Druid Mystic: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 10)

by M. D. Massey

  “Fine, but if he gets inside he’s gonna get a taste o’ fae magic.”

  Finnegas grabbed her hand, covering it in both of his as he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Thanks fer’ the warnin’, then,” she replied with a sad, lopsided grin.

  “Please keep an eye on Mom for me,” I said as I gave her a quick hug. “If Aenghus gets tired of chasing us, he may try to use her as leverage.”

  “Not ta’ worry. Yer big goofy friend and his lass will soon be off ta’ visit his mum. So, I’ve already arranged fer’ Leanne ta’ accompany them on an extended vacation ta’ New Zealand, where a certain mother of a certain Maori demigod’ll have her under close watch.”

  I smiled. “What would I do without you, Maureen?”

  “The hell if I know. Now, get yer’ skinny pale asses goin’—I got work ta’ do.”

  Remembering that I’d left Clara alone, I headed back outside just in time to see that she was about to jump the gate. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  She pulled her hands away from the top of the gate with a scowl. “More wards?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fucking wizards,” she muttered.

  “Druid, but whatever,” I said as Finnegas strolled up. “You know where we’re going?”

  “No, but the Oak does.” He pointed at Clara. “Is she coming along?”

  “Only long enough to drop her off on the way. Finnegas, meet Clara. Clara, meet Finnegas.”

  “I’m not sleeping with the old man, either, if that’s what you’re up to,” Clara replied.

  “Charmed,” the old man said drily. “And you’re about two-thousand-forty years too young for me.”

  Clara gave me a quizzical look. “He senile or something?”

  “Or something. Now come here, grab my hand, and close your eyes.”

  “Is this going to get kinky?”

  “What is it with you and thinking I want you around for sex?” I asked. “For the last time, I do not want to sleep with you or pimp you out. Now, would you give it a rest?”

  “Fine, but I got my eye on you,” she replied, eyes narrowed in suspicion as she placed her hand in mine.

  “Oh, good heavens,” I muttered.

  “She’s certainly amusing,” Finnegas said. “Although a bit of a broken record.”

  “Would you please not encourage her?” I said, as I laid a hand on his shoulder.

  A blink of an eye later, we were standing inside the Grove. Almost immediately, the wind picked up and the “sky” overhead darkened.

  “Hmm—I don’t think the Grove likes having a vampire in its midst,” the old man said.

  “Where the fuck are we?” Clara asked. “It looks like the setting for some kind of fucked up Disney film.”

  “I suppose she’s not far from the truth,” Finnegas remarked. “Although if this story has a happy ending, it’ll be a miracle.”

  I side-eyed the old man with a scowl. “Brimming with optimism, as always.”

  Clara’s eyes widened as she examined her hands. “Hey, it’s daylight and I’m not dyin’!”

  “I wouldn’t get too used to it, if I were you,” the old man told her as he patted his pockets. “From the looks of it, I don’t think you’ll be here for long.”

  I cleared my throat loudly. “Are you two done? Hush for a second while I calm the Grove.”

  Closing my eyes, I focused on my connection with the Grove and Oak so I could assure it that Clara was only passing through. With their very nature being life and sustenance, the Grove and Oak both detested the presence of anything necromantic or undead. Such magic stood in direct conflict with the natural order of things, and thus the Grove’s first instinct was to expel any trace of it immediately. Interestingly, it had reacted similarly to Larry, a reaction I could only assume had to do with his patchwork genetic make-up.

  I’d only been communing with the Grove for a few seconds when Clara spoke. “Hey, wizard—what the hell are those vine things and why are they creeping toward me?”

  “Stop that,” I said aloud, chastising the Grove for keeping me busy while it attempted to restrain Clara. “She’s only going to be here long enough for us to skip around so Aenghus loses the trail. Then, we’re going to drop her off in New Orleans while we go hang out somewhere warm and sunny.”

  “Oh, hell no—you wizards ain’t sending me back there,” Clara protested in a shrill, panicked voice. “That motherfucker is crazier than two tom cats in a gunny sack.”

