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

by M. D. Massey

  “You don’t know him, or what he’s capable of,” she said. “His kind cannot be trusted.”

  “That’s what you keep saying, but thus far, he’s been nothing but polite and cooperative.” I pointed a finger at her accusingly. “You, on the other hand, have done nothing but stir up shit with him at every opportunity. And, frankly, I don’t see the need to keep you around. I thought you were sent here to assist me, but it’s quickly becoming clear that you’re a liability.”

  “I’m not a liability,” she said, lowering her eyes.

  “Okay, so answer me this. Why are you really here? Why did the Valkyries send one of their own to help me? And don’t tell me it’s because I impressed Gwen, because I don’t buy that bullshit.”

  Bryn kept her eyes downcast as she spoke. “I’m supposed to let the others know if Badb or the other Morrígna set foot on Norse soil. In ages past, they kept us from retrieving the souls of Viking warriors who died in Irland. We have long memories and seek revenge. That is all.”

  I scratched the side of my head as I rocked back on my heels. “Shit, why didn’t you tell me that? Did you think I’d object to seeing a bunch of Valkyries put the hurt on that bitch? She wants me dead, after all—not to mention she’s the reason why Finnegas is dying.”

  “We didn’t know if we could trust you,” she said. “We’d heard rumors that the Celtic gods were hunting the last remaining druids, but few of us believed it until you showed up in Iceland. And even then, we were skeptical.”

  “I see,” I replied, chewing my thumbnail. “Obviously this is shit detail, helping me rescue a Celtic god from the jötnar. So, tell me—why send you?”

  “Because, among all the Valkyries I am the one Odin cares for least. And due to past transgressions, my sisters consider me without honor. If I were lost, no one would come for me. If I fell in battle, none would avenge me. I am expendable—it is as simple as that.”

  “An outcast, eh? It makes sense,” I said, cradling my chin in my hand. “So you’re here to get off Odin’s shit list and to get some respect from your fellow Valkyries. Sticking it to old Badb would probably go a long way toward making you one of the popular girls again, eh?”

  “Do not mock me, druid,” she said sullenly.

  “I’m not.” I exhaled heavily, because I didn’t know if I was making the right decision. Still, I needed allies if I was going to pull this thing off. Besides, it felt right. “Be honest—do you still want a shot at Badb?”

  She locked eyes with me, glaring fiercely. “I hate her, more than I hate the troll.”

  “Okay, then here’s what I’m offering. Bury the hatchet with Ásgeir until this thing is done, and I’ll make sure you get a chance to face that bitch down. Maybe not soon, but certainly at a future date. Deal?”

  She set her mouth in a grim line and nodded. “Deal. But if you ever trap me like this again, I will castrate you and feed your oysters to Tordenvejr.”

  I was about to pull Bryn out of the floor when Crowley strolled in holding a charred and blackened skull in his hands. He’d come from the direction of the main burial crypt, where Bryn and Ásgeir had been playing cards with Jerrik. I didn’t know much about necromancy, but I figured the shadow wizard carried that skull for good reason. Still, it wouldn’t do to pass up a prime opportunity to give him shit.

  “Found a new friend?” I asked. “Or are you just gathering decorations for your new pad?”

  He glanced at me with detached indifference. “I didn’t know you were into bondage, druid. Moreover, I’d most certainly have pegged you for a submissive.”

  “Valkyries do make very good doms,” Bryn remarked drily. “Although I doubt the druid would survive such an encounter.”

  “Hey, lady—one heckler in the crowd is enough,” I said, yanking Bryn out of the floor and back on solid ground. “Speaking of hecklers—two jokes in one day, Crowley? Are you feeling well?”

  “It’s Belladonna’s idea,” he replied, staring at the skull again. “She suggested that I learn to use humor to put people at ease.”

  With a gesture, I solidified the floor before turning to address him. “I have to admit, it does make you seem less like an android and more like a human being. It’d probably work better if you weren’t carrying around that skull, though.”

  The shadow wizard continued to examine the thing, turning it this way and that. “Ah, yes—the skull. I believe I’ve found your draugar chieftain. Or, at least, what’s left of him.”

