Shade Cursed: A Druidverse Urban Fantasy Novel (The Shadow Changeling Series Book 1)

by M. D. Massey

  Greatly reducing the likelihood that someone will come looking for him. Excellent.

  “Whatever, man. When I get out of here, I’m going to rip your throat out.”

  I examined my fingernails, buffing them on my bespoke twill sports coat. “You’ll do no such thing. For the time being, you are trapped. Soon the sun will rise, at which time you’ll be presented with a choice. Comply and live, or resist at your peril. If you should choose the latter, I shall become very cross, and it’s quite possible I’ll float this sphere into the daylight, where I’ll release it to watch you burn.”

  The vampire’s eyes narrowed as he sized me up. “I know you.”

  “Doubtful, as I prefer to operate incognito. I have neither the need nor the desire to be known to the greater supernatural community in Austin.”

  The vampire shook his head. “Naw, there ain’t that many shadow mages around these days. A while back, the Council heard about some shadow wizard dude who helped Luther gank some rogue vamps.” He snapped his fingers. “Shit! You’re the one who took out Remy and Silvère at that nuclear power plant in North Texas.”

  I frowned, inwardly wincing at how my facial muscles tugged against the fading burn scars that marked half my face. In fact, I had been present at that near-debacle, and it was also true that I’d lent some assistance to the coven leader and that hapless druid justiciar. And a fortunate choice it had been—for my companions at least—as I’d saved the druid’s life that day.

  However, my only personal motivation for accompanying the druid was to gather ingredients for my experiments. Certainly, I possessed a grudging amount of respect for the justiciar, but I likely would not have assisted him had Belladonna not asked me to do so. And while the vampires I’d killed on that trip had provided me with plenty of raw materials to work with, my supply of vampire blood and internal organs had eventually run out.

  Thus, my current situation.

  “I see my reputation precedes me. Splendid. Now, if you would be so kind as to cooperate with this abduction, we can be on our way.”

  “On our way? Where, man?”

  Involuntarily, I gave a put-upon sigh. “To my workshop, of course.”

  “Your workshop?” The vampire’s brow furrowed. “You mean you’re not working for Luther?”

  “Indeed, I am not. If you are operating within his territory without his permission, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Then why in the hell did you nab me?”

  I glanced up at the ceiling impatiently, as this conversation was transitioning from being merely irksome to utterly vexatious. Admittedly, my upbringing afforded me little opportunity to cultivate interpersonal skills. I simply did not like dealing with people.

  “As it so happens, I find myself in need of certain ingredients—ingredients that are vital to my magical research.”

  “What, like hair and nails and stuff?”

  On reflection I decided that, for an older, semi-powerful vampire, this one was not very bright. “Yes, I’ll certainly need that.”

  The vampire arched an eyebrow. “I could sell some to you.”

  I chuckled, because his complete obliviousness to the danger he was in was astonishing. “My good man, you are in no position to negotiate, so listen carefully. I can always find another subject. It’s not as though this city lacks for denizens of the night, and it tends to attract the odd rogue on a regular basis. Fortunately, Luther asks few questions when a vagrant bloodkin goes missing, because he’s only concerned with his own brood and maintaining the masquerade.”

  “Yeah, yeah—I already know how that dude operates,” the vampire said with a shrug. “He don’t like it when drifters shit in his backyard.”

  “Just so. If you cooperate, I will release you in a few days with no recollection of ever having been abducted. But if you continue to annoy me, I will have no choice but to take you outside after dawn and watch as you burn to a crisp. Will you submit, or die? Answer quickly, because my patience is worn thin.”

  The vampire remained silent for several moments as he stroked the wispy hairs on his chin. “You got any weed?”

  “That…” I slowly rubbed my temples with one hand. “Yes, that can be arranged.”

  The courier thrust his lower lip out as he nodded. “Alright, just don’t tell anyone you caught me. I’ll lose my fucking job if my boss finds out I got nabbed.”

  Certainly, there will be no danger of that.

