Blood Ties: A Junkyard Druid Urban Fantasy Short Story Collection (Junkyard Druid Novellas Book 4)

by M. D. Massey

  Rather than being deterred by their close call with death, Simon and Kenny had been emboldened by the experience. Now, they were determined to prove to Colin that they were indeed worthy to learn the ways of magic. They intended to do so by exposing some previously unknown supernatural evil, which they then planned to bring to the druid’s attention.

  And that was why Simon was creeping around a dark alley in downtown Austin at night, alone, and wondering why the hell his best friend had bailed on him.

  Clunk!

  A loud noise came from deeper in the alley, like someone or something banging against a dumpster.

  “Kenny! Is that you?”

  Simon was no hero, but he also wanted very badly to impress Colin. In his estimation, the only way to do that was to prove that he and Kenny were just as sharp of mind and resourceful as the druid himself. Despite the fact that his hands were shaking and his knees felt weak, he pulled out his phone and activated a flashlight app, shining it into the far corners of the alley.

  Oh, that’s not good, the boy thought to himself as he saw what the light had revealed. In the darkest part of the alley, a large insectile creature squatted over a man’s body. This thing was mostly humanoid in appearance, but it had way too many arms and legs and eyes, and teeth that marked it to be anything but human. That was, if the extra arms and legs and insect eyes hadn’t given it away.

  Simon remained frozen with fear for a heartbeat—then two, then three. In that span of time, the insect-thing’s head snapped up and around, searching for the source of the light. The young man came to his senses then, shoving the phone under his shirt and jacket to hide the bright glare emanating from what his mother often referred to as his “electronic tumor.” But it was too late. The thing had seen him.

  The would-be druid apprentice’s apprentice took a step back, preparing to run for his life. That’s when something tackled him from the side, knocking him off his feet so he fell into the shadows. And kept falling, and falling, and falling…

  13

  Simon fell for what seemed like a long time, but then his prodigious backside made contact with a smooth, sloped surface. From that point on, he slid downward for a time in the darkness, but for how long he hadn’t a clue. Thirty seconds? Two minutes? It was hard to keep track of time when your heart was pounding and you were pretty sure a man-eating were-spider was on your tail.

  Eventually, the pitch of the slope leveled out just as a pinpoint of light began to shine ahead in the dark. Simon was smart enough to remain silent. He didn’t know what had tackled him, or exactly how he had ended up sliding down this tunnel. Seconds later, he was gracelessly spat out into a large cavern—complete with stalactites above and stalagmites below, with water drip-drip-dripping all around.

  He came to a slow, skidding stop against a particularly large stalagmite and stood to brush himself off as he got his bearings.

  “Look out below, fat boy!” a high, whiny voice yelled, just as Simon’s legs were taken out from under him. He tumbled backward, landing in a tangle with someone who smelled faintly of orange soda and rotten fish. This individual was dressed in baggy jeans, partially-laced tennis shoes, and a canvas Dickies hoodie with a stenciled, spray-painted depiction of a man with an axe on the back.

  Simon was on top of the person, and could only see the back of his head. It was thick with ratty brown dreadlocks that stuck out in all directions from under a red baseball cap.

  Wait a minute… that looks like—

  A hand slapped the hard, damp floor of the cavern as the person underneath Simon braced to push themselves upright. Even in the low, flickering torchlight, he could make out clammy gray skin and long, narrow fingers ending in black, claw-like nails.

  Goblin! Simon freaked out a bit and began battering at the person’s back with closed fists. Not that his combative histrionics would do him much good, since he was much more of a talker than a fighter. But in the moment, he reacted on instinct instead of strategy or guile.

  The figure in the hoodie responded by tossing Simon off him—not ungently, but not violently, either.

  “Man, get off me, fool! Saved yo’ ass, and dis is the thanks I get?”

  Simon landed on his side, the ample padding of his torso saving him from any serious injury. He rolled to a sitting position, scrambling and crab-walking away from the goblin who had stood up to brush himself off. The goblin turned to look at him, his black and white clown makeup doing little to hide the sneer of disgust that split his face.

  “Ease up, muggalo,” the goblin chided. “I didn’t rescue you for no good reason, homes.”

