by Massey,M. D.
Damn it. I’m too pretty to go to prison.
-McC
Austin, Texas—Present Day
As soon as the Dullahan entered the yard, the runes on the dock roof’s support posts flared up with a brilliant gold light. The light arced out from each, connecting with the fence line and the secondary wards I’d set under the gate, arcing one final time to conclude the light show with a deep, reverberating whoomp. With the completion of the spell the Dullahan’s magical connection to Underhill would be severed, and while that wouldn’t stop him, it would severely reduce the limits of his stamina and strength. In short, my magical trap had just made this a fair fight.
The horse staggered as the spell cut off the Dullahan’s power; whether because it was also linked to the Underrealms, or because it could sense its master’s distress, I had no idea. Regardless, I could tell that the horseman keenly felt the loss of his magic, and watched as he swayed slightly in the saddle. He quickly recovered, raising his battle axe in his right hand and spurring his horse to charge at me.
I dove out of the way, but it wasn’t necessary. Hemi ran at the Dullahan’s horse like a defensive end on a quarterback blitz. The big man collided with the horse, shoulder first, and drove the great beast’s trajectory off such that it would have missed me by a mile. Both horse and rider recovered, pivoting with precision as the horseman swung that huge axe of his like a scythe chopping wheat. With each swing, Hemi leaned back just out of reach, his eyes searching for an opening. Finally, he dove under a swing, striking the Dullahan’s leg with the edge of his flat club and putting a deep dent in the horseman’s silver greaves.
By that time, I had snuck around behind our enemy. I took that opportunity to throw my spear at his back. But somehow he sensed the attack and spun his axe behind him, deflecting my spear and sending it flying away to pierce the door of a Volkswagen some thirty feet distant. As it struck I reached out to the spear and made a pulling gesture in the air; with the sound of metal scraping metal, the spear freed itself from the door panel and flew back into my hand.
The Dullahan had recovered quickly and was advancing on Hemi. The Maori warrior was impressive, but there was only so much he could do with that short club of his against the reach and mass of the Dullahan’s axe. He continued to dance back and lightly deflect the axe’s blade with his club, never giving more ground than was necessary to avoid certain death.
Unfortunately, I saw what Hemi could not: the Dullahan was herding him into a dead end formed by two stacks of stripped car frames and the junkyard fence. Soon Hemi would have no place to go, and he’d be trapped and at the mercy of the horseman’s axe.
“Screw it,” I said to myself as I threw the spear again, this time not at the horseman but at his steed. I aimed for one of its fetlocks and the spear pierced it cleanly, causing the animal to falter. For a moment I felt horrible about harming it, then reminded myself that it was likely another fae—perhaps an aughiskey, a púca or a nuckalevee—who served the Dullahan in exchange for the opportunity to eat his victims. If so, it would heal soon after leaving the junkyard, once its connection to Underhill was restored.
I called the spear back to my hand, just as the Dullahan reared back for another swing at Hemi. The big man just stood there, waiting to be struck down. Move! But he couldn’t; he’d reached the end of the line and had nowhere else to go. The Maori crossed his arms in front of him and the glow from his tattoos intensified—a sign that he was bracing for impact.
I doubted it would be enough. Desperate, I threw the spear as hard as I could, not at the Dullahan, but at his axe. The spear tip caught the beveled edge of the axe’s blade, torquing it in the horseman’s hand just enough so the flat of the axe struck and not the edge. A tremendous noise, like a clap of thunder, rose from the impact. Hemi was lifted up into the air and collided with the corrugated metal fence, flying through it and into the street.
“Hemi!” I shouted. I spotted him through the hole in the fence, lying unconscious halfway on the curb across the road. Angered by the sight, I called my spear back to me and readied myself to charge the Dullahan, just as he cantered his horse and nudged it around to face me.
