Druid Justice: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 5)

by M. D. Massey

  “Deets, how far out are Gunnarson and company?” Dead silence. “Deets? Aw hell, are you really going to make me do this?” More silence. “Fine. ‘Control’—how far out are they?”

  Deets’ voice buzzed in my earpiece. “God-Killer, this is Control. Tangos are three clicks out. I show ten bodies in three vehicles.”

  “Do you want me to eliminate them while they’re in the vehicles?” Bells asked. “I can start paring down their numbers as they’re coming up the drive.”

  I thought about it for a second before answering. “No, I want them all on the property. If anything, wait until they stop, then take out the engines in the vehicles.”

  “Unnecessary, but can do… God-Killer,” Belladonna replied with a snicker.

  “Har, har, very funny,” I replied. “I’m going to kill you guys for pinning that on me, you know that?”

  Dex’s squeaky voice sounded in the background. “Tell him it wasn’t my idea! Besides, we didn’t come up with that nickname—the supes did.”

  “Enough!” I barked. “We’ll discuss it when this is all over. Remember, everyone, if shit goes sideways I want you to haul ass. Is that clear?”

  “I’m not going anywhere, druid boy,” Bells growled.

  I sighed. “That’s what I figured. Deets—I mean, Control?”

  “You don’t have to tell us twice. Kien already has the van in gear. No offense, but if you go down we’re headed for the Bahamas on the next flight out.”

  I heard Bells chuckle over the radio. Clearing my throat, I bit back a response that involved my plans for her, if we both made it through the next hour in once piece.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, fellas. Radio silence from here on out until the shooting starts. McCool out.”

  I pulled my earpiece out and tore the throat mic off as well, setting them close by. Damned thing made me feel like I was choking—and besides, I didn’t want anything metal on me when Gunnarson arrived. I took my pistol off as well as my belt, and tossed them in my Craneskin Bag. Then I changed out my jeans and t-shirt for a pair of board shorts and a rash guard. I had a loose pair of spandex Jockeys on underneath, just in case I had to shift. I hung the Bag over my shoulder last, unwilling to give up that one reliable advantage.

  Once done, I sat down cross-legged on Gunnarson’s expensive rug and went into a druid trance.

  Eye, are you there?

  -I am here, Colin.-

  If I wig out, I want you to drop me like a hot rock.

  -If I do that, you could die.-

  Just do it. I don’t want to put any innocent lives in danger if I can’t hold my shit together.

  -Understood.-

  I came back to reality just as the throaty rumble of three V-8 engines came roaring toward the house. I stood and peeked out the blinds, watching from concealment as Gunnarson and his goon squad hopped out, guns ready and in full battle-rattle. They knew I was here, but they were still cocky enough to think they were invulnerable.

  Or, rather, that Gunnarson’s powers made them invulnerable.

  “Bells, take them out.”

  I heard the crack of a suppressed high-power rifle, then watched as a rifle round flattened itself against an invisible barrier, right in front of Gunnarson’s face. He grinned, then spread his arms wide while his team took cover behind the vehicles and building.

  “Nice shooting, Becerra!” he yelled in his Texas drawl. “I think I’ll kill you last.”

  Belladonna’s voice squawked out of my discarded earpiece. “Well, it was worth a try.”

  Three more shots rang out as Belladonna’s bullets punched neat holes in the hood of each vehicle. As the engines sputtered and died, Gunnarson’s men returned fire—a distinct tactical mistake with Belladonna up-range behind a sniper scope. Three heads exploded in a cloud of spattered brains and bloody mist before they realized their error.

  “Fuck, I didn’t think she could shoot that good,” one of the men said, earning him a scowl from his commander.

  Gunnarson reacted then, raising his hands in the air and chanting in some ancient Germanic language that was strangely pleasing to the ear. As the sleeves on his BDU shirt slid down, I noticed a glint of steel and green LED lights at his wrists. The technomage brought his wrists together then, and a pulse of magical energy surged forth from his hands.

