Blood Circus: A Junkyard Druid Urban Fantasy Short Story Collection (Junkyard Druid Novellas Book 2)

by M. D. Massey

“Get ready to move… now!” I pulled gently on Crowley’s arm, signaling him to make a sharp turn around a corner and into an alcove, where I used the keycard to access a stairwell. “Alright, time to run. Did you bring any luggage with you?”

  He held up a modest leather overnight bag as we bolted down the stairs. “Just my carry-on. I prefer to travel light, unlike some other people we know.”

  I had no doubt he was talking about my sometimes partner in crime and current love of my life, the druid Colin McCool. He habitually carried around a magical man purse that he called his “Craneskin Bag.” The relic allowed him to store items in another dimension—anything small enough to fit in the opening of the bag. It was ugly as sin, but it had saved our hides more than once.

  “If I had a bag of holding, you know I’d bring my entire wardrobe with me everywhere I went. A girl could get used to that.”

  We hit the bottom landing in lockstep, and I flashed the keycard at the reader on the wall next to the entrance to baggage processing. The LED turned green, and I yanked the door open.

  Unfortunately, they were waiting for us.

  “Damn it. Looks like we’re in for a fight,” I said as I pulled Crowley through the door and behind a luggage cart. The duende had taken out the airport employees who normally worked down here, disguising themselves in order to take their places. The illusions they hid behind would fool a normal mortal, but for someone like myself or Crowley, they stood out like Ted Nugent at a PETA protest.

  Duende were somewhat akin to the red caps and bogles we dealt with back in Austin, the Spanish version of fae dwarves. However, they were much more adept at casting magic than your typical run-of-the-mill fae—especially illusions. They were fond of making you think they were in one place while they attacked from another direction, stabbing their prey in the back or hamstringing them. Despite their small size, they were not to be taken lightly.

  Crowley quickly peeked over the baggage cart and ducked back down again.

  “Did they see us?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. They appear to have ended all pretense of being normal airport employees, and are now pulling out various bladed weapons.”

  “Can you take care of the cameras?”

  “I can, and will.” The wizard interlaced his fingers, and when he pulled them apart, a dark shadowy substance was strung between them like a cat’s cradle. He worked it with his hands, then tossed it in the air. The shadow magic split in three, taking the form of inky little bats that flew toward every security camera in the room. Each of the flying shadow golems attached themselves firmly over the lenses, obscuring the view of any security personnel who might have been monitoring the area.

  I reached under my coat and pulled out the pieces of the carbon-fiber crossbow pistol I’d snuck past the metal detectors. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I assembled the weapon with a practiced alacrity, armed for battle seconds later.

  “Well, if it’s a fight they want…”

  “… then I’d say it’s best we oblige them,” Crowley interjected.

  Finishing my sentences. Just like old times.

  “I hate it when you do that,” I said, just before I let the first crossbow bolt fly.

  13

  The carbon-fiber crossbow shafts were tipped with barbed holly points that I’d carved myself. Holly, like rowan wood, had particularly nasty effects on some fae. For the duende, they’d cause the expected physical damage and also disrupt their ability to cast spells—at least until they dug out the holly barbs.

  I planted the first shaft in the groin of a tall lanky man with a bowl haircut and acne scars. He staggered, and his image shimmered and shifted until I was looking at a thin, four-foot-tall dwarf with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest.

  Physically speaking, his appearance typified the unseelie fae among his kind. The duende had a pot belly, huge bare feet, heavily-muscled arms, and thick, callused hands. Dark beady eyes, a bulbous nose, and tight-set lips sat above a black Dutch beard, and a bright red barretina hat was perched atop his head. He held a rapier in his right hand and a parrying dagger in the other, which he stuck point-first into a nearby suitcase before pulling out the crossbow shaft.

  Of course, the tip remained firmly embedded in his chest. The dwarf looked at the bolt and scowled before he tossed it away, then he grabbed his dagger and charged me while I reloaded.

  What I wouldn’t give right now for a pair of Desert Eagles in .44 magnum, I thought.