Suddenly Finn came running out from the depths of the junkyard, screaming and waving a gnarled old staff overhead like Gandalf on the walls of Minas Tirith. He was only half-clothed, and unfortunately it was the top half and not the bottom. His white hair and beard flew everywhere, and speckles of froth shot from his mouth as he roared. I assumed he’d just woken up from one of his drunken, drug-fueled stupors, and had decided to come out and commit suicide by headless horseman. Wonderful.
He screamed with rage as he advanced on the Dullahan. “You fae think I’m just a washed-up old man, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Long has it been since the Tuatha dared the wrath of Finnegas the Seer, and it’s high time I reminded you why that is!”
With all the racket Finn was making, the Dullahan turned toward him. The pale gray head under his arm laughed silently at what it saw. Based on Finn’s reaction, I didn’t think that was the best idea. Okay, so the old man’s naughty bits were flopping around all over the place and he was foaming at the mouth, but I was fairly certain he wasn’t kidding about having a few cards left to play. Sure enough, Finn chanted in a dialect of ancient Gaelic that few of the fae even remembered, and then he threw a handful of colored pebbles into the air.
The stones landed in a circle around the Dullahan, and for a few seconds nothing happened. I wondered if it were true, that the old man had finally been spent and used up like last week’s lunch money. Under its arm the horseman’s face seemed to laugh even harder, and although his head never made a sound, his body shook with mirth. It was one of the creepier things I’d ever seen, and it sent a chill up my spine in spite of the anger and shame I felt for my mentor.
Then the ground around the Dullahan began to shake, and the wounded horse stumbled and fell to one knee. The horseman attempted to urge it back up, perhaps to make his escape, but it was too late. The earth beneath them opened up in a huge gaping maw, swallowing horse and rider both in a single gulp. I observed as they tumbled into sheer blackness below, my own mouth agape as I watched the hole close up as if it had never been there at all.
I turned in amazement to Finn, who was now leaning against a rusted old Cadillac that was missing its doors, windshield, and hood. There was an ozone scent in the air left over from my wards and the spell Finn had just cast. Besides the sound of the old man gasping to catch his breath, the junkyard was eerily still.
“Where did you send him?” I asked.
The old man sagged and held up a finger, panting like a dog. “Sent him—far away—to the Underrealms. He won’t—be back—anytime soon, I think.”
I nodded, hesitant to show him the least bit of gratitude. Then I remembered Hemi and ran through the hole in the fence to see if he was even alive. As I ducked through the fence, a red Porsche peeled away from the curb across the street in a cloud of tire smoke. Second time I’ve seen that car, I reflected. Unfortunately, the angle was no good and I couldn’t get a read on the plates before they turned the corner. Damn it.
Frustrated, I ran across the street to check on Hemi. He was breathing and had a pulse, but was still out cold. I hefted him over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry and hauled him back inside the junkyard. Laying him down on the dock, I snatched a discarded piece of seat foam from nearby to use as a pillow for his huge head. Finn stumbled over and began checking him out, nodding with relief after a brief examination.
“He’ll be fine. His wards saved him. Whoever tattooed these designs on him knew what they were doing. I haven’t seen work this good since the third century BC.”
“So no permanent damage, then?”
He shook his head. “None that I can see. But he’s going to have one hell of a headache when he comes back around.”
I sighed with relief. “The red caps have Sabine, Finn. I need you to tell me how to find them.”
“Those money-grubbi
ng little bastards, I knew they wouldn’t leave it alone.” He hocked and spat, hitting a hubcap a few feet away. “Rocko’s been trying to get me to do more work for him, but I keep refusing. It’s why they were beating me up the other night.”
I growled in response. “Just what kind of work are we talking about here, Finn?”
He squirmed, and not because he was naked from the waist down. “I was enchanting their drugs to make them more addictive.”
I took a deep breath, preparing to tear into him, but he held a hand up and surprised me by admitting to being an asshole.
“I know, it’s a damned shitty thing to do. But they were giving me oxy and heroin for free, so long as I kept using alchemical magic to enchant their dope. It was only when I decided to clean up and get off the stuff that I realized how low I’d really gotten. I refused to do it for them anymore, and they didn’t take it very well.”
