather expert bit of spellcraft.
The spell was not just designed to protect her feet, but it also added a bit of spring to each step she took. It was obviously a take on the seven-league boots legend, and it enabled Janice to move a hell of a lot quicker than me in my human form. I was tempted to stealth-shift, but I could only hold my shifted forms for a short time before needing to rest and recover—maybe an hour partially-shifted and half that when fully-shifted.
Best to keep that trick up my sleeve, for now.
“Janice, slow down a bit, will ya?” I called from the bottom of a fifty-foot hill she’d just bounded halfway up like a jackrabbit on meth.
Janice paused to check my progress over her shoulder. “What’s the matter? The mighty druid and god-killer can’t keep up with little ol’ me?”
“Not without using magic, and if it’s all the same, I’d prefer to wait until we know what we’re up against before I shift.”
Janice sighed in exasperation, hands on her hips. “I know what we’re about to face, Colin—I saw the rev with my own eyes. Surely you can handle a wee revenant without resorting to magic.”
“Um, not to be a pain,” I said as I huffed up the hill, “but I’ve done a lot of hunting, and my instincts are pretty sharp. In this case, I have a feeling things are not all that they seem.”
“Well, yeah,” Janice replied. “Obviously this revenant was sent by a bokor of some kind, someone who knows Gran and wants a bit of her magic. So, when we catch ’em, you can take care of the rev and I’ll deal with the pissant who sent it. Deal?”
“Sure, but I still don’t want to shift until it’s absolutely necessary.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back with a wry grin. “Have it your way, but you’re lucky you showed up dressed to the nines tonight. Otherwise I’d leave you behind and deal with this myself.”
“Your Gran would end me if I let you do that.”
“I know,” she said with a sly wink. “So, you’d best not hold things up any longer, or I will leave you in my dust. Not to worry, though, I’m fairly certain I know where the rev is going. There’s an old pioneer cemetery not far from here, a remnant from the early days of the city. I’m pretty sure we’ll find our undead thief there.”
I pursed my lips and nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Truth be told, I’m eager to see what else you can do after that fancy spell you cast.”
“Oh, I have many talents,” Janice purred as she did a quick circuit around me, trailing a finger across my chest. “Stick around ’til later, and maybe I’ll show you a few.”
Gulp.
“I, uh… that’d be nice.”
“You have no idea. Now, keep up!”
The pretty voodoo priestess took off like an Olympic sprinter toward the crest of the hill. I stood there for a moment, both admiring her retreating figure and wondering how Maman Brigitte would react if I slept with her granddaughter.
Colin, what have you gotten yourself into?
3
I hit the top of the hill shortly after Janice, purposely putting on a burst of speed—human speed—in order to catch up with her. In my “only human” form, I couldn’t maintain that pace for long, but we didn’t have far to go. My date had already slowed her pace, indicating via hand signals that I should use stealth as I jogged to her side.
“The graveyard’s just up ahead, and I’m pretty sure the revenant’ll be there,” Janice said in a quiet voice as she pointed to a line of trees roughly thirty yards distant. “It’s an old place, so I doubt that the rev was made there. Nothing but bones in those graves, which means the poor soul was probably killed and turned elsewhere.”
“Revenants tend to hunt and hole up in familiar places. If the graveyard isn’t the rev’s home base, why the hell would it head there?” I whispered.
“Because, likely as not, that’s where the damned thing is meeting its master. Now, be quiet so we don’t scare it off. I wanna get that necklace back, and in time to make the ball.”
Ah, the ball.
I’d forgotten about it, what with the undead thief and all. Likely as not, my clothes and Janice’s dress both were going to get all kinds of messed up if things got hairy. I wondered if she was the type who’d have to change instead of just touching up her makeup, should the need arise. Guess I was about to find out.
“Since there’s a voodoo practitioner involved, do you want to take point? Or do you want me to see if I can catch it off-guard and end this without a huge fight?”
Janice rubbed her first and second fingers against her thumb on her right hand, as if she were rubbing a piece of cloth between them. I figured it was a nervous habit, something she did when she was thinking. Or maybe she was prepping a spell. Hell, I didn’t know. I could recognize voodoo magic when
I saw it, but I had no idea how it worked.
“It would be nice to get this done without messing up my dress,” she said after she’d considered my offer. “But if you see someone who looks like a voodoo bokor, hang back and let me handle it.”
“What’s a voodoo bokor supposed to look like?” I asked, truly curious to know if they all subscribed to a particular dress code, or perhaps frequented the same barber.
“Well, they’ll have a lot of dead people around them, and they’ll stink of necromancy.”
“So, pretty much like any other necromancer. Got it.” I pulled my trusty flaming sword Dyrnwyn from my Craneskin Bag, willing it to remain extinguished so I didn’t give away our position. “Give me ninety seconds before you make your entrance.”
“Entrance? What, like I’m going to go in there breathing fire and shooting lightning bolts out my ass?” Janice frowned at me. “I’m hardly that kind of witch, and nothing like my Gran. I prefer a more subtle approach.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, I just meant that—”
She brayed quietly in a sort of snorting, honking sound. For a moment, I wondered if she was possessed. Voodoo priestesses were known for that, after all. But no, her noisome seizure was something else entirely.
