The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy)

by Michael J Sanford

  “I think you’ve shared plenty of what is going on up there.” She frowned and leaned back in her chair. Her face contorted as she watched Wyatt as if she were wrestling with an idea. “Wyatt, I am going to ask you a question and I want you to be open and honest about it. It may be difficult, but I’d like you to try. OK?”

  Wyatt nodded.

  Mrs. Heclar took a deep breath and studied his face a moment longer. “What do you remember about your parents? Your mother? Father?”

  Wyatt smiled and let out a laugh. “That’s your serious question?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, OK. The Mother is kind of like the ground and the trees and wind, and well, she’s like the world. Like ‘Mother Earth,’ except it’s not Earth, but it’s like that, I think. It’s where I get my power from, but I have to be touching her, which is a pain, especially when shadow demons grab-”

  “Wyatt!” Mrs. Heclar shouted, overly demonstrative. She took a breath and fussed with her large hoop earrings. “Your real mother, Wyatt. Tell me about her.” Her voice had softened, but her eyes were nervous and jumpy. Her hands were shaking.

  And she thinks I’m the crazy one?

  “Um, I don’t have a mom,” he said finally. “Isn’t that in my file or something?”

  Mrs. Heclar nodded. “What happened to her?”

  “Isn’t that in my file too?”

  “I want to hear your recollection.”

  Wyatt frowned. Why is she so interested in my mom? “Uh, my mom ran away when I was two because she couldn’t take care of me, but my grandma kept me. Well, until she got sick.”

  “And that’s why you’re here?” Curious interest reigned supreme as Mrs. Heclar leaned against the desk.

  “Well, yeah. I’m fifteen and can’t live on my own yet, so I got sent here. But, I’ll be out soon. My grandma will get better and I’ll go back home.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Don’t have one,” Wyatt said tersely.

  “Everyone has a dad.”

  “Well duh, I know how sex works,” Wyatt said, rolling his eyes. “But, I never knew my dad.”

  “Does it bother you to not know your parents?”

  “No,” Wyatt said flatly and it didn’t. He really hadn’t ever given much thought to his parents. He had his grandma and now he had the Children and Rozen, and even Grenleck. Why is she asking such dumb questions? “They’re going to throw a festival for me.”

  Mrs. Heclar raised an eyebrow, clearly thrown off. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, because I’m the first Druid to be seen in generations. I’m a VIP. They like, practically worship me.”

  Mrs. Heclar slumped back and frowned. “I think we’ve had enough for today, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt stood.

  “Hold on a second,” she said bidding him sit again with a wave of her hand. He remained standing. “There are going to be some consequences for running away, again. Ms. Abagail is coming in early to hang out with you, but you have to stay on dorm for the rest of the day.”

  Wyatt looked to the clock on the wall. Well past lunch period. He shrugged. “OK, can I go to my room then?”

  Mrs. Heclar looked taken aback. “Uh, yeah, that’s fine. Ms. Abagail is bringing you lunch.”

  Wyatt nodded and confined himself to his bedroom.

  Ms. Abagail arrived with a ham and cheese sub half an hour later. Wyatt didn’t look up from his comic as she set it atop his desk and settled herself in an office chair in his doorway.

  “Come to babysit me?” he said, turning the page.

  “Well, you keep running away from Mrs. Heclar, so yeah.” Ms. Abagail was fixed to her phone just as Wyatt was to his comic.

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “She told me you were messing around Girls’ Dorm. That’s pretty weird.”

  “I wasn’t messing around. I got sent there. It’s this dumb pendant,” he said and drew it from below his shirt. “I need to figure out how to control it.”

  “Yeah, you better or you’re gonna get pretty bored sittin’ in your room all day every day.” Ms. Abagail took a swig of liquid caffeine and brushed her jet hair behind an ear.

  Wyatt shrugged. “I like being in my room alone. Besides, I never know when I’ll get sent back.”

  Ms. Abagail sighed. “You’re a weird one. You know that?”

  Wyatt shrugged again and caught sight of his lunch. His stomach growled. Sometimes he would get so caught up in a comic he’d forget to eat. He tossed the comic aside and grabbed the sub.