I nodded. “Why didn’t you put the whammy on them like you did to the Dullahan a few minutes ago?”
He shrugged. “Withdrawal and the lingering effects of long-term opiate addiction. I’m still not myself, and may not be for some time yet. I’m actually surprised I was able to pull that spell off, but I guess I was pretty damned angry.” He paused and rubbed his ear. “Angry at myself, too.”
“Yeah, join the club. I’d like to sit here and catch up with the clean and sober version of you, but I need to find the Syndicate and you need to go put some pants on. Can you please tell me where I can find those punks?”
His face soured and he made a show of scratching his sack. Yep, that was my mentor: the greatest druid ever, proving once again he’d become an uncouth jackass. I was seriously glad no one was around to witness this sad scene.
“They work out of Rocko’s bar, a place called The Bloody Fedora down on Industrial off South First, behind the all-nude titty bar. Cinder block, bars on the windows, painted a sickly green color—you can’t miss it.”
“Bloody Fedora. Subtle. Anything I should know before I head down there?”
“Take some back up. I’m fairly certain they have a troll working security and an ogre tending bar. Hard to say for sure, though—I was messed up pretty bad every time I went down there. But expect trouble.”
“Great. Thanks for the warning.”
He looked down at Hemi. “Sure you don’t want to wait for your friend to wake up?”
“Nah, I don’t want to drag him any further into this if I don’t have to. Besides, the longer I wait, the greater the chance they’ll start carving pieces off Sabine. I’ll call Belladonna; she owes me a favor anyway.”
“Ah, the harlot on the Harley. I like her, you should bring her around more often.” He made a crude thrusting motion with his hips.
I closed my eyes, turned away, and extended both my hands to hide his nether regions from view. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, this is not a conversation I want to have with you in your current state of undress. Now, I’m off to rescue Sabine.”
Disgusted beyond even my high tolerance for crude humor, I pivoted and made a beeline for my scooter while shouting over my shoulder to make certain I was heard.
“And for the love of all that’s holy, put some pants on before Hemi wakes up, or you can bet that the Dullahan and those garden gnomes are going to be the least of your problems.”
19
Journal Entry—9 Months, 19 Days A.J.
Well, this just keeps getting better and better. Seems that Bells and I have provoked the ire of the local peyotero, who also happens to be a skinwalker. I hate skinwalkers. They’re always bad news, and way worse than ’thropes.
The reason I hate skinwalkers so much is because they’re like ninja werewolves that also use magic. There ain’t nuthin simple about fighting a damned skinwalker.
Right now we’re camped out in the middle of nowhere, close to Rio Grande City. We snuck on some ranch to go peyote hunting, because everything down here is private property, and apparently we walked smack in the middle of this skinwalker’s peyote-hunting territory.
I have to go, because it’s my turn to take watch. If we manage to get back home safely, I’m going to strangle Finn.
-McC
Austin, Texas—Present Day
Bells met me behind The Bloody Fedora about a half-hour after I called her. Being the professional she was, she’d parked her Harley at the strip club and jumped the fence that separated the two properties. She was wearing a long, black leather trench coat that somehow still showed off her athletic figure. It was split up the back to allow for easy movement, and I suspected she had numerous knives and other weapons hidden within. The hilt of a short sword poked up over her shoulder, and a brief flash of chrome from inside her coat told me she was packing.
I’d taken the time to change into my “urban” hunting gear while I waited. I kept all that stuff inside my Craneskin Bag, and had hidden behind a dumpster while getting it all on. Back in my days with Jesse, we preferred wearing motorcycle leathers, gloves, and boots. Since then my enchanting abilities had improved considerably, so I’d graduated to clothing that stood out less and allowed better freedom of movement.
I’d learned over the years that doing night ops in the city often meant entering dance clubs, bars, and the odd formal gathering. So I’d learned to dress less like a ninja biker, and more like a club hopper… or club security. I was wearing a pair of polished black leather jump boots, dark gray cargo pants that were tailored to pass for a pair of casual dress slacks, a white dress shirt, and my dad’s military rain coat—a long black trench that was both rugged and loose enough to move in.