  “Ease up? Ease up? The last time I saw a goblin, you guys tried to sacrifice me!” Simon screamed. His heart pounded, and he thought he might be having a panic attack. “Don’t tell me to ease up!”

  The juggalo goblin raised his hands, spreading them wide as he backed away and sat on a broken-off stalagmite. “A-ight, I see your cause fo’ concern. But you should know, if I hadn’t Shanghai’d yo’ ass, you’d be hanging from the witch’s vampire tree ’bout now.”

  “Her what?” Simon asked, having calmed down a bit at the realization that yes, the goblin had saved him from the were-spider.

  “Vampire tree. Seriously nasty shit. That spider witch be hangin’ with some bird demon dude, and they both bad news. We been tryin’ to stay away from those mothafuckas, layin’ low ’til they get what they come for and split.”

  Simon nodded and looked around for a few moments, taking time to gather his senses. “How deep underground are we?”

  “Shee-it, homie, at least a hun-ned feets. We goblins got mad skilz with digging tunnels and shit, even through rock and ore. Dwarves got nuthin’ on us, homes.” He noticed Simon looking nervously at the chute they’d exited from. “Entrance be hidden from pryin’ eyes. We safe down here.”

  The young man took stock of his savior. He abruptly concluded that, at least for the moment, the goblin intended no harm. “So, why’d you save me?”

  The goblin held up one long, crooked finger. “Now, that’s a fucked-up story. Hang on a sec.” He walked over to a beat-up plastic cooler, reaching inside and pulling out two bottles of Big Red. The goblin tossed one to Simon, who bobbled it before clutching it in his hands. “That’s Texas Faygo, son. Drink up.”

  The goblin unscrewed the cap and took several big swallows, then wiped his mouth and belched like Will Ferrell in Elf. Not to be out-belched, not by anyone, Simon chugged half his drink and let a massive mouth fart rip.

  His goblin companion cackled at the ceiling. “Damn, killa! I knew youse was a-ight. Now, whatchoo wanna know?”

  “For starters, what’s your name?”

  The goblin pointed a thumb at his chest. “Skinny J. I’m the tribe’s… how you wanna say… strategical playa? And I already know who you are, Heavy D. Every goblin in the tribe know about you and Special K.”

  “Special K? You mean Kenny?”

  Skinny J nodded. “The same, homes.”

  “Why were you in that alley?” Derp asked.

  “See, now you asking the right questions,” Skinny J said, stabbing a finger at Derp and sloshing his Big Red all over the cave floor. “Here’s what’s up. We—meaning our goblin clan—been assed out since all that shit went down last year with the druid and the clown god. Since then, we can’t get no love from our dark deity. Know why?”

  Simon shrugged. “Uh-uh, why?”

  “Because the clown god say our priest is shit, since he ain’t the one who contacted the Harlequin from Hell. Nope. The Dark Jester says the only true priest is the one who sacrificed a life to him.”

  “That’d be one of you guys, right?”

  Skinny J slammed the rest of his Big Red and tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder. “Nah, the clown god says we were just following orders. That’s why I been like shade on your shadow, ’n why I wuz in that alley tonight. We need your help, Heavy D. The clown god say the druid be his high priest now, and without y’all’s help, we ’b
out ta go extinct and shit.”

  14

  Simon “Derp” Martin had heard some funny shit in his fourteen years, and a lot of it had come from his own mouth. They didn’t call him Derp for nothing, after all. But of all the crazy, hilarious crap he’d ever witnessed, nothing compared to the idiocy and irony of what Skinny J had just told him.

  He tried not to laugh—really, he did. The goblins had tried to kill him once, and he wouldn’t have put it past Skinny J to stick a knife in his gut and leave him bleeding out in the cave. Maybe it was nerves as well as the improbability of the whole thing, but Derp soon succumbed to an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. Meanwhile, Skinny J watched in silence, obviously feigning indifference to the young man’s reaction.

  “Oh, that’s rich. I mean, really, that’s classic.” Derp wiped tears from his eyes, pulling himself upright after spending the last minute consumed by hysterical laughter. “You try to kill me and Kenny, Colin steps in and rescues us, and now you want our help? Wait until I tell Kenny about this.”