  “Huh. Ásgeir said he was nothing but ash and melted jewelry,” I remarked.

  “For the most part he was, but thankfully someone beheaded him before they burned him to cinders. I found this skull behind his sarcophagus, where it must’ve rolled when they cast the fireball spell.” Crowley pulled a silk scarf from his satchel, wrapping the skull in it as he continued. “Obviously, whoever attacked Jerrik intended to deny you of his assistance. Sloppy of them to leave bones intact. Then again, I suppose they didn’t expect you to return in the company of a master necromancer.”

  “Since when are you a master necromancer?” I asked.

  “Since I was raised by the greatest necromancer in Underhill,” he replied.

  “Master necromancer or no, I want nothing to do with such unnatural magic,” Bryn said. “I will await you outside.”

  “Bryn,” I called after her as she was leaving the chamber. “Play nice.”

  “You have my word, druid,” she replied as she walked down the corridor. “At least, until you deliver on your promise.”

  “And what promise would that be?” Crowley asked. “That she be allowed to call you ‘daddy’ whilst in the throes of passion?”

  “Damn, Crowster. You are on a roll.”

  “Hmm, yes. I shall tone it down. Belladonna hates it when men try too hard.”

  “That she does,” I said with the slightest smirk. “Are you two dating again?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snapped.

  “Hah!” I replied, stabbing a finger at him. “I knew that once we broke up, you’d be all over her like glitter in a strip club.”

  “Are you jealous, McCool? Then you should not have discarded her.”

  “Naw, I’m not jealous.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder, which made him jump a bit—Crowley wasn’t used to casual physical contact. “If you can make her happy, more power to you.”

  “No one can make anyone else happy, Colin. People make their own contentment. Even I know that.”

  “True. That said, if you two end up together, I hope Bells finds happiness with you. Heaven knows I couldn’t give it to her.”

  “I—thank you, druid.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I said, pointing at the skull. “Now, can you make that thing talk?”

  He gave an annoyed, imperious look that would’ve made Vincent Price proud. “As if it were ever in question. Come along, and you shall have the information you seek.”

  I followed Crowley back to Jerrik’s burial chamber, where he set the skull down in the center of the sarcophagus lid. He pulled a length of white chalk from a pouch at his waist, using it to draw a necromantic circle around the skull. Being naturally curious, I watched for a time, but soon the symbols and runes he etched began to wriggle and swim in a way that made my head hurt.

  Necromancy was simply not compatible with druidry, something I’d learned in my dealings with the Fear Doirich. To avoid making my headache worse, I averted my eyes while Crowley worked, busying myself by examining Jerrik’s tomb. Most of his belongings had been trashed, but I did find a huge lump of slagged gold on the floor. On a whim, I tossed it in my Bag, figuring that he didn’t need it anymore.

  “What was the jarl’s full name and title again?” Crowley asked.

  “Jerrik the Betrayer,” I replied, turning to see the results of his labors. “Former king of the Norwegian Westland, according to Bryn.”

  The lines he’d drawn in the stone surface of the coffin now glowed with a sickly yello
w light, and Jerrik’s head floated in the middle of the circle. The runes and symbols no longer wriggled with a life of their own, but I got a metallic tang in my mouth when I looked at the circle, and my nose filled with the smell of burning offal and decay. I swallowed bile, forcing myself to watch despite the discomfort his magic caused me.

  Crowley’s eyes were locked on the skull, his face lit up with strange shadows by the flickering magic of his rune work. “Jerrik the Betrayer, I summon you from your eternal unrest, so that you may fulfill your vow to the druid named Colin McCool.”

  The skull’s jaw worked back and forth a few times, then it spoke in a hoarse, faraway voice. “I will, if the druid promises to uphold his end of our bargain.”

  Uncertain regarding where we stood on that front, I looked at Crowley. “Can you do it?”

  “Certainly. Odin’s curse has weakened over the years, and he never bothered to renew the magic. Typical of a god,” he said disdainfully.

  “Then, yes, Jerrik, I’ll uphold the bargain as we agreed, so long as you tell us how to get to Jotunheim.”

