Druid Arcane: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 11)

by M. D. Massey

  “You’re no fun at all,” the valkyrie said, glowering once more as she took a bite of pizza.

  “If yer askin’ me, I believe ’tis a mistake,” Click said.

  “Thankfully, I wasn’t asking you,” I replied, only half meaning it. The immortal magician might’ve been a pain in the ass, but he meant well. “Relax, Click. I have everything under control. Trust me, we’ll be there and back before Badb has a clue.”

  As Badb and Aenghus were tracking my use of the Oak’s magic, and since Loki could only mask that while I remained in Iceland, I had Click cast a portal that would take us just outside of Crowley’s farm. The shadow wizard’s wards prevented us from taking the direct route, but close enough was good enough as far as I was concerned. I figured he’d detect the portal, spot us via whatever scrying methods he used to surveil his property, and let us in.

  For Ásgeir’s sake, Click waited until night had fallen in Texas before he cast the portal. After I stepped through, I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath of the relatively warm evening air. It smelled like home. Springtime in Austin was always a great time to be alive, and I wanted nothing more than to head to Zilker for a swim and a long day spent laying in the sun. But duty called, so I opened my eyes and turned toward Crowley’s front gate.

  Only to find that it wasn’t there.

  “Hey, look, a cow,” Ásgeir said, pointing across the county road at a couple of Brahmas grazing behind a barbed wire fence. He pointed further down the road, where more livestock milled around in an open field. “And goats.”

  “We have cows and goats in Iceland, troll,” Bryn said with a shrug.

  The troll raised a thick, hairy, calloused finger. “Ah, but these are Texas cows and goats. I wonder, are there any Texas cowboys nearby?”

  Bryn perked up. “Where?”

  “Sorry you two, but the closest you’ll find out here will likely be some thirty-something hipsters running an organic produce farm,” I said as I tapped my foot, staring at the spot where Crowley’s farmstead used to be. “If you want real cowboys, you have to go to South Texas for that. The King Ranch down in Kingsville would be the best bet.”

  Ásgeir walked over to the cows, holding his hand out and making cooing noises in an attempt to pet one. They weren’t having it, and they startled and galloped away as soon as they caught his scent. Cows were dumb, but they weren’t stupid. They knew a predator when they smelled one.

  “Something wrong, druid?” Bryn asked.

  “Well, I—” A sound in the distance gave me pause. That sound was unmistakable—a late-model Harley V-Rod with custom pipes. “Aw, shit.”

  A few seconds later, the motorcycle and rider came into view as they crested a low hill fifty yards down the road. The bike was flat black with minimal chrome, and the rider wore jeans, modern black tactical boots, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. She also wore an identity-concealing brain bucket like the one Bryn favored, but the long, dark hair billowing out over her shoulders gave her identity away instantly.

  Belladonna pulled into Crowley’s driveway, kicking up gravel and dust as she skidded to a halt. She slipped off her helmet, setting it on the tank as she kicked the stand and hopped off her bike.

  “Looking for Crowley?” she asked, not even bothering with a greeting. “He keeps the place locked down all the time now. If he’s in his lab, you could be waiting a week or a month out here before he notices you.”

  “Hi, Bells. Good to see you too,” I said.

  She ignored my jab, instead glancing at Ásgeir and then looking Bryn up and down. “Man—you move fast, Loverboy. I’d expected you to go for a blonde this time, though, considering you’ve already gone the brunette and redhead route.”

  “Nice bike,” Bryn said, unconcerned with Belladonna’s assumption.

  “Thanks,” Bells said, holding out her hand. “Belladonna Becerra.”

  The valkyrie tilted her head as she gave Belladonna a curious look, then she shook her hand. “Bryn. The ugly one is Ásgeir, and you already seem to know the stupid one.”

  “She’ll do,” Bells said with a smirk.

  “Hey!” I protested. “We’re not involved. Bryn’s just helping me sort some stuff out.”

  “‘Sort some stuff out…’ where?” Belladonna asked.

  “Nowhere,” I said.

  “Iceland,” Ásgeir and Bryn said at the same time.

  “Damn it, that’s supposed to be a secret.”