  “There isn’t mayo on this is there?” he said with a scowl and lifted the top bun to check. He let out a shout of dismay and dropped the sub, falling to the floor alongside it, his heart thundering and his hands shaking. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, as if the air had gone ice cold.

  “Com’n, Wyatt. There’s no mayo on it.”

  Wyatt couldn’t process her words. His eyes were locked on the shadow creature that had burst from the sandwich and now hovered in the corner of the room. It shimmered and shifted, disguising its true shape and intention.

  “Uh, Ms. Abagail…” he stammered, pointing at the seething, pulsing shade.

  “What?” was all she said, clearly annoyed.

  “Uh, shadowy beastie thing… I don’t know what they’re called, but a Shaman must be nearby.”

  “A what?” Ms. Abagail was looking up now and frowning at him.

  “A Shaman,” he repeated. “The Regency! We have to get out of here. My powers are no good on Earth. I can’t hear the whisper.”

  Wyatt stumbled to his feet and went for the door, but Ms. Abagail had her feet propped in the doorway and prohibited his passing.

  “You can play your little make-believe games, but you have to stay in your room. And you’re not getting another sandwich, so you might wanna pick that one up.”

  Wyatt spun. It’s still there. He couldn’t distinguish eyes, but he could feel the shadowy demon staring at him, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He looked again to Ms. Abagail who made a shooing motion with her free hand. I’ve got to hide, he thought, scanning the room. The wall locker! He crossed slowly to the freestanding wooden cupboard, his eyes never leaving the shade in the corner. His hand fumbled for the handle and slowly eased it open. Something scurried at his back and bowled him over. Wyatt hit the ground and rolled. A cloud of dark, writhing shadows streamed from the wall locker and washed over him. He shouted and swung wildly at the swarming demons.

  Ms. Abagail said something from the doorway, but he couldn’t hear. I have to get out of here! He found his footing and sprinted for the doorway. He hardly registered Ms. Abagail as he shouldered into her. The pair went down in a heap upon the hallway floor, the office chair shooting off to the side.

  They were shrieking at him, shouting words he couldn’t understand, but their meaning was clear. They were going to consume him. He scrambled from the floor, but something pulled at his legs and tore at his chest. Talons. He could feel the shadowy claws rip at his flesh and drag him to the ground. He shouted, screamed, and shrieked. He kicked his feet and swung his arms frantically at the shifting shapes. Just as he sought to catch one with a punch it dissolved and reformed in a different location with a shriek. Wings buffeted his face and sent his glasses skidding along the wooden floor. They became a dark, buzzing blur after that.

  “How did you get here?” he shouted, spitting and shaking off tears. “How did you find me?”

  The force of the swarm slammed into his ribs and pitched him against the wall. He floundered, but couldn’t break their hold. He coughed and retched against the floor, seeking to draw just a moment of air, but failing.

  “No,” he bellowed. “No, you will not overpower me! You will not overpower me! I am… Wyatt… the Mighty. You will not overpower me…”

  Beaks tore at his neck and claws lashed at his back. Shadowy wings filled the air and drowned out all sound. How did they get here? How?

  “Rozen,” he began to shout. “Rozen,
Rozen! Find the… Shaman… Rozen, help me! The… the… Shaman…”

  His head swam and his lungs refused to shift beneath the weight of a hundred shadows. I’m losing too much blood, he thought as the world around him dimmed. And I never got to see my festival. He gave one last futile thrash before falling still and allowing his eyes to close.

  Chapter Thirty

  WYATT WEARILY RUBBED his eyes and tried to balance his glasses on his nose, but an arm was missing. If he pressed hard enough against the bridge of his nose they would stay, only just, allowing him to see through one lens. He frowned and resorted to holding them in place.

  Mr. Gerald and Mrs. Heclar leaned against the windowsill, while an older man he didn’t recognize sat in an office chair in front of them. He hadn’t seen them enter and couldn’t remember anything but the shadow demons. He brushed anxiously at his hair, thinking to dislodge any residual shadows. Nothing came forth. The air was calm, the dorm quiet.

