Druid's Due

by M. D. Massey

  While she flew around, a couple of times I sensed a presence that she couldn’t detect with her acute and finely-tuned senses. I had no idea what that meant, as it could have been anything from more ghosts to inter-dimensional beings left to guard the various tunnel junctions. I made note of it and steered my little helper around the mines, taking every turn and exploring every side shaft I came across.

  Finally, we came to a large stope, a man-made cavern some sixty feet long and perhaps twenty-five feet wide. I noticed a side tunnel leading off the far end of the chamber, and encouraged my little tour guide to head that direction. She started flying that way, but upon approaching the tunnel, she panicked. Despite the great deal of mental suggestion I exerted on her, the creature refused to explore those tunnels.

  However, she did get close enough to give me a sonar image of what lay just past the tunnel entrance. There was another long, straight tunnel that branched off at ninety degrees about twenty feet past the stope exit, and a vertical shaft further on that likely dropped down to the next level below us.

  The Dark Druid is down one of those corridors—I’m sure of it.

  I made note of the location, then released the now frightened bat to head topside for her nightly hunt.

  Thank you, little friend, I said, sending her reassurance that all was well. Soothing her frazzled nerves was the least I could do for the help she’d just provided.

  “Taking a nap?” a gruff voice asked from nearby.

  Chuckling softly, I opened my eyes. Fallyn stood a few feet away, still in her half-human form and scanning the dark for threats. In spite of her casual banter, it was clear she was on edge. I’d sensed her presence, of course, connected as I was to the wildlife around us. Hemi swung into the tunnel behind her, tattoos already glowing and lighting up the space around him.

  I stood and brushed my knees off. “Just getting the lay of the land. C’mon, I think I know where the Bylillys might be hiding.”

  We crept down the tunnel for about fifty feet until it opened into the first stope the bat and I had discovered. There, we headed left down a slight decline, descending deeper into the tunnels toward the area where I’d first felt that hidden presence.

  “Be ready,” I whispered. “We’re not alone.”

  Hemi began mumbling, and soon his tats cast a soft pool of blue light around us, signaling our presence to anything that might be lying in wait ahead. I honestly didn’t expect to get the jump on Ernesto or even Stanley, so from a tactical perspective it didn’t matter that Hemi had lit up like a nightlight. It wasn’t long before the skinwalkers proved me right.

  Ernesto’s voice echoed off the walls of the stope. “Come to get a taste of my magic, druid? The Dark One said he’d let us toy with you, before he robs your body and imprisons your soul.

  “How generous of him,” I said, sweeping the cavern with the barrel of my shotgun, “to set up a play date for us like that.”

  “You’ll not be laughing when we’re done with you, McCool. Especially after I send your large friend back to the underworld.”

  “And I have my way with the female wolf,” Stanley said from somewhere nearby.

  Fallyn answered with a snarl. Hemi merely chuckled.

  “Don’t reckon she agrees, ya doongi,” Hemi remarked. “And I welcome the chance to give you both a hiding. Why not show yourselves, aye?”

  “Oh, but that would ruin all our fun,” Ernesto said. Without warning, a hairy gray-black hand shot out of the darkness, raking Hemi across the face with a wicked set of claws before any of us could react.

  And like that, we were assaulted from every side by the two brujos. The skinwalkers popped in and out of sight at will, slinking past with a swipe of their claws or a slash of their teeth, only to fade like black mists before we could respond in kind. We’d turn to face them in one direction, only to be attacked from our flanks. Soon, we started fighting back to back, but then they simply came at us from odd angles above and below.

  The bizarre thing was, Fallyn and I could see every corner of the cavern clear as day. Yet I couldn’t get a handle on their location, because it seemed like Ernesto and Stanley were everywhere and nowhere at once. They slipped in and out of the shadows like smoke, almost as though they were traveling from one location to the next via the darkness itself. It made me think of the “shadow dimension” where Camazotz was imprisoned, and the possibility that Ernesto and Stanley were ducking in and out of it at will.