  “Please, like I’m going to tell anyone where you’re hiding,” Belladonna replied with a roll of her dark, exotic eyes. She turned to Bryn, giving her one of those looks girls give each other that carries multiple layers of meaning. “Don’t let his babe in the woods act fool you, mija. He might be a dork, but he’s a womanizer through and through.”

  “Ouch,” I muttered.

  “Oh, I figured him out about five minutes after we met,” Bryn said. “The whole, ‘I’m attractive but I don’t know it’ thing is pretty easy to see through, and he’s way too charming to be harmless.”

  “Oh-kay,” I said, interrupting them with my outdoor voice. “About getting into Crowley’s?”

  “Keep your Jockeys on, tramposo—I have a key.” Bells pulled a leather thong necklace with a black onyx raven charm from inside her t-shirt, dangling it for all to see. She called across the street to Ásgeir, who was trying to get the cows to come back by waving handfuls of grass at them. “¡Oye, gordo! This is Texas—they shoot cattle rustlers here.”

  “I wasn’t going to eat it,” he replied in an abashed tone. “I merely wanted to see if its fur was as soft as it looked.”

  “Crowley has a cow skin rug in his living room,” Bells said. “I’m sure he’ll let you pet it. Now, gather round. Unless you want to get fried by my partner’s wards, we’ll need to be in contact to enter the premises.”

  “Partner?” I said, arching an eyebrow at her choice of words.

  “Did I say ‘partner’? I meant to say, ‘friend,’” Bells replied in the most unconvincing voice ever. “Now, everyone put a hand on me and don’t let go until we cross the barrier.”

  As we complied, Bryn leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I can see why you’re still jealous. Your ex would make an excellent valkyrie.”

  One thing about Crowley’s missing farm that stumped me was how I couldn’t see it in the magical spectrum. It wasn’t an illusion, because I’d have detected the magic. And it wasn’t an invisibility spell, either; my other senses would’ve picked up on telltale signs that would reveal the presence of a habitation. Cooking smells, sounds of livestock, and the like, or just bits of trash and leaves floating beyond the boundaries of the spell.

  No, this was something different. As we all walked hand-in-hand through whatever magical barrier separated Crowley’s property from the surrounding countryside, I paid close attention to every magical detail. First, there was nothing. Then, we walked into a dense, black fog. When we emerged a few steps later, his farm, tower, and outbuildings stood before us.

  “Son of a bitch, he’s keeping it out of phase,” I said, mouth agape.

  Bells nodded. “Yeah, he stole una cosa mágica from some local magician—a book, I think. Said that’s what allows him to keep his tower hidden so well. I don’t know the details. That stuff doesn’t really interest me.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. Magical tomes that were that powerful didn’t just grow on trees. “Doesn’t the guy want his grimoire back?”

  “How do you know it wasn’t a her?” she replied. “Anyway, no. He’s too dead to care anymore.”

  She cleared her throat, giving me a coy smile as she looked down. My eyes followed her gaze, all the way to our still-locked hands. Feeling my face flush, I removed mine from hers with an awkward, apologetic laugh.

  “Uh, sorry. Old habits die hard.”

  “Oh, for Odin’s sakes,” Bryn said, brushing past us on her way to Crowley’s tower. “Come on, troll. Let’s go find this wizard before the druid embarrasses himself
any further.”

  “I don’t recommend walking into his tower alone,” I said, changing the subject. “He might not recognize you, and he’s not the type to ask questions.”

  Belladonna turned toward the tower, but not before I saw the self-satisfied smirk on her face. “This way, everyone, and mind the magic traps.”

  Moments later, we waited downstairs on the first floor of Crowley’s tower while Bells went to retrieve him. The “tower” was actually a converted grain silo, and the bottom level served as his kitchen and living room. The wizard had a farmhouse on the property, but he preferred living close to his work. I doubted that he even slept, so focused was he on magical experimentation.

  To what end, I’d never asked, as I simply assumed it was something dark wizards did in their spare time. But after hearing about that mysterious grimoire, I thought I might want to invest in a little inquiry after things settled down with the Celtic gods. In the meantime, I’d have to be content with knowing that Bells was keeping an eye on him. And, despite our history, I trusted her to let me know if Crowley was up to no good.