Had I been hunting in the countryside, I’d be wearing less formal attire. Still, everything I wore had been spelled and warded to provide protection of some sort. The boots were enchanted to give me traction, even on slick surfaces. The pants and coat had been warded such that they’d deflect most blades and even small arms fire. And the shirt was stitched with runes to protect me against glamours and mind control spells.
I had my Craneskin Bag strapped over my shoulder, but hidden inside my coat. It always looked more or less empty and laid flat against my side, so no one would even know it was there. Inside the bag I had all my surprises ready to go, and also had a few weapons hidden on my person in case I couldn’t reach my bag. I was pissed, and had dressed for action. I just hoped things wouldn’t get out of hand so I wouldn’t lose control.
Belladonna strutted up, her heels clicking on the asphalt as she walked over to where I leaned against the back wall of the bar.
“Hey handsome, don’t you look smashing this evening,” she cooed.
“Thanks for coming, Bells. And, um, you look nice too.”
She smirked and narrowed her eyes slightly. “Weak, but it’ll do.”
I pursed my lips in frustration. “Sorry, I’m just not good at this sort of thing, like paying compliments or reading people’s emotions. Jesse and I just sort of understood each other—”
“—and since you haven’t dated in oh, forever, you’ve never really picked up those skills.” She walked up to me and stood on her tiptoes, kissing me lightly on the cheek. “Colin, I know you much better than you think. At heart, you’re a sweet guy who bumbles through life and relationships, because you’re in love with a ghost. But I’m a hunter—I know how to wait.”
I stood there, speechless, and she pivoted toward the club, gesturing grandly with one arm. “So this is the castle we’re storming. I hope the girl’s worth it.”
I found my voice again, and licked my lips to ensure I wouldn’t mumble. “I know you don’t care for Sabine much, so thanks for doing this.”
She waved my thanks off and shrugged. “She’s not so bad, sugar—but just not the one for you. And besides, since Crowley got his codpiece all in a bundle, you’re the only partner I can count on to back me up.”
I snuck over to a window and examined the bars outside. “Speaking of which, as much as I hate the guy I wouldn’t mind having him around this evening. Whatever h
appened between you two, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. We dated, we slept together, and I decided I couldn’t stand his creep. He’s cute enough, I suppose, but it was his magic that clinched it for me. Smelled like cat piss and rotten flowers, and it hung on him all the time.”
She leaned in close to me and took a long whiff. “Not like you, loverboy—you smell like pinecones, musk, and freshly-turned dirt. Yum.”
“Um, thanks?”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “You’re supposed to compliment me now, silly. Duh. How’d you ever even get to first base with Jesse? You seriously have zero game.”
“Well, I—I like the way you fight?” It came out as a question, more than a statement, but it was true. Belladonna could throw down, and I liked that about her.
“Hmmm…” she hummed as she rubbed her chin. “Okay, I feel you. Kind of nice to have someone appreciate me for all the hard work I put in at the gym.”
I sighed in relief.
“But you didn’t even notice the new perfume I’m wearing.”
Trying hard not to groan, I shifted my sight into the magical spectrum and began working on the alarm spell on the window. “Let’s talk about this over drinks after we rescue Sabine, alright?”
“Colin, did you just ask me on a date?”
“You’re incorrigible, Bells. Seriously incorrigible.”
She flipped her hair with pride. “I know—it’s why you keep me around.”
I chuckled. “You’re a good friend, Bells. And I don’t have many friends.”
“Hush now, I’m not going anywhere. Now, get that freaking window open so we can jump these clowns and kick some ass. I’ve made zero progress on the fae killings, I haven’t been laid in weeks, and to be honest, I need a little stress relief.”
I nodded once. “Alrighty then, your wish is my command,” I bypassed the alarm spell and magically popped the lock on the window bars.