  My body had been supernaturally toughened when I’d shifted under my skin. Yet the skinwalkers’ claws and teeth seemed to be quite capable of tearing through even my tough skin and flesh. I was bleeding in a dozen places, and it was starting to piss me off. A glance at my companions told me they fared no better, although Hemi’s wounds were less severe since his wards provided better protection, and Fallyn’s injuries healed soon after they were made.

  Still, I can’t help but think they’re simply softening us up for the kill. And where the hell is La Onza?

  “You guys doing okay?” I asked.

  “Fine, just pissed,” Hemi replied.

  “Same. You need to do something about these pricks pronto, Golden Boy,” Fallyn snarled in frustration.

  “Alright. When I give the signal, close your eyes,” I replied, firing the last of my rock salt, iron, and silver shotgun rounds at a shadow that flitted away from me. Dropping the shotgun, I reached into my Bag for one of the surprises I’d brought along: a common thirty-minute road flare.

  As a druid, I could do a lot with ambient energy and the forces of nature. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to work with down here, but I’d expected as much so I’d brought some kit. What I wanted right now was light—a lot of it—and my usual flashbang cantrip wasn’t going to cut it. I needed a stronger light source to borrow from so I could disrupt the skinwalkers’ gameplan.

  Only need a second to expose these fuckers, then Fallyn and Hemi will do the rest.

  A shadow flashed past, swiping me across the face. I roared in frustration, ignoring the pain as I ignited the flare. Holding it high overhead like Lady Liberty carrying her torch, I reached out with my magic and pulled on the flame.

  Whoosh!

  Instantly, the entire flare consumed itself under the influence of my magic, and all that light and heat was drawn into the stub that I still held in my closed fist. Still focused on holding all that energy, I shut my eyes and reached out to the dark spaces around me with my senses. This time, I wasn’t looking for an animal to mind-link with—I was dialing into the air molecules in the room, attuning my senses with every little eddy and air current in our immediate vicinity.

  Soon, I felt the Bylillys moving around as they slid in and out of the shadow plane that was just beneath our own. It was a neat trick—not true teleportation, mind you, but almost as effective. They’d duck into the shadows, sprint to another spot in the room while still in the shadow dimension, and then they’d attack, only to fade away before we could respond.

  But there was a pattern to their movements. Obviously, they’d trained this tactic together a lot, and in order to coordinate their attacks they followed a template. I took a few moments to figure it out, then waited for my opening.

  “Now, guys!” I shouted.

  I lashed out, opening my hand to release the flare’s pent-up energy. I’d thrust my hand out in a palm strike, fully meaning to hit one of the skinwalkers in the face as I released my spell. The flash of light and heat caught Stanley Bylilly square in the eyes, blinding him. I knew this because I recognized the sound of his voice as he screamed, and I felt his eyeballs boil and pop open in my hand like two eggs in a microwave.

  “Damn it, Colin—you blinded us too!” Fallyn cried, blinking furiously in an attempt to regain her vision.

  “I warned you, didn’t I?” I asked.

  “You said ‘close your eyes,’” Fallyn complained. “Not ‘blindfold yourself because I’m about to release the sun inside a pitch-dark cavern!”

  Hemi st
ood beside her, also batting his eyes at the fading light and evidently not much better off than Fallyn. As the spellcaster I wasn’t nearly as affected, and still retained my ability to see. But that also meant I was the only one of us currently capable of defending the group.

  Aw, hell.

  “Um, I meant to say ‘cover your eyes’—sorry!” I said. “You guys just sit tight while I deal with Ernesto.”

  I held my arm extended as the spell ran its course, ensuring that the entire chamber remained lit with searing bright light until the spell was fully spent. Stanley lay writhing in agony on the floor, out of the fight for the moment. I quickly scanned the room in an effort to find the other skinwalker.

  There.

  Ernesto stood no more than fifteen feet away, scraps of shadow falling off him like paper ash floating away on the wind. The elder Bylilly spared his son a momentary look of scorn, then bared his claws and leapt at me.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse, as I was out of shotgun shells and without another weapon in hand. Additionally, I was still in my enhanced human form—the one that lacked natural weapons like claws and long, sharp teeth. Sure, I’d survived fighting baby vamps and feral ’thropes like this back in the Hellpocalypse, but never something like Ernesto.

