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

by M. D. Massey

  When I slapped my hand down on the connecting link, imbuing it with power to activate the entire network of protection, I felt a rush of power flow out of me like nothing I’d ever felt before. I’d already activated my second sight, and what I saw had me gaping, because my wards absolutely pulsed with power—far beyond any protections or spells I’d managed to create prior to receiving the Dagda’s “gift.”

  “Whoa. Now that is something,” I exclaimed, looking at Hemi’s casket as I spoke. “I wish you could see this, buddy. You’d be impressed.”

  By the time I finished activating my wards and admiring my handiwork, I sensed visitors were already on the way. How I sensed them was another interesting quandary. It was like I was connected to the earth, plants, wildlife, and even the air around me. The connection was subtle, but telling—because when the first wave of Whiro’s flunkies arrived, I felt them coming.

  They had the entire hut surrounded, in a cordon that was roughly fifty yards out and closing in fast. With one last check to ensure my wards were solid, I reached into my Craneskin Bag and grabbed my battle gear. I strapped on my tactical belt—the one that carried my Glock and holster—my new favorite sword, spare magazines, and a few other surprises I’d whipped up while I’d been recovering.

  I threw a motorcycle jacket on over that, thankful for the relatively cool weather on the island. The jacket was reinforced with Kevlar, and it would provide some additional protection. Finally, I grabbed my war club from the Bag, spinning it like a cane before I flipped it up to rest on my shoulder.

  “Alright, buddy,” I said to Hemi’s casket. “Let’s see who or what your uncle Whiro sent us.”

  30

  The first wave was made up of humans. And just how did I figure that out? I stepped outside the hut, looking to face the first bunch of whatever showed up head on. Seconds later, the sounds of bullets whizzing past my head greeted me—along with repeated muzzle flashes appearing in the surrounding darkness.

  “Fuck!” I ducked back around the door. “Whatever happened to attacking with clubs, swords, and spears?” I muttered.

  A hail of bullets rained down on the little hut. While I was concerned for my own safety, I was even more worried they’d do enough damage to the structure to break my wards. The wards were only viable so long as the underlying surface they were written on stayed intact. Sure, if I’d expected gunfire, I might have imbued them with protection against physical attacks… but I honestly hadn’t expected it.

  Shit. Well, two could play that game. I reached into one of the pouches on my tac belt and pulled out an improvised grenade. Druid magic worked by amplifying and redirecting forces found in nature. That was good, considering it meant I wasn’t really reliant on any particular power source—not like the fae or most wizards were. However, as Finnegas had been teaching me recently, it also meant you had to have something to work with in order to perform druid magic.

  In this case, I’d taken an M84 flashbang grenade, the type military and SWAT teams used, and enhanced it with a little druidry. I’d also glued double-ought shotgun pellets around the casing for a little extra shock and awe. If my calculations were correct, the thing would go off like a frag grenade. I pulled the pin, activated the spell on it, and tossed it out the door.

  The results were unexpected, to say the least. I’d tossed the grenade as far away as possible, roughly forty feet from the hut. However, the blast and subsequent shockwave rattled the windows in the hut, and it also peppered the door frame and walls with pellets. Not enough to break my wards, mind you—but if it had been closer, it might have caused complications.

  Note to self, develop directionally channeled fragmentation grenades for future use.

  A loud shockwave of sonic energy, light, and heat also resulted from the blast. While I was protected by the wards I’d placed on the hut, the goons outside shooting at me weren’t so lucky. Those within ten feet of the blast were shredded, and anyone within twenty-five feet or so was knocked unconscious or had their eyes fried shut. Everyone else in that first wave of attackers had been affected, too. Most held their heads, screaming as blood and fluid poured from their eardrums, noses, and mouths.

  After that, it was mostly clean-up. I picked them off one at a time from within the relative safety of the hut. Was it sporting? Hell no. But necessary? You bet. I’d counted more than a dozen of them, and they wanted to feed my best friend’s corpse to their crazy, creepy, flesh-eating deity. Uh-uh. Not on my watch, freaks.