  “Nice place,” Ásgeir said, sitting on the couch closest to the cowhide rug that sat beneath an industrial steel and glass coffee table. He reached down to stroke the white and auburn fur, muttering to himself. “It is soft—very soft. I should like very much to sleep in such warmth and comfort.”

  “I’ll see if I can get you one, after we get Dian Cécht back from that dick Býleistr,” I said. “But no promises.”

  “Pfah,” Bryn exclaimed. “He’s as likely to eat it as to sleep in it.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Ásgeir seems awfully gentle and refined for a troll,” I remarked. “I really can’t picture him being as bloodthirsty as you make him out to be.”

  “Thank you, druid,” the troll said. He was now sitting on the floor with his back propped up against the couch, running his rough hands back and forth over the rug beneath him.

  “Hah! You just wait until you see him in battle, McCool. Then you’ll know why the Norse mountain trolls have such a fearsome and hated reputation.”

  “From what I understand, some of them were known to be wise, and helpful even,” I countered.

  “Only to the highest bidder,” Bryn said under her breath. “And you’d best hope he doesn’t get another, better offer.”

  That line of conversation was interrupted when Crowley and Bells came walking down the stairwell that encircled the tower. I gave Bryn a disapproving glance, then I pasted a smile across my face as I greeted my old frenemy.

  “Crowley, you look good,” I said, meaning it. His scars had almost faded completely, although you could still see some light discoloration against his olive skin. I extended my hand, and he shook it as if he were picking up a dead fish. “These are my current companions, Bryn the valkyrie and Ásgeir the troll. Bryn, Ásgeir, this is my, er, associate, Crowley.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” the tall, athletically-thin wizard said, tossing a lock of his dark, curly hair out of his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Well, we sort of need your help. You see, there’s this necromantic curse that was placed on some Vikings about a thousand years ago by Odin, and we need you to break it.”

  “I’m rather in the middle of something right now,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Besides, my foster mother has been most persistent in her search for me recently. If I were to leave these confines, the act might betray my home’s location.”

  I opened my mouth to respond when he raised a hand in a shushing motion, cocking his ear as if listening to something in the distance.

  “Nameless, attend to that disturbance and report back,” Crowley said, speaking at the ceiling. A floor or two above, we heard the flapping of feathered wings trailing off into the night.

  “Trouble?” Bells asked.

  “Hmm,” Crowley replied, pursing his lips. “Druid, just how did you arrive at my doorstep?”

  “Um, we were coming from Iceland, so Click portalled us in.”

  We heard a raven’s shrill alarm call in the distance, and Crowley hung his head as he gave me a put-upon look. “Well, what’s done is done. Mother and her minions are here. I suggest that you and your companions prepare to either flee, or fight.”

  15

  Ásgeir stood with an index finger extended in the air. “If you don’t mind my asking, who exactly is his mother?”

  “He smells of Irish fae and does dark magic,” Bryn said in a not-quite caustic tone. “He’s obviously a changeling, so I would assume his mother was aes sídhe royalty.”

  Crowley and Bells had already bustled back up the stairs, to what end I hadn’t a clue. “Ah, Fuamnach, actually. I, uh, stole the Stone of Fál from her a while back, so she’s probably still pissed at me for that. Crowley helped, and his foster mom’s been trying to kill him ever since.”

  “Wonderful,” Bryn said, narrowing her eyes at me. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’d pissed off the Celtic pantheon.”

  “Thankfully, it sounds like she came alone,” I offered. “Badb and Aenghus both want a piece of me too.”

  Bryn hissed. “The Morrígna are known to the Valkyries. As is the fop.”

  Ásgeir walked over to slap me on the shoulder. “Well done. Only the mightiest of heroes garner such attention from the gods.”

  “So…” I said, stalling as I found the right words. “I can’t abandon Crowley and Bells in their time of need, especially since I led his evil foster-monster right to his doorstep. That said, you two don’t need to stick around as far as I’m concerned. I can send you back to Iceland right now, no hard feelings.”