  Finnegas, as usual, was puffing on a cigarette and enjoying the show. “She’s referring to Saint Germain, I assume?” he asked as he casually sidestepped to allow a vine to creep closer to the little vampire.

  “Yep,” I said. “Wait a minute—you knew about Saint Germain too?”

  Finnegas nodded. “Of course I did. Everyone does, really. He went on quite the killing spree in New Orleans in the early 1900s.”

  “Why am I always the last to know about these things?”

  He flicked cigarette ash at me. “Because you wait too long to ask the right questions.”

  Meanwhile, Clara was doing a fairly decent rendition of the Mexican hat dance as she attempted to avoid a half-dozen encroaching vines.

  “Shoo, go away,” she cried while Finnegas looked on with amusement.

  “I said stop it,” I barked at the sky overhead. “You can stand her presence for a few more seconds. And no, you can’t restrain her, just to be safe.”

  “Who’s he talking to?” Clara asked as she retreated from the growing army of slowly-advancing vines that had nearly surrounded her.

  “The voices in his head,” Finnegas replied, matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, hell—I knew he was batshit crazy,” she cried. “Just drop me off in downtown Austin, please. I’d rather face Luther than stay with you two whackjobs here in Bizarro Mirkwood.”

  “She reads,” Finnegas remarked. “Wonders never cease.”

  “I’ve seen the movies,” Clara replied, leaping atop a bench in front of my Keebler cottage to avoid a particularly aggressive vine.

  “Uh-uh, you’re going to New Orleans and that’s final. I need you to ask around about Saint Germain so you can tell me what he’s doing.”

  “Holy shit, wizard boy—have you not been listening? He’s killing people, and not just humans. Fabrice and Jūn told me he acts normal for a while, and then he’ll just up and go on a killing spree. Sometimes it’s homeless people or drunks that wander too far from the lights on Bourbon Street. Other times it might be vamps or volunteer bleeders.”

  “Sounds like standard NOLA coven activity to me,” Finnegas said.

  “Oh yeah? A few weeks back he went into a night club and just started killing people at random.” Clara absently kicked a few vines away as she continued. “The coven had to burn the place to the ground and pay some fancy voodoo priestess to cover it up. From what I heard it was a freaking slaughter.”

  We’d heard about the nightclub fire on the news. Dozens of people had died, supposedly due to inadequate emergency lighting, a failed sprinkler system, and blocked exits. I’d assumed it was just another greedy club owner who thought they’d save a few bucks ignoring the fire codes. Now I knew better.

  I glanced at Finnegas. “Can’t let that slide, Finn. I’m the one who put him in charge, which means I’m responsible for all those lives.”

  He tilted his head as he considered the prospect of heading to the Big Easy. “I suppose it’s as good a place as any to lay low for a few days. But once you start interfering, word will spread quickly. And when Aenghus catches wind of it he won’t be far behind.”

  “We can cross that bridge after it catches fire,” I quipped, looking up at the sky. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Jump us around a bit at random, then plop us down in New Orleans—the southeast side of Scout Island in City Park should do.”

  “Shouldn’t he be on medication or somethin’?” Clara whispered.

>   “Oh, his meds stopped working long ago,” Finnegas replied. “Now we just humor him and hope for the best.”

  “That’s not helping,” I remarked.

  The old man waved at me dismissively, chuckling to himself as he observed Clara’s current predicament. The little vampire had resorted to crouching on one of the cottage’s window ledges, surrounded on every side by vines. Every so often, one would creep closer and she’d kick at it or bat it away with a high-pitched squeal. Thankfully, the Grove seemed to be content with keeping her cornered.

  Not a moment had passed before I got the signal from the Oak that we’d arrived in NOLA. I stepped inside my cottage, rummaging around for things I might need in a city ruled by vampires. After clipping several items to my thick nylon pistol belt, I slipped on a rather pricey level IIIA bulletproof flight jacket, a gift from Maureen to help keep me safe. I stuffed the pockets with a few more goodies, then exited to fetch Clara.

  “We’re there. You coming?” I asked the old man.