  I’d repelled the first attack. I checked my phone and cursed, because it’d barely been an hour since Hemi’s mother had vanished. I had no idea how long it would take her to retrieve his spirit or when she’d be back, so I assumed I was in for a long night, just as she’d said.

  Quiet fell over the surrounding forest and nearby beach for a few blessed minutes after that. I listened to the sound of the surf as I reloaded magazines and reinforced my wards. It was almost peaceful—except for the moans of a few wounded I’d been unable to locate in the trees and bushes farther out. I had a feeling their master would take care of them, once he made his appearance.

  Minutes later, I heard a splashing sound coming from the beach. The hut was in plain view of the shore, so I glanced out to catch a glimpse of what was coming in the moonlight.

  “You have to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed. Huge, tentacled limbs with suckers the size of saucers were pulling something big up over the dock. A bulbous, purplish-red body surfaced behind the writhing mass of thick, muscular appendages. One dinner plate-sized eye blinked and stared at me as it pulled its bulk on shore.

  The massive arthropod slowly dragged itself closer to the hut, up the short stretch of land to where Hemi’s body was ensconced inside my wards. While I knew the wards would hold against most anything magical or supernatural, the hut itself wouldn’t stand a chance against this beast. With limbs as thick as telephone poles and a body the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, I didn’t think I’d have much chance of preventing it from pulling Hemi into the deep once it reached us.

  I emptied the Glock into it, but I may as well have been throwing rocks. I tossed another supercharged flashbang at it, and while that seemed to have some effect, the result wasn’t nearly as impressive as it had been with the humans. What else did I have at my disposal that might deter a giant octopus?

  I had a flaming sword on my hip, but as of yet I hadn’t tested its effects and limitations to any real extent. Besides that, one swipe from a single tentacle and I’d be fish food. I had my war club, but that presented the same tactical challenges. I could throw a firebomb at it, but I didn’t have any prepared—nor did I have anything at hand with which to make it.

  I looked up at the clouds in the distance, and thought back to my flight from Dunedin earlier. I wonder… can I really do it? Only one way to find out.

  I extended my senses outward, up into the air above. Miles away in the troposphere, I saw lighting flash within grey clouds over the mainland. That’s what I wanted to tap into.

  At first, all I felt was the wind as it played about overhead, tossing and turning this way and that—like a playful child rolling in a pile of raked leaves. I reached farther still, past the clear skies above and toward the storms I’d experienced earlier, seeking to use the potential energy created by the meeting of warm and cold air and the multitude of microcollisions between ice crystals and water droplets in the sky.

  While I worked, the octopus got closer. As it did, I noticed a foul odor of rot and death coming off it in waves. The stench was partly due to necromancy, and partly due to decomposition. Knowing that it wasn’t a living creature any longer made me feel better about frying it—so that was a plus. The downside was that if I could smell it, the damned thing was close enough to do me in for good. Colin McCool Killed By Zombie Octopus, the headlines would read, if I didn’t make a connection with that great big battery in the sky.

  Finally, I felt it, like a faint buzzing or vibration in the air currents on high. Once I
felt it, I pulled on it with my will. Here, I said in my mind. Land here.

  And it did.

  31

  The cloud discharged its energy, reaching from miles away to ground itself in the enormous mass of dead flesh and muscle that was about to squeeze the tiny hut into splinters. At the last minute, I jumped up on a wooden chair—just in case I didn’t have complete control over the direction of the spell. As the lightning made contact with the flesh of the creature, I felt it run through the octopus and into the ground beneath.

  One billion volts of electricity fried nerve tissue, muscle, and fat alike inside the creature, short-circuiting its nervous system and turning it into a quivering heap. Rotten flesh sizzled and burned for a few moments, then its eyeballs burst, splashing the sides of the hut and ground with fermented aqueous humor.

  The absolute reek of burnt, rotting octopus flesh was nearly unbearable—and despite having seen a number of atrocities in my short lifetime, I vomited all over my boots. The dry heaving continued for a minute or more, until my olfactory nerves became deadened to the smell. Finally, the necromantic spell dispersed, and the beast deliquesced into great pools of runny flesh and liquid that slowly flowed back into the sea.