  I gave up on cocking the crossbow, and instead used it to parry a thrust from the dwarf’s rapier, redirecting it to the inside as I kicked the little fae’s lead knee. That threw him off balance, which momentarily prevented him from stabbing me with his dagger. I side-stepped past him and stabbed his right eye with a crossbow bolt, angling it down and in toward the brain stem.

  The dwarf dropped like a rock. I snagged the rapier and dagger from his hands as he fell, flourishing them to check the balance and weight. Ah, nothing like good Toledo steel.

  My little scuffle with the first dwarf had only lasted a few seconds, but that was enough time for two more of them to close in on me. Crowley was already at work, bouncing duende off the walls and floor with those creepy shadow tentacles of his. I only had a moment to glance his way before I was ducking a swing from a duende with a falcata.

  The thugs the Ojáncanu had employed weren’t playing around, that was for sure. Colin and Crowley’s recent foray into the fae realm, and the subsequent fallout from their actions, had upset a balance of power that had lasted for centuries in the region. The old cyclops knew that the Anjana was vying for his magic, in a bid to keep him and his mouros living far underground where they belonged—and he was desperate to stop her. My job as one of the Anjana’s flunkies was to make sure she succeeded. Crowley’s magic could play a big part in that, which was why the Ojáncanu wanted him dead.

  Did I feel bad that my old partner had walked blind into a centuries-old war between two powerful fae? A little, but I hadn’t asked him to fly to Spain to check up on me. I could take care of myself, and I didn’t need the men in my life to come to my rescue, thank you very much.

  I was trapped between two of the duende, and the one with the falcata was trying to distract me so his companion could stick a dagger in my back. Yeah, good luck with that. I wasn’t as naturally talented at swordplay as Colin, but Mother had taught me how to defend myself with all kinds of weapons, long before I’d ever gone to work for the Circle.

  The only problem was, I couldn’t effectively fight two of them at once—at least not with one at my back. I needed to take one of them out quickly. I faked a thrust at the swordsman’s eyes then switched direction, charging the one with the knives. It was my best bet, since the rapier had more reach than those daggers. I thrust at the duende’s knee, wounding him, then I beat his half-hearted stabbing attack away and skewered him through the neck.

  Unfortunately, the rapier got lodged in his spine. Now, I’d have to face down falcata-boy with a parrying dagger. Great.

  I dove over the one I’d just killed, grabbing one of his daggers from the floor as I rolled back to my feet to face the swordsman. The thing about a falcata was that it was a chopping weapon, and not the best implement for stabbing and thrusting. If I could get this duende to commit to an attack, I might get inside the reach of his blade and end him.

  I retreated a half-step as the dwarf walked over his dead companion. As I did, I faked a stumble, letting my heel hit the edge of a piece of luggage that had been knocked off the conveyor in the struggle. That was all it took to get the little guy to charge me, his sword held in a high guard.

  I threw one of the daggers at his face in an awkward underhand toss. It wasn’t meant to do any damage, only to distract him. As I expected, he moved the pommel and guard of the sword to deflect the knife, obscuring his vision for a split second. That was all the opening I needed. I grabbed his wrist with my free hand as I closed the gap, and
drove the blade in my other hand under his chin and up into his brain.

  14

  I spun in a half-circle with the dwarf’s falcata in hand, looking for more attackers.

  The remaining duende were bloody, twisted lumps scattered here and there in the baggage processing area. Apparently, Crowley had been busy while I’d been preoccupied. The wizard leaned against a metal support column as he clapped slowly.

  “Didn’t care to lend a hand with those two?” I asked.

  “And spoil your fun? Please. I remember well how you hated being ‘rescued’ back when we were partners. I doubt that a few weeks of dating a mildly-chauvinist druid would have changed that.”

  “You doubted right.” I retrieved my crossbow bolts and wiped my fingerprints off the weapons I’d touched. “We need to leave—other duende will be along shortly.”

  Crowley gestured at the bodies. “Shouldn’t we clean this up?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Duende are self-cleaning.” As I spoke, the corpses began crumbling. Within moments, nothing remained but small piles of fine brown dust.

