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

by M. D. Massey

  “Indeed, you are too late for that,” Bryn replied solemnly. “Someone recently delivered the second death to those your father condemned to eternal unrest.” She paused to stroke her chin. “In fact, the manner in which they were slain leads me to believe that it was the work of a god. I wonder, will your presence here implicate you in the act?”

  “Choose your words with care,” Váli growled. “You know I would never undermine my father’s authority.”

  “I can only report what I see—no more, no less. Thus far, I can honestly say I never saw you set foot inside the tomb.” She let her statement of fact hang in the air. “And if you do not enter the crypt, that is what I will tell Odin when he asks me what happened to Jerrik and his clan.”

  Váli’s face turned beet red, and a blood vessel popped out on his forehead. His hands gripped the butt of his axe so hard I thought it would splinter, and for a moment I was sure he was going to take Bryn’s head off. Then, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them only to glower at the valkyrie.

  “This is not over, Brynhildr. I will catch up with the druid at some point, and then there will be a reckoning.” He turned and addressed the minotaur. “Come, Urion. We shall dine and drink at my home until this human shows his face again.”

  “I still say this is bullshit,” Urion complained unironically. “Should’ve just killed her and been done with it.”

  Ignoring the minotaur’s mutterings, Váli swung his axe over his shoulder with one hand while using the fingers of his other to whistle loudly. I heard the sound of huge feathered wings beating overhead, then the biggest fucking griffin I’d ever seen landed outside the tomb. It was easily the size of an elephant, with a lion’s rear legs and hindquarters and an eagle’s forelegs, chest, wings, and head. The god and the minotaur leapt on its back, and then they flew off into the sky, leaving the three huldufólk standing there looking like idiots.

  “Wait a minute,” I said to Ásgeir. “I thought minotaurs were a Greek thing.”

  “I believe he was a gift from Zeus to Odin,” the troll said. “The All-Father didn’t know what to do with him, so he placed him in charge of guarding the northwestern regions of the island.”

  “Makes sense,” I replied, observing the three huldufólk, who were looking around nervously. “Back me up here, will you?”

  Váli, Urion, and the griffin were just a speck in the distance, so I ran out of the tunnel using my Fomorian speed, snagging Máni by the scruff of the neck. I threw him on the ground, pinning him with my cold iron hunting knife at his throat. Rós and Sigi both drew wicked-looking bone daggers in response, but then Ásgeir appeared in front of them, causing them to back down.

  “Alright, Máni—it’s time to share what you’ve been up to lately. Who killed Jerrik and his clan, and how’d they know we came here?”

  Máni began to stutter and stammer, pleading for mercy. Before I got any intelligible info out of him, Bryn tapped me on the arm. “Druid, I believe Váli is coming back. We should flee while we can.”

  The speck in the sky was now the size of a fly and growing larger by the second. “Ah, shit.”

  “Should I kill them?” Ásgeir asked, as if he were asking about the weather.

  “No, not yet. As much as I’d like to cross these idiots off my list, I don’t want to start a war with the whole huldufólk nation.” I bitch-slapped Máni hard enough to split his lip, then I whispered in his ear. “I’ve had about enough of you, elf. I strongly suggest you let me finish my business here in peace, before I lose my shit and kill you and your uptight, privileged sidekicks.”

  Then, I set him down rather roughly, taking time to straighten the collar on his very expensive-looking gray-flannel suit. I glanced skyward again, noting that Váli was closer now, close enough for me to see his axe’s gleam in the moonlight. It was definitely time to go.

  “Come on, everyone,” I said, mostly for the snitches’ sakes. “Jerrik had an escape route in the back of the tomb.”

  When we ducked inside the tunnels, I hooked a thumb at the entrance. “Ásgeir, can you do something about that?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “But collapsing a cave is easier than clearing it. If there is no other way out, we will be trapped here once the entrance is sealed.”

  “Do it, then meet us in Jerrik’s burial vault.” I took off down the tunnel with Bryn hot on my heels. “I’m curious, could you have taken Váli?”