  Mrs. Heclar was a different matter. She refused to make eye contact with Wyatt, instead staring at the floor and fussing with her shirt hem. Her hair was disheveled, more so than usual, and a pair of parallel gouges ran across one cheek. Her eyes looked slightly swollen and she was favoring her left wrist.

  “Did the shadows get you, Mrs. Heclar?” he said, unaware of how hoarse his voice was. His throat groaned with each word.

  Mrs. Heclar flinched, giving Wyatt only a passing glance. The older man cleared his throat. “Wyatt, can you remember what happened earlier today? After your therapy session?” His mustache was thick and bright white, matching the meticulous strands on his head.

  Wyatt studied him. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dr. Forentino. We met on your first day here. I am the clinical psychiatrist for the Shepherd’s Crook.”

  Wyatt shook his head. He had never met the man, he was certain. Is he some doppelganger in league with the shadows? Did a Shaman create him? Could he be a Wight?

  Mr. Gerald cleared his throat, thick flabs of skin and fat shuddering around his bulbous neck. “You attacked Ms. Abagail and Mrs. Heclar, Wyatt.”

  Dr. Forentino shot Mr. Gerald a look from beneath his bushy eyebrows and pulled his glasses from his face.

  “I didn’t attack anyone,” Wyatt exclaimed. “I was the one being attacked. I tried to save them…” Or at least save myself.

  Dr. Forentino shifted and pulled his left leg over his right. His pants were gray and perfectly pleated and his penny loafers had actual pennies in the tongues. “Wyatt,” he said after a long pause. “You attacked Ms. Abagail and when Mrs. Heclar came to help, you attacked her as well. Luckily, Mr. Gerald was also on dorm and the three were able to restrain you.”

  Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck and suddenly felt a profound stiffness in his back and legs. He could still feel the weight against his body. It was the shadow demons, he thought, not the staff.

  “Do you remember any of it?”

  Wyatt screwed his face into a frown, directed at Dr. Forentino. Like I’d tell you anything. “Where’s Ms. Abagail?” he said, surveying the room as if he thought to find her hiding in a corner.

  “She’s walking the others back from school,” Mr. Gerald said. Wyatt could smell the faint hint of body odor drifting off the man.

  “Is she OK?” Wyatt said, suddenly very concerned.

  “Are you worried about her?” Dr. Forentino said.

  “I thought the shadows were after me,” Wyatt said and looked at Mrs. Heclar who refused to lift her gaze. “But, I guess they were after Ms. Abagail and Mrs. Heclar.” Did I lead them here? Death and shadows. Shadows and death.

  “The shadows?”

  Wyatt turned on Dr. Forentino. “Yes, the shadows. They’re shifty little demons that the Shamans… well, summon, I guess. I thought they were after me, but I guess not. I must have led them here somehow, but only my pendant can cross worlds. Did I do something? Is it my fault?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Mr. Gerald suddenly, his arms crossed over his chest, sweat glistening on his face.

  Dr. Forentino shot him another look and turned to Wyatt again. “I am glad to see you taking some responsibility, but there were no shadows or demons. It was only you and Ms. Abagail. Don’t you remember? Something made you attack-”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her. Not Ms. Abagail. I like her, for a staff anyway. It was the shadows. They followed me back from Hagion. And I wouldn’t hurt Mrs. Heclar either, even though I don’t like her,” he offered the social worker a weak smile. “No offense.” She didn’t look up.

  “Maybe it was something that you and Mrs. Heclar were discussing that made you so upset?”

  Wyatt frowned. “I wasn’t upset and I didn’t attack anyone. I was trying to save my own life. Tell them, Mrs. Heclar. Tell them about the shadow demons.”

  Mrs. Heclar shifted uncomfortably, but looked up. Her eyes were sad, or perhaps filled with pity, maybe remorse. Wyatt couldn’t tell, but he wasn’t sure he cared either. “Oh, Wyatt,” she said softly. “There weren’t any demons. But, it may be my fault. Maybe we were moving too fast in your session. I shouldn’t have brought up your family.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Mr. Gerald interjected, forcing Mrs. Heclar to drop her gaze again. “We can’t have him living in this fantasy world if it’s going to get people hurt, especially my staff.”