  “Well, that’s convenient,” Crowley remarked.

  “Their boss has them spelled, so if someone kills one of them they won’t have proof of the duende’s existence.”

  “And if they’re captured?”

  I shrugged. “They commit suicide. Let’s go.”

  I started walking toward a service hall, opposite the door we’d entered through, and Crowley fell in step beside me. We exited the building through a side entrance that led to the tarmac, then snuck around the side. I’d cut a hole in the fence earlier, and we slipped through the gap. From there, it was a short walk to the parking lot.

  “Do you care to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

  I ignored him as I headed toward a jet-black Porsche Cayenne Turbo with dark limo tint and custom wheels. “Our ride. Hop in, and I’ll explain everything.”

  Crowley whistled. “Hunting must pay well in Spain.” The approval in his voice reminded me that he liked expensive things… or at least he had, once.

  I hit the ignition and the twin-turbo V8 thrummed with the velvet growl of 550 finely-tuned horses. I shifted into gear and took us out of the airport parking lot and onto the highway, heading to the southwest for the mountains of the Serra do Candán, my ancestral home. Once we were on the highway and well away from the airport, I spoke.

  “What do you know about Spanish folklore?” I asked.

  “Not much, except that the mythology is similar to that of Ireland and Scotland, mostly due to the shared Celtic origins. As evidenced by the fae we just killed. I’d say those—what did you call them?”

  “Duende.”

  “Right. I’d say they’re close relatives of the red caps, kissing cousins at least. So, why were they waiting for me at the airport, how did you know I was coming, and why do these duende want to kill us?”

  “Long story short? Centuries ago, my family made a pact with a fae witch, pledging our eternal loyalty in exchange for magic and wealth. Our job was to help her keep her father and his underlings from encroaching on human lands, which we’d done successfully with the help of her magic. Until now.”

  The women of my family had been magically bound to the Anjana for years, becoming mouras encantadas, guardians of the gates to the Underrealms. I’d bucked tradition by going to America to work for the Cold Iron Circle—under the pretense of attending college there, of course.

  Truth was, the Anjana creeped me out, and I didn’t much like the idea of embracing that part of my heritage. In my opinion, we were just pawns in a centuries-old struggle between the Anjana and her father, the Ojáncanu. He was the king of the mouros, and a mortal enemy of our mistress. She lacked the foot soldiers that the Ojáncanu had at his command, so she’d enlisted my family as her servants. She’d promised them gold and riches in exchange for their eternal loyalty, as well as magic to fight the Ojáncanu’s duende, who had been a thorn in my family’s side for years.

  The Anjana had delivered on her promise, and my family had become powerful and wealthy beyond belief. But that wealth and power came at a steep price—one I didn’t personally care to pay. And once I officially pledged my loyalty and accepted her magic, I’d be hers, forever. That was why I’d initially failed to answer my mother’s summons. I simply did not care to be at the Anjana’s beck and call for the rest of my life.

  Unfortunately, the situation had recently changed. When Colin had closed the pathways to Underhill, it had weakened the Anjana considerably. And while much of her magic was anchored in nature, having her connection to the Underrealms severed meant she was vulnerable to attack. That’s why I’d come home, to aid Mother and the Anjana in any way I could. It was my duty, after all… no matter how much I wanted to deny it.

  At some point, I intended to settle matters between Mother, the Anjana, and me for good—to establish that I wasn’t going to be in the Anjana’s service forever. I just needed to find the right leverage to negotiate my freedom. I had high hopes that Crowley could help me with that.

  Crowley pulled a handkerchief from inside his coat and wiped his injured eye, which still remained concealed within his hood. “It appears that our recent trip to Underhill has had repercussions that reach further than even I would have guessed.”

  My voice dripped with sarcasm, and I barely held my temper in check as I responded. “You think? Now that the pathways to the Underrealms are cut off, the Anjana’s power is considerably weaker. Her father, the Ojáncanu, knows we’re weak. He’s sent several probing attacks over the last several weeks. If he comes out of hiding, it’ll be a disaster. He’s a traditional giant, Crowley, with a traditional diet.”