  Skinny J frowned. “Sure, go ahead ’n laugh at us. Everyone else does. Shit, it ain’t our fault we the redheaded step kids of the World Beneath. Gods cursed us when they made us, man. Made us dumb and ugly so’s no one would respect us. S’why we turned to the clown god, homes. Dat music spoke to us, and when we called out to the Dark Jester, he spoke back from the darkness.”

  Derp rubbed his face and shook himself like a dog in an effort to end his bout of hysteria. “Geez, sorry, man. I get laughed at all the time, so I know what it’s like to be the butt of everyone’s jokes.”

  Skinny J nodded enthusiastically. “It straight up sucks.” He tapped a long, gray finger to his skull. “But I gots a plan, G. The clown god gave me something most goblins don’t have—brains. I’m gonna lead my people up out of the ashes and into a new life.”

  “You sound like a motivational speaker, or one of those preachers on TV,” Derp said.

  “S’cuz I’m a true believer, homes. Juggalo for life, Dark Jester unto death. That’s my motto.” He paused and looked at the floor with a frown. “But the plan can’t happen until we get right with our god.”

  Simon rubbed the side of his face. “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this… but how can I help?”

  Skinny J practically leapt to his feet, pacing back and forth as he stabbed a finger in the air at Derp. “See? I knew you wuz down! I knew it! Now, all we gots to do is get that druid to stop beating us up every time he sees us and talk him into hustling us a human sacrifice. Think he’ll do it?”

  Derp spat Big Red all over the place. “Say what? Seriously? Uh-uh, ain’t gonna happen. For one, that’s guy’s as goodie two-shoes as they come. Second, he’s super preoccupied at the moment with doing druid just-your-shire crap.”

  “Yeah, we heard he went all Piggie Pie and shit. But we in dire straits, yo. Beggars and choosers, ya know?”

  “I doubt Colin is your solution, no matter what your clown god said—no offense.”

  “None taken,” Skinny J replied. “So, what we gonna do?”

  “Give me a sec and let me think.” Derp took a swig of the sugary red concoction and put on his thinking cap. If there was one thing he was good at, it was coming up with crazy schemes. “Jay, you said everyone in your tribe knows who me and Kenny are. Why is that?”

  “Easy, homes. It’s cuz you both was set aside as a worthy sacrifice to the clown god, but then you was spared. That means you special to the Dark Jester—holy-like. After we figured that shit out, we been watching yo’ backs ever since.”

  Derp pondered that info for several long moments. “And what’s all this stuff about extinction?”

  “It’s fer real, homes. The kobolds about ta wipe us off the face of the hood. We used ta check them motherfuckers good, put ’em in they place. But now word got out we ain’t right with the Dark Jester, they think we weak. So, they be comin’ at us hard, taking our warriors out one by one. If we don’t stop ’em, we gonna be like that dojo bird.”

  “Dodo bird,” Derp said absently.

  “S’what I said, ’cept we don’t do no karate.”

  Derp decided to let it slide. “Tell me about the kobolds.”

  “They’s small-ass fuckers, all ugly wit’ rat’s faces and shit. Sneaky. Kobolds don’t fight you head on like a stone-cold ninja would. Naw, they come from the shadows ’n shit, like little rat assassins.” He nodded and crossed his arms. “Oh, and they into eighties rock.”

  “Come again?”

  “Yeah, serious as shit. Kobolds are into eighties rock. Hair bands, man. Poison, Def Leppard, Mötley Crüe, Quiet Riot, Winger, Dokken—shit, all them lame-ass mothafuckas. But the worst of it is, they absolutely crazy ’bout Van Halen.”

  Derp raised an eyebrow. “Classic Van Halen?”

  Skinny J scowled. “Nah, not even. Hagar-era and shit. Might as well be lisnin’ to Hootie and the Blowfish.”

  Derp nodded sagely. “That is bad. What’s the clown god think of the kobolds?”

  The goblin exhaled harshly. “Shee-it, he think they some bitch boy mothafuckas. And he think we gone soft, letting them bitches punk us. Me? I think it’s why he done turned his back on us.”