  “Traipsing around a gothic Southern metropolis at night, looking for a rogue vampire really isn’t recommended for a man of my years,” he said as he sat down at the foot of a nearby sycamore tree. He leaned back against the trunk, kicking his boots off as he slid his weathered straw cowboy hat over his eyes. “I think I’ll stick around here and take a little nap instead. You kids have fun.”

  “Sure, let me do all the hard work so you can swoop in later and take the credit.” I turned to Clara, offering her a hand. She was currently cowering on her perch, letting out small, mewling cries each time the Grove’s thick vines poked her. “You ready?”

  The diminutive vampire glowered at me. “Fine, you win. I’ll make some inquiries—just get me the hell out of here.”

  “Nice sunny day in here,” Finnegas opined from under his hat. “Sure you don’t want to stick around and enjoy it?”

  “Fuck off, boomer,” she replied, with real venom in her voice.

  “Hah! Those narcissistic, hypocritical hippies can suck it. I came along way before them.”

  Clara’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Is he an old vampire or somethin’? Cause he don’t smell like a vamp.”

  “Naw, he’s just so old and grumpy, neither heaven nor hell will take him.” I reached out and gently took hold of her hand. “Time to get moving—the French Quarter awaits.”

  A millisecond later, we were both standing next to the Druid Oak in a dark patch of woods on the east side of Scout Island. The evening air was cool and damp, and it carried the faint earthy smell of decomposing vegetation and slow-moving water. I cast a cantrip to enhance my senses, then scanned the immediate area for threats and to get my bearings.

  We were alone, but lights strobed through the trees nearby. I could hear people screaming to a backdrop of spooky music, cackling laughter, and what I thought might be a chainsaw. At first, I figured it was some sort of supernatural attack, but then I remembered it was late October and close to Halloween.

  “Good job, genius. You dropped us in the middle of the world’s largest outdoor haunted house.”

  “Isn’t ‘outdoor haunted house’ a contradiction in terms?” I asked, scanning the area with my druid senses. “Anyway, don’t sweat it. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

  “Very funny. Look, I know we have to find Saint Germain and all, but you mind stopping by a restroom so I can freshen up?”

  “Freshen up? You’re dead, Clara. You don’t digest real food, you don’t sweat, and you’re too young to produce vampire pheromones. So, B.O. is not really a concern for you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ll have you know, punk rock girl or not, I care about my appearance.”

  “You’re not old enough to be punk either, but whatever. I don’t see why we can’t find you a mirror so you can tidy yourself up.”

  The whole thing about vamps not having reflections was another myth, just like garlic and crosses. Vampires used to hate mirrors because they were made from polished silver, not because they couldn’t see their reflections. Fun fact—modern mirrors are often coated with silver. A broken mirror shard can make a decent weapon against a vamp in a pinch, if you’re quick enough to use it.

  Clara rolled her eyes like a child. “Oh, like you’re so mature, Howdy Doody. You’re probably not even old enough to buy your own alcohol.”

  Not if you count all the time I’ve spent inside the Grove. I’d be like, what—twenty-five right now? Damn, how time flies when your two-thousand-year-old druid mentor is using your sentient pocket dimension to try to kill you.

  “I’m older than I look,” I said, in a rather unconvincing tone.

  “Are you blushing? Hah! I knew it. I’m at least a couple years older than you, schoolboy. Sheesh, are you a virgin too?”

  “I am not discussing my sex life with you. Now, let’s find that restroom so we can start looking for Saint Germain.” I turned on my heel, looking over my shoulder as I headed for the lights and noise. “And don’t even think of running.”

  “Touchy, touchy,” Clara said under her breath behind me. “Somebody obviously needs to get laid.”

  “I can hear you, you know. Vamps aren’t the only ones with sensitive hearing.”

  Clara hurried her pace so she could walk next to me. “What are you, anyway? You call yourself a druid, but ain’t that just like being a wizard? Cause from what I’ve heard, wizards are just humans who know magic.”

  Not sure how much I should divulge, I chose to keep my answers as vague as possible. “Druids use magic, but in different ways than wizards and witches. And although I’m a druid, I’m also something more than that.”