  “Look below for the answer you seek,” Jerrik’s skull croaked.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Could you be more specific?”

  “I think he means to look inside his crypt,” Crowley suggested.

  “At least one of you has some brains,” the skull added as it gently floated to rest on the sarcophagus.

  The glow slowly faded from Crowley’s runes, leaving us in near darkness. I snapped my fingers, lighting the torches on the walls. Then, I stealth-shifted and slid the lid from Jerrik’s coffin. Inside his crypt was a portal, one that opened up on an elevated stone pathway that stretched away into utter darkness.

  18

  “Huh. You think the giants knew that was there?”

  Crowley shook his head slowly. “I do not. I think Jerrik was the doorway. Or, rather, he was the key. The giants must have known this, having given him the ability to travel to their realm in times past. By obliterating his presence, they likely meant to ensure that he could not open a gateway to their realm.”

  I rocked my hand back and forth as I looked through the portal. “Er, sort of to their realm. From the looks of it, we’ll still have to traverse Yggdrasil.”

  “Ah, yes—the pathways. Mother always thought it was a silly precaution for the Norse gods to take.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he gave me a sideways glance. “Perhaps she thought better of that notion, after the stunt we pulled.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you,” I replied.

  “As I’m aware,” he said. “Now that my work is done, I’ll gladly accept a portal back to Austin, where I intend to warm up with a hot cup of tea and a good grimoire.”

  “Do you need your goop back?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s food I make for Nameless, a mixture of hell hound dung, night hag entrails, and ectoplasm from the shadow plane. Keeps him from eating the locals, you see.”

  “Gross,” I said, reaching in my Bag for the jar. “And just how many locals has that little shit eaten?”

  “No one who would be missed,” he said with utter seriousness.

  I was about to press Crowley on the topic when Ásgeir ran in with Belladonna on his heels. “Druid, we have guests—of the divine kind.”

  “Is it Badb or Aengus?” I asked, abandoning my search for the jar so I could grab Dyrnwyn.

  “Some big blond guy,” Belladonna said. “He’s cute, and very pissed.”

  Ásgeir shook his head. “This is not just ‘some guy.’ The god Váli has arrived, with two great beasts.” He paused, clenching and unclenching his fists, a nervous tell if I ever saw one. “I believe he has summoned two of the landvættir against you.”

  “The land what?” I said in an incredulous tone.

  Crowley scowled. “Do you not research the lands to which you travel? The four landvættir are great beasts that defend Iceland in times of need. Supposedly they were sent by the gods to protect the people from invasion by the Danes.”

  “Colin’s not much for reading up on history,” Bells said. “If it doesn’t involve geek culture, cars, or the opposite sex, he’s not interested.”

  “Sheesh, is it gang up on Colin day?” I protested before tilting my head in acquiescence. “Okay, so maybe I’ve never heard of these ‘land vaders,’ but I know who Váli is, for sure.”

  “How can you not know about these creatures?” Crowley chided. “They are on Iceland’s national coat of arms, and their coins as well.”

  “I might be a geek, but I’m not geeky enough to take up vexillology and numismatics.” I turned to the troll. “Ásgeir, has Váli said what he wants?”

  The troll cocked his head before responding. “He is saying that you are implicated in the disappearance of his son.”

  “Well, that’s not good,” I muttered.

  Crowley cradled his chin and chuckled. “So that’s what happened to the demigod who ran that bar. I should have known.”

  “You’re the reason The Hammer and Anvil closed?” Belladonna’s voice grew wistful. “Carajo—I liked that place, and the bartender was hot.”

  “Druid, what do you intend to do?” Ásgeir said, his voice growing higher in pitch as he spoke.

  I’d never seen the troll rattled, and that had me worried. But if I was going to be hunted by another god, I wanted to know what I was up against. “I need to see this guy with my own eyes before I decide. And those land thingies.”