  A sibilant, hissing voice spoke from the still darkness outside the hut.

  “It was s-so very hard to animate that creature. What a shame. But you are an amusing human, druid. Tell me, do you enjoy eating pineapple, or perhaps coconut?”

  It was Whiro, or one of his human servants. But I doubted any human necromancer could animate that octopus, so I was betting on it being the evil deity of darkness himself.

  “Whiro, I presume?”

  “So they call me. Come outside and join me, so we might speak face to face.”

  His voice was like dry leaves rubbing across snakeskin—creepy, hypnotic, and strangely soothing. With every syllable, I felt more and more congenial to his suggestion that I exit the hut. A part of me thought that Whiro seemed downright friendly, all things considered.

  Thankfully, I’d felt this sort of magic before, back in Fuamnach’s castle—so I immediately recognized his ploy. I resisted the compulsion he’d cast over me with an effort of pure will, along with a flash of the Dagda’s magic that I cast just outside the door. The spell was crude and instinctually executed, but it made the shadows outside the hut recede and fray around the edges like charred paper.

  Whiro hissed, and his voice shrank back along with the shadows. “That was… unpleasant, and rather rude, but I will let it slide. Now, in answer to my question?”

  “If you’re going to ask me out for piña coladas, let me just say right up front that I don’t swing that way. However, I could set you up with a couple of vampires I know.”

  A wheezing chuckle came from the shadows. “Oh, but you are a cheeky one. I only ask because I enjoy the flavor, and I was hoping I might get you to partake before I eat you.”

  A coconut and a pineapple flew through the open door and into the hut. The dim light cast by the single bulb overhead revealed both to be crawling with grey worms and huge, thumb-sized maggots. I kicked them both back out the door, and in my mind reached out to the storm again. If this evil fucker thought he was going to eat me, he had another thing coming.

  Just as I sensed a flicker of energy in the clouds over the mainland, something cut the connection like a hand flicking a light switch off.

  “Tsk-tsk, druid. No fair getting my brother involved. Tāwhirimātea agreed to stay out of this, once he’d handed you and my nephew off to Ikatere. He’s always had a soft spot for Hine-Nui-Te-Po, but he is loath to incite my anger.” Whiro coughed with a wet rattling noise that made my stomach turn.

  He’s not well… lucky me. I wondered if I could work that to my advantage.

  As the Maori personification of evil continued speaking, his voice tickled the edges of my resolve. “Now, if you would just step outside for a moment, we can skip a great deal of unpleasantness and save you a good deal of pain.”

  I fought off the compulsion a second time and willed myself to respond. “I have a better idea—why don’t you come in and get me?”

  “Have it your way, then.”

  Soft, rolling footsteps echoed from outside. I took a peek and regretted it. All I saw was a man-shaped shadow, but it emanated evil and sickness. Fear gripped me as soon as I laid eyes on Whiro’s… body? Projection? Spirit? Whatever it was, it wore malice and ill will like a cloak.

  I ducked back inside the hut and leaned against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut and willing the memory of what I’d just witnessed to flee from my mind. It was no use; I was frozen with fright. As his footsteps grew closer, the anxiety and despair I felt increased until they crushed me, suffocating me with the unbearable weight of abject, illogical terror.

  He spoke from the other side of the wall. “Just remember, I offered you an easy way out—”

  Whiro was cut off mid-sentence, and his words trailed away in a cry of pain and confusion as a loud thunderclap and a bright flash of light exploded just outside the doorway. After the flash of light receded, I forced my eyes open in time to see that the runes and glyphs I’d written in the wood around the door had flared up in a bright silver glow. Slowly, the oppressive presence of fear and dread receded.

  I was nervous, scared, and I really had to take a piss. As usual, I coped by being a smart-ass.