  Belladonna’s rifle cracked again, but the round hit an invisible wall a few feet away from the intended target—one of Gunnarson’s goons who had leaned out from behind cover. Bells kept firing at different targets, but no matter where she aimed her bullets kept hitting an invisible shield. Her commanding officer kept his hands in the air, brow furrowed and sweat running down his face.

  “She can’t hit you now, you idiots,” he barked over his shoulder. “Advance and lay down fire on her position! McCool is around here somewhere, and I can’t take him out while I’m protecting you dipshits from his girlfriend.”

  The tac team cautiously eased out from behind cover, directing their gunfire where they’d last seen Belladonna’s muzzle flashes. I knew she’d already changed position, but it still made me nervous as all hell. Gunnarson walked forward, advancing on the house with his tac team following as they fired at the hill where Bells had been.

  I waited until the entire team was lined up across the front lawn, then I grabbed my comm device and gave the signal.

  “Dex, hit it.”

  We’d hidden the electromagnetic pulse device on Gunnarson’s roof, where it would have the most reach and do the most damage. I sensed rather than saw a tremendous pulse of energy explode out from above me, and watched as the LED lights on Gunnarson’s bracers went dark. Moreover, every electronic device within one-half mile went dead, including the lights inside and outside the house, lights in houses off in the distance, and our communications devices.

  Belladonna’s rifle cracked several times in rapid succession, and Circle tac team members began dropping left and right. The rest ran for cover as Gunnarson’s face blanched, his eyes going wide as he realized his primary technomagical devices had just been rendered useless. Then Gunnarson’s surprise turned to anger, and if I read him properly, resolve. Nostrils flaring and teeth bared he reached behind his head, pulling on something that I couldn’t see from my vantage point.

  Suddenly, Gunnarson vanished. One minute he was there, then poof—he was gone. I blinked twice, just in case I’d missed something, but he was still gone. I quickly shifted my vision into the magical spectrum, but nothing registered—not even a fading vestige of the magic he’d been casting. It was as if he’d been vaporized, or teleported away to some distant location.

  Despite Gunnarson’s strange disappearing act, Belladonna kept firing at our enemies. And although the drive and front lawn had been littered with bodies, there were still a few tac team members returning fire from behind their vehicles.

  So, Bells switched tactics. An incendiary round zipped through the now darkened sky, straight at one of the SUVs that Gunnarson’s team had arrived in. The strontium and magnesium-laced bullet hit the truck’s fuel tank, igniting it. The truck exploded in a huge fireball, lighting up the night sky with a deafening roar. The explosion turned the remaining tac team members into person-shaped fireballs that flew through the air like flaming rag dolls. Each landed several yards away in random directions, void of movement except for the tongues of fire that licked at their clothing and gear.

  All gunfire ceased, and I was left wondering what the hell had happened to Gunnarson. With comms down, I had no way to signal Belladonna to ask if she had spotted him anywhere near. Invisibility spells were incredibly difficult to cast, and considering his area of magical specialty, I doubted him capable of casting such magic. To be effective, “look away, go away” spells generally required that observers were not looking at the spell caster when the magic was triggered. So, I was fairly certain Gunnarson hadn’t used that sort of magic, either.

  Could he have teleported away? Possibly, but I hadn’t seen any sort of
portal appear, and the only magic user I’d ever known who was powerful enough to straight-up teleport was Maeve… and she was a full-on deity in the Celtic pantheon. No, there was something else going on here that I didn’t fully understand.

  I exited the house by the front door and headed out onto the lawn, where I intended to examine the spot where Gunnarson had been standing when he’d disappeared. There were minor depressions in the ground, bent blades of grass, and footprints that led from the direction he’d walked after he and his crew had pulled up. But aside from those traces of his passing, there was nothing to indicate he’d fled in another direction while hidden by magic. Further examination in the magical spectrum yielded the same results.

  “Gunnarson, you spineless bastard,” I muttered. “Where the hell have you gone to?”

  I felt a burning pain across my shoulders, and felt hot slick blood running down my back. I knew that sensation well—I’d been cut by a sharp blade. It wasn’t a crippling wound, but a painful one. Now I really wished I’d worn some armor.