  She chuckled. “With all my sisters at my back, certainly. But alone? No. Odin made us powerful, but he did not make us gods.”

  “So, why’d you stand up to him?”

  “I might be despised by my kind, but I am not without honor. We made a deal, and I want vengeance—and vindication.” There was an explosive boom behind us, followed by a long rumbling noise. Bryn looked back over her shoulder before continuing. “That will not hold Odin’s son for long, and he will be eager to pay me back for my deception. I only hope it was worth it.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Stick around long enough and eventually one of the Celtic gods will show up to kill me. Right now, you have a one-in-three chance it’ll be Badb, but I intend to increase those odds very, very soon. You’ll get your opportunity, believe me.”

  “We shall see,” she said, just as we entered the jarl’s burial chamber.

  “So, does another god want to kill you or not?” Bells asked as we jogged into view.

  “I believe that Váli is undecided, but in my estimation, he is leaning toward murder,” Bryn said.

  “Great,” my ex replied. “Can you send us back to Austin, then? Because as much as I enjoy a good scrape, gods are out of my league, and I have a case to solve.”

  “A case?” I asked.

  “We’ve, er, started an agency,” Crowley said in a quiet voice as he rifled through Jerrik’s tomb. Every so often, he’d slip something in his satchel. I didn’t say anything, because I figured it was payment for helping me out. And it wasn’t like Jerrik needed it anymore.

  “In fact, we’re partners now,” Bells added, slinging an arm over Crowley’s shoulders. I noted that he did not object. “And I have a client waiting for me back in Round Rock, so if you could zap us back to my apartment—”

  “Um, I have some bad news,” I said, squinting one eye shut in a lopsided, apologetic grin. “If I send you back to Austin, there’s a good chance Váli will follow you there looking for me. Or, even worse, Badb or Aengus will show up, and then you’ll really be fucked.”

  “Which means?” Bells asked, leaning in menacingly.

  “It means we’re accompanying the druid on the next leg of his journey,” Crowley said in an annoyed tone. “To Jotunheim.”

  Belladonna’s eyes tightened as she curled her fists into tight balls at her sides. Her pupils transformed from neat, round circles to vertical slits, and silvery scales began to pop out on her forehead. Then, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes for several seconds. I began to open my mouth to speak, but Crowley urged me to hold my tongue with a surreptitious wave of his hand.

  Finally, the scales receded, and she opened her eyes. “Fine. But if I lose this client, you’re reimbursing me for the loss out of that fat justiciar money you’ve been getting.”

  “Deal,” I said as Ásgeir sprinted into the room on his weird stick-like legs. “Time to go?”

  He nodded. “Váli and the bull man will dig through the rubble in minutes.”

  My gaze swept across the room, and then down at the portal inside Jerrik’s coffin. “Alrighty, then—let’s go rescue Dian Cécht.”

  19

  Ásgeir insisted on taking the lead, and I let him since we didn’t have time to argue. After he squeezed his massive shoulders through the tunnel, I hopped down behind him, followed by Belladonna, Bryn, and, finally, Crowley. Rather than climbing down, the shadow wizard descended on dark tendrils of oily smoke, careful not to snag his tailored black slacks and expensive gray cable-knit sweater.

  “Um, Crowley—the curse?”
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  “Yes, yes—I took care of that while you were spying on the latest god who wants to murder you,” he said as he knelt down to examine the path beneath our feet. He rapped his knuckles on the stones. “Eldritch magic. Odin dabbles in forbidden arts, it would seem.”

  “What about the doorway?” I asked, pointing to the portal above us.

  “Give it a minute.”

  Crowley crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently as he watched the portal. Soon, the minotaur’s head popped into view above us. As Urion reached a hand through the portal to follow, it snapped shut, severing his hand at the wrist. The hand dropped to the stone pathway at the shadow wizard’s feet with a soft thump. Crowley picked it up and wrapped it in yet another silk kerchief before slipping it inside his satchel.

  “Took them long enough,” Crowley said.

  “Was that really necessary?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’ll grow another,” he replied. “You’re a shifter. You know better than I how animal-human hybrids heal.”