  “Figured as much, considering how you walked right into that shifter dive back in Austin.” She paused, obviously choosing her words carefully. “Fabrice said you killed Remy and Silvère. That true?”

  “Not personally. I did take out the guy they were working for, though.”

  Wanting to change the subject, I sighed with relief as we stepped out of the foliage and onto a wide, tree-lined path. It was set up as a sort of macabre carnival midway, with Halloween-themed booths, games, and the like. And it was full of people—some in costume, but most in street clothes.

  I pointed to a line of port-a-potty trailers. “Your throne awaits.”

  Clara flipped me off as she made a beeline for the second unit. I stood guard at the door, trying not to look like a creep. Moments later, I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. On scanning the crowd, I noticed two thuggy-looking white guys in Saints jerseys and vampire makeup staring at me.

  After my time in the Hellpocalypse, I could spot the undead a mile away. I could smell them too, but in this crowd, it’d be too hard to pin down a scent. Still, other clues gave them away. Based on the way they moved, the fact they weren’t breathing, and their lack of a visible pulse, I was certain they were real-life vampires.

  I knocked on the door to the Port-A-Potty. “You might want to hurry it up. We have company.”

  “Hang on a sec’—I’m not done,” Clara said in a muffled voice over the sounds of running water and toothbrushing.

  Meanwhile, the two vamps shuffled over to me, smirking and winking at each other like they were sharing an inside joke. One was tall, with piggy brown eyes, curly black hair, and a stocky ex-football player’s build. The other was blond and blue-eyed with fine, almost feminine features. He was shorter by half a foot, and thin, but with the calloused hands of a carpenter or dockworker.

  The short one spoke up first in a thick Yat accent, which was a lot like a New York accent, but with a bit of southern twang. “Whatcha’ doin’ here, bra? Me an’ my pal, Spike, been lookin’ atcha’. You don’t look like no local. Ya’ sure ain’t no vamp, so we wuz wonderin’ whatcher’ doin’ wit’ one of us.”

  8

  Rather than answer, I searched the crowd for police and people taking videos on their cameras. If I burned these idiots to a crisp with a sunlight spell, the last thing I wanted was to attract the a
ttention of law enforcement or end up on the Internet doing magic. Thankfully, the coast was clear.

  The big one gave me a light shove. “Hey, he axed you a question.”

  I held a finger up. “One second. Clara, are you done in there?” I asked, knocking on the door behind me without taking my eyes off Thing One and Thing Two. The water was running, but there was no answer. I knocked louder. “Clara? Clara!”

  “Don’t bother, chief,” the short one said. “She done ditched ya. Now, dis what we gonna do—ya gonna come wit us, nice and quiet, ah-ite?”

  I jiggled the doorknob, and on finding it locked I cast a cantrip to unlock it. Once I swung the door open, a quick glance told me that Clara had escaped through an air vent in the roof, one that was just big enough for a tiny little thing like her to fit through. With a put-upon sigh, I turned to face the two vamp thugs again.

  “Let me guess—you two work for Saint Germain, and Clara texted you wanting to crawl back into his good graces.”

  “He’s smart, ain’t he, Bruno?” said the bigger thug.

  I edged toward the space between the trailers and started backing up between them. “Listen to me, guys—you don’t want to do this.”

  “Don’t stawt wit’ me,” the short one said. “She said ya had some tricks up yaw sleeve. Just so’s ya know—we’re too quick for that shit.”

  “Yup. An’ ain’t no way ya gonna outrun us, either,” the big one added.

  I raised my hands, feigning compliance as I continued to back up. “Okay—no sudden moves, right?”

  “Sure, but it doan mattah none. Cause we gonna kill ya anyway,” the big one said.

  By this time, I was about ten feet behind the potty trailers. That placed me well within the shadows, so I stopped and kept my hands held high. “Oh, come on. You never tell someone you’re going to kill them if you want them to comply.”

  “Why not?” the big thug asked as he and his buddy stepped behind the trailer.

  “Cause then they ain’t got nothin’ ta lose,” his companion replied, leaning forward on his toes ever so slightly.