  This should be interesting. Here goes nothing.

  19

  Ernesto came at me like a honey badger on meth, a hundred miles an hour and all teeth and claws. His first attack was sheer rage and aggression, pretty much a spazzed-out, head-on charge, so I simply pimp-slapped him as hard as I could across the head and face. People always underestimate the power of a good slap, but one delivered with timing, back-up mass, and bad intent could do a hell of a lot of damage.

  Not only that, but I was juiced up in my stealth-shifted Fomorian form. When I hit him, it wasn’t with my normal peak-human strength, but with the enhanced physical power and speed of a young higher vamp or ’thrope. My hand connected with skull-crushing force, enough to send him straight to the cavern floor at my feet.

  And the fucker looked up at me and smiled.

  Should’ve packed a lunch—looks like it’s going to be a long day.

  Ernesto pushed himself off the ground like a character from the Matrix, with a one-handed push-up that sent him spinning in a flat trajectory that defied gravity and physics. As he spun, he raked me across the legs, stomach, chest, and face with his razor-sharp claws, in one rapid succession of rotational movement. Honestly, if I didn’t hate the fucker so much, I’d have been impressed as hell—but after having our asses handed to us by Ernesto and his son for the last few minutes, all it did was piss me off.

  The skinwalker kicked off me with a flip and landed just out of reach, but I’d already decided I wasn’t going to let him get his footing. I stepped in with a solid combination of kicks and strikes, a mixture of French savate, Muay Thai, Krav Maga, and this crazy style of Celtic boxing that Finnegas had taught me. Side stomp low to the knee, flip that into a roundhouse to the nuts, hammerfist to the arms, body, and head as I stepped in, then headbutts, elbows, and knees in close.

  I connected with just about everything I threw at Ernesto. I felt bones snap, cartilage crunch, and internal organs tear. Still, the crazy evil bastard fought right back, blow for blow, giving as good as he got. And the messed up thing was that he had better weapons than I did—claws hand and foot, and a mouthful of fucked up teeth—so he actually gave better than he got.

  This is going sideways fast. Time to regroup—but where the hell is everyone?

  I threw a hard front-thrust kick right in the skinwalker’s midsection, tossing him across the chamber and into the limestone wall ten feet away. That gave me time to sneak a glance over my shoulder. Stanley was out of the fight for good now—Fallyn had located him by sound and smell and ripped his throat out. Looked like it hurt. Despite that, she and Hemi were still blinking and feeling their way around like a couple of drunks.

  Damn it. I gotta keep Ernesto away from them.

  I wanted to beat the snot out of the guy with my bare hands, really I did. But I still had the Fear Doirich to contend with, La Onza was nowhere in sight, and my friends were compromised due to my somewhat poor choice of tactics. So, I did what any reasonable druid-trained hunter would do in that situation.

  I blasted the fucker with a lightning bolt that would’ve done Thor proud.

  Lightning is a funny thing. For one, it moves faster than even a very powerful vamp can react, about one-third the speed of light. So, there’s no damned way anyone is going to avoid it once it’s cast. Second, it hits like a freight train. A hundred thousand volts was nothing to sneeze at, that was for sure. And third, it’s fucking hot, like five times hotter than the surface of the sun.

  Fireballs are fun, but lightning is the real killer.

  So, when my lightning bolt struck Ernesto in the chest, I figured I was going to flash-fry his ass right back to the Middle Ages. And oh, I hit him alright, smack in the center of his gross, malformed, hairy ribcage. No holding back, either—he got both barrels in one pull of the trigger.

  And here’s the kicker—that lightning bolt left a charred, smoking hole in Ernesto’s chest that I could stick my fist inside. His fucking lungs were visible, behind the ends of ash-white ribs that had once been attached to his now vaporized sternum. I could see his heart pumping in there as well, and let me tell you, it was freaky as hell.