  Daylight had come while I was negotiating with the vampire. To avoid losing my prize, I instructed a shadow golem to wrap the creature in a tarp before placing it in the trunk of my vintage Jaguar. I often used shadow constructs to perform mundane tasks, namely physical labor and other duties for which I could not be bothered. No sense in breaking one’s back, after all, when one could use magic instead of brawn.

  Creating a golem was a simple matter of shaping shadow magic into a useful form, then imbuing it with enough intellect to complete elementary tasks. Although most mages would consider such a feat to be advanced spell work, it was one of the first things I’d learned to do with shadow magic. As a boy I had few friends in Underhill, save Peg Powler, and she was as likely to attempt to eat me as speak with me. So, as a young changeling prince, I took to creating playmates from shadow to keep me company.

  Unfortunately, I soon found that the golems had a habit of murdering small creatures when left unattended. Having been created from my wraith’s magic, it was no surprise that the constructs had nefarious tendencies—and I knew better than anyone what that entity craved. So long as I kept the golems in sight, they remained subdued. But, left to their own devices, they’d wander off to kill and consume any living thing they could overpower.

  That was one of the reasons why I lived on a farm in the country, so I could avoid unfortunate mishaps involving my semi-sentient servants. I’d tried living in the city for a time, but it simply did not work out. After my golems created a minor panic—due to a sharp increase in the number of missing pets in my former neighborhood—I moved to this acreage outside Austin. It was for the best, as I preferred my own company to that of the unwashed masses.

  That is, except for Belladonna.

  Belladonna Becerra was the sole exception to my predilection for solitude and privacy. She’d been my partner when I was still employed by the Cold Iron Circle, the better half of the best hunter-mage team the organization had fielded in decades. For a brief time, we’d been lovers, until I broke off our relationship in the cruelest manner possible. I’d done it to protect her, and it was a decision I regretted deeply.

  The dark sorceress Fuamnach—also known as my adoptive mother—had instructed me to take the job as part of my cover identity when I first arrived in Austin. It turned out to be a wise move, as the Circle provided me with power, resources, and connections in Austin’s supernatural underworld. Mother sent me to Austin to steal valuable magic artifacts from Austin’s fae queen, with instructions to deliver them to her in Underhill.

  At the time I’d not been told why, but I had my suspicions. The Tuath Dé in Underhill had long been jealous of the position and influence the earthbound fae courts held, and Queen Maeve most of all. Maeve ruled all the other courts, making her the lynchpin to the fae dynasties here on Earth. Weakening her position by stealing her most powerful magical artifacts was the logical first step in removing her from power.

  Based on my adoptive parent’s schemes against Queen Maeve and other members of Earth’s fae royalty, it was clear that certain of the old gods desired to make a comeback in the mortal realms. Yet the Tuath Dé seemed hesitant to confront her directly. Why they feared an aes sídhe queen was a mystery, as the fae were but pale imitations of their Tuath Dé ancestors. Certainly, they held power when compared to mortal practitioners of the magical arts, but they were nothing next to the Children of Danu.

  As Fuamnach’s Hound, it had been my job to lay the groundwork for Mother’s conquest of Maeve’s demesne. Yet, there were factors the Dark Sorceress had
n’t counted on when she sent her changeling prince to Earth. For one, she hadn’t anticipated that I might fall for a mortal woman—well, semi-mortal, at least. Additionally, Fuamnach had never suspected that her adoptive son might develop an affinity for humankind.

  Finally, she hadn’t counted on interference by that meddling oaf of a druid. Not only did he recover Balor’s Eye—after I’d gone to great lengths to pilfer it from Maeve’s vaults—he stole Belladonna’s heart as well, two losses that rankled me to this day. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to seek vengeance against Colin, as the fool’s actions had put events in motion that led to my eventual self-emancipation from Fuamnach’s influence.

  Ultimately it was my own fault that Belladonna chose the druid. Despite having every certainty of my superiority as a suitor, I’d never fault another for my own foibles. But no matter. Eventually, I’d have her back, of that I was most certain.