  “And they accuse me of making friends everywhere I go,” I said as I drew Dyrnwyn from my Bag.

  It failed to light, although it did flicker a bit when I accidentally pointed it in Crowley’s direction. No surprise there, but at least there weren’t any immediate threats around other than my best frenemy. Satisfied that we were more or less safe for the moment, I did a visual scan of our surroundings—a task that didn’t take long at all.

  The pathway we stood on was roughly ten feet wide, without a guardrail or even a small lip to prevent a person from falling into the great dark void of Yggdrasil beyond. It was made of gray stone blocks, each carved with a single rune—and from what I could tell, nothing appeared to support it underneath.

  As for visibility, the path glowed with a pale golden light, yet it was darker than pitch everywhere else. In fact, the only thing I could see was the walkway we stood upon, winding away into the vast blackness that stretched out in every other direction.

  The place reminded me a lot of the pocket dimension inside my Bag, except it was a lot less crowded. Based on my past experience with pocket dimensions and the Void, I knew that things lurked out there in the dark. It was best that we found our way to Jotunheim as quickly as possible, before some ancient evil found us first.

  “Alright, so who knows the way to Jotunheim?” I asked.

  “There’s only one path, pendejo,” Belladonna said. “Seems like it’s obvious which way we should go.”

  “Actually, it’s not that simple,” Bryn replied. “The paths of Yggdrasil are many, and they twist and turn back on each other. This is merely an entry branch, and as we travel, we’ll come to forks and junctions along the way.”

  “Do you know which way to go?” I asked.

  “No, but I have a feeling that the wizard might,” she said.

  “If you’re inquiring as to whether or not I kept the skull, of course I did,” Crowley said. “The first thing you learn in necromancy is to never release a captive soul until their task is done.”

  “Druid,” Ásgeir said, “I think it is best we do not tarry.”

  “Agreed,” I replied. “It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway—don’t step off the path.”

  “Why, what’s down there?” Bells asked, looking over the edge.

  “Nothing,” Crowley said, gently grabbing her by the arm to pull her toward the center of the path. “Nothing at all.”

  “¡Claro que sí!” Belladonna snarked. “Colin always did take me to the nicest places.”

  That elicited a snort from Bryn, as well as a muffled chuckle from the pathway behind us. “You may as well show yourselves,” I said to the darkness.

  “Oh, you’re no fun,” Loki replied as he and Click slowly shimmered into view. “I was going to startle the troll to see if I could get him to leap off the path.”

  “Which is exactly why I want you and Click in plain sight,” I replied, acknowledging my substitute magic teacher with a nod. “Speaking of, glad to see you made it.”

  “Oh, ya’ know me, lad. I’m ne’er one ta’ pass up a jaunt through a pocket dimension.” Click snapped his fingers, and a lit cigarette appeared in his hand. “’Sides, I’m itchin’ ta’ see what happens when ya’ go up against that tosser, Býleistr.”

  Bryn gave the quasi-god an amused frown. “Are you really that eager to see your pupil torn limb from limb?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that cabrón, chica,” Bells said as she shouldered past the troll to head down the path. “He could fall face-first in a pile of ghoul shit and still come up smelling like roses.”

  Shortly thereafter, we came to the first junction just as Bryn said we would. The path came to a crossroads of sorts, where another path crossed the one we were on at an oblique angle. Several other paths hung above and below us, winding off into the distance like gold and gray lengths of rope against the black void beyond.

  “Which way, Crowley?” I asked.

  He held the skull up to his ear. “Straight ahead.”

  “Well, that’s damned convenient,” Click observed. “Mayhaps I should pick up a bit o’ necromancy and take a floatin’, talkin’ skull with me everywhere I go. Give ’em flames fer’ eyes, and such.”

  “I believe one empty talking head is enough,” Crowley remarked in a flat voice.

  “Watch’er tone, youngling,” Click said with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Ya’ might think Fuamnach’s the deadliest magician the Fair Folk e’er issued forth, but ye’d be mistaken.”

  “Enough, you two,” I warned. “Save it for the jötnar.”