  “I take it he’s not a vegetarian.”

  I snorted. “Hardly. When he and his kind lived topside, they terrorized my ancestors. The mouros, our version of the fae, weren’t exactly the friendly kind. The Ojáncanu imprisoned his own daughter for centuries, forcing her to guard the entrance to the caverns where he lived. Can you imagine enslaving your own daughter? It boggles the mind.”

  Crowley remained silent for a few moments. Something I said must’ve hit a nerve. “And this Anjana—that’s the witch you spoke of?”

  “The same. My ancestors helped free her from the spell her father had cast to imprison her. Unbound, she’s incredibly powerful—more so than her father, in fact. At least, she was, until Colin screwed things up. Now, she’s vulnerable. We all are.”

  “We—meaning you and your family, I presume?”

  “Yup. Mom, my cousins, and I.”

  Crowley slowly drummed his fingers on his knee. “For the record, I had no idea of his plans. No one did, I think, save the Tuatha Dé Danann with whom he held council.”

  “I don’t even want to know, because the more I know the more it’s going to piss me off. What was he thinking? I mean, what gave him the right to commit an act that would have such far-reaching consequences? When I see him…” I slammed my hand on the steering wheel and growled.

  “Far be it from me to defend Colin’s actions, or to intercede in a lover’s dispute. However, I’m sure he had very good reasons for doing what he did. And despite the ordeal he suffered because of it, you were the first person he asked for when Finnegas finally located him.”

  I chewed my lip and thought about what I was going to do to that boy when I saw him. I teetered back and forth between kicking his ass and jumping his bones. I’d probably settle for angry sex when the moment came. I was seriously pissed at him, but damn it if I didn’t miss him.

  “Is he okay? You don’t know how many times I nearly left Mom and the rest to search for him.”

  “I just saw him before I left. In fact, he’s the reason why I’m here. Why didn’t you send word to him, before you left?”

  “Like he sent word to me before you all went traipsing off into Underhill? Hah! I wanted to make him sweat a little.” Crowley sniffed, which was the equivalent of a gasp coming from hi
m. “Oh, please. I had people keeping tabs on the situation, believe me. I knew the moment he got back from wherever Finnegas found him. But after that stunt he pulled, he deserved to stew a little.”

  “He left you behind for a reason, Belladonna. Travelling to Underhill can have deleterious effects on mortals. Although I get the feeling that you’re not exactly mortal, are you?”

  I held a hand out and wavered it back and forth. “Meh, sort of. I don’t get my powers until I officially join the cult. That’s why Mom wanted me back home, and it’s also why I left in the first place. I’m not exactly down with serving the Anjana for the next couple of centuries, and I kind of resent that some bitch way back in my family tree took it upon herself to make that decision for me.”

  “Understandable. I take it your mother doesn’t approve of your rebellion?”

  I snickered. “Hardly. But enough with my mommy issues. The question is, what am I going to do with you?”

  Crowley chuckled. “I could think of a few things, although I don’t think Colin would approve.”

  “Flirting, Crowley? Really? After the way we split?”

  He held his hands up defensively. “I’m just glad you’re speaking with me. Suffice it to say that I regret my past indiscretions. Truce?”

  “For now. But Mom might have other ideas. You’re not exactly high on her list of favorite people.”

  15

  My family occupied a small, secluded mountain village, far away from prying eyes. The roads that led to our home were under a powerful “look away, go away” spell, and that was sufficient to keep everyone out who didn’t belong. Well, that, and the rumors that had been spread over the centuries about the evil, blood-drinking witches who occupied the mountain.

  As we pulled into the walled villa I’d grown up in, I gauged Crowley’s reaction. I wouldn’t have necessarily called our home opulent, but it was apparent that we had money. I’d never really felt self-conscious about it. At least, not until Mother had sent me away to attend private school in the U.S. There, everyone’s social status was directly related to their wealth—a fact which I found repulsive.