  Gunnarson’s voice rang out from the darkness, somewhere to my left. “I’m right here, McCool, right where I’ve been all along. Did you think those bracer’s were the only trick I had up my sleeve?”

  I reached into my Bag and drew my sword, determined to put up a fight. But there was nothing to fight, because Gunnarson was a ghost, a phantasm that I couldn’t see, hear, or smell. Another cut appeared on my wrist, then one on my stomach, and a third on my brow. Several more wounds appeared in rapid succession—each shallow but clean, the type of cut you made when you wanted someone to suffer. Blood flowed freely into my eyes, forcing me to wipe it away to see.

  Gunnarson’s sword stung me a dozen times in the span of thirty seconds. Each time I felt another gash appear, I swung my own blade in response, only to hit empty air for my troubles. Soon, my hands were slick with my own blood. My arms felt heavy, my legs weak, my vision dark with warm, sticky wetness.

  I was bleeding out, death by a thousand cuts.

  For a moment, the attacks ceased. Then, I felt a stinging sensation across the backs of my thighs and collapsed to my knees, hamstrung. My hands grasped at the grass beneath me in a struggle to hold myself upright so I could fight back.

  Yet I knew it would be in vain, because I was fighting against someone who, by every sense and skill I possessed, simply wasn’t there.

  Twenty-Three

  “Really, McCool?” Gunnarson’s voice dripped with the confidence one gains at the prospect of impending victory. “Are you willing to give up so easily? Your friend the ogre even put up a better fight than this.”

  I pushed myself up straighter, hands slipping beneath me on the blood-soaked grass. My eyes scanned the area around me through a crimson haze, hoping against hope that I might see something to give my opponent away, a shadow or flash of movement. But nothing appeared within the range of my now limited vision, not a single indication of Gunnarson’s position.

  “I fully intend to kill you, you know. That’s a promise.” My words rang hollow, empty of conviction in my current state.

  Gunnarson cackled, his laughter echoing over the roar of the vehicles burning nearby. “Look at you, McCool. For all your vaunted skills and talents, all it takes is a sharp sword and a little magic to bring you down.”

  I slung blood out of my eyes, fighting to stay upright. Most people don’t realize how crippling hamstringing a person can be, but it was one of the first strategies I’d learned as a swordsman. As Maureen explained it, the muscles on the backs of the thighs both flex the knee and extend the hip. When they’re cut, it’s nearly impossible to keep your torso vertical, much less stand or walk.

  “I could shift right now to heal myself and crush you,” I growled.

  Gunnarson chuckled at my empty threat, his voice constantly changing position as he spoke. “Ah, but you won’t. Not with your girlfriend close by, because you know I’d just slip away and leave that monster inside you to rip her to shreds. Just like you did to that poor girl you dated in high school. What was her name? Jenny? Janine?”

  “Her name was Jesse, you son of a frost giant!” I knew he was a Norseman at heart, and while weak, it was the best insult I could come up with on the spot.

  “So angry,” he drawled. “Sounds like someone has some guilt to work through. Too bad you won’t have a chance to deal with it, McCool, because your time’s about up.”

  “Fuck you, Gunnarson! Kill me and Finnegas will come after you. You and I both know he could bring you and your boss down without breaking a sweat.”

  “Oh, I doubt it,” my opponent responded, his voice coming from an entirely different direction. “The old man is past his prime. You might think he’s immortal, but the truth is the human aging process can only be suspended for so long. Time has caught up to him, and despite that little show he put on for Maeve’s court, he’s no threat to us—well, at least not to my benefactor.”

  I was desperately trying to figure a way out of this mess. I knew Belladonna would be somewhere nearby, waiting for the chance to put a bullet in her commander. If I didn’t take him out soon, she’d come charging in here to try and save me, then we’d both be dead. And if I shifted, it’d be the same story—only I’d be the one doing the killing.

  After what had happened to Jesse, I simply would not take that risk. So, I stalled for time and dug for info while I figured out how to beat Gunnarson.