  “Wights, in your tongue,” the troll said. “As for the god, I’ll tell you all you need to know. As for power, he is the equal of his brother Thor. Also consider that he was born solely for the purpose of avenging Baldur’s murder, which says much about his temperament. He’s perhaps a bit less rash than his brother, and more just, but Váli is also self-righteous and vain. It would be wise of you to avoid him, especially if you were responsible for the death of his son.”

  “Noted.” I cast a chameleon spell on myself and headed for the entrance to the barrow. “Be right back.”

  Ásgeir sighed and followed, while Crowley and Bells remained behind. Crowley likely wanted to ensure that he and Belladonna could escape easily in case of emergency. The wizard was good in a scrape, but when it came down to it, the guy looked out for number one. I didn’t hate him for it, but he wouldn’t be my first choice for back-up against the gods, either.

  When I peeked out of the tomb’s entrance, Bryn was confronting a tall blond guy who was dressed like a lumberjack—beard, watch cap, felling axe and all. And by tall, I mean NBA tall, but built like an inside linebacker with lots of functional muscle and nothing soft about him. A quick peek in the magical spectrum revealed he was definitely a full-on deity, and his axe bled magic like a sieve.

  Besides the god, we had other concerns. Something large flew in circles high above, but I couldn’t tell what because all I could see was its shadow. And behind Váli stood the biggest fucking minotaur I’d ever seen. Granted, he was the only minotaur I’d ever seen, as we didn’t have any back in Austin. Still, this fucker was huge, maybe seven feet tall with the muscularity of a ’roided up bodybuilder.

  Otherwise, he looked just like I would’ve expected—short brown fur, bull’s head, big horns, and no armor or clothing except for a black, kilt-like skirt and a ridiculously large pair of Crocs. No shit, the minotaur wore lime-green Crocs. It was the weirdest damned thing I’d seen since I landed in Iceland.

  Behind them lurked Máni, Rós, and Sigi, the three huldufólk who likely sent the giants to torch my tree. Just the sight of those assholes had me reaching for Dyrnwyn, but Ásgeir laid a hand on my arm to stop me. He was as well-hidden as I was, blending into the shadowed walls of the tomb using his innate glamour.

  “Wait, druid,” he said in an almost imperceptibly soft voice. “Let us listen to what the valkyrie says.”

  “Stand aside, wench,” Váli said as he stared her down with cold blue eyes. The god stood with relaxed calm, unlike the valkyrie, who balance
d on the balls of her feet, ready to fight or flee. “The Hidden Folk have told me of your pact with the American, and I know he is nearby, which is why I choose to speak to you in this detestable language.”

  “Just kill her, Váli,” the minotaur said. “Odin will not mourn her loss.”

  “Father no longer favors her, true,” Váli replied, keeping his eyes on Bryn. “But his judgement is swift for any who would harm his handmaidens. Tell me, Urion—if I should slay her, will you take the blame and suffer his wrath?”

  “I still say we should kill her and be done with it,” Urion muttered. He had a Greek accent, which seemed fitting, if confusing.

  “Thankfully, you appear to have no say in the matter,” Bryn replied. “And you’d find the task to be much more of a challenge than you might think. Besides, the druid is not here.”

  “She lies, great prince,” Máni said as he peered around the minotaur’s huge shoulders. Rós and Sigi merely nodded in agreement. Apparently, they weren’t dumb enough to butt into this conversation.

  “I know this,” Váli said in an annoyed tone. “And when I want your opinion, worm, I shall ask for it.”

  Máni hung his head, clearly knowing that discretion was the better part of being a snitch. I’d deal with him later. Currently, my main concern was getting Bryn away from Váli so we could make a hasty retreat to Jotunheim.

  Váli swung his axe off his shoulder, planting the axe head in the ground so he could rest his hands on the handle. “I will not ask again, Brynhildr—stand aside so I may confront the druid.”

  “Are Odin’s warriors not the domain of the Valkyries?” she asked. “Should I allow you to trespass in a tomb of the fallen, defiling their graves for the sake of this wild goose chase? What would Odin say, if I ignored my duties simply so you can pursue your whims?”

  “The tomb of treasonous swine, you mean,” Váli sneered. “The draugar are no concern of mine, and they will not object to my presence. I do not intend to disturb them.”