  “Hmm…”

  “Whatcha thinkin’, playa?”

  Derp smiled broadly. “I’m thinking I might have the solution to everyone’s problems.”

  15

  “A battle of the bands? Between goblins and kobolds? Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  “Not just goblins and kobolds, Kenny. We’d invite the red caps, pixies, gnomes, trolls—heck, the more the merrier.”

  Derp’s best friend sat back and took a sip of his iced mocha, extra whipped cream. He’d agreed to meet at a Starbucks off Parmer near the Samsung plant, not too far from where the boys lived. Kenny ran a hand through his hair, a habit he’d picked up not long after they’d met Colin. Derp knew his friend idolized the young druid’s apprentice quite a bit more than he liked to admit.

  “I still say you’re crazy, dude. And besides, how is that going to help us convince Colin to teach us magic?” Kenny glanced around the coffee shop, lowering his voice as he leaned in. “I mean, he specifically told us to stay away from those kinds of—people.”

  Derp frowned. “Sheesh, man, why are you whispering? Anyone hears, they’ll just think we’re talking about an MMO or something.”

  Kenny continued whispering as he replied. “It’s not humans I’m worried about, Derp. What if one of them is around, and they hear us talking about this stuff? What if it’s someone connected, or who’s connected to someone connected, and that someone decides to silence us—for good?”

  Derp laughed. “Since when are you into conspiracy theories, Kenny? Geez, I thought I was the nervous one.”

  Kenny scowled. “It could happen! Do I have to remind you that you almost got eaten by a were-spider a few nights ago?”

  A middle-aged woman stood waiting for her drink nearby, dressed in business attire with a Samsung employee’s badge strung from a lanyard around her neck. When Kenny said “were-spider,” she turned and gave them a weird look.

  “It’s an online roleplaying game, ma’am.” Derp held his hand up in the Vulcan salute and flashed her a silly grin. “Spock’s honor.”

  The worker drone nodded and went back to checking her messages on her phone. Derp turned to his friend with a smug grin.

  “See? These muggles are completely clueless. Heck, Colin does magic in public all the time and nobody bats an eye. People see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, you’re going to get us killed.” Kenny covered his face with his hands. “Just tell me what we’re supposed to get out of this.”

  Kenny’s rotund friend cracked his knuckles as he sat up, then he began counting items off on his fingers. “For one, the goblins know magic. They’re magical creatures, after all. So, once we get them out of the dog house with their clown god, we can get their priests
or shamans or whatever to teach us.”

  “I dunno, man. It sounds sketchy.”

  “I’m not finished,” Derp continued, sounding a heck of a lot like Vizzini from The Princess Bride. “Second, we’re going to prevent an all-out war between the goblins and kobolds that could boil over into the streets. Once Colin hears about how we handled all this, he’ll be sure to take us on as his apprentices. So, if we can’t learn magic from the goblins for some reason—”

  “Like, because they won’t teach us, or they sacrifice us to their clown god anyway…”

  “—then we still have the magic thing covered.”

  Kenny arched an eyebrow. “And?”

  “Finally—and this is the best part—we’ll be rock stars in the World Beneath for putting this thing together! Celebrities! We’ll have connections with all the major races once we’re done. Among all those races, somebody somewhere has to know something about magic.”

  “But will they be willing to teach us without tricking us into giving up our souls, or casting a curse on us, or feeding us to their pet monster? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think doing what Colin says is our best bet.”

  Derp sucked on his own caramel and caffeine concoction, slurping loudly through the straw as he ignored Kenny’s misgivings. “Forget about all that. We need to talk about how we’re going to make this thing happen. I’m telling you, this is the answer to all our problems. Every. Last. One!”

  “Somehow, I doubt that.” Kenny knuckled his forehead and looked down at the table before meeting his friend’s eyes again. “But, you’re my best friend, so I may as well hear the rest of your harebrained scheme.”

  “First off, we need to get Colin’s help.”

  Kenny snorted coffee through his nose. He grabbed a wad of napkins and wiped his face, then the table. “Yeah, fat chance. Even if he would agree to something like this—which he wouldn’t—I don’t think he’d help. He’s pretty pissed at me right now.”