  “So, you’re not coming in after all? Disappointed!” I roared at the ceiling, doing my best Kevin Sorbo imitation. Screaming actually helped calm me, and I did my best to make my voice seem calm and collected as I continued. “I was so looking forward to those piña coladas.”

  Whiro’s voice reflected both pain and strain as he replied. “Hine-Nui-Te-Po always was a crafty one. She knew what she was doing, leaving you to hold vigil over my nephew’s corpse. Your magic certainly is foreign to me, but the night is far from over. I have plenty of time to figure it out. And if not, I have other ways to overcome you than brute force.”

  “Give it your best shot, cupcake. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I tried not to gulp too loudly as I wondered how long my wards would hold out against evil personified.

  32

  Whiro stalked around the hut for a few hours, probing the defenses I’d devised as he tried to unravel my wards. Every so often, I’d have to shore up a knot here or a junction there—but for the most part, they held. It made me thankful that I’d paid attention back when Finnegas had taught me about wards. Even as a stupid, wet-behind-the-ears kid, I’d seen the utility in knowing how to make and break wards.

  Funny how seemingly innocuous decisions could end up saving your life.

  After a time, silence fell over the hut, and Whiro’s attacks and probes stopped. I sat atop Hemi’s coffin, sipping some warm lemon soda I’d found as I contemplated Whiro’s next move. Was he gathering his energy for a more concerted effort? Or had he given up and moved on?

  “Yeah, fat fucking chance of that,” I whispered as I patted Hemi’s casket. “You’re just too much juicy meat to pass up, buddy.” I paused and considered what had just tumbled out of my mouth. “Um, that came out all fucked up. But you have to admit, if you were scrawnier, we might not be in this mess.”

  Just then, I felt something happening outside, beyond the barrier of my wards. It had been a mostly clear, moonlit night on the island, but the moonlight seemed to recede as the light dimmed inside the structure. I glanced out the doorway, and saw absolutely nothing. It was as if a blanket of darkness had enveloped the tiny hut, cutting me off from the outside.

  Then, with a fizz and a pop, the lightbulb overhead blew out, leaving me in total darkness. The fact that I was sitting on top of a coffin, with the embodiment of pure evil only footsteps away, did not escape my attention.

  I drew the sword from the scabbard at my hip. I’d found it in the depths of my Craneskin Bag, during those long weeks after Maeve had abandoned me to starve and rot deep below ground. The sword had been something of a salvation to
me while I’d been locked away, as it had been my only source of light. Currently useless as a weapon against Whiro, it could at least serve me in that same capacity now.

  As the blade flared, the dancing tongues of fire that licked up and down its length illuminated the room, revealing why Whiro had chosen to cast me into darkness. There were now other things with me, inside the room. They were dark, ethereal things that must have been knit out of some shadowy ephemera, because I knew they were there, but they didn’t seem quite real. Faces appeared at random intervals within the crowd of figures that had gathered around Hemi and me.

  The faces represented people I knew, or had known. As soon as I focused in on one of them, a scene coalesced before me. It was one I knew so very well, because I’d replayed it over and over again during the weeks since his death. Shades of grey and black took form, then shape, color, and light—morphing into reality before my eyes.

  In a way, it was more real than being there the first time. I saw Hemi being pulled off the mountain cliff in Underhill, and watched him tumble off into the mists until he disappeared. My heart broke with remorse and guilt, because I’d been too late to save him.

  Once he’d fallen completely out of sight, the scene reset, and events played out all over again. This time I was on the cliff, and not climbing up when he fell. As the giant’s hand clamped on his leg, I dove to catch him but missed. I slid across the rocky ledge just in time to see him tumble down the mountainside. With every revolution of his body, with every inevitable kiss of gravity and inertia, something broke, twisted, or shattered. This time, there were no mists obscuring the view. I watched with sharp detail and utter clarity as his body slammed into the ground hundreds of feet below me.

  The scene played out again and again—dozens, maybe hundreds, of times. Each time a small detail changed, whether it was my proximity when he fell, or how the giant grabbed him, or the look on his face, or the manner in which his body shattered as he plummeted. And in every single instance, I failed to save him.