  “What I don’t understand is, why kill all those fae? They’d already lost access to most of their magic, so why start picking them off? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Gunnarson’s voice was relaxed as he spoke, so sure was he of his victory. “I know you’re stalling, but you’re also bleeding to death, so I’ll gladly take the time to explain. Besides, in a minute Becerra is going to come storming out of the woods, and then I’ll get to kill you both.”

  “She’s not that stupid, Gunnarson,” I said loudly, hoping Bells would hear and be warned off. “She’ll get some backup and come back to kill you.”

  “At which point I’ll be long gone, and she knows it. No, she’ll try to save you, you can count on that.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Now, where the hell was I, before you interrupted? Oh yes, the fae…

  “Here’s what you don’t know, McCool—you think you crippled them, but you’re wrong. Those fuckers live a hell of a long time, much longer than we do. Even without an endless pool of magic to draw on, they’re still a force to be reckoned with, and now they’re pissed and desperate. It’s just a matter of time before they gather their resources and attack us.”

  “I doubt that,” I replied, lying through my teeth. The fact was, I’d considered that possibility already… but I wasn’t going to give Gunnarson the satisfaction of knowing I agreed with him.

  “Doubt all you want, Pollyanna, but it’s coming. I guaran-fucking-tee it.”

  I glanced down to make sure I still had a grip on my sword, because my hands were going numb. If I had even the slightest chance to kill Gunnarson, I wanted to be ready.

  “Let’s assume what you say is true,” I asked. “Why start a fight with the fae here?”

  “Austin is the key because Maeve is their queen. Not just a queen, the queen. From what we can gather, she goes way back to the Tuatha, and we think she’s the oldest of all the fae left here on earth. When she talks they all listen—every single court and remnant from here to Europe, wherever the Celtic gods once ruled.”

  I shook my head slowly, the blood loss making it hard to even keep my head up. “So, by taking Maeve out you’ll send the fae into disarray, making them that much easier to destroy.”

  “Yep,” he replied. “But first we had to remove their key magic wielders, which is what we’ve been doing all along. The only thing left to do now is kill Maeve, but with you involved we had to wait for you to screw the pooch. But thanks to this little party you’ve put on, my benefactor can assassinate Maeve and then I get to pin it all on you. Shit, this is like Christmas al
l over again.”

  “I still don’t understand why you murdered lower-order fae,” I whispered. “They were no danger to you.”

  “I just told you—weren’t you listening? Let me spell it out for you, McCool. You’d never know who the major players are among the fae just by looking at them. Take that girl from the trailer park. She was a full-blown clairvoyant, capable of tipping the queen off to our plans.”

  “She was just a kid!” I hissed.

  “A kid? She was three times your age, McCool! Shit, but you’re about as sharp as the leading edge on a bowling ball. I bet you still haven’t figured out it was me that day at the junkyard, asking after the ogre.” Gunnarson paused to laugh softly. “No wonder Maeve was able to run you ragged for so long. Hell, knowing how dense you are almost takes the fun out of killing you. Almost.”

  I was starting to fade out, which I considered a better option than shifting and killing Belladonna. She’d run, of course, if she saw me go bug shit crazy—but that wouldn’t guarantee her survival. I slowed my breathing and relaxed my mind as Gunnarson’s voice droned on, until I began drifting in and out of lucidity. Finally, I slipped into a dreamlike state, one not unlike the druid trances I’d entered before.

  Run, Bells. Please, run.

  That was the last thought I had before I closed my eyes, for good.

  The weird thing was, I was more or less used to being exsanguinated. After going through the shifter trials with Samson and the Pack, I’d become accustomed to being bled out in a similar fashion. The only difference was, back then it would trigger my change. But during that process I’d learned to suppress those urges, holding my Hyde-side back until the very last second when Samson would heal me—then we’d do it all over again.

  Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be any Pack healing magic saving me today. I’d chosen to die at the hands of a lesser man, in order to save a woman I loved. And I was okay with that.