  But you know what that hairy shit-stained sphincter of a skinwalker did in response?

  He laughed.

  “Oh, druid,” he chuckled, looking down at his chest. “I will admit, that tickled a bit. Now, it’s time for you and your friends to die.”

  He spread his arms wide, and out of that hole in his chest spilled a flood of evil spirits that looked like they were made of black silk and smoke. And how did I know they were evil? Because their eyes glowed red, and they were screaming that they were hungry for souls. Not that I understood their language, but their message came across loud and clear inside my head.

  As those demonic freaks flew across the cavern at me, I figured I was done. I’d never been very good at dealing with restless spirits, and these looked like the very worst kind. They weren’t your garden variety haunts, but the kind of spirits left behind by truly evil people, shades that should’ve gone to some hell or another when they died. Instead, they stuck around out of sheer spite and hate, just so they could pull more souls down with them.

  Angry as they were, they’d rip me apart body and soul. And without blessed salt, a good protective ward circle, or a handy exorcism spell, I had no way to prevent it. As for my back up, Hemi still couldn’t see what was going on, otherwise he’d be doing his Ghostbusters bit on them. Fallyn was good with flesh and blood, not so much with incorporeal beings. And La Onza, well—she looked to be a no-show.

  That double-crossing bitch, I thought as the first spirits neared me. I’ll come back from the afterlife to haunt that dwarf of a witch—I swear it.

  Crunch!

  The sound of bone and flesh being crushed was unmistakable, as I’d heard it too many times over the course of my young life. And it was loud—I even heard it over the dead people’s screeching. In an instant, those same spirits vanished, leaving Ernesto standing there with a seriously surprised expression on his messed-up skinwalker mug.

  I heard another loud crunch, just before Ernesto’s head sort of flopped forward onto his chest, where it hung momentarily by nothing more than a flap of skin and gristle. Like a puppet with its strings cut his body followed, and the evil bastard tumbled to the ground in an awkward, deanimated heap. Behind that lifeless jumble of limbs, fur, and blood sat the biggest freaking mountain lion I’d ever seen, licking her paws and wiping the skinwalker’s blood off her face and whiskers.

  When she was done cleaning herself, the bruja transformed back into her human form. Unlike the way ’thropes shifted, her change was instantaneous and obviously the work of magic instead of any inherited skill or ability. La Onza looke
d around, taking in our condition as well as Ernesto and Stanley’s corpses. She frowned at me and shook her head.

  “Don’t you know anything, gringo? You can’t kill skinwalkers that way, not after they’ve slipped their skin. Have to shoot them in the neck with ash-blessed bullets, or cut their heads off. They’ll laugh off anything else you do to them.”

  “I, uh, noticed that,” I said with a sarcastic smile. “And as for your timing—fuck that! You could’ve jumped Ernesto at any time. Why’d you wait until I was about to get butt-fucked by an army of angry spirits before you stepped in?”

  “I had to wait until he was distracted to strike, mago. Although if you’d hit him in the neck with your lightning, you could have ended it like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Now, are you ready to face the Dark One?”

  I suppose it makes sense, and I can’t blame her for fighting smart. Still pisses me off, though—and it makes what I might have to do a hell of a lot easier.

  I wiped blood off my forehead with the back of my hand. “Geez—give me a sec, will you?” I turned to check on Fallyn and Hemi. “You guys alright?”

  Hemi leaned on a rough-cut stone support column that had been left behind when the mine had been excavated centuries prior. He was covered in scratches and cuts, but the bleeding had stopped so it looked like his healing wards were kicking in already.

  “Yeah, bro, vision’s starting to clear. Warn a bloke properly next time, aye?” he said as he rubbed his eyes.

  “I second that shit,” Fallyn grumbled as she snapped Stanley’s neck. Hemi and I looked at her, mouths agape. “What? You heard the witch—if you don’t do it right, they shake it off. ’Thropes know the score—we learn it from the time we’re kids. Go for the kill or go home, right?”

  “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” I said.