  Dr. Forentino held a thick hand up to silence the giant man. He let out a sigh and studied Wyatt a moment, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “Wyatt, what do you remember of your home life, right before you came to the Shepherd’s Crook? The last thing you remember, if you please.”

  Wyatt was confused. What does this have to do with anything? Shadow demons have come into this world and this is what they want to talk about? He wanted them to disappear. He wanted to be alone, and more than anything, he wanted to go back. Back to Hagion. Back to Rozen. He leaned against the headboard and drew his legs toward his chest, his hands fiddling with the green stone. He’d have to humor them, he knew.

  “My grandma got sick. That’s why I’m here. Isn’t that in my file or whatever?”

  Dr. Forentino nodded slowly. “Do you remember what happened to her? How she got sick?”

  Wyatt frowned. “She fell, so I called 911 for help.”

  “And the ambulance came to help her?”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Duh, that’s what they do. They strapped her into one of those rolling table things and told me she’d be OK, that she had just feinted.”

  “How did they carry her out?”

  Wyatt frowned again. Isn’t he listening? Anger boiled up from is stomach, but he calmly repressed it. He just wanted them gone. “On a… stretcher I think they’re called. They picked her up and…” His voice trailed off as his mind crawled back to that day.

  “Wyatt? Tell me what you’re seeing.”

  He hadn’t remembered closing his eyes, but all he saw was darkness. His mind swam, pulling at the recesses, taking him back though it wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to go back. No, I don’t want to go, he screamed, but it was no use.

  He was calling her name, shouting it, but she didn’t respond. He sat at her side awhile, shaking her, and willing her to rise, but she didn’t. He called 911. The numbers on the phone seemed giant to him now, towering, ominous digits, large as tombstones.

  “The paramedics are here,” he said aloud at hardly more than a whisper. “Is she going to be OK? Answer me! Please. They have a bunch of equipment and are poking and prodding her, sticking her like an animal. They’re all shaking their heads. They’ve brought in the stretcher and are lifting her, putting her into…” His voice faded and his eyes shot open as the memory came back like a thrashing wave.

  “No!” he shouted, throat afire with emotion.

  His eyes shot wide and locked on Dr. Forentino. The white-haired psychiatrist said something, Wyatt saw his lips move, but couldn’t hear the sound. Only the pounding of his own heart was in his ears. She’s dead, Wyatt’s mind screamed. H
is own voice bellowed in disagreement. “No! No! No!”

  His vision clouded and his body thrashed in violent opposition, separate from his mind and thoughts. He felt hands grab at his body, and thrashed harder, yelling and spitting, gnashing his teeth and hissing for good measure.

  No, she can’t be dead. She’s all I have. I’ll never get out now. No. No. No. No.

  The pressure was overwhelming, suffocating and enveloping. Where he was he couldn’t say. His world was fading to darkness and he could not have welcomed it more.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  THEY TOLD HIM later that he had been placed in another restraint. They said he was shouting and foaming at the mouth like some wild beast. Wyatt couldn’t remember any of it. It was the shadows… Death and shadows. Shadows and…

  A bad taste lingered in his mouth, unidentifiable, but it made his stomach churn and he felt as if he would vomit at any moment. She’s dead.

  It was night, an entire day gone from his memory. It was a curious feeling to have missed several hours and be aware of their absence, but unable to access the particular memory. He was reminded of the days following Rozen’s injury. The pit in his stomach hardened and his throat swelled. She’s dead. She’s dead.

  The dorm was silent and dark, marred only by the soft creak of office chairs as one of the night staff shifted in the hallway. It was somewhere between ten at night and dawn, he knew, but couldn’t be any more certain than that. Not that it mattered. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.

  Wyatt cringed and shook his head, hoping to dislodge the voice. He longed for the comforting whisper of the Mother. He lay still, dashed beneath thick blankets, slowing his breath and feigning death, but the voice continued to berate him, bouncing around inside his skull, taunting and sneering with every iteration. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.

  He clenched his jaw and rolled out of bed, sliding silently to the floor. His hands went to the pendant. Even in the shadows, the green crystal shone brightly. Come on, he urged it. Take me away. The gemstone sparkled, but remained still. Wyatt hissed through clenched teeth and lifted his eyes to the window. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.