  As we continued on, the two of them continued to bicker back and forth over the relative merits of aes sídhe magic versus that of the Tylwyth Teg. In my opinion it was a moot point, because the two were essentially one and the same—if not in geography, than in nature, at least. Crowley didn’t seem to know what to make of Click, and I got the feeling he didn’t trust him, which was funny because the feeling was mutual. Their arguing was giving me a headache, and I was about to intervene before it got out of hand. Thankfully, Bryn beat me to it.

  “Odin’s left eye—would you two give it a rest?” the valkyrie said in a peeved tone. “You’ve been at it since the last intersection.”

  “Thank you,” Bells said. “It’s bad enough that I have to hear him arguing with his bird back home.”

  “Oh, an’ I should jest let this upstart mage tell me how ta’ animate a magical construct?” Click huffed. “As if. I created ma’ first golem while this twit were still shittin’ his drawers.”

  “In truth, I have no idea how old I am,” Crowley replied, drawing himself up to his full height so he could look down his nose at Click. “Although I don’t think age has anything to do with the relative skill of a practitioner of the dark arts.”

  “Ah, look what you’ve done,” Loki said, belching as he took a swig from a bottle of wine. “You’ve gotten Snape here all riled up. Now, he’ll never shut up.”

  I was about to step in and referee before things got out of hand when I noticed Ásgeir looking in the distance behind us. “Trouble?”

  The troll threw his hands up in the air. “Perhaps, but it’s hard to tell with this incessant chatter.”

  “Hey, guys—cut it out for a second,” I said, holding my hands over my head to get their attention. Crowley and Click continued to bicker in the background, oblivious to my request.

  “I don’t think they heard you,” Belladonna said as she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  “Guys—aw, fuck it.” I put a little Fomorian in my voice. “Quiet!”

  My voice boomed across the stone pathway, reverberating off the walkways above and below until the echo got lost in the void. Crowley and Click both turned to look at me as if I’d gone mad, while the others did the whole, “this is awkward, averting my eyes now” thing. I stood there feeling kind of stupid, but I kept the stern look on my face as I returned their stares.

  “An’ who
put the bee in his bonnet?” Click asked.

  “Oh, he’s terribly excitable,” Crowley replied. “It doesn’t take much to upset him.”

  “Ssshh,” Ásgeir said. “There it is again.”

  A hush fell across our group, and all remained silent as we strained to hear whatever had the troll riled. The only noise I heard was Ásgeir’s stomach rumbling, so I cast a cantrip to enhance my senses.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Bryn said. “The troll merely jumps at shadows.”

  Then, I heard it—a cry in the distance, kind of a cross between a lion’s roar and the cry of an eagle. I’d heard a noise like that twice before, once in a cave in Kingsland, Texas, and again in Mag Mell. It was the hunting call of a—

  “Dragon,” Loki said with drunken indifference. “Looks like my brother roused the other two landvættir.”

  “Meh, could be anything,” Click said. “Ya’ know how things get in the Void, what wit’ the Byakhees an’ Huntin’ Horrors flyin’ ’round.”

  “Hunting whats?” Belladonna asked.

  “Hunting Horrors,” Crowley said, eager for the opportunity to recite a bit of arcane knowledge. “A predatory airborne creature existing on two planes at once, mostly made up of dark matter and shadow, roughly the size of a young dragon. Nyarlathotep uses them to track down his enemies on the mortal planes.”

  We heard the screeching noise again, this time even closer.

  “That’s not anything from the Void,” Loki said, finishing his bottle and tossing it off the walkway. “In Yggdrasil, sound only travels along and between the paths. If it was out there, we couldn’t hear it, because there’s no atmosphere. It’s definitely a dragon.”

  I poured every bit of magic I could into my sensory enhancement cantrip, straining my eyes as I looked back in the direction we’d come. Off in the very far distance, I could barely make out a flying creature with a rider on its back. I’d spent some time studying dragons after my last brush with Caoranach, and based on what I knew of dragon anatomy, only adult dragons were strong enough to carry riders. Meaning, that rider was almost as tall as a fully-grown dragon.