  But first, I had to learn how to be human once more. My lack of experience with human emotion had caused me to destroy my relationship with Belladonna before, and I would not allow that to happen again. But to learn how to connect with her, I’d need to overcome years of conditioning. And if that proved to be insufficient, I might very well have to choose between my humanity and my shade, as removing myself from its dark influence was the only way I could ever be fully human again.

  Could I sever myself from my shade forever? Would I? As for the former question, I had no idea—doing so might very well kill me and the shade both. But if it came down to it, I’d gladly sacrifice the power Fuamnach had given me to win Belladonna back. Really, it was no choice at all.

  “Hey, man, are you going to bring me that weed, or what?”

  My guest had been nagging me for the better part of an hour. I sat in my study ignoring him as I thumbed through a tome on vampire anatomy. However, I could only take so much distraction. Finally, I slammed the text down in exasperation before stomping into my laboratory.

  “I would advise you to stop that incessant blathering, as it’s interfering with my ability to concentrate. And, thereby, prolonging your stay.”

  The vampire looked at me without turning his head, as he was strapped quite securely to an adjustable exam table. The straps were made from a silver alloy, and I’d injected him with a highly-diluted colloidal silver solution to negate his abilities to shift into mist. Eventually, he’d excrete the silver, so I’d have to find a long-term solution if I kept him alive for more than a few days. But for now, he would go nowhere unless I allowed it.

  “Look, bro, I’m not trying to harsh your mad scientist vibe or anything. But being tied up like this is super stressful, and I could really use some bud to calm me down.”

  I cradled my chin as I observed the creature, wondering how something so stupid could have lived so long. “Fine. I will concoct a poppy seed potion that will calm you considerably. That is, if you promise to be quiet so I can work.”

  The vampire nodded with as much enthusiasm as possible while being completely immobilized. “A little opium buzz would be great, man, just fantastic. Name’s Monty, by the way.”

  “I don’t need to know your name,” I replied flatly.

  “May as well. I know yours.”

  “It will take several minutes to prepare,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “Please be patient—and quiet.”

  “My lips are sealed, evil wizard dude.”

  I cursed silently as I mounted the stairs, heading for my apothecary table on the floor above. As I slowly walked, I considered doubling the dose and adding just a tad bit more silver to further subdue the vampire. Unfortunately, that much silver would taint my samples—and possibly kill him prematurely—so I discarded the idea immediately.

  Too bad—keeping him on the edge of death would certainly end his endless prattling.

  Just as I reached the upstairs landing, my familiar flew in through the window, cawing and carrying on as if it were possessed. Granted, the nachtkrapp was known to be excitable, but it appeared to be much more flustered than normal. Between the night raven and the vampire, I wondered if I’d have any peace at all.

  “Oh, for Dark Donn’s sakes, not you too,” I snapped. “Settle down, Nameless, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Squawk! The snake woman, master,” said the night raven in a thick German accent. “Once again, she attempts to thwart your wards.”

  “Well done for warning me. Keep an eye on our guest—I’ll return momentarily.”

  The night raven obeyed my command immediately, flying up the staircase in a flutter of wispy feathers and a sinfonietta of discordant caws and squawks. Like my shade, it was a creature made of shadow and darkness, an oily, inky mass that typically took the form of a large raven. At a distance, it appeared to be nothing more than a typical corvid, and it was very good at maintaining that illusion. For that reason, I’d tasked it with patrolling the farm at regular intervals both day and night.

  The familiar had been given to me by none other than Colin McCool himself, after the druid had caught it abducting children in a nearby burg. The simpleton had been unable to handle the night raven, but it had obeyed my every command and whim from the moment we met. That was because it feared me—or rather, it feared the shadow wraith I commanded. Creatures of darkness, like the nachtkrapp, only respected one thing: power and the threat of its use. That was something Colin would never understand.

  As for the “snake woman” Nameless had referenced, that would be my former partner and lover, Belladonna. It was best that I let her in immediately, before she killed my guard manticore. I’d grown rather fond of the creature, and I would hate to have to find another.

  After the druid had killed my fachen, I was forced to replace the guard-giant with the manticore. Unfortunately, it was not as intelligent as the giant had been, and Xanthe treated all trespassers as fair game. As proof of such, I heard a roar in the distance, indicating the creature had already caught my former lover’s scent. I headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time and ignoring the vampire’s questions as I ran past.

  The bloodkin yelled at me one last time, just as I was heading out my front door. “Hey, dude, what about my opium cocktail?”

  3

  By the time I approached the front gate, the two were already slowly circling each other. Xanthe prowled counterclockwise with his gaze fixed on Belladonna, head and shoulders lowered with his barbed tail poised high and ready to strike. Meanwhile, Belladonna had foregone her human body, choosing instead to slither just out of reach of the manticore’s stinger in her serpenthrope form.

  Specifically, my friend had taken the form of a lamia, a half-snake, half-human creature. Strictly speaking, Belladonna was not a therianthrope, since she’d been transformed via magic and not by genetics or a thropic contagion. But for all intents and purposes, she was a shifter, and quite a powerful one at that. Belladonna’s family had been transformed into lamiae by La Anjana, a powerful faery queen in her native Spain.

  In exchange for the “gift” of serpenthropy and all the wealth a mortal could ever want, the Becerra family served the fae queen as her personal guard and foot soldiers. However, my friend had bucked tradition, choosing to reject La Anjana’s magic. Alas, she was “accidentally” transformed regardless, and now contended with the curse while keeping it secret from her friends and associates, most of whom hunted creatures like her for a living.

  I could care less if she was human or a supernatural creature. Obviously, I was the last person to cast aspersions on someone for possessing a rather monstrous second nature. However, I really did not want her to kill my manticore, nor did I want my manticore to eat my former lover.

  “Xanthe, heel!” I yelled as I began the mental battle of wills that would allow me to channel my shade’s magic.

  “Intruuuderrr,” he growled, struggling to form words with his half-lion, half-human vocal chords and oral anatomy. “Huuungry. Eat.”

  “Jusst try it, furball,” Belladonna hissed back. “I could ussse a
new rug.”

  Whoever first created manticores had attempted to create an intelligent species capable of independent reasoning and verbal communication. They’d used magic to combine human, leonine, and arachnid DNA, with the hopes of constructing the perfect guard creature. And while the manticore—whose name literally means “man eater”—was an effective guardian, their maker most certainly failed to imbue them with anything resembling higher intelligence.

  “No, Xanthe,” I sighed. “We’ve been over this before. You will not eat Belladonna. She has my permission to enter the premises.”

  “No key—broke wards,” he replied. “Food.”

  “In your dreamsss, pendejo,” Belladonna replied.

  The two continued to circle each other, and since I’d arrived, Belladonna had produced a short sword and a large-caliber automatic handgun. She spun the sword in lazy circles in one hand while keeping the pistol trained on Xanthe. The girl was actually grinning, and she ran her forked tongue over her fangs as she waited for my guard creature to attack.

  Meanwhile, the manticore crouched lower, poising its tail to strike. Little good it would do. Although the barb might cause some damage, Belladonna was immune to most poisons in this form. And I had no doubt that she would put a bullet, or several bullets, into the manticore’s brain before its stinger landed.

  I decided to intervene before I lost another guardian. Unfortunately, the measure of control I currently had over my shade was limited, as I was fatigued from lack of sleep and overdue for a dose of my elixir. The wraith knew it and fought me tooth and nail as I attempted to channel his shadow energies into a spell.

  -Weakened you are, wizard. We shall not accede to your demands.-

  The entity rarely spoke to me, and that it did so was a clear indication the wraith believed it had the upper hand. It generally referred to itself in the plural, using the royal “we” as was its due as a prince of the shadow planes. Sometimes I wished Mother had chosen to bond me with a lesser entity, but those regrets typically faded as soon as I felt the shade’s power coursing through me.