  What I didn’t mention was that I’d have to act as a decoy to keep the Celtic gods from tracking them back to Iceland. Meaning, I’d have to make my presence known, confronting Fuamnach face-to-face. Badb and Aengus would likely show up soon after, but fuck it—I wasn’t about to force Bryn and Ásgeir to fight my losing battles.

  Bryn frowned. “And miss a good tussle? No valkyrie in her right mind would do so.”

  Ásgeir shrugged. “I am unafraid of witches, even when they are deities in their own right. Besides, I would be breaking our contract if I were to flee now. No, I think I shall stay and help your friend defend his home.”

  “Looks like it’s unanimous,” Bryn added with a twinkle-eyed wink. “Gird your loins, druid. Tonight, you head into battle next to a valkyrie and the Godspear.”

  “Alrighty, then.” I leaned into the stairwell to holler at the shadow wizard. “Yo, Crowley, looks like we’re sticking around to help. What do you want us to do?”

  A shadowy appendage floated into view above, similar to an octopus tentacle but made from oily black smoke. Soon a head formed at the tip, bearing a near-facsimile of the shadow wizard’s face. As if that wasn’t creepy enough, the damned thing blinked at me and spoke.

  “The perimeter of the farm is filled with magical traps, so I advise that you do not wander past the gravel lot in front of the house and tower. However, I expect Mother’s forces to eventually break through. She’ll likely trigger all my wards and traps using masses of undead, and then send in her assassins and shock troops after that.”

  “I’m familiar with how fae assassins operate—but shock troops?”

  I wasn’t certain, but I thought the face might’ve rolled its eyes. “Giants, druid. We dealt with the same in Underhill, remember? You should expect a small number of unseelie fae as well.”

  “Great. So, you want us to set up an ambush?” I asked.

  “In so many words, yes. I’ll need Belladonna’s assistance in triggering the last of my defenses, so you’ll be on your own. Defend the tower while I finish my preparations, then I’ll deal with my mother.”

  “Got it,” I said. “By the way, how can your foster-monster access this place if it’s out of phase with reality?”

  “She’s a three-thousand-year-old sorceress, Colin. She has her ways. If
you’d taken your magical studies seriously, you would know such things.” At that, the tentacle withdrew quickly, disappearing upstairs.

  “Smartass,” I said under my breath as I headed for Crowley’s front door.

  Explosions and flashes of light in the distance shattered the relative peace and calm of the farm. Apparently, the wizard’s assessment of his foster mom’s capabilities was accurate, and timely. If we were going to set up an ambush, we’d need to do it fast.

  “Quickly, you two—do you prefer to fight at a distance or up close?”

  “I can do either,” Bryn said. “But I prefer to be in the thick of battle.”

  I nodded. “Ásgeir?”

  “The same.” He tugged at his scarf nervously. “And I fight alone.”

  “Understood.” I wondered what he hid under that scarf, but now was not the time to ask. Besides, I had a feeling I’d know soon enough. “And how good are you guys at hiding?”

  “Pfft. I am a valkyrie. We traverse battlefields unharmed at will.”

  “I can move unnoticed in nature, if I wish,” Ásgeir said.

  “Okay, great. Then, here’s what we’re going to do…”

  I hid behind an old rusted-out tractor, fully transformed with Orna in hand. Of course, as soon as I drew the sword from my Bag, it began reciting more of Tethra’s deeds, so I had to cast a silence spell on the damned thing. Ásgeir lurked somewhere behind the farmhouse across the way. He’d torn up a piece of farm equipment and had left piles of plow discs in strategic places all over the yard.

  Meanwhile, Bryn had posted high above us in the clouds, mounted on Tordenvejr. I hadn’t seen her bring the pegasus through the portal, and how it had gotten here, I hadn’t a clue. No matter. All I cared about was that we had artillery if and when we needed it. I just hoped her lightning was as badass as her thunder.

  The first signs of Fuamnach’s forces showed up just seconds after we got situated, an unorganized line of ghouls and zombies that staggered across an empty pasture. I counted a dozen or so, barely a nuisance except for the fact that they might force us to give away our positions. I suddenly wished I’d stealth-shifted. I could’ve picked them off with my suppressed Glock 19